Vernon, who wore a gloomier brow, and spoke in even severer tones than usual.
"So, I find you alone! To be sure," said he, looking round, "you can see from hence the approach of any one, and any one can see your movements too."
Clinton replied but by asking his companion to sit down on the bench beside him; and in so doing, he displaced a small volume, whose worn black calf binding shewed it was a favourite. It fell open at the very play he and Rebecca had been reading, "The Merchant of Venice;" and the unfortunate book immediately suggested a new vent to Vernon's spleen.
"And this, forsooth, is the study of your noon! I marvel not that your daughter's head is so turned by vanities and fancies. Verily, poetry is a device of the evil one, which has served him in good sort!"
"A somewhat harsh judgment," returned Clinton, smiling, "to be pronounced on those who beguile many a weary hour, and to whom we owe many a delicate enjoyment."
"Now, out upon such toys! Were my power equal to my will, I would soon purify the land, even with fire, of each vain and lying tome that but distracts the mind from the one sacred volume, on which alone it should be fixed, and on which alone thought should meditate."
"Your pardon, friend," replied Clinton; "I do not believe that the heart is turned from the Creator by enjoying his works. Of what avail is the sweet
