University of Virginia Library

THE CONCLUSION.

The rest of our story is soon told. The awful
death of Catharine produced a powerful effect upon
the character of Miss Atherton. She postponed her
marriage, and gave herself up to remorseful and sad
reflections. It wrought a radical change in her heart.
She abandoned her passion for coquetry, and wrote
Pinckney, who had informed Langdale of his break
with Fanny, the cause of that lady's conduct. True,
however, to the last, to her own pride of character,
she averred that Fanny's sight of his letters was entirely
accidental. This Fanny believed herself; and
as Pinckney and she were soon reconciled, and more
devoted than ever, she so told him.

Pinckney, true again to his nature, never told Fanny
of the depth of his first love—while she believed him
irresistible; and had no doubt that Miss Atherton had
loved him. That lady, whenever she alluded to
Langdale, of her acquaintance with Pinckney abroad,
always treated the matter as if Pinckney had entertained
a boyish love for her, and that she honoured
him in whim, until she found him serious. Though
these parties were soon married, and live now intimate
friends, the whole truth of the attachment which
existed between Pinckney and Miss Atherton, has
never been revealed to the lady of the one or the lord
of the other. Langdale esteems himself the happiest
of men, and holds himself entitled now to speak more
knowingly of the sex than ever.

Bronson and Elwood were never heard of definitely
after they left the latter's house together. It was
reported, and believed, that a traveller in Kentucky,
who knew Bronson well, had paid a visit to the penitentiary

where he recognised him as a convict, sentenced
upon several indictments for a great number of
years, for passing counterfeit money. A New Orleans
paper contained the other day the description of a
man who was found murdered on the levee of that
city. The description answered to Elwood's. It
was thought he had been successful at the gaming
table, and had been followed out by a ruffian who
murdered and rifled him. What confirmed the
opinion that the corpse was his, was the fact that its
linen bore his initials.

The whole gang of counterfeiters was entirely
broken up by the sagacity of Ross, and the treachery
of Hall's wife, who, by the connivance of her husband,
had informed him of their manœuvres. Ross waited
until liberal rewards were offered, before he explored
the cave in the hills, which our readers may remember
Gordon entered one night. There he detected
most of the gang, who were visited by the law with
a just punishment.

Deep and long was the consultation between Miss
Rachellina and her brother, upon Sidney's determination
to marry Sarah Grattan. At last they concluded
that certain branches of her family were certainly
highly respectable; and that they had better
say not a word in opposition to Sidney's wishes.
Sarah Grattan, therefore, with restored health, soon
gave him her hand, with as noble and gentle a heart
in it as ever throbbed in a woman's bosom.

Miss Rachellina and Miss Bentley were much
perplexed with the case of Robert Gammon and his
cousin. All others were for having them married
immediately. Not so, thought these ladies. Just,
however, as they had come to the decision that they
could not certainly be married now, at the instigation
of Sidney Fitzhurst they went before Squire Norris,
attended by Aunt Agnes, and had the knot tied. Sidney
Fitzhurst established them on a farm, where Bobby

has become thrifty and industrious—Pompey, now
too old to drive the carriage, spends much of his time
there, where he loves to officiate as the especial protector
of a fine boy, of whom Peggy soon made Bobby
the father. He however never fails to make dutiful
reverence to his master each day, and enquire after
his gout, which we are glad to learn is getting
better.

Colonel Bentley has been so fortunate as to obtain
a handsome settlement from his aunt, Miss Amelia
Bentley, which has placed him above her caprices.

As for Miss Bentley and her friend Miss Rachellina,
they have become greater gossips than ever; and they
still persist in declaring, notwithstanding the many
love adventures of which they have latterly had cognizance,
that the chivalry of the tender passion is not
what it was even in their short memories.

Aunt Agnes is still living in her little cabin. Sarah
used all her influence to induce her to move to Holly;
but she refused, though she is almost a daily visitor
there.

Thompson was killed by one of his slaves, who
made his escape to Canada. Pinckney has built himself
a splendid mansion near Langdale's, in the city.
There he spends his winters with his bride when they
are not on a visit to the South. His summers are
spent at Holly. It is rumoured in the literary circles
that a novel, founded upon adventures abroad, which
is soon to appear, is from his pen. Critical gentlemen
who have seen the MS. speak very highly of it.
And now, gentle reader, which of our couples think
you are the happiest? Langdale and Miss Atherton,
Pinckney and Fanny, Sidney and Sarah, or Bobby
and Peggy? Knew I your character I could tell—and
this much I will say, that your life will be a bright
one, though you were but as happy as the one you
think the least happy—I hope it may be happier than
the happiest. How part we—as friends? I have

known you but so slightly, and at such long intervals,
that I fear you will not claim me as an acquaintance,
except upon this passing self-introduction, which will
be as soon forgotten by you, and yet, by the light of
my life's hope, I would rather win your smile than
own broad acres—particularly if you are of the sex
called the gentler.

At long intervals, but perchance with more thought
than you will give me credit for, I have penned these
idle pages for your amusement. Sometimes, where
the crescent city New Orleans sits near the great
ocean, amid the things of the voluptuous and the gay
in that glorious city; and, sometimes, where St. Louis
lifts a head that will be the proudest in the west,
and where I have known a hospitality no where more
welcoming. Sometimes, where Louisville, with Kentucky
chivalry, greets the stranger; and, sometimes,
where queen city, Cincinnati, lords it over the beautiful
Ohio, with law books round me; sometimes, in New
York, the great mother of the empire state; and, sometimes
here, in the city of Penn, which is neither last
nor least in my affection, and where I write this now,
where I have received a greeting so quiet and kind,
that it seemed like a quaker birthright of which one cannot
early dispossess themselves; amid all these places,
with more cares upon my head than years—amidst
much waywardness and as much gaiety, and more
gloom and wildness than I'll tell of, though they're
past, have I attempted to trace for thee a faint portraiture
of the passions of our race, as we see them in
our daily intercourse.

Hereafter, I trust we shall meet under different and,
on my part, happier auspices. Until then, dear reader,
from my heart of hearts, I bid you an affectionate
adieu.