it deals us death in the end. It is something if we can shock
and jar the unthinking impetus and enormous innocence of evil;
just as a pebble on a railway can stagger the Scotch express.
It is enough for the great martyrs and criminals of the French revolution,
that they have surprised for all time the secret weakness of the strong.
They have awakened and set leaping and quivering in his crypt for ever
the coward in the hearts of kings.

. . . . .

When Jack the Giant-Killer really first saw the giant his
experience was not such as has been generally supposed.
If you care to hear it I will tell you the real story of Jack
the Giant-Killer. To begin with, the most awful thing which Jack
first felt about the giant was that he was not a giant.
He came striding across an interminable wooded plain, and against
its remote horizon the giant was quite a small figure, like a figure
in a picture--he seemed merely a man walking across the grass.
Then Jack was shocked by remembering that the grass which the man
was treading down was one of the tallest forests upon that plain.
The man came nearer and nearer, growing bigger and bigger,
and at the instant when he passed the possible stature of humanity
Jack almost screamed. The rest was an intolerable apocalypse.

The giant had the one frightful quality of a miracle;
the more he became incredible the more he became solid.
The less one could believe in him the more plainly one could see him.
It was unbearable that so much of the sky should be occupied
by one human face. His eyes, which had stood out like bow windows,
became bigger yet, and there was no metaphor that could