at all, I believe, in consequence of her ducking in the
harbour; but, being of a peevish and "worritting" disposition, she had
worn herself out in her attempts to make other people's lives a burden to
them. I do not know what has become of Harry Barton; but I know that he
has never revisited Babbicombe, nor even written to the fair Nelly. I
suppose he is helping to manage his father's cotton mill, and will in due
course marry the daughter of a wealthy manufacturer. Glenville has
become quite a rising barrister, popular in both branches of his
profession, and has announced his fixed intention to remain happy and
unmarried till his death. Looking into the future, however, with the eye
of a prophet, the present writer thinks he can see Glenville walking arm
in arm with a tall, graceful lady, attended by two little girls to whom
he is laughingly talking--but the dream fades from me, and I wonder will
it ever come true. Thornton, of course, married Miss Delamere (how could
it be otherwise), but, alas! there are no children, and this unhappy want
is hardly compensated by the indefatigable attentions of Mamma Delamere,
who is never weary of condoling with that poor, desolate couple,
imploring them to resign themselves to the fate which has been assigned
to them, and to strengthen their minds by the principles of true
philosophy and the writings of great thinkers; by which she hopes they
may acquire that harmony of the soul in private life which is so much to
be desiderated in both politics and religion. Nobody knows what she
means.

Nelly was not forgiven for one whole year. When she and Hawkstone met,
they used only the customary expressions of mere acquaintances; but
lovers are known to make use of signals which are unperceived by the
outside world; and, after a year's skirmishing, a peace was finally
concluded, and a happier couple than John Hawkstone and Nelly cannot be
found in the whole country, and I am afraid to say how many of their
children are already tumbling about the boats in the harbour.

The colonel died, and Mrs. Bagshaw lamented his death most truly, and has
nothing but gentleness left in her nature. Her daughter has married the
young artist, whose pictures of brown-sailed boats and fresh seas
breaking in white foam against the dark rocks have become quite the rage
at the Academy. The minor characters have disappeared beneath the waves,
and nothing remains to be said except the last word, "farewell."