Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1885-07-12
MISS elEyEIANps Bbok.
An Aualysis Of Gssrss EIiofs
Poetry and Other Studies
By Elizabeth Rose cieseland---Aa later
esting and Valuable Work by the
Presidents Sister.
From George Eliot's Postry."

From George Eiiot's Poetry"
George Eliot's prose carries easily Its
enormous burdens Of consecrated gift. II
is ike the Incompatible trained elephants
Of Eastern monsrchs which bear at once
every tressure-the iron of agriculture, the
gem of royalty-and in its eumbrous
it outdistances all competitors.
But poetry should betrsy no burdens. Its
rider should sit lightly, with no hint of spur
1t should sport along its course and reach
Its goal unwearied.
The born poet has no agony in the de
iversnce of his song. The uttering is to
him that soothing balm which the uttersnce
is to his reader.
George Eliot has been said to possess
Sbakesperian qualities. Perhaps just here,
in the relation of manner to matter, is seen
her greatest resemblance and greatest diff
ference. No writer, all concede, ever car
ried and delivered 90 much as Shakespeare
Never was human utteranee so packed with
wealthy meaning, so loaded with all things
that can be thought or felt inferred or
dreamed, as his. And it all comes with
gush and rush, or with gentle, murmur-
ing flow, Just as it can come,
just as it must come. He takes no trouble,
and he gives none. Frome one Of bis plays,
replete with his incompatible wit, wisdom
and conceit you emerge as from an ocean
bath, exhilarsted by the tossing OF pillows
whose rough embrace dissolves to tenderest
caress, yet carries in itself hints Of central
FIRE, of utmost horizon, OF contact with
things in heaven and earth undreamt OF in
our philosophy. You come from one OF
George Eliot's poems as from Turkish
bath of latest science and re6nement-ap-
preciatiye Of benefit, but so battered, beaten
and disjointed as to need repose before you
can be conscious OF refreshment.
The irony of fate spares not one shining
mark. George Eliot cared most to have
the name of poet.
i venture, however to affirm that agnoS-
ticism can never exist IN true poetry. Let
verse have every quality which delights
sense, csptivates intellect, aud stirs the
heart, yet lack that ray which, coming from
q sun beyond our system, reaches, blends
with, WHITES, and assures theintimstion Of
and longing for immortality in msnAlack'
ing this you have not poetry.
1t is the necessity of the poet, his raisoh
fstre. to meet and join the moving Of
mems mind toward the hereafter. For all
minds tend thither. The dullest mortal
spirit must at times grope restlessly and
expectsntly in the outer darkness for some.
thing beyond; and this something must
exist, will exist, in a true poem. 1t need
M 10 .GnaJ ne uaorao ~ paro3 ;sa ~
Hsdes, or Nirvana; but We must not be
confronted with silence; there must be in
some way recognition of and sympathy with
this deepest yesrning of the soul. Many q
one, not knowing what, not seeing where,
but trusting in somewhat and trusting in
somewhere, has been poet and al inspira.
ton 10 his race.
The simplest bead-telling Margaret is sp-
peased with the creedless faith of her Faust,
though it be told in phrases slightly differ
ent" from the parish priests. Faust, the
Programmed, the knowledged stated, yet
feels the unseen, and longs and trusts. His
proud will brings no cold, impenetrable ex-
tipguisher to place upon this lesping fame
of spirit, which sends It's cropping ray far be-
yond his infinite horizon, ever moving
moving in its search; because he feels as
sursrce of the existence of the something
toward which it moves.
George Eliot, confronted by Margarets
question, answers sadly, with a submission
born of proud ignorance: lido not know.
Ny feeling that there is something some
where is, itself, unaccoantsble, and proves
nothing l simply do-not-know. l will
not conjecture. 1t is idle and impairment
to guess. There is that Of which you aud
both do know, because we have experience
of it. Of this only will l speak. All else
is but verbisge. We stop here"
And she stops here, before great stone
wall, higher than we can see over, thicker
than we can measure, so cold tkst we recoil
at the touch. There is no getting any far
Their. 1t is the very end.
Now, this can never be poetry for the
poet must ever open and widen our horizon.
de need not be on the wing but hiS wings
must be in sight. He need not-ney, he
must not deal with msn-msde creeds and
iogmas. He need not deal with ethics
even.
George Eliot, with brain surcharged with
.ichest thought and choicest, carefullest cul-
ure; with heart to hold all humanity, if
hat could save; with tongre OF men an an
,els to tell the knowledge Of her intellect,
he charity of her heaat-yet, having
lot faith, becomes, for al of satisfac.
ion that she gives the soul, but sounding
,rass and tinkling cymbal! She Will not
id me hope when she herself has no assur.
nee of the thing hoped for. She must not
peak of faith in the unknown. She cannot
,e cruel, bat she can be dumb; and 80 her
org procession of glorious thoughts, and
weet humanities and nobless ethics, and
tern renuneisiions, and gracious common
OTIS, and lofty ideal lives, with their scslding
ears, and bursting laughter, and flaming
that enters into mortal life
nd Times story-mskes It's matchless
march before our captured vision Up to-the
tone wall And here" she saYs, is the
ndr' Wepay accept her dietum and be-
rave, silent, undeceived and undeceiving
gnostics; bat, as such, we must say to her
Of The Spanish Gypsy" for instsnce),
This is net poetry 1t is the richest real.
sm, presenting indubitsble phenomena
rom which you draw, with strictest science,
est deduction and inference concerning the
nowu or movable. But, By virtue Of all
his, it is not poetry.
From 'Reciprooi5y."
The word reciprocity is used to denote
be qui4 pro quo which inheres in all our
elatious with each other-tAe give and take
{ the common lot, those autuaities which
be mere fact Of living makes our privilege
nd our duty; the debit and credit Of every
az affairs; tAe roll Of cur liability and as
as members Of the great firm Of
humanity.
Among al delusicns by which We Aatier
ourselves in this market of life, | know OF
zone more honest and more vain than this,
hat we are actually independent, that We |
epend only upon ourselves, that no one is
to rs.
Perhaps not one of rs Is without q per-
oral convincing experience OF the impossi-
'ihty Of standing alone in this world.
Inspect brief experience is sufficient; it