The fortunes of those who have figured in this tale are nearly closed.

 

The little that remains¹ to their historian to relate, is told in few and simple words. Before three months had passed, Rose Fleming and Harry² Maylie were married in the village church which was henceforth to be the scene of the young clergyman's labours; on the same day they entered into possession of their new and happy home. Mrs. Maylie took up her abode⁴ with her son and daughter-in-law, to enjoy, during the tranquil⁵ remainder of her days, the greatest felicity that age and worth can know--the contemplation of the happiness of those on whom the warmest affections and tenderest cares of a well-spent life, have been unceasingly bestowed⁶. It appeared, on full and careful investigation⁷, that if the wreck⁸ of property remaining in the custody⁹ of Monks¹⁰ (which had never prospered¹¹ either in his hands or in those of his mother) were equally divided between himself and Oliver, it would yield, to each, little more than three thousand pounds.

 

By the provisions of his father's will, Oliver would have been entitled to the whole; but Mr. Brownlow, unwilling¹² to deprive the elder son of the opportunity of retrieving¹³ his former vices¹⁴ and pursuing an honest career, proposed this mode of distribution, to which his young charge joyfully¹⁵ acceded¹⁶. Monks, still bearing that assumed name, retired¹⁷ with his portion to a distant part of the New World; where, having quickly squandered¹⁸ it, he once more fell into his old courses, and, after undergoing a long confinement¹⁹ for some fresh act of fraud and knavery²⁰, at length sunk under an attack of his old disorder²¹, and died in prison.

 

As far from home, died the chief remaining members of his friend Fagin's gang. Mr. Brownlow adopted Oliver as his son.

 

Removing with him and the old housekeeper²² to within a mile of the parsonage-house, where his dear friends resided, he gratified the only remaining wish of Oliver's warm and earnest heart, and thus linked together a little society, whose condition approached as nearly to one of perfect happiness as can ever be known in this changing world. Soon after the marriage of the young people, the worthy²³ doctor returned to Chertsey, where, bereft²⁴ of the presence of his old friends, he would have been discontented if his temperament²⁶ had admitted of such a feeling; and would have turned quite peevish²⁷ if he had known how.

 

For two or three months, he contented²⁵ himself with hinting that he feared the air began to disagree with him; then, finding that the place really no longer was, to him, what it had been, he settled his business on his assistant, took a bachelor's cottage outside the village of which his young friend was pastor²⁸, 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.

 

In each and all he has since become famous throughout the neighborhood, as a most profound authority. Before his removal, he had managed to contract a strong friendship for Mr. Grimwig, which that eccentric gentleman cordially reciprocated²⁹.

 

He is accordingly visited by Mr. Grimwig a great many times in the course of the year.

 

On all such occasions, Mr. Grimwig plants, fishes, and carpenters, with great ardour; doing everything in a very singular and unprecedented³⁰ manner, but always maintaining with his favourite asseveration, that his mode is the right one.

 

On Sundays, he never fails to criticise³¹ the sermon to the young clergyman's face:

 

always informing Mr. Losberne, in strict confidence afterwards, that he considers it an excellent performance, but deems it as well not to say so.

 

It is a standing³² and very favourite joke, for Mr. Brownlow to rally him on his old prophecy concerning 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 forth³ 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 Fagin:

 

and considering his profession not altogether as safe a one as he could wish:

 

was, for some little time, at a loss for the means of a livelihood³³, not burdened with too much work.

 

After some consideration, he went into business as an Informer, in which calling he realises a genteel subsistence.#p#分页标题#e#

 

His plan is, to walk out once a week during church time attended by Charlotte in respectable attire³⁴.

 

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 indigence³⁵ and misery³⁶, and finally became paupers³⁷ in that very same workhouse in which they had once lorded it over others.

 

Mr. Bumble has been heard to say, that in this reverse and degradation³⁸, he has not even spirits to be thankful 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 parsonage, but divide their attentions so equally among its inmates³⁹, and Oliver and Mr. Brownlow, and Mr. Losberne, that to this day the villagers have never been able to discover to which establishment they properly belong. Master Charles Bates, appalled⁴⁰ by Sikes's crime, fell into a train of reflection 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 the past, resolved to amend⁴¹ it in some new sphere of action.

 

He struggled hard, and suffered much, for some time; but, having a contented disposition⁴², and a good purpose, succeeded in the end; and, from being a farmer's drudge⁴³, and a carrier's lad, he is now the merriest young grazier in all Northamptonshire. And now, the hand that traces these words, falters⁴⁴, as it approaches the conclusion 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 endeavouring to depict⁴⁵ it.

 

I would show Rose Maylie in all the bloom and grace of early womanhood, shedding on her secluded⁴⁶ path in life soft and gentle light, that fell on all who trod it with her, and shone into their hearts.

 

I would paint her the life and joy of the fire-side circle and the lively summer group; I would follow her through the sultry fields at noon, and hear the low tones of her sweet voice in the moonlit evening walk; I would watch her in all her goodness and charity abroad, and the smiling untiring discharge of domestic duties at home; I would paint her and her dead sister's child happy in their love for one another, and passing whole hours together in picturing the friends whom they had so sadly lost; I would summon before me, once again, those joyous⁴⁷ little faces that clustered round her knee, and listen to their merry prattle⁴⁸; I would recall the tones of that clear laugh, and conjure⁴⁹ up the sympathising tear that glistened⁵⁰ in the soft blue eye.

 

These, and a thousand looks and smiles, and turns of thought and speech--I would fain recall them every one. How Mr. Brownlow went on, from day to day, filling the mind of his adopted child with stores of knowledge, and becoming attached to him, more and more, as his nature developed itself, and showed the thriving seeds of all he wished him to become--how he traced in him new traits of his early friend, that awakened⁵¹ in his own bosom⁵² old remembrances, melancholy⁵³ and yet sweet and soothing--how the two orphans⁵⁴, tried by adversity, remembered its lessons in mercy to others, and mutual⁵⁵ love, and fervent⁵⁶ thanks to Him who had protected and preserved them--these are all matters which need not to be told.

 

I have said that they were truly happy; and without strong affection and humanity of heart, and gratitude⁵⁷ to that Being whose code is Mercy, and whose great attribute is Benevolence⁵⁸ to all things that breathe, happiness can never be attained⁵⁹. Within the altar of the old village church there stands a white marble tablet, which bears as yet but one word:

 

'AGNES.'

 

There is no coffin⁶⁰ in that tomb; and may it be many, many years, before another name is placed above it!

 

But, if the spirits of the Dead ever come back to earth, to visit spots hallowed by the love--the love beyond the grave--of those whom they knew in life, I believe that the shade of Agnes sometimes hovers⁶¹ round that solemn nook. I believe it none the less because that nook is in a Church, and she was weak and erring⁶².

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