Christian fiction; Wingfold, Thomas (Fictitious character) -- Fiction
If it seem, as it may, to some of my readers, difficult to believe that
she should have come to her years without encountering any questions,
giving life to any aspirations, or even forming any opinions that could
rightly be called her own, I would remind them that she had always had
good health, and that her intellectual faculties had been kept in full
and healthy exercise, nor had once afforded the suspicion of a tendency
towards artistic utterance in any direction. She was no mere dabbler
in anything: in music, for instance, she had studied thorough bass, and
studied it well; yet her playing was such as I have already described
it. She understood perspective, and could copy an etching, in pen and
ink, to a hair’s-breadth, yet her drawing was hard and mechanical. She
was pretty much at home in Euclid, and thoroughly enjoyed a geometric
relation, but had never yet shown her English master the slightest
pleasure in an analogy, or the smallest sympathy with any poetry higher
than such as very properly delights schoolboys. Ten thousand things
she knew without wondering at one of them. Any attempt to rouse her
admiration, she invariably received with quiet intelligence but no
response. Yet her drawing-master was convinced there lay a large soul
asleep somewhere below the calm grey morning of that wide-awake yet
reposeful intelligence.
As far as she knew--only she had never thought anything about it--she
was in harmony with creation animate and inanimate, and for what might
or might not be above creation, or at the back, or the heart, or the
mere root of it, how could she think about a something the idea of
which had never yet been presented to her by love or philosophy, or even
curiosity? As for any influence from the public offices of religion, a
contented soul may glide through them all for a long life, unstruck to
the last, buoyant and evasive as a bee amongst hailstones. And now her
cousin, unsolicited, was about to assume, if she should permit him, the
unspiritual direction of her being, so that she need never be troubled
from the quarter of the unknown.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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