It was to him a grotesque, an impossible
supposition.
"If," Donal resumed, "I were to show you a proposition of Euclid
which you had never seen before, and say to you, 'Now, Davie, this
is one of the most beautiful of all Euclid's propositions, and you
must immediately admire it, and admire Euclid for constructing
it!'--what would you say?"
Davie thought, and looked puzzled.
"But you wouldn't do it, sir!" he said. "--I know you wouldn't do
it!" he added, after a moment.
"Why should I not?"
"It isn't your way, sir."
"But suppose I were to take that way?"
"You would not then be like yourself, sir!"
"Tell me how I should be unlike myself. Think."
"You would not be reasonable."
"What would you say to me?"
"I should say, 'Please, sir, let me learn the proposition first, and
then I shall be able to admire it. I don't know it yet!'"
"Very good!--Now again, suppose, when you tried to learn it, you
were not able to do so, and therefore could see no beauty in
it--should I blame you?"
"No, sir; I am sure you would not--because I should not be to blame,
and it would not be fair; and you never do what is not fair!"
"I am glad you think so: I try to be fair.--That looks as if you
believed in me, Davie!"
"Of course I do, sir!"
"Why?"
"Just because you are fair."
"Suppose, Davie, I said to you, 'Here is a very beautiful thing I
should like you to learn,' and you, after you had partly learned it,
were to say 'I don't see anything beautiful in this: I am afraid I
never shall!'--would that be to believe in me?"
"No, surely, sir! for you know best what I am able for.
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