REESE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY CALIFORNIA DOMBEY AND SON. CHAPTER I. THE WEDDING. DAWN, with its passionless blank face, steals shivering to the church beneath which lies the dust of little Paul and his mother, and looks in at the windows. It is cold and dark. Night crouches yet upon the pavement, and broods, sombre and heavy, in nooks and corners of the building. The steeple clock, perched up above the houses, emerging from beneath another of the countless ripples in the tide of time that regularly roll and break on the eternal shore, is greyly visible like a stone beacon, recording how the sea flows on; but within doors, dawn, at first, can only peep at night, and see that it is there. Hovering feebly round the church, and looking in, dawn moans and weeps for its short reign, and its tears trickle on the window glass, and the trees against the church wall bow their heads, and wring their many hands in sympathy. Night, growing pale before it, gradually fades out of the church, but lingers in the vaults below, and sits upon the coffins. And now comes bright day, burnishing the steeple clock, and reddening the spire, and drying up the tears of dawn, and stifling its complaining; and the scared dawn, following the night, and chasing it from its last refuge, shrinks into the vaults itself, and hides, with a frightened face, among the dead, until night returns, refreshed, to drive it out. And now, the mice, who have been busier with the Prayerbooks than their proper owners, and with the hassocks, more worn by their little teeth than by human knees, hide their bright eyes in their holes, and gather close together in affright at the resounding clashing of the church-door. For the beadle, that man of power, comes early this morning with the sexton; and Mrs. Miff, the wheezy little pew-opener a mighty dry old lady, sparely dressed, with not an inch of fulness anywhere about her is also here, and has been waiting at the churchgate half an hour, as her place is, for the beadle. A vinegary face has Mrs. Miff, and a mortified bonnet, and eke a thirsty soul for sixpences and shillings. Beckoning to stray people to come into pews has given Mrs. Miff an air of mystery; and there is reservation in the eye of Mrs. Miff, as always knowing of a softer seat, but having her suspicions of the fee. There is no such fact as Mr. Miff, nor has there been these twenty years, and Mrs. Miff would rather not allude to him. He held some bad opinions, it would seem, about freeseats; and though Mrs. Miff hopes he may be gone upward, she couldn't positively undertake to say so. Busy is Mrs. Miff this morning at the church-door, beating and dusting the altar cloth, the carpet, and the cushions; and much has Mrs. Miff to say about the wedding they are going to have. Mrs. Miff is told that the new furniture and alterations in the house cost full five thousand pound, if they cost a penny; and Mrs. Miff has heard, upon the best authority, that the lady hasn't got a sixpence wherewithal to bless herself. Mrs. Miff remembers, likewise, as if it had happened yesterday, the first wife's funeral, and then the christening, and then the other funeral; and Mrs. Miff says, By-the-bye, she'll soap-and-water that 'ere tablet presently, against the company arrive. Sownds, the beadle, who is sitting in the sun upon the church steps all this time (and seldom does anything else, except, in cold weather, sitting by the fire), approves of Mrs. Miff's discourse, and asks if Mrs. Miff has heard it said that the lady is Mr. |