The Sun.
London, England, 1865-10-31 00:00:00

THE HONEST BLACKSMITH.

William Stanfield, the blacksmith of Windholm, was per-
haps of all men in the village the most respected and
looked up to. He was well-to-do, which of course had some
share in the general regard, and had come of people well-
to-do from the third and fourth generation. The clergy-
man himself was not a greater authority in the parish. It
was not that his sagacity was extraordinary, for he had
been deceived now and then like other people, and had
never concealed the fact ;—nor that he was clever above
his neighbours, for the public of Windholm was thoroughly
aware that to get the "rights" of any business fairly
into William Stanfield's head required a degree of perse-
verance and patience difficult to attain ; especially in re-
gard to all kinds of chicanery, tricks, and meanness,
nothing could exceed the obtusity of the blacksmith's in-
tellect—and he nowise prided himself upon his powers of
mind, or indeed upon any powers whatever, though he had
a gratified half-consciousness of his own influence in the
little community. His strength, however, lay, not in his
talents, but in his character. Ho was the sublimated honest
man, brave homme galantuomo, of Windholm. In him the
transparency, the manful single-mindedness and pure
honour of an ideal Englishman had attained realisation.
There was nobody within 20 miles, good or bad, who
would not have trusted house or land, widow or orphan,
to William Stanfield with the most utter certainty of his
truth to the trust. No squire or gentleman of the district
came within a hundred miles of him in this respect. To
doubt the blacksmith would have beet the same as to
doubt whether the pillars of earth stood fast, had any
daring sceptic ventured on such a notion ; but no such in-
fidel had ever yet appeared at Windholm. Ho was slow
in many things, this worthiest man of the village ._above
all slow to wrath, all but impervious to suspicion, slow to be-
lieve anything that it was shame or sorrow to hear of. The
mild broad light of his eyes scarcely ever quickened out of
that repose and tranquillity which made you think instinc-
tively of the large, silent, unspeakable orbs in some dumb
creature's face, and of the grand ox-eyes of the heathen-
queen of heaven. His, too, were ox-eyes—large, soft, brown,
impenetrable, full of silent thoughtfulness, that never found
expression except in that good life which was more elo-
quent, a thousand times, than any words. Had Paul and
Barnabas been afloat on the world in our day, they would
have been brought unanimously, by universal consent of
the crowd, to William Stanfield's door, had they gone to
Windholm—whose house being worthy, they would not,
have departed from while they remained in the place—
who would have washed their feet and spread their board
and listened with reverence and candour but slow convic-
tion, saying little while the Divine message worked slowly
in his heart. But he was a man of little book-learning,
no reading to speak of, and altogether of an unintellectual
development; though there were thoughts in him such as
few have—delicacies which few people understood—and a
certain poetic element in the worth which was so practi-
cal and real. Such was the blacksmith, the ideal man of
Windholm.

And here, a companion picture, is our first glimpse
of

AGNES.

She went away from tho window where the red sun-
shine came IoW and level through the blind, treading
with light feet over what seemed to be a heap of ruddy
gold on the carpet, and went about her simple busi-
ness with no other consciousness than that it was
her business, and with still the thrill and cadence of
the poetry, and of something still more urgent than
the poetry, hanging about her like vibrations of, music.
She was of a light low figure, perfectly dressed—that is,
dressed just as was suitable for the blacksmith's daughter.
Her gown was dark grey, of a fine and light woollen
fabric, taking folds which a painter would have loved ;
and her little collar and cuffs were spotless and dazzling
in their simplicity. Her step keeping a kind of visionary
time to that music which enveloped her still, had all the
grace of unconsciousness and preoccupation. Her small
head drooped upon the delicate throat as if all that mass
of hair overweighted it ; hair matchless in Windholm,
black without a tinge of any invading colour, folded in
magnificent braids round the little head, which recovered
size without losing delicacy by means of that investiture.
She had no colour except when- she was moved, as at
this moment ; when it went and came, a blush too
sweet and faint to bo kept steady, or identified as com-
plexion. Last of all, her eyes, which young Trevelyan
found it so difficult to see, but which, when he did see
them, opened up to that careless young soul two wonderful
avenues into the unspeakable and unrevealed ; they wore
blue of the deepest violet colour, totally unlike her father's
yet taking from his a certain breadth of pathetic simplicity
which it would be hard to describe—sweet serious eyes,
which wore sad without meaning it, without knowing why.
This was the handmaid that moved about in her beauty
before the young squire, setting on the table the many-
coloured teacups. He could not have told whether she
was the blacksmith's daughter of Windholm or an en-
chanted princess—either or both, what did it matter ? It
was she—and there was not, so far as young Roger was
concerned, though he scarcely knew it, any other in the
world.

We are loth to spoil the interest of the story by
quotations from some of the many admirable scenes.
The interview between the young Squire and
the Blacksmith when the best points of the cha-
racter of each come vividly to light—the embar-
rassing visit of the fashionable Lady Charlton to
the uninformed Mrs. Trevelyan, which is a perfect
little comedy in its way, the return home of the for-
lorn travellers and the varied emotions which re-
spond to the Blacksmith's generous greetings—these
and many other passages bear witness to the de-
velopment of Mrs. Oliphant's powers as a novel
writer. Animated by an earnest purpose, and
written in eloquent words, the story of Agnes
may take high rank in the world of fiction. We
have only one fault with which to charge it—.it is
clouded with a sadness that is altogether tinged
too heavily with gloom.

The Westminster Review. October, 1865.

The opening article, on Personal Representation,
•
is one which very characteristically represents the
peculiar views of The WeEtniinster in politics, in-
clined to democracy, yet shrinking from the actual
government of the masses ; willing to push to the
utmost the favourite theories of the enthusiastic
supporters of untrammelled liberty, yet enlightened
and temperate enough to be aware of the dangers to
which the practical embodiment of such sentiments
invariably leads. By way of reconciling the logical
deductions from the doctrine of the Rights of Man
with the actual position of thought and feeling in
this country, the Westminster Reformer adopts Mr.
Hare's method of settling the problem of Parlia-
mentary Representation. This gentleman's plan
would, in the opinion of the writer, avert the pecu-
liar dangers of democratic government, while sup-
plying the pressing wants of the time. We fear,
however, that the prac4ical difficulties in the way of
the scheme would be so great as to put it entirely
out of the category of possible changes, and that,
were it even adopted, it would result in confusion
instead of in order, in a very limited representation,
and a very incomplete Parliament. " The Capaci-
ties of Women" are considered in an essay, which
proves the writer to be not only chivalrous, but
perfectly fair and candid in his dealings with the
feminine celebrities of the day. It is certainly not
a time to depreciate or disparage feminine intellect,
but it is very seldom that tb c fair dames who ven-
ture into the arena receive such courteous and care-
ful criticism. The critic by no Ineans awards them
unquidified praise, which, like complimentary

guage, often serves merely to veil contempt. He
examines carefully into the merits and defects of
their several productions, expressing hearty approval
of the general scope and tenour of their efforts,
while pointing out some minor defects, inaccuracies,
or blemishes. The three ladies, of whose works the
essay in question especially treats, belong to three
very different schools of thought and literature.
Miss Bessie Rayner Parkes, in her " Essays on
Woman's Work," has come boldly forward in the
character of a practical social reformer, and in deal-
ing with one of the most difficult social problems of
the day has shown an amount of clear judgment,
ready sympathy, and sound common sense which
does her honour. Miss Swanwick adopts another
line, and by her translations of /Esehylus, Goethe,
and Tasso, translations so faithful as to call
forth the encomiums of no less a judge
than the late Baron Bunsen, she has added
fresh laurels to the wreathes already won by Eng-
lishwomen in the fields of classic literature. Miss
Cobbe, perhaps, more ambitious, though less satis-
factory in her attempts, plunges into metaphysics,
history, social science, politics, ethics, and religion,
all in turn. Her talents are undoubtedly very
great, as well as versatile, and few ladies might be
more appropriately cited as specimens of the power
and range of the feminine intellect. But we would
remind Miss Cobbe of a truth which, in her enthu-
siastic veneration for the principles of truth and
right, she is apt to overlook. Humanity at large is
not up to her moral or intellectual level, and after
all it is with humanity at large that he who would
raise or benefit his kind must deal. He must not
restrict himself to a circle of philosophers in their
studies as theorists at their writing desks, especially,
as. if we were to believe these gentlemen they are
above all mortal frailties and temptations. A cold
impersonal religion, a vague creed of generalities
and metaphysics, will never lift the working men
and women out of the pitfalls, the snares, and the
abysses of daily temptation, sorrow, sin, and
care. Miss Cobbe may preach a moral theory of
disinterested virtue by the hour, but she will touch
no human heart and save no struggling soul from
degredation and despair. From the height of her
intellectual aspirations and her moral enthusiasm
she may despise those who cannot enter into her
views, but they are men and women with brains
that think, and hearts that feel, and bodies and
minds that suffer, nevertheless, though succumbing
to the influence of passions that she despises, and
swayed by motives that are sordid, selfish, and
mean. Let her tell such every-day hearers of " the
unbounded power of growth in the human soul, its
capacity for endless progress," as a consolation under
some of the dire afflictions that befall mankind, and
she will be but an unwelcome guest. Let her speak
instead of the Father before whom no sparrow is
forgotten, and she may own that all metaphysics
are not the best medicine for suffering and sinning
humanity. " Palgrave's Travels in Arabia " receive
an intelligent and well-written criticism, and Lady
Duff-Gordon's delightful " Letters from Egypt"
are discussed and quoted from at some length.
An essay on the " Holy Roman Empire "
discusses the rise and fall of that vast
institution which, traced from its first origin to its
final extinction, stretches over a compass of well
nigh two thousand years." Its foundations were
laid by the greatest constructive genius the world
has ever seen. It was finally destroyed by one who,
to his contemporaries, seemed the very archangel of
destruction. Yet his contemporaries are our con-
temporaries, while the contemporaries of its creator
were the companions of Cicero, of Sulla, of Marius,
and of the Gracchi. Inquire into its extinction,
and you meet the great name of Napoleon. Inquire
into its origin, and you meet the yet greater name
of Caius Julius Cmsar. The epitaph that Cesar
uttered over the aristocratic government of Rome
might have been with equal truth pronounced by
Napoleon over the empire erected on the ruins of
that government by Cmsar. The never-ending
question of Schleswig-Holstein reappears in an
essay, under the head of " The Doctrine of Nation-
alities." It is remarked at the outset that, with the
single exception of the Belgian question, not one of
the many questions which have agitated Europe
during the past half century has yet received a final
solution. The question of the Duchies cannot cer-
tainly be ranked among those that have received a
definite solution, and although the who'e story is
almost tediously familiar to the reader, he will not
perhaps object to a resume taken from the standing
we have now reached, when the Gastein Conven-
tion has so openly proclaimed the unscrupulous de-
signs of the great German Powers. Articles on
" Mr. Grote's Plato," and on " Rationalism in
Europe," are written in the characteristic vein of
the Westminster, while the Notices of Contemporary.
Literature, in which as usual Theology and Philo-
sophy figure largely, occupy a considerable space.

Professor Masson.