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CHAPTER XLVII. IN WHICH THE AUTHOR OF THE MS. OMITS DESCRIBING FOUR WEDDINGS.
  

  
  
  
  

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47. CHAPTER XLVII.
IN WHICH THE AUTHOR OF THE MS. OMITS DESCRIBING FOUR
WEDDINGS.

I need not add to this history a description of the merry
wedding parties which ere long filled three houses with merriment
and rejoicing.

“Those particular scenes are much more agreeable to
attend than to describe; and perhaps all description would
only blur the picture of those jubilees, full of wild revelry,
as were all such in the ancient colony and Old Dominion—
indeed, are at the day we live in.

“Perhaps the saddest bridegroom was our friend the
Captain, whose honest face could not look very cheerful
when his brother's pale cheeks came to his memory, and
when the bon père was away. But he comforted himself
with the thought that he would have both of them at `Flodden'—the
old man at least, certainly,—where the best chamber
in the mansion was set apart for the old fisherman.

“Mr. Effingham, as we may imagine, was radiant with
joy; and it is scarcely too much to say, that Clare was
quite as happy. The sisters were married on the same day;
and, at the Hall, Miss Alethea gave her hand to Mr. Jack
Hamilton, almost at the same moment. That unconquerable
bachelor was fairly conquered and enslaved.

“Our friend Lanky married Donsy soon afterwards, and
the Captain kept his promise; and the happy young couple
took up their abode at the cottage. Lanky often told his
wife that he owed his success in gaining her affections to the
advice of the Captain, which had led him to don those military
accoutrements which had made such an impression upon
her heart. But Donsy to the last denied that such was the
fact; and was not even convinced when Lanky's pine-knot
head was sawed argumentatively from a point due north-east
to the opposite portion of the compass.

“Our comedy is now quite ended. Having listened for
many hours to those ante-revolutionary voices speaking of
themselves, and telling us what thoughts, and schemes, and
hopes, and fears occupied them then, we may go out into the


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broad sunny world to-day, no worse for having heard those
sincere utterances. The past has tried to speak, and the poor
chronicler has written down what the low voice dictated.
If there is any good in what he has placed on the page—a
scene of conquered passion, or pure love, denying self, his
hours have not been thrown away. And now, the history
being ended, he will rest.”