The real purport of the story is contained in its closing words, where the
reader is told that the true memorial left behind him by Edgar Tryan is to
be found in a life saved to all noble thing's by his efforts.

It is Janet Dempster, rescued from self-despair, strengthened with
divine hopes, and now looking back on years of purity and helpful
labor. The man who has left such a memorial behind him must have been
one whose heart beat with true compassion, and whose lips were moved by
fervent faith.

These _Scenes of Clerical Life_ surpass all George Eliot's later novels in
one respect--their pathos. _Adam Bede_ comes nearer them in this particular
than any of the later works, but even that novel does not equal them in
their power to lay hold of feeling and sympathy and in moving the reader to
tears. They differ greatly in this respect from another short story,
written only a few years later, entitled "Brother Jacob." This story has
more of light banter in it than any other novel of George Eliot's, and less
of tenderness and pathos. It is but another lesson on her great theme of
_retribution_. The author says in the last sentence of the story that "we
see in it an admirable instance of the unexpected forms in which the great
Nemesis hides herself." The central thought of the story is, that even in
the lives of the most ordinary persons, and in the case of even the
smallest departures from the right, there is a power of retribution at work
bringing us an unfailing punishment for the evil we do.

The literary excellences of the _Scenes from Clerical Life_ are many. They
are simple, charming stories, full of life, and delightful in tone. Their
humor is rare and effective, never coarse, but racy and touching. Their
tenderness of tone lays warm hold upon the reader's sympathies and brings
him closer to the throbbing hearts of his fellow-men. There is a pure
idyllic loveliness and homelikeness about these stories that is exquisite.
They all evidently grew out of the tender memories and associations of
George Eliot's girlhood.

In _Adam Bede_ the author's purpose is concentrated on character and the
moral unfoldment of the lives she describes, while the thorough dramatic
unity is lacking which such a work demands. It is a delightful picture of
country life, and for idyllic loveliness is scarcely equalled, never
surpassed, in English literature. The charm of the narrative is only
rivalled by the deep human i