CONCLUSION.
Our chronicle is ended, and we cannot detain the reader longer,
listening to those honest kindly voices, which have, perhaps, spoken
quite as much as he is willing to give ear to. Let us hope, that in
consideration of their kindness and simplicity, he may pardon
what appeared frivolous--seeing that humanity beat under all, and
kindness--like the gentle word of the poet--is always gain.
The history is therefore done, and all ends here upon the bourne of
comedy. Redbud, with all her purity and tenderness--Verty, with his
forest instincts and simplicity--the lawyer, and poet, and the rest,
must go again into silence, from which they came. They are gone away
now, and their voices sound no more; their eyes beam no longer; all
their merry quips and sighs, their griefs and laughter, die away--the
comedy is ended. Do not think harshly of the poor writer, who regrets
to part with them--who feels that he must miss their silent company
in the long hours of the coming autumn nights. Poor puppets of the
imagination! some may say, what's all this mock regret? No, no! not
only of the imagination: of the heart as well!
This said, all is said; but, perhaps, a few words of the after fate of
Verty, and the rest, may not be inappropriate.
The two kind hearts which loved each other so--Verty and Redbud--were
married in due course of time: and Ralph and Fanny too. Miss Lavinia
and the poet of chancery--Mistress O'Calligan and the knight of the
shears--Miss Sallianna and the unfortunate Jinks--all these pairs,
ere long, were united. Mr. Jinks perfected his revenge upon Miss
Sallianna, as he thought, by marrying her--but, we believe, the result
of his revenge was misery. Mistress O'Calligan accepted the hand of
Mr. O'Brallaghan, upon hearing of this base desertion; and so, the
desires of all were accomplished--for weal or woe.
Be sure, _ma mere_ lived, with Verty and Redbud all her days
thereafter; and our honest Verty often mounted Cloud, and went away,
on bright October mornings, to the hills, and visited the old hunting
lodge: and smoothing, thoughtfully, the ancient head of Longears,
pondered on that strange, wild dream of the far past, which slowly
developed itself under the hand of Him, the Author and Life, indeed,
who brought the light!
And one day, standing there beside the old hunting lodge, with Redbud,
Verty, as we still would call him, pointed to the skies, and pressing,
with his encircling arm, the young form, said, simply:
"How good and merciful He was--to give me all this happiness--and
you!"
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Last of the Foresters, by John Esten Cooke