With her dear love," said Walter, "that she can never have a friend whom she will value above you. That the recollection of your true consideration for her always, can never be forgotten by her. That she remembers you in her prayers to-night, and hopes that you will think of her when she is far away. Shall I say anything for you?"

"Say, Walters," replied Mr. Toots indistinctly, "that I shall think of her every day, but never without feeling happy to know that she is married to the man she loves, and who loves her. Say, if you please, that I am sure her husband deserves her— even her!—and that I am glad of her choice."

Mr. Toots got more distinct as he came to these last words, and raising his eyes from the door-post, said them stoutly. He then shook Walter's hand again with a fervour that Walter was not slow to return, and started homeward.

Mr. Toots was accompanied by the Chicken, whom he had of late brought with him every evening, and left in the shop, with an idea that unforeseen circumstances might arise from without, in which the prowess of that distinguished character would be of service to the Midshipman. The Chicken did not appear to be in a particularly good humour on this occasion. Either the gas-lamps were treacherous, or he cocked his eye in a hideou manner, and likewise distorted his nose, when Mr. Toots, crossing the road, looked back over his shoulder at the room where Florence slept. On the road home, he was more demonstrative of aggressive intentions against the other foot-passengers than comported with a professor of the peaceful art of self-defence. Arrived at home, instead of leaving Mr. Toots in his apartments when he had escorted him thither, he remained before him weighing his white hat in both hands by the brim, and twitching his head and nose (both of which had been many times broken, and but indifferently repaired), with an air of decided disrespect.

His patron, being much engaged with his own thoughts, did not observe this for some time, nor, indeed, until the Chicken,

determined not to be overlooked, had made divers clicking sounds with his tongue and teeth to attract attention.

"Now, master," said the Chicken doggedly, when he at length caught Mr. Toots's eye, "I want to know whether this here gammon is to finish it, or whether you're a-going in to win?"

"Chicken," returned Mr. Toots, "explain yourself."

'Why, then, here's all about it, master," said the Chicken. "I ain't a cove to chuck a word away. Here's wot it is. Are

any on 'em to be doubled up?"

When the Chicken put this question he dropped his hat, made a dodge and a feint with his left hand, hit a supposed enemy a violent blow with his right, shook his head smartly, and recovered himself.

"Come, master," said the Chicken, "is it to be gammon or pluck? Which?"

"Chicken," returned Mr. Toots, "your expressions are coarse, and your meaning is obscure."

Why, then, I tell you what, master," said the Chicken. "This is where it is. It's mean."

"What is mean, Chicken?" asked Mr. Toots.

"It is," said the Chicken, with a frightful corrugation of his broken nose. "There! Now, master! Wot! Wen you could go and blow on this here match to the stiff 'un;" by which depreciatory appellation it has been since supposed that the Game One intended to signify Mr. Dombey; "and when you could knock the winner and all the kit of 'em dead out of wind and time, are you going to give in? To give in?" said the Chicken with contemptuous emphasis. "Wy, it's mean!"

Chicken," said Mr. Toots severely, "you're a perfect vulture! Your sentiments are atrocious."

My sentiments is game and fancy, master," returned the Chicken. "That's wot my sentiments is. I can't abear a meanness. I'm afore the public, I'm to be heerd on at the bar of the Little Helephant, and no Gov'ner o' mine mustn't go and do

what's mean. Wy, it's mean," said the Chicken with increased expression. "That's where it is. It's mean."

"Chicken!" said Mr. Toots, "you disgust me."

Master," returned the Chicken, putting on his hat, “there's a pair on us. then. Come! Here's a offer! You've spoke to me more than once't or twice't about the public line. Never mind! Give me a fi'typunnote to-morrow, and let me go."

"Chicken," returned Mr. Toots, "after the odious sentiments you have expressed, I shall be glad to part on such terms."

"Done, then," said the Chicken. "It's a bargin. This here conduct of yourn won't suit my book, master. Wy, it's mean," said the Chicken; who seemed equally unable to get beyond that point, and to stop short of it. "That's where it is; it's

mean!"

So Mr. Toots and the Chicken agreed to part on this incompatibility of moral perception; and Mr. Toots, lying down to sleep, dreamed happily of Florence, who had thought of him as her friend upon the last night of her maiden life, and sent him her dear love.

CHAPTER XXVII.

R

MR

ANOTHER WEDDING.

SOWNDS the beadle, and Mrs. Miff the pew-opener, arc early at their posts in the fine church where Mr. Dombey was married. A yellow-faced old gentleman from India is going to take unto himself a young wife this morning, and six carriages full of company are expected, and Mrs. Miff has been informed that the yellow-faced old gentleman could pave the road to church with diamonds, and hardly miss them.

The nuptial benediction is to be a superior one, proceeding from a very reverend, a dean, and the lady is to be given away, as an extraordinary present, by somebody who comes express from the Horse Guards.

Mrs. Miff is more intolerant of common people this morning than she generally is; and she has always strong opinions on that subject, for it is associated with free sittings. Mrs. Miff is not a student of political economy (she thinks the science is connected with Dissenters; "Baptists or Wesleyans, or some o' them," she says), but she can never understand what business your common folks have to be married. "Drat 'em," says Mrs. Miff, "you read the same things over 'em, and instead of sovereigns get sixpences!"

Mr. Sownds the beadle is more liberal than Mrs. Miff-but then he is not a pew-opener. "It must be done, ma'am," he says. "We must marry 'em. We must have our national schools to walk at the head of, and we must have our standing armies. We must marry 'em, ma'am," says Mr. Sownds, "and keep the country going."

Mr. Sownds is sitting on the steps, and Mrs. Miff is dusting in the church, when a young couple, plainly dressed, come in. The mortified bonnet of Mrs. Miff is sharply turned towards them, for she espies in this early visit indications of a runaway match. But they don't want to be married-" only," says the gentleman, "to walk round the church." And, as he slips a genteel compliment into the palm of Mrs. Miff, her vinegary face relaxes, and her mortified bonnet and her spare dry figure dip and crackle.

Mrs. Miff resumes her dusting and plumps up her cushions— for the yellow-faced old gentleman is reported to have tender knees but keeps her glazed pew-opening eye on the young couple who are walking round the church. "Ahem!" coughs Mrs. Miff, whose cough is drier than the hay in any hassock in her charge, "you'll come to us one of these mornings, my dears, unless I'm much mistaken!"

They are looking at a tablet on the wall, erected to the memory of some one dead. They are a long way off from Mrs. Miff, but Mrs. Miff can see with half an eye how she is leaning on his arm, and how his head is bent down over her. "Well, well," says Mrs. Miff, "you might do worse. pair!"

For you're a tidy

There is nothing personal in Mrs. Miff's remark. She merely speaks of stock-in-trade. She is hardly more curious in couples than in coffins. She is such a spare, straight, dry old ladysuch a pew of a woman-that you should find as many individual sympathies in a chip. Mr. Sownds, now, who is fleshy, and has scarlet in his coat, is of a different temperament. He says, as they stand upon the steps watching the young couple away, that she has a pretty figure, hasn't she? and, as well as he could see (for she held her head down coming out), an uncommon pretty face. Altogether, Mrs. Miff," says Mr. Sownds with a relish, “she is what you may call a rosebud."

Mrs. Miff assents with a spare nod of her mortified bonnet; but approves of this so little, that she inwardly resolves she