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about them which is not the exact truth。
It is for this rare； precious quality of truthfulness that I delight
in many Dutch paintings； which lofty…minded people despise。 I
find a source of delicious sympathy in these faithful pictures of a
monotonous homely existence； which has been the fate of so many
more among my fellow…mortals than a life of pomp or of absolute
indigence； of tragic suffering or of world…stirring actions。 I turn；
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without shrinking； from cloud…borne angels； from prophets； sibyls；
and heroic warriors； to an old woman bending over her flower…pot；
or eating her solitary dinner； while the noonday light； softened
perhaps by a screen of leaves； falls on her mob…cap； and just
touches the rim of her spinning…wheel； and her stone jug； and all
those cheap common things which are the precious necessaries of
life to her—or I turn to that village wedding； kept between four
brown walls； where an awkward bridegroom opens the dance with
a high…shouldered； broad…faced bride； while elderly and middle…
aged friends look on； with very irregular noses and lips； and
probably with quart…pots in their hands； but with an expression of
unmistakable contentment and goodwill。 “Foh！” says my idealistic
friend； “what vulgar details！ What good is there in taking all these
pains to give an exact likeness of old women and clowns？ What a
low phase of life！ What clumsy； ugly people！”
But bless us； things may be lovable that are not altogether
handsome； I hope？ I am not at all sure that the majority of the
human race have not been ugly； and even among those “lords of
their kind；” the British； squat figures； ill…shapen nostrils； and
dingy complexions are not startling exceptions。 Yet there is a great
deal of family love amongst us。 I have a friend or two whose class
of features is such that the Apollo curl on the summit of their
brows would be decidedly trying； yet to my certain knowledge
tender hearts have beaten for them； and their miniatures—
flattering； but still not lovely—are kissed in secret by motherly
lips。 I have seen many an excellent matron； who could have never
in her best days have been handsome； and yet she had a packet of
yellow love…letters in a private drawer； and sweet children
showered kisses on her sallow cheeks。 And I believe there have
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been plenty of young heroes； of middle stature and feeble beards；
who have felt quite sure they could never love anything more
insignificant than a Diana； and yet have found themselves in
middle life happily settled with a wife who waddles。 Yes！ Thank
God； human feeling is like the mighty rivers that bless the earth： it
does not wait for beauty—it flows with resistless force and brings
beauty with it。
All honour and reverence to the divine beauty of form！ Let us
cultivate it to the utmost in men； women； and children—in our
gardens and in our houses。 But let us love that other beauty too；
which lies in no secret of proportion； but in the secret of deep
human sympathy。 Paint us an angel； if you can； with a floating
violet robe； and a face paled by the celestial light； paint us yet
oftener a Madonna； turning her mild face upward and opening her
arms to welcome the divine glory； but do not impose on us any
aesthetic rules which shall banish from the region of Art those old
women scraping carrots with their work…worn hands； those heavy
clowns taking holiday in a dingy pot…house； those rounded backs
and stupid weather…beaten faces that have bent over the spade
and done the rough work of the world—those homes with their tin
pans； their brown pitchers； their rough curs； and their clusters of
onions。 In this world there are so many of these common coarse
people； who have no picturesque sentimental wretchedness！ It is
so needful we should remember their existence； else we may
happen to leave them quite out of our religion and philosophy and
frame lofty theories which only fit a world of extremes。 Therefore；
let Art always remind us of them； therefore let us always have men
ready to give the loving pains of a life to the faithful representing
of commonplace things—men who see beauty in these
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commonplace things； and delight in showing how kindly the light
of heaven falls on them。 There are few prophets in the world； few
sublimely beautiful women； few heroes。 I can’t afford to give all
my love and reverence to such rarities： I want a great deal of those
feelings for my every…day fellow…men； especially for the few in the
foreground of the great multitude； whose faces I know； whose
hands I touch for whom I have to make way with kindly courtesy。
Neither are picturesque lazzaroni or romantic criminals half so
frequent as your common labourer； who gets his own bread and
eats it vulgarly but creditably with his own pocket…knife。 It is more
needful that I should have a fibre of sympathy connecting me with
that vulgar citizen who weighs out my sugar in a vilely assorted
cravat and waistcoat； than with the handsomest rascal in red scarf
and green feathers—more needful that my heart should swell with
loving admiration at some trait of gentle goodness in the faulty
people who sit at the same hearth with me； or in the clergyman of
my own parish； who is perhaps rather too corpulent and in other
respects is not an Oberlin or a Tillotson； than at the deeds of
heroes whom I shall never know except by hearsay； or at the
sublimest abstract of all clerical graces that was ever conceived by
an able novelist。
And so I come back to Mr。 Irwine； with whom I desire you to be
in perfect charity； far as he may be from satisfying your demands
on the clerical character。 Perhaps you think he was not—as he
ought to have been—a living demonstration of the benefits
attached to a national church？ But I am not sure of that； at least I
know that the people in Broxton and Hayslope would have been
very sorry to part with their clergyman； and that most faces
brightened at his approach； and until it can be proved that hatred
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is a better thing for the soul than love； I must believe that Mr。
Irwine’s influence in his parish was a more wholesome one than
that of the zealous Mr。 Ryde； who came there twenty years
afterwards； when Mr。 Irwine had been gathered to his fathers。 It is
true； Mr。 Ryde insisted strongly on the doctrines of the
Reformation； visited his flock a great deal in their own homes； and
was severe in rebuking the aberrations of the flesh—put a stop；
indeed； to the Christmas rounds of the church singers； as
promoting drunkenness and too light a handling of sacred things。
But I gathered from Adam Bede； to whom I talked of these
matters in his old age； that few clergymen could be less successful
in winning the hearts of their parishioners than Mr。 Ryde。 They
learned a great many notions about doctrine from him； so that
almost every church…goer under fifty began to distinguish as well
between the genuine gospel and what did not come precisely up to
that standard； as if he