TO THE AUTHOR of ‘Passages in the Life of Margaret Maitland.’
Edinburgh,
5th January 1850.
I was captivated by ‘Margaret Maitland’ before the author came to bribe me by the gift of a copy and a too flattering letter — which I am now taking the chance of answering — though not trusted either with the name or address of the person to whom I must express my gratitude and admiration! Nothing half so true or so touching (in the delineation of Scottish character) has appeared since Galt published his ‘Annals of the Parish’ — and this is purer and deeper than Galt, and even more absolutely and simply true. It would have been better though and made a stronger impression if it had copied Galt’s brevity, and is sensibly injured by the indifferent matter which has been admitted to bring it up to the standard of three volumes. All about the Lectures and Jo Whang, and almost all about Reuben and the ladies at the Castle, is worse than superfluous; and even the youthful Poet and his allegory, though the creation of no ordinary mind, is out of place and de trop.
The charm is in Grace and Margaret Maitland, and they and their immediate connections ought to have had the scene mostly to themselves. It is debased and polluted by the intrusion of so many ordinary characters. The conception of Grace, so original and yet so true to nature and to Scottish nature, is far beyond anything that Galt could reach; and the sweet thoughtfulness and pure, gracious, idiomatic Scotch of Margaret, with her subdued sensibilities and genial sympathy with all innocent enjoyments, her ardent but indulgent piety, and the modest dignity of her sentiments and deportment, make a picture that does equal credit to the class from which it is taken and to the right feeling and power of observation of the painter. Claud perhaps is scarcely made thoroughly deserving of Grace, though it certainly must not have been easy to finish a male character either so highly or so softly as these two delightful females — and Mary, especially in the later scenes, is nearly as good as they are.
When I first read the book I settled it with myself that it was the work of a woman — and though there are pronouns in the letter of the author now before me which seem to exclude that supposition, I am so unwilling to be disabused of this first impression that I still venture to hope that it was not erroneous, and that these words were introduced only to preserve the incognito which the author (though I am sure I cannot guess for what reason) seems still anxious to maintain.
I have no wish certainly, as I have no right, to violate the incognito, but write now merely to return my humble and cordial thanks for the honour the author has done me, and to express the deep and most pleasing sense I have of the great merit of his (if it must be his) personnel, and with all good wishes transcribe myself the said author’s very grateful and sincere humble servant,
F. Jeffrey.
After the date of this letter there is a gap of about two years, and then begins the long series of those written by Mrs. Oliphant to the Blackwoods — chiefly to Mr. John Blackwood, but also to Mr. William Blackwood, the present head of the house; to Miss Isabella Blackwood, with whom she maintained a very long and intimate friendship; and to some of the younger members of the family. It may be permitted here to insert the account given by Mr. John Blackwood himself, and noted down at the time by one of his hearers, of Mrs. Oliphant’s very first introduction to the pages of ‘Maga.’ On the 25th anniversary of that introduction Mr. Blackwood and many of his old contributors were invited to spend a lovely summer day on Magna Charta Island, within a few miles of her house at Windsor, and to lunch on the spot where King John met his barons. Mr. Blackwood began his short after-luncheon speech by a humorous parallel between the earlier sovereign and himself — the barons of Magna Charta and the bold barons of Blackwood; then, falling into a more serious tone, passed on to relate the commencement of his acquaintance with his hostess. He described the young woman new to literature and shy, but with the same bright eyes full of intelligence as in later years. “She talked to me,” he said, “among other things, about Thackeray and Dickens, and I thought I had never heard anything better said. I asked her to write it down, and she did so; and that was the beginning of her work for the Magazine.”
‘Katie Stewart’ was the first book of Mrs. Oliphant’s published by the Blackwoods, and, as she has herself recorded elsewhere, the family adopted a fashion of speaking of her by the name of her heroine.