mote western
cities, whose description corresponded pretty closely with that of
Marian's father.

There comes a time for the healing of all griefs. The cruel wound closes
at last, though the scar, and the bitter memory of the stroke, may remain
for ever. There came a time--some years after John Saltram's death--when
Gilbert Fenton had his reward. And if the woman he won for his wife in
these latter days was not quite the fresh young beauty he had wooed under
the walnut-trees in Captain Sedgewick's garden, she was still infinitely
more beautiful than all other women in his eyes; she was still the
dearest and best and brightest and purest of all earthly creatures for
him. In that happy time--that perfect summer and harvest of his life--all
his fondest dreams have been realized. He has the home he so often
pictured, the children whose airy voices sounded in his dreams, the dear
face always near him, and, sweeter than all, the knowledge that he is
loved almost as he loves. The bitter apprenticeship has been served, and
the full reward has been granted.

For Ellen Whitelaw too has come the period of compensation, and the
farmer's worst fears have been realized as to Frank Randall's
participation in that money he loved so well. The income grudgingly left
to his wife by Stephen has enabled Mr. Randall to begin business as a
solicitor upon his own account, in a small town near London, with every
apparent prospect of success. Ellen's home is within easy reach of the
river-side villa occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Fenton; so she is able to see
her dear Marian as often as she likes; nor is there any guest at the
villa more welcome than this faithful friend.

The half-written memoir of Jonathan Swift was published; and reviewers,
who had no compunction in praising the dead, were quick to recognize the
touch of a master hand, the trenchant style of a powerful thinker. For
the public the book is of no great value; it is merely a curiosity of
literature; but it is the only monument of his own rugged genius which
bears the name of John Saltram.

Poor little Mrs. Branston has not sacrificed all the joys of life to the
manes of her faithless lover. She is now the happy wife of a dashing
naval officer, and gives pleasant parties which bring life and light into
the great house in Cavendish-square; parties to which Theobald Pallinson
comes, and where he shines as a small feeble star when greater lights are
absent--singing his last little song