(It is hard to imagine any simile
that would have shocked Frederica more than this; in all her years of
strenuous, straightforward life, she had never, as she would have
said, set foot in a theatre.)
Frederica had been born at Coppinger's Court, and she had passed her
childhood there, but her youth had been spent in Dublin, in the hot
heart of a parish devoted to good works, and to a pastor whose power
and authority was in no degree less absolute than that of any of the
"Romish priests" whom he so heartily denounced. She was brought up in
that school of Irish Low Church Protestantism that makes more severe
demands upon submission and credulity than any other, and yet more
fiercely arraigns other creeds on those special counts. It is quite
arguable that Irish people, like the Israelites who so ardently
desired a king, enjoy and thrive under religious oppression, and it is
beyond dispute that among the oppressed, of both the rival creeds, are
saints whose saintliness has gained force from the systems to which
they have given their allegiance. To Frederica the practice of her
cult both inwardly in her heart, and outwardly in the work of St.
Matthew's Parish, was the mainspring of her existence. It was also her
pastime. She would analyse a sermon, as Dick Lowry would discuss a
run, and with the same eager enjoyment. She assented with enthusiasm
to the Doctrine of Eternal Damnation, and a gentler-hearted creature
than she never lived.
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