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Chapter 10

           Ioftenaskmyself—isitpossibletoloveeverybody?Indeeditisnot;itisnotinnature.Abstractloveofhumanityisnearlyalwaysloveofself.Butyouaredifferent.Youcannothelplovingall,sinceyoucancomparewithnone,andareaboveallpersonaloffenceoranger.Oh!howbitteritwouldbetometoknowthatyoufeltangerorshameonmyaccount,forthatwouldbeyourfall—youwouldbecomecomparableatoncewithsuchasme.

           “Yesterday,afterseeingyou,Iwenthomeandthoughtoutapicture.

           “ArtistsalwaysdrawtheSaviourasanactorinoneoftheGospelstories.Ishoulddodifferently.IshouldrepresentChristalone—thedisciplesdidleaveHimaloneoccasionally.IshouldpaintonelittlechildleftwithHim.ThischildhasbeenplayingaboutnearHim,andhadprobablyjustbeentellingtheSavioursomethinginitsprettybabyprattle.Christhadlistenedtoit,butwasnowmusing—onehandreposingonthechild’sbrighthead.Hiseyeshaveafar-awayexpression.Thought,greatastheUniverse,isinthem—Hisfaceissad.ThelittleoneleansitselbowuponChrist’sknee,andwithitscheekrestingonitshand,gazesupatHim,ponderingaschildrensometimesdoponder.Thesunissetting.Thereyouhavemypicture.

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