Then he just looked at me and walked away.
He trusted me, and I had deceived him. It was an unpardonable breach of
confidence, and I have always felt that I never could look that cat in
the face again."
The Bishop smiled and sighed at the little reminiscence. "I think you
are right, though, in one way, Ideala," he presently observed. "The
powers of Light and Darkness are certainly having a hard fight for it
in our day; but we have every reason to hope.
Oh, yet we trust that somehow good
Will be the final goal of ill."
"And, granted that the popular literature of the day is corrupt," the
young sculptor put in, "and that the standard of society is being
yearly lowered by it, still there is Art----"
"But there is so little of it," said Ideala; "I mean so little that
elevates. Most of the subjects chosen are not worth painting; and what
profit is there in contemplating a thing that is neither grand nor
beautiful in itself, nor suggestive, by association, of anything that
is grand or beautiful? The pictures one generally sees are not
calculated to suggest anything to the minds that need suggestion most.
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