Much depends, of course, upon the nature of the person who holds them.

No belief could be beautiful in a mind that is unlovely.

A sonnet of Shakespeare can be no better than a burned cinder in such a mind as Mrs.
Ramshorn's.

But there is Mr.Wingfold, the curate of the abbey-church! a true, honest man, who will give even an infidel like me fair play: nothing that finds acceptance with him can be other than noble, whether it be true or not.

I fear he expects me to come over to him one day.