by Walter Scott
CONCLUSION.
I had determined to waive the task of a concluding chapter, leaving tothe reader's imagination the arrangements which must necessarily takeplace after Lord Evandale's death. But as I was aware that precedents arewanting for a practice which might be found convenient both to readersand compilers, I confess myself to have been in a considerable dilemma,when fortunately I was honoured with an invitation to drink tea with MissMartha Buskbody, a young lady who has carried on the profession ofmantua-making at Ganderscleugh and in the neighbourhood, with greatsuccess, for about forty years. Knowing her taste for narratives of thisdescription, I requested her to look over the loose sheets the morningbefore I waited on her, and enlighten me by the experience which she musthave acquired in reading through the whole stock of three circulatinglibraries, in Ganderscleugh and the two next market-towns. When, with apalpitating heart, I appeared before her in the evening, I found her muchdisposed to be complimentary.
"I have not been more affected," said she, wiping the glasses of herspectacles, "by any novel, excepting the 'Tale of Jemmy and JennyJessamy', which is indeed pathos itself; but your plan of omitting aformal conclusion will never do. You may be as harrowing to our nerves asyou will in the course of your story, but, unless you had the geniusof the author of 'Julia de Roubignd,' never let the end be altogetheroverclouded. Let us see a glimpse of sunshine in the last chapter; it isquite essential."
"Nothing would be more easy for me, madam, than to comply with yourinjunctions; for, in truth, the parties in whom you have had the goodnessto be interested, did live long and happily, and begot sons anddaughters."
"It is unnecessary, sir," she said, with a slight nod of reprimand, "tobe particular concerning their matrimonial comforts. But what is yourobjection to let us have, in a general way, a glimpse of their futurefelicity?"
"Really, madam," said I, "you must be aware that every volume of anarrative turns less and less interesting as the author draws to aconclusion,--just like your tea, which, though excellent hyson, isnecessarily weaker and more insipid in the last cup. Now, as I think theone is by no means improved by the luscious lump of half-dissolved sugarusually found at the bottom of it, so I am of opinion that a history,growing already vapid, is but dully crutched up by a detail ofcircumstances which every reader must have anticipated, even though theauthor exhaust on them every flowery epithet in the language."
"This will not do, Mr. Pattieson," continued the lady; "you have, as Imay say, basted up your first story very hastily and clumsily at theconclusion; and, in my trade, I would have cuffed the youngest apprenticewho had put such a horrid and bungled spot of work out of her hand. Andif you do not redeem this gross error by telling us all about themarriage of Morton and Edith, and what became of the other personages ofthe story, from Lady Margaret down to Goose-Gibbie, I apprise you thatyou will not be held to have accomplished your task handsomely."
"Well, madam," I replied, "my materials are so ample that I think I cansatisfy your curiosity, unless it descend to very minute circumstancesindeed."
"First, then," said she, "for that is most essential,--Did Lady Margaretget back her fortune and her castle?"
"She did, madam, and in the easiest way imaginable, as heir, namely, toher worthy cousin, Basil Olifant, who died without a will; and thus, byhis death, not only restored, but even augmented, the fortune of her,whom, during his life, he had pursued with the most inveterate malice.John Gudyill, reinstated in his dignity, was more important than ever;and Cuddie, with rapturous delight, entered upon the cultivation of themains of Tillietudlem, and the occupation of his original cottage. But,with the shrewd caution of his character, he was never heard to boast ofhaving fired the lucky shot which repossessed his lady and himself intheir original habitations. 'After a',' he said to Jenny, who was hisonly confidant, 'auld Basil Olifant was my leddy's cousin and a grandgentleman; and though he was acting again the law, as I understand, forhe ne'er showed ony warrant, or required Lord Evandale to surrender, andthough I mind killing him nae mair than I wad do a muircock, yet it 'sjust as weel to keep a calm sough about it.' He not only did so, butingeniously enough countenanced a report that old Gudyill had done thedeed,--which was worth many a gill of brandy to him from the old butler,who, far different in disposition from Cuddie, was much more inclined toexaggerate than suppress his exploits of manhood. The blind widow wasprovided for in the most comfortable manner, as well as the little guideto the Linn; and--"
"But what is all this to the marriage,--the marriage of the principalpersonages?" interrupted Miss Buskbody, impatiently tapping hersnuff-box.
"The marriage of Morton and Miss Bellenden was delayed for severalmonths, as both went into deep mourning on account of Lord Evandale'sdeath. They were then wedded."
"I hope not without Lady Margaret's consent, sir?" said my fair critic."I love books which teach a proper deference in young persons to theirparents. In a novel the young people may fall in love without theircountenance, because it is essential to the necessary intricacy of thestory; but they must always have the benefit of their consent at last.Even old Delville received Cecilia, though the daughter of a man of lowbirth."
"And even so, madam," replied I, "Lady Margaret was prevailed on tocountenance Morton, although the old Covenanter, his father, stuck sorelywith her for some time. Edith was her only hope, and she wished to seeher happy; Morton, or Melville Morton, as he was more generally called,stood so high in the reputation of the world, and was in every otherrespect such an eligible match, that she put her prejudice aside, andconsoled herself with the recollection that marriage went by destiny, aswas observed to her, she said, by his most sacred Majesty, Charles theSecond of happy memory, when she showed him the portrait of hergrand-father Fergus, third Earl of Torwood, the handsomest man of histime, and that of Countess Jane, his second lady, who had a hump-backand only one eye. This was his Majesty's observation, she said, on oneremarkable morning when he deigned to take his _disjune_--"
"Nay," said Miss Buskbody, again interrupting me, "if she brought suchauthority to countenance her acquiescing in a misalliance, there was nomore to be said.--And what became of old Mrs. What's her name, thehousekeeper?"
"Mrs. Wilson, madam?" answered I. "She was perhaps the happiest of theparty; for once a year, and not oftener, Mr. and Mrs. Melville Mortondined in the great wainscotted chamber in solemn state, the hangingsbeing all displayed, the carpet laid down, and the huge brass candlestickset on the table, stuck round with leaves of laurel. The preparing theroom for this yearly festival employed her mind for six months before itcame about, and the putting matters to rights occupied old Alison theother six, so that a single day of rejoicing found her business for allthe year round."
"And Niel Blane?" said Miss Buskbody.
"Lived to a good old age, drank ale and brandy with guests of allpersuasions, played Whig or Jacobite tunes as best pleased his customers,and died worth as much money as married Jenny to a cock laird. I hope,ma'am, you have no other inquiries to make, for really--"
"Goose-Gibbie, sir?" said my persevering friend,--"Goose-Gibbie, whoseministry was fraught with such consequences to the personages of thenarrative?"
"Consider, my dear Miss Buskbody, (I beg pardon for thefamiliarity),--but pray consider, even the memory of the renownedScheherazade, that Empress of Tale-tellers, could not preserve everycircumstance. I am not quite positive as to the fate of Goose-Gibbie,but am inclined to think him the same with one Gilbert Dudden, aliasCalf-Gibbie, who was whipped through Hamilton for stealing poultry."
Miss Buskbody now placed her left foot on the fender, crossed her rightleg over her knee, lay back on the chair, and looked towards the ceiling.When I observed her assume this contemplative mood, I concluded she wasstudying some farther cross-examination, and therefore took my hat andwished her a hasty good-night, ere the Demon of Criticism had suppliedher with any more queries. In like manner, gentle Reader, returning youmy thanks for the patience which has conducted you thu
s far, I take theliberty to withdraw myself from you for the present.
