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Updated: June 13, 2025
"Yes, that is it," said Christopher Kirkbright, letting his silence be broken through with the whole tide of his earnest, life-long, pondered thought. "Men have put aside the old idea of the avenging and punishing God, until they think they have no longer any need of Christ. God is Love, they tell us; not recognizing that the Christ is that very Love of God.
What is the reason, Auntie, that if a fellow takes to horses, they all think he is going straight to the bad? What is there so abominable about them?" "Nothing," said Miss Kirkbright. "On the contrary, everything grand and splendid, in type, you know. Horses are powers; men are made to handle powers, and to use them; it is the very manliest instinct of a man by which he loves them.
I should like your thoughts upon it. For, you see, I have hardly yet got acquainted with my ground. From what my sister tells me, I think your work leads naturally up to mine. I should like to find out whether it is quite ready for the join." "I haven't much work," said Desire. "Luclarion Grapp has; and Miss Kirkbright, and Mr. Vireo. I only help, with some money that belongs to it."
"I'm not sure, Kirkbright, but you ought to be a minister." "Not to stand in a pulpit. God helping me, I mean to be a minister. Wouldn't a preacher be satisfied to have studied a week upon a sermon, if he knew that on Sunday, preaching it, he had sent it, live, into one living soul? Fifty-two souls a year, to reach and save, would not that be enough?
And then wouldn't we have a ladder all the way up, for them to climb by, out of the clay and common toil to art and beauty?" "You can dream delightfully, Mr. Kirkbright." "I will see if I cannot begin to turn it into fact, and make it pay," he answered. "Pay itself, and keep itself going. I do not need to look for my fortune from it. The fortune is to be put into it.
Something exquisite by very suggestion of evanescence, caught in transitu, and held for the eye and mind to dwell on. They were never tired of looking. The chance would not come, that ought to be a pause, for them to turn and go away. "But there are more," Sylvie said at length, admonishing them. "And the Second Cataract is grander than this." "You number them going down," said Mr. Kirkbright.
"No more than that," said Miss Kirkbright, pointing to the golden flush under the soft, piling clouds in the west, that showed in glimpses beneath the arches of the trees and across the openings behind the village buildings. "'New every morning, and fresh every evening. Doesn't He show us how it is, every day's work that He himself begins and ends?"
If she had moved, pushed back her chair, put by her book, it would have begun to seem strange, she would have been back in a bond of circumstance which would have embarrassed her; she would have been receiving an evening call at an unusual hour. But to have the verity come in and fill the dream, this was not strange. And yet Christopher Kirkbright had scarcely been in that house ten times before.
"But he is not at home. I was going next to Miss Euphrasia." "And you and I are sent to stop each other. My sister is away, at Milton, for two days." Desire turned round. "Then I must go home again," she said. Mr. Kirkbright moved on, down the hill beside her. "Can I do anything for you?" he inquired. "Yes," returned Desire, pausing, and looking gravely up at him.
"Mother would have had a very hard time if she had lived," said Sylvie. "I am glad for her. It was a great deal better. And it came so tenderly! I had dreaded sickness and pain for her." "It has been all hard for you. I hope it will be easier now. I hope it will always be easier." "I am going to live with Mrs. Kirkbright," said Sylvie. "Tell me about my new aunt," said Rodney.
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