Read "Thomas Wingfold. Volume II" by George MacDonald online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
The curate had entered the draper's shop in the full blaze of / sunset, but the demon of unbelief sat on his shoulders; he could get / no nearer his heart, but that was enough to make of the "majestical / roof fretted with golden fire. a foul and pestilent congregation / of vapours. " When he left the shop, the sun was far below the / horizon, and the glory had faded out of the west; but the demon had / fled, and the brown feathers of the twilight were beautiful as the / wings of the silver dove, sprung heavenwards from among the pots. / And as he went he reasoned with himself --
"Either there is a God, and that God the perfect heart of truth and / loveliness, or all poetry and art is but an unsown, unplanted, / rootless flower, crowning a somewhat symmetrical heap of stones. The / man who sees no beauty in its petals, finds no perfume in its / breath, may well accord it the parentage of the stones; the man / whose heart swells beholding it will be ready to think it has roots / that reach below them."