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publicans； and the gentleman being accommodated with
threepennyworth 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
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gradually reduced to great indigence and misery； and finally
became paupers 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 degradation； 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 inmates； 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； appalled 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 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 lad； he is now the merriest young grazier in all
Northamptonshire。
And now； the hand that traces these words； falters； as it
approaches the conclusion of its task； and would weave； for a little
longer space； the threads 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
depict it。 I would show Rose Maylie in all the bloom and grace of
early womanhood； shedding on her secluded 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 fireside circle
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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 joyous little faces that
clustered round her knee； and listen to their merry prattle； I would
recall the tones of that clear laugh； and conjure up the
sympathising tear that glistened 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 awakened
in his own bosom old remembrances； melancholy and yet sweet
and soothing—how the two orphans； tried by adversity；
remembered its lessons in mercy to others； and mutual love； and
fervent thanks to Him who had protected and preserved them—
these are all matters which need not be told。 I have said that they
were truly happy； and without strong affection and humanity of
heart； and gratitude to that Being whose code is Mercy； and whose
great attribute is Benevolence to all things that breathe； happiness
can never be attained。
Within the altar of the old village church there stands a white
marble tablet； which bears as yet but one word： “AGNES。” There
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is no coffin 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 hovers round that solemn nook。 I
believe it none the less because that nook is in a church； and she
was weak and erring。
The End
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics