He was a religious boy, but his religion was of too stern a cast to bring much joy to him; and he was passionately anxious that Elisabeth should not be distressed in like manner.

His desire was that she should have sufficient religion to insure heaven, but not enough to spoil earth--a not uncommon desire on behalf of their dear ones among poor, ignorant human beings, whose love for their neighbour will surely atone in some measure for their injustice toward God.
"You see," Elisabeth continued, "there is nothing that makes you so fond of people as being sorry for them.

The people that are strong and happy don't want your fondness, so it is no use giving it to them.

It is the weak, unhappy people that want you to love them, and so it is the weak, unhappy people that you love." "But I don't," replied Christopher, who was always inclined to argue a point; "when I like people, I should like them just the same as if they went about yelling Te Deums at the top of their voices; and when I don't like them, it wouldn't make me like them to see them dressed from head to foot in sackcloth and ashes." "Oh! that's a stupid way of liking, I think." "It may be stupid, but it's my way." "Don't you like me better when I cry than when I laugh ?" asked Elisabeth, who never could resist a personal application.
"Good gracious, no! I always like you the same; but I'd much rather you laughed than cried--it is so much jollier for you; in fact, it makes me positively wretched to see you cry." "It always vexes me," Elisabeth said thoughtfully, "to read about tournaments, because I think it was so horrid of the Queen of Beauty to give the prize to the knight who won." Christopher laughed with masculine scorn.

"What nonsense! Who else could she have given it to ?" "Why, to the knight who lost, of course.