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Updated: June 2, 2025
"That arises from envy, malice, and all uncharitableness," said Harold Smith. "Yes; and from picking and stealing, evil speaking, lying, and slandering," said Mr. Sowerby. "We are so prone to desire and covet other men's places," said Supplehouse. "Some men are so," said Sowerby; "but it is the evil speaking, lying, and slandering, which does the mischief. Is it not, Harold?"
It may be, and indeed I think it will be, the case that I shall be ruined in this matter for the want of it." "Could not Harold Smith give it you?" "Ha, ha, ha! you don't know Harold Smith. Did you ever hear of his lending a man a shilling in his life." "Or Supplehouse?" "Lord love you!
"But I, unluckily, have not a wife to manage them for me." "Then you should not laugh at those who have, for you don't know what you may come to yourself, when you're married." Mr. Supplehouse began to make a pretty speech, saying that he would be delighted to incur any danger in that respect to which he might be subjected by the companionship of Miss Dunstable.
And then in the course of the morning came the Cabinet council, the second that he had attended, and he read in the countenance of every god and goddess there assembled that their chief was thought to have made another mistake. If Mr. Supplehouse could have been induced to write in another strain, then indeed that new blood might have been felt to have been efficacious.
And nevertheless it was not yet a month since Harold Smith had been counselling with Supplehouse how a series of strong articles in the Jupiter, together with the expected support of the Manchester men, might probably be effective in hurling the minister from his seat. But at that time the minister had not revigorated himself with young blood.
She was neither young, nor beautiful, nor peculiarly ladylike; yet she seemed to enjoy a popularity which must have excited the envy of Mr. Supplehouse, and which certainly was not altogether to the taste of Mrs. Proudie who, however, fêted her as much as did the others. So that our clergyman found himself unable to obtain more than an inconsiderable share of the lady's attention.
Typhoeus and Mimas, Porphyrion and Rhoecus, the giant brood of old, steeped in ignorance and wedded to corruption, had scaled the heights of Olympus, assisted by that audacious flinger of deadly ponderous missiles, who stands ever ready armed with his terrific sling Supplehouse, the Enceladus of the press.
Frank Gresham she did speak with some little seriousness. "But why on earth should you give yourself all this trouble?" that lady had said, when Miss Dunstable owned that she was doubtful, and unhappy in her doubts, as to the coming of one of the great colleagues of Mr. Supplehouse. "When such hundreds are coming, big wigs and little wigs of all shades, what can it matter whether Mr.
Sowerby, "neither to Harold Smith nor to us; you are making him rehearse his lecture, which is bad for him; and making us hear the rehearsal, which is bad for us." "Supplehouse belongs to a clique which monopolizes the wisdom of England," said Harold Smith, "or, at any rate, thinks that it does. But the worst of them is that they are given to talk leading articles."
"Not the least use," said Mr. Supplehouse. "We are false to our constituents in submitting to such a dominion." "Let's have a change, then," said Mr. Sowerby. "The matter's pretty much in our own hands." "Altogether," said Mr. Green Walker. "That's what my uncle always says." "The Manchester men will only be too happy for the chance," said Harold Smith.
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