I would especially direct the attention of my reader to this last most subtle device of Satan to keep back the pilgrim from heaven. As God draws good out of evil, Satan draws evil out of good, and sometimes makes us deem ourselves most near the celestial city when we are actually turning our faces from it. The most experienced pilgrims may be taken in this snare; the most zealous, the most devoted Christians are perhaps in the greatest danger from it. We are so ready to forget when the mirror shines brightly, that it is in itself but dust and ashes, borrowing all its radiance from heaven.
The tender leaves were now beginning to appear on the shrubs, and the dark branches of the trees were spangled with the light green buds which told the approach of spring. The crocus lifted its golden cup from the sod, and the snow-drop trembled on its slender stem. On the day when Ernest would complete his thirteenth year, his school-house was to be opened for the first time. A number of friends were asked to be present on the occasion,—Mr. Searle, his daughter, and a son from college amongst the rest, Ernest’s often-expressed wish having at length overcome the reluctance of his aunt to invite them. There was to be a band and a collation in honour of the occasion; and the children were abroad early in the sunny morning to gather flowers to decorate the school-room.
The spirits of the young Lord Fontonore rose high, there was so much to gratify and elate him. Never had he more admired his beautiful home, or more rejoiced in the power to do good. Mr. Sligo had written an ode to celebrate the day, in which flattery was so delicately mingled with truth, that it could hardly fail to gratify and please.
One by one the company assembled, each with a kind wish or well-turned compliment. Ernest was of course the hero of the day; and as everything in the school-house was now prepared, the tide of silk and velvet, feathers and lace, moved on towards the little edifice.
The school children lined the path on either side, in clean frocks, with nosegays of wild-flowers in their hands, their ruddy little faces beaming with pleasure at the thought of their expected feast. Passing between the lines, with feelings of natural pleasure, perhaps not quite unmingled with pride, Lord Fontonore, accompanied by his guests, proceeded to the door, which he unlocked and threw open. In a few minutes the school-room was filled. It had been decorated with a good deal of taste by the school children under Mr. Sligo’s direction, and Charles had fastened two blue banners above the entrance. There were books for school use judiciously selected, maps on a large scale hung round the room; but every eye in the gay assembly was at once directed to a large black board hung over the fire-place. This was designed for the use of classes in arithmetic, as sums or figures could be chalked upon it of a size to be seen by the whole school. But it was neither sum nor diagram upon it now that drew the attention of every one present, but a coarse sketch, evidently chalked by an untutored hand, though not wanting in spirit or fun, of a boy sitting astride on the top of a wall, with a gigantic peach in his grasp; and as the picture might not be understood by all, beneath it was written, in a round schoolboy hand, legible from the furthest end of the room, “_The pious Lord Fontonore robbing Farmer Joyce_.”