Sowerby. An orthodox martyr had been caught from the East, and an
oily latter-day St. Paul, from the other side of the water--to the
horror and amazement of Archdeacon Grantly, who had come up all the
way from Plumstead to be present on the occasion. Mrs. Grantly also
had hankered to be there; but when she heard of the presence of the
latter-day St. Paul, she triumphed loudly over her husband, who had
made no offer to take her. That Lords Brock and De Terrier were to be
at the gathering was nothing. The pleasant king of the gods and the
courtly chief of the giants could shake hands with each other in
any house with the greatest pleasure; but men were to meet who, in
reference to each other, could shake nothing but their heads or
their fists. Supplehouse was to be there, and Harold Smith, who now
hated his enemy with a hatred surpassing that of women--or even
of politicians. The minor gods, it was thought, would congregate
together in one room, very bitter in their present state of
banishment; and the minor giants in another, terribly loud in their
triumph. That is the fault of the giants, who, otherwise, are not
bad fellows; they are unable to endure the weight of any temporary
success. When attempting Olympus--and this work of attempting is
doubtless their natural condition--they scratch and scramble,
diligently using both toes and fingers, with a mixture of
good-humoured virulence and self-satisfied industry that is
gratifying to all parties.
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