So, like Veronica, I amused myself, and passed days on the sea-shore, or in the fields and woods, mother keeping me in long enough to make a square of patchwork each day and to hear her read a Psalm--a duty which I bore with patience, by guessing when the "Selahs" would come in, and counting them.

But wherever I was, or whatever I did, no feeling of beauty ever stole into my mind.

I never turned my face up to the sky to watch the passing of a cloud, or mused before the undulating space of sea, or looked down upon the earth with the curiosity of thought, or spiritual aspiration.

I was moved and governed by my sensations, which continually changed, and passed away--to come again, and deposit vague ideas which ignorantly haunted me.

The literal images of all things which I saw were impressed on my shapeless mind, to be reproduced afterward by faculties then latent.
But what satisfaction was that?
Doubtless the ideal faculty was active in Veronica from the beginning; in me it was developed by the experience of years.