ll this, and much more, twenty nursery-maids in Mr Dombey's
street alone, have promised twenty families of little women, whose
instinctive interest in nuptials dates from their cradles, that they
shall go and see the marriage. Truly, Mr Sownds the Beadle has good
reason to feel himself in office, as he suns his portly figure on the
church steps, waiting for the marriage hour. Truly, Mrs Miff has cause
to pounce on an unlucky dwarf child, with a giant baby, who peeps in at
the porch, and drive her forth with indignation!

Cousin Feenix has come over from abroad, expressly to attend the
marriage. Cousin Feenix was a man about town, forty years ago; but he
is still so juvenile in figure and in manner, and so well got up,
that strangers are amazed when they discover latent wrinkles in his
lordship's face, and crows' feet in his eyes: and first observe him, not
exactly certain when he walks across a room, of going quite straight to
where he wants to go. But Cousin Feenix, getting up at half-past seven
o'clock or so, is quite another thing from Cousin Feenix got up; and
very dim, indeed, he looks, while being shaved at Long's Hotel, in Bond
Street.

Mr Dombey leaves his dressing-room, amidst a general whisking away of
the women on the staircase, who disperse in all directions, with a great
rustling of skirts, except Mrs Perch, who, being (but that she always
is) in an interesting situation, is not nimble, and is obliged to face
him, and is ready to sink with confusion as she curtesys;--may Heaven
avert all evil consequences from the house of Perch! Mr Dombey walks up
to the drawing-room, to bide his time. Gorgeous are Mr Dombey'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?'

'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