consequences from the house of Perch!

Mr. Dombey walks up Gorgeous are Mr. Dom

to the drawing-room to bide his time. bey's new blue coat, fawn-coloured pantaloons, and lilac waistcoat; and a whisper goes about the house that Mr. Dombey's hair is curled.

A double-knock announces the arrival of the major, who is gorgeous, too, and wears a whole geranium in his button-hole, and has his hair curled tight and crisp, as well the native knows. "Dombey!" says the major, putting out both hands, "how are you?"

66

Major," says Mr. Dombey, "how are You?"

"By Jove, sir," says the major, "Joey B. is in such case this morning, sir,” and here he hits himself hard upon the breast"in such case this morning, sir, that, damme, Dombey, he has half a mind to make a double marriage of it, sir, and take the mother."

Mr. Dombey smiles; but faintly, even for him; for Mr. Dombey feels that he is going to be related to the mother, and that, under those circumstances, she is not to be joked about.

"Dombey," says the major, seeing this, "I give you joy. I congratulate you, Dombey. By the Lord, sir," says the major, "you are more to be envied, this day, than any man in England!"

Here again, Mr. Dombey's assent is qualified; because he is going to confer a great distinction on a lady; and, no doubt, she is to be envied most.

"As to Edith Granger, sir," pursues the major, "there is not a woman in all Europe but might—and would, sir, you will allow Bagstock to add - and would — give her ears, and her ear-rings too, to be in Edith Granger's place."

"You are good enough to say so, major," says Mr. Dombey. "Dombey," returns the major, "you know it. Let us have no false delicacy. You know it. Do you know it, or do you not, Dombey?" says the major, almost in a passion.

"Oh, really, major-"

"Damme, sir," retorts the major, "do you know that fact, or do you not? Dombey! Is old Joe your friend? Are we

on that footing of unreserved intimacy, Dombey, that may justify a man —a blunt old Joseph B., sirin speaking out, or am I to take open order, Dombey, and to keep my distance, and to stand on forms?"

"My dear Major Bagstock," says Mr. Dombey, with a gratified air, " 'you are quite warm."

"By gad, sir," says the major, "I am warm. Joseph B. does not deny it, Dombey. He is warm. This is an occasion, sir, that calls forth all the honest sympathies remaining in an old, infernal, battered, used up, invalided, J. B. carcase. And I tell you what, Dombey - at such a time a man must blurt out

what he feels, or put a muzzle on; and Joseph Bagstock tells you to your face, Dombey, as he tells his club behind your back, that he never will be muzzled when Paul Dombey is in question. Now, damme, sir," concludes the major, with great firmness, "what do you make of that?

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Major," says Mr. Dombey, "I assure you that I am really obliged to you. I had no idea of checking your too partial

friendship."

"Not too partial, sir!" exclaims the choleric major. bey, I deny it ! "

66

"Dom

"Your friendship, I will say, then," pursues Mr. Dombey, Nor can I forget, major, on such an occa

on any account.

sion as the present, how much I am indebted to it."

"Dombey," says the major, with appropriate action, "that is the hand of Joseph Bagstock; of plain old Joey B., sir, if you like that better! That is the hand, of which His Royal Highness the late Duke of York did me the honour to observe, sir, to His Royal Highness the late Duke of Kent, that it was the hand of Josh.; a rough and tough, and possibly an up-to-snuff, old vagabond. Dombey, may the present moment be the least unhappy of our lives. God bless you!"

Now enters Mr. Carker, gorgeous likewise, and smiling like a wedding-guest, indeed. He can scarcely let Mr. Dombey's hand go, he is so congratulatory; and he shakes the major's hand so heartily at the same time that his voice shakes, too, in accord with his arms, as it comes sliding from between his teeth.

"The very day is auspicious," says Mr. Carker. "The brightest and most genial weather! I hope I am not a moment late?"

"Punctual to your time, sir," says the major.

"I am rejoiced, I am sure," says Mr. Carker. "I was afraid I might be a few seconds after the appointed time, for I was delayed by a procession of wagons; and I took the liberty of

"to

A man

riding round to Brook Street" this to Mr. Dombey leave a few poor rarities of flowers for Mrs. Dombey. in my position, and so distinguished as to be invited here, is proud to offer some homage in acknowledgment of his vassalage; and as I have no doubt Mrs. Dombey is overwhelmed with what is costly and magnificent with a strange glance at his patron-"I hope the very poverty of my offering may find favour for it."

"Mrs. Dombey that is to be," returns Mr. Dombey, condescendingly, "will be very sensible of your attention, Carker, I am sure."

"And if she is to be Mrs. Dombey this morning, sir," says the major, putting down his coffee cup, and looking at his watch, "it's high time we were off!

Forth, in a barouche, ride Mr. Dombey, Major Bagstock, and Mr. Carker, to the church. Mr. Sownds the beadle has long risen from the steps, and is in waiting, with his cocked hat in his hand. Mrs. Miff curtseys and proposes chairs in the vestry. Mr. Dombey prefers remaining in the church. As he looks up at the organ, Miss Tox in the gallery shrinks behind the fat leg of a cherubim on a monument, with cheeks like a young Wind. Captain Cuttle, on the contrary, stands up and waves his hook, in token of welcome and encouragement. Mr. Toots informs the Chicken, behind his hand, that the middle gentleman, he in the fawn-coloured pantaloons, is the father of his love. The Chicken hoarsely whispers Mr. Toots that he's as stiff a cove as ever he see, but that it is within the resources of Science to double him up with one blow in the waistcoat.

Mr. Sownds and Mrs. Miff are eyeing Mr. Dombey from a little distance, when the noise of approaching wheels is heard, and Mr. Sownds goes out, Mrs. Miff, meeting Mr. Dombey's eye as it is withdrawn from the presumptuous maniac up stairs, who salutes him with so much urbanity, drops a curtsey, and informs him that she believes his "good lady Then there is a crowding and a whispering at the door, and the good lady enters, with a haughty step.

" is come.

There is no sign upon her face of last night's suffering; there is no trace in her manner of the woman on the bended knees, reposing her wild head upon the pillow of the sleeping girl. That girl, all gentle and lovely, is at her side a striking contrast to her own disdainful and defiant figure, standing there,

composed, erect, inscrutable of will, resplendent and majestic in the zenith of its charms, yet beating down, and treading on, the admiration that it challenges.

There is a pause while Mr. Sownds the beadle glides into the vestry for the clergyman and clerk. At this juncture, Mrs. Skewton speaks to Mr. Dombey; more distinctly and emphatically than her custom is, and moving, at the same time, close to Edith.

"My dear Dombey," says the good mamma, "I fear I must relinquish darling Florence after all, and suffer her to go home, as she herself proposed. After my loss of to-day, my dear Dombey, I feel I shall not have spirits even for her society." "Had she not better stay with you?" returns the bridegroom.

"I think not, my dear Dombey. No, I think not. I shall be better alone. Besides, my dearest Edith will be her natural and constant guardian when you return, and I had better not encroach upon her trust, perhaps. She might be jealous. Eh, dear Edith?"

The affectionate mamma presses her daughter's arm, as she says this; perhaps entreating her attention earnestly.

"To be serious, my dear Dombey," she resumes, 66 I will relinquish our dear child, and not inflict my gloom upon her. We have settled that, just now. She fully understands, dear Dombey. Edith, my dear, she fully understands."

Again the good mother presses her daughter's arm. Mr. Dombey offers no additional remonstrance; for the clergyman and clerk appear; and Mrs. Miff and Mr. Sownds the beadle group the party in their proper places at the altar rails.

"Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?" Cousin Feenix does that. He has come from Baden-Baden on purpose. "Confound it," Cousin Feenix says good-natured creature, Cousin Feenix "when we do get a rich city fellow into the family, let us show him some attention; let us do something for him."

"I give this woman to be married to this man," saith Cousin Feenix therefore. Cousin Feenix, meaning to go in a straight line, but turning off sideways by reason of his wilful legs, gives the wrong woman to be married to this man, at first to wit, a bridesmaid of some condition, distantly connected family, and ten years Mrs. Skewton's junior but

with the Mrs. Miff,

interposing her mortified bonnet, dexterously turns him back, and runs him, as on castors, full at the "good lady; " whom Cousin Feenix giveth to be married to this man accordingly. And will they in the sight of Heaven - ?

Ay, that they will; Mr. Dombey says he will. And what says Edith? She will.

So, from that day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do them part, they plight their troth to one another, and are married.

In a firm, free hand, the bride subscribes her name in the register, when they adjourn to the vestry. "There ain't a many ladies comes here," Mrs. Miff says with a curtsey—to look at Mrs. Miff, at such a season, is to make her mortified bonnet go down with a dip-"writes their names like this good lady!" Mr. Sownds the beadle thinks it is a truly spanking signature, and worthy of the writer this, however, between himself and conscience.

Florence signs, too, but unapplauded, for her hand shakes. All the party sign; Cousin Feenix last; who puts his noble name into a wrong place, and enrolls himself as having been born that morning.

The major now salutes the bride right gallantly, and carries out that branch of military tactics in reference to all the ladies; notwithstanding Mrs. Skewton's being extremely hard to kiss, and squeaking shrilly in the sacred edifice. The example is followed by Cousin Feenix, and even by Mr. Dombey. Lastly, Mr. Carker, with his white teeth glistening, approaches Edith, more as if he meant to bite her than to taste the sweets that linger on her lips.

There is a glow upon her proud cheek, and a flashing in her eyes, that may be meant to stay him; but it does not, for he salutes her as the rest have done, and wishes her all happiness.

"If wishes," says he in a low voice, "are not superfluous, applied to such a union."

"I thank you, sir," she answers, with a curled lip, and a heaving bosom.

But does Edith feel still, as on the night when she knew that Mr. Dombey would return to offer his alliance, that Carker knows her thoroughly, and reads her right, and that she is more degraded by his knowledge of her than by aught else?