The Birmingham age-herald., 1908-07-19


 their beauty of form, they are real. deal ing with true human emotions and lives and awakening chords in our own hearts a string struck on a harp will make another harp reply with ghostly music.
 Every character. little and big, in "Silas Marner" is commonplace to the last limit. There is a plot, but it does not act as center of interest for the story. In fact it is comm onplace like the charac- ters, and relatively unimportant in itself. There are no great passions, no great soul problems, no thrills
 And yet Silas Manner, the unattractive, timid, stupid weaver of Rayeloe, stands we'll among the foremost of all those men and women whom genius has made more real than the millions of real men and women who have lived and died.
 He stands there because in every one of US, rich or poor. wise or stupid, there is a bit of Silas Manner. Like him, we look dumbly, gropingly, with near-sighted eyes at the mystery of lifetand Of God. IN his youth silas Manner was one of
 those pale artisans, overworked phy- x sically and overwrought mentally, who, without knowing it. were preparing England for d great change in the early part of the 18th century. In these hum ble men, lowing their neeks as uneom- plaining servants to the yoke of never ending and poorly paid labor. was the germ of the manufacturing class that was to take it's full and arrogant revenge on society when at last it arose and be- came the ruler instead of the serf
 However, the generation of weavers to which sfas Marner belonged had not reached the daring, independence of thought to blame society for it's ills or to question the perfect prejudice of state in which some are masters while the many are servants. Instead, they sought remedy for their troubles in forming fer vid, necessarily narrow and often fanatic religious sects.
 Silas Marner belonged to one of these chapels in a manufacturing town. He was highly thought of in that little hid den world, and a peculiar interest had centered in him from the time when he had fallen into sudden rigidity and suspension of consciousness at a prayer meeting. It lasted an hour or more. His ministers and fellow members saw in 1t a divine gift, and they and Slas himself would have considered it impious to seek 6 medical explanation. A less truthful man might have been tempted to invent a vision A less sane man might have imagined one. Silas was too honest, and, though helpless before religious mystery. was too sane
 So he accepted occasional lapses into oatalepsy as being something of spiritual significance, laid upon him for some un- known, but holy purpose.
 Among the members of his chapel there was one with whom he lived in such close friendship that they were called David and Jonathan. This friends name was William Dane, and he, too, was regarded as shining example of youthful piety Marners love for him was all the great CT for the great difference between them. His impossible, self-doubting nature leaned on the others unshaken assurance and self-confidence.
 The difference between them was IS great outwardly as inwardly. The hesi- tating, groping expression of Marner's face was emphasized by a defenseless, deerlike gaze which belongs to large, prominent near-sighted eyes. Danes ex- pression of self-complacent inward tri- umph was intensified by narrow slanting eyes and compressed lips.
 In his 25th year Silas became engaged to a young woman in the chapel and it was a great delight to him that she did not object to the presence of his friend William in their Sunday meetings. After a while he observed that her manner to- ward him changed curiously. He asked her if she wished to break off their en- gagement, but she denied any such de- sire.
 Soon afterward deacon became ill Being q lonely man he was tended night and day by younger brethren in turn. One night Silas took the night watch, which was to last till o'clock in the morning, when he was to be relieved by William.
 When Silas sat down by his bedside the old man. was breathing peacefully. The next conscious knowledge that came .o the young weaver was that he was star ing down at a dead man whose limbs had already become rigid.
 He looked at his watch It was e4 o'clock in the morning. How was it that William had not arrived? He hastened to summon the clergyman and some friends and went home to rest. But he was sumomned to the chapel soon after daylight He found the vestry gathered, and took a seat to which he was led. There he waited, puzzled, with the eyes of those who to him represented God $ people fixed solemnly upon him.
 The clergyman held up Silas Marner's pocketknife and asked him where he had left it. Silas could not remember that he had left 1t anywhere. He was ex- had been found in the bureau by the de- parted deacons bedside, in the place where the bag of church money had been. Some hand had removed that bag, and whose hand could it be if not the hand of the man to whom the knife be- longed?
 For soms time Silas was mute with as- tonishment. Then he said God will clear me. Search me and my dwelling"
 The search was made. 1t ended in Will liam Dane finding the empty bag tucked behind the chest of drawers in Silas Marner's chamber On this William ex- horted his friend to confess. Silas turned a look of keen reproach on him and saaid "Willlam, for nine years that you have known me, have you ever known me to tell lie? But God will clear me- "Rrother" said William 'hOw do I