cal requirement that, as the narrative advances, the action of the underplot must be more and more intimately connected with that of the main plot, and more essential to its course; the subordination of the one to the other must also be more evident, so that the interest of the reader is gradually merged in the principal characters, and the impression of the leading motif becomes predominant. From the moment of climax in the first book, the narrative of each plot must tend toward some final climax, which must be, in some sense, the conclusion of the action, after which the presentation of results, the completion of the analyses, the finishing touches of the pictures, alone remain, before the novelist rings the curtain down upon the scenes and persons evoked in the world of the imagination.

The opening of the second book of "Silas Marner" is a fine illustration of George Eliot's habit of presenting with utmost faithfulness the ordinary medium in which a character moves as the preliminary to some important event which is to affect the person profoundly. Thus, in this simple story, she begins the second part with a picture, almost idyllic in its quiet beauty and naturalness, of the manner in which Silas and Eppie were wont to pass the Sabbath. Save for the conversation with which the chapter closes, the homely incidents of this day might stand for those of any other Sabbath afternoon in the year.

It is true that with the skill of the artist she selects precisely those features of the two lives which best represent essential characteristics. The persons, Silas, Eppie, Mrs. Winthrop, and Aaron, are those whose intercourse has been most intimate during the previous years. The every-day details touched upon

suggest to the reader many changes in the life and character of Silas in the time since the last incidents narrated. He is tranquilly happy, and has adopted with humble acquiescence the customs of village life. He is no more the isolated, suspected miser; he has been restored to human fellowship, and is one of a kindly community whose interests and obligations are mutual. He has also recovered, with the return of his memory, a sense of unity between his present and his past life. It is true that the matter of the lots, and of the cruel suspicion which his appeal to Heaven had failed to remove, has remained dark; but it is clear, even to him, that the loss of his gold has been a blessing, and, turning over and over in his slow way, the events of the past, he feels that there might still come to him an explanation of their dark mystery, which would justify Providence, so long inscrutable, to his mind. And, finally, the author adds to the story of these quiet lives, centred in matters of no greater moment than a bed of sweet-smelling lavender or a potato pie, the touch which prepares the reader for future events of importance. The conversations about the gold and about Eppie's marriage remind the reader of the deepest experiences of the weaver's past life, and also point forward to the approaching climax of the action.

It is pertinent to inquire here why the novelist should narrate with great care the events of a few months, and then pass over years with the scanty illumination of a few paragraphs, and yet again select for careful presentation a few short weeks. Why should the years be omitted? Why should the weeks be chosen? Let us remember that not every life is worth representation in fiction, and that in the lives

whose story holds for the world some revelation of humanity, not every part is of equal importance. Nor is it always the stirring events or the dramatic moments that are most significant in the story. It is rather the slow trend of the life which is hidden from the daily companions of the man or woman-nay, often from the person himself, until, looking back in after years, he perceives it that should be revealed by the novelist's art in connection with the experiences which determine its course or the events through which it is manifested. In this respect life as it is depicted in fiction differs from real life. In real life we see events and the manifestations of character, but we only guess blindly what the hidden springs of action may be, and in rare instances, after years, perceive the course of the inner life. The novelist, gifted with true insight, presents in most intimate connection both views of the life; the view of those living in closest touch with its daily course, from whom the future is hidden, and the later view of those who come upon the secret motives, and witness the result of courses of action or thought, which have extended through years. In order to present this double view of a human life, the author must seize upon those moments of experience which have determining force upon the inner life, or are the initiation of a series of events, each tending toward some important result. He must animate exciting incidents with a deeper meaning, by revealing their bearing upon life issues. In the most complex situations he must, in ways so subtle that none but the closest student will perceive them, indicate the trend of the narrative, connect all with originating causes, and suggest remote results.

This definition of the double purpose in the work of the novelist or the dramatist will guide us to the principles in accordance with which he selects the incidents of his story, and here a concrete illustration will be more useful than any abstract discussion. In the life of Silas Marner, the loss of his gold and the adoption of Eppie determined both the outward events and the inner course of his life for many years. The author, having clearly set before us these incidents, and indicated their significance through a revelation of the causes which had wrought to produce the miser's state of mind, could very well pass over the years in which results slowly came to pass. In the life of Godfrey Cass his refusal of the obligation, when he “shirked doing a father's part," became a hidden canker corroding all his happiness, although even his wife perceived nothing more than the outward manifestation of this secret bitterness.

At length there came an hour in the life of the poor weaver, and also in that of the prosperous squire, which revealed to each the significance of acts long past. To Silas came a time of trial which tested to the uttermost the regenerated humanity of his heart. The discovery of the skeleton in the stone-pits impressed upon Godfrey the futility of concealing any kind of wrongdoing, and at last crystallized his hesitating inclination into action. In haste, lest his old vacillation should return upon him, he told the story of his past life to his wife. It would seem that the climax of the underplot must be reached when the husband realized "the bitterness of an error that was not simply futile, but had defeated its own end," but There was to come a deeper sense of the responsibility of the human soul for its own deeds. The

not so.

two seek the weaver, united in their determination to make reparation, certain that by stretching forth the hand to take it they may win the coveted blessing, as if no dark years of concealment intervened between the present and the first imperative obligation. But they meet with an unexpected obstacle in the child herself. Gratitude and the simplest ties of human love outweigh in her heart the mere fact of blood relationship with a man who had denied the inner bond. The human, physical tie counts with her not one whit; she feels that her true father is the man who took her in and sheltered her, and shared his all with a nameless outcast.

There is a fine touch of artistic skill in placing Eppie's betrothal before the visit of Nancy and the squire. This betrothal linked her life inseparably with the lives of the working people among whom she had been reared. It was not merely the outward conditions of her life which allied her with them; her very spirit was fashioned of the same warp and woof of habit, interest, and love. This revelation was final to Godfrey. Here lies the climax of the underplot ; the conclusion of a long experience is found in Godfrey's recognition of the Nemesis of his own denial of the obligation of fatherhood. The climax is definitely marked in his words to Nancy upon their return to their childless home: "That's ended! . . . There's debts we can't pay like money debts by paying extra for the years that have slipped by."

The climax of the underplot of "Silas Marner" marks also its final subordination to the main plot. The real purpose of Godfrey's visit to the weaver's hut, as, indeed, of the story of his life, is found in the test thus made of Silas's character. A preliminary