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perfect happiness as can ever be known
in this changing world.
Soon after the marriage of the young
people, the worthy doctor returned to
Chertsey, where, bereft of the presence
of his old friends, he would have been
discontented, if his temperament had ad¬
mitted of such a feeling, and would have
img quite feverish if he had known
Ow.
For two or three months, he contented
himself with hinting that he feared the
air began to disagree with him; and
then, finding that the place really was to
him no longer what it had been before,
settled his business on his assistant, took
a bachelor’s cottage just outside the vil¬
lage of which his young friend was pas¬
tor, and instantaneously recovered. Here
he took to gardening, planting, fishing,
carpentering, and various other pursuits,
of a similar kind, all undertaken with his
characteristic impetuosity; and in each
and all he has since become famous
throughout the neighbourhood as a most
profound authority.
Before his removal, he had managed
to contract a strong friendship for Mr.
Grimwig, which that eccentric gentle¬
man cordially reciprocated. He is ac¬
cordingly visited by him a great many
times in the course of the year; and on
all such occasions, Mr. Grimwig plants,
fishes, and carpenters with great ardour,
doing every thing in a very singular and
unprecedented manner, but always main¬
taining, with his favourite asseveration,
that his mode is the right one. On Sun¬
days, he never fails to criticise the ser¬
mon to the young clergyman’s face, al¬
ways informing Mr. Losberne, in strict
confidence, afterwards, that he considers
it an excellent performance, but thinks it
it as well not to say so. It is a standing
and very favourite joke for Mr. Brownlow,
to rally him on his old prophecy concern¬
ing Oliver, and to remind him of the
night on which they sat with the watch
between them, waiting his return; but
Mr. Grimwig contends that he was right
in the main, and in proof thereof remarks,
that Oliver did not come back, after all,
which always calls forth a laugh on his
side, and increases his good humour.
Mr. Noah Claypole receiving a free
pardon from the crown, in consequence
of being admitted approver against the
Jew, and considering his profession not
altogether so safe a one as he could wish,
was for some little time at a loss for the
means of a livelihood, not burthened with
—
tion, he went into business as an informer,
in which calling he realizes a genteel
subsistence. His plan is to walk out
once a week during church-time, attend¬
ed by Charlotte, in respectable attire.
The lady faints away at the doors of
charitable publicans, and the gentleman,
being accommodated with three penny¬
worth of brandy to restore her, lays an
information next day, and pockets half
the penalty. Sometimes, Mr. Claypole
faints himself, but the result is the same.
Mr. and Mrs. Bumble, deprived of their
situations, were gradually reduced to
great indigence and misery, and finally
became paupers in that very same work¬
house in which they had once lorded it
over others. Mr. Bumble has been heard
to say, that in this reverse and degrada¬
tion, he has not even spirits to be thank¬
ful for being separated from his wife.
As to Mr. Giles and Brittles, they
still remain in their old posts, although
the former is bald, and the last-named
boy quite grey. ‘They sleep at the par¬
sonage, but divide their attention so
equally between its inmates and Oliver,
and Mr. Brownlow, and Mr. Losberne,
that to this day the villagers have never
been able to discover to what establish¬
ment they properly belong.
Master Charles Bates, appalled by
Sikes’s crime, fell into a train of reflec¬
tion whether an honest life was not, after
all, the best. Arriving at the conclusion
that it certainly was, he turned his back
upon the scenes of his past life, resolved
to amend it in some new sphere of action.
He struggled hard, and suffered much
for some time; but, having a contented
disposition and a good purpose, succeeded
in the end, and from being a farmer’s
drudge and a carrier’s Jad, is now the
merriest young grazier in-all Northamp¬
tonshire. ys ae
And now, the hand that traces these
words, falters as it approaches the con¬
clusion of its task, and would weave, for
a little longer space, the thread of these
adventures,
I would fain linger yet with a few of
those among whom I have so long moved,
and share their happiness by endeavour¬
ing to depict it. I would show Rose
Maylie in all the bloom and grace of
early womanhood, shedding upon her se¬
cluded path in life such soft and gentle
light as fell on all who trod it with her,
and shone into their hearts. I would paint
her the life and joy of the fireside circle,
and the evening summer group; I would