pleasures and employments of his fellow-men were abomination and vanity; business was a heaping up of worthless dross; intellect, a stumbling-block; poetry, painting, and music, devices of the enemy; affection, sinful weakness: indeed, all worldly pursuits were foolishness, if not sin, in those who were now warned to "flee from the wrath to come." Still, even while he deemed himself most secure, the softest yet most powerful of earthly feelings had taken a firm hold of his heart.
No two men could be of more opposite dispositions and habits than Vernon and Clinton; the latter had delicate health and a gentle temper—was at once humble and rational in his piety—and had all the elegant and refined tastes which the other despised. Still, since their residence in the same neighbourhood, their intercourse had been constant. Clinton was fond of society, though now compelled by circumstances to renounce it. The very fact of having to support his opinions was an excitement; and the often fiery eloquence of the fierce Calvinist had for him all the enjoyment of poetry. Vernon liked the meek and kind-hearted invalid more than he would himself have admitted; but the link that bound them together was the innocent and lovely Rebecca.
In the high, haughty temper of the young and queen-like beauty, Vernon recognised a similar spirit to his own, but which he was too conscious of his powers to fear, as a weaker-minded man might
