or fret him by her coquetry, or disparage him by her talent—how beautiful a thing it is! For my own part I think that Griselda Grantly was born to be the wife of a great English peer."
It is comforting to know that in the midst of these lofty
circles the daughter of the archdeacon did not lose the virtue
of humility; for we read in a subsequent narrative:[1]
"But, now and again, since her august marriage, she had
laid her coronated head upon one of the old rectory pillows for
a night or two, and on such occasions all the Plumsteadians had
been loud in praise of her condescension."
The difference between the novelists just discussed and
the remaining half of the list, in the use of irony, is more
easily perceived than defined. It can only be suggested
by metaphor. Confectionery may be flavored, for instance
with citron in lumps or liquid peppermint. It is evident
that the former is more visible and detachable, but that
the latter affects more pervasively the quality of the product.
In the concoctions already mentioned, from Lytton to
Trollope, it is easy enough to stick in one's thumb and pull
out a plum. All the plums being pulled out, the character
of the remaining portion would not be radically changed.
But peppermint cannot be extracted except by a process
of chemical dissolution; and if it could, the taste of the
whole would be altered. Yet it is not patent to eye or
finger, though not wanting in stimulus to other senses.
These two ingredients, however, are not mutually exclusive.
The permeated may also be sufficiently glomerate
to permit of some dissection; only the operation is less
fully explanatory of the whole.
For example, we may extract from Peacock his description of the Abbey of Rubygill, situated—[2]
