EPILOGUE
HERE, IT appears, the first tome of the Silurian Mythologies comes to an end, and you are at liberty to take off your spectacles (if you have any) and to make use of the expressions made and provided for such occasions. But if you and I have here to grin and say "good-day," I have to part also with my sweet companion, who has come all the way to Cock-Loft Land to help me and to whisper strange stories in my ear; I mean no less an one than the merry Muse of Gwent. There she is standing by the door, my lovely mistress of quaint fancies and odd memories, laughing that magic laugh that makes my landlady look grave when she sees me, since she is of London town and does not understand Silurianism, nor how Muses with flashing eyes and cherry lips come to moping scholars at midnight to comfort them. But some people always put a bad construction on everything they see and hear, and in fact they are very troublesome folks.
But now the joyous maiden must return to her hedgerows, and rivulets, and meadow realm of flowers; since in all likelihood my days and nights will shortly be wholly devoted and given over to weighty matters of state and the service of my lord of Gloucester. For a few days ago His Grace did take me aside into his cabinet, and looking
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