mournful by describing, and which we should be still more unwilling

to be supposed to ridicule.

Let us briefly say, then, that the ceremony was performed by the old

clergyman, in the parish church of Dingley Dell, and that Mr

Pickwick's name is attached to the register, still preserved in the

vestry thereof; that the young lady with the black eyes signed her

name in a very unsteady and tremulous manner; that Emily's

signature, as the other bridesmaid, is nearly illegible; that it all went

off in very admirable style; that the young ladies generally thought it

far less shocking than they had expected; and that although the

owner of the black eyes and the arch smile informed Mr Wardle that

she was sure she could never submit to anything so dreadful, we have

the very best reasons for thinking she was mistaken. To all this, we

may add, that Mr Pickwick was the first who saluted the bride, and

that in so doing he threw over her neck a rich gold watch and chain,

which no mortal eyes but the jeweller's had ever beheld before. Then,

the old church bell rang as gaily as it could, and they all returned to

breakfast. 'Vere does the mince-pies go, young opium-eater?' said Mr

Weller to the fat boy, as he assisted in laying out such articles of

consumption as had not been duly arranged on the previous night.

The fat boy pointed to the destination of the pies.

'Wery good,' said Sam, 'stick a bit o' Christmas in 'em. T'other dish

opposite. There; now we look compact and comfortable, as the father

said ven he cut his little boy's head off, to cure him o' squintin'.'

As Mr Weller made the comparison, he fell back a step or two, to give

full effect to it, and surveyed the preparations with the utmost

satisfaction.

Wardle,' said Mr Pickwick, almost as soon as they were all seated, 'a

glass of wine in honour of this happy occasion!'

I shall be delighted, my boy,' said Wardle. 'Joe - damn that boy, he's

gone to sleep.' 'No, I ain't, sir,' replied the fat boy, starting up from a

remote corner, where, like the patron saint of fat boys - the immortal

Horner - he had been devouring a Christmas pie, though not with the

coolness and deliberation which characterised that young gentleman's

proceedings.

Fill Mr Pickwick's glass.'

Yes, sir.'

The fat boy filled Mr Pickwick's glass, and then retired behind his

master's chair, from whence he watched the play of the knives and

The Pickwick Papers