in. 'Hooroar!' and the
Captain exhibiting a strong desire to clink his glass against some other
glass, Mr Dombey, with a ready hand, holds out his. The others follow;
and there is a blithe and merry ringing, as of a little peal of marriage
bells.

Other buried wine grows older, as the old Madeira did in its time; and
dust and cobwebs thicken on the bottles.

Mr Dombey is a white-haired gentleman, whose face bears heavy marks of
care and suffering; but they are traces of a storm that has passed on
for ever, and left a clear evening in its track.

Ambitious projects trouble him no more. His only pride is in his
daughter and her husband. He has a silent, thoughtful, quiet manner, and
is always with his daughter. Miss Tox is not infrequently of the family
party, and is quite devoted to it, and a great favourite. Her admiration
of her once stately patron is, and has been ever since the morning of
her shock in Princess's Place, platonic, but not weakened in the least.

Nothing has drifted to him from the wreck of his fortunes, but a certain
annual sum that comes he knows not how, with an earnest entreaty that he
will not seek to discover, and with the assurance that it is a debt, and
an act of reparation. He has consulted with his old clerk about this,
who is clear it may be honourably accepted, and has no doubt it arises
out of some forgotten transaction in the times of the old House.

That hazel-eyed bachelor, a bachelor no more, is married now, and to the
sister of the grey-haired Junior. He visits his old chief sometimes, but
seldom. There is a reason in the greyhaired Junior's history, and yet
a stronger reason in his name, why he should keep retired from his
old employer; and as he lives with his sister and her husband, they
participate in that retirement. Walter sees them sometimes--Florence
too--and the pleasant house resounds with profound duets arranged for
the Piano-Forte and Violoncello, and with the labours of Harmonious
Blacksmiths.

And how goes the wooden Midshipman in these changed days? Why, here he
still is, right leg foremost, hard at work upon the hackney coaches, and
more on the alert than ever, being newly painted from his cocked hat to
his buckled shoes; and up above him, in golden characters, these names
shine refulgent, GILLS AND CUTTLE.

Not another stroke of business does the Midshipman achieve beyond his
usual easy trade. But they do say, in a circuit of some half-mile round
the blue umb