 you, dear aunt.«
    »Tut, child!« says my aunt; and gives her hand in overflowing cordiality to
Traddles, who then gives his to Mr. Dick, who then gives his to me, who then
give mine to Traddles, and then we come to the church door.
    The church is calm enough, I am sure; but it might be a steam-power loom in
full action, for any sedative effect it has on me. I am too far gone for that.
    The rest is all a more or less incoherent dream.
    A dream of their coming in with Dora; of the pew-opener arranging us, like a
drill-sergeant, before the altar rails; of my wondering, even then, why
pew-openers must always be the most disagreeable females procurable, and whether
there is any religious dread of a disastrous infection of good humour which
renders it indispensable to set those vessel of vinegar upon the road to Heaven.
    Of the clergyman and clerk appearing; of a few boatmen and some other people
strolling in; of an ancient mariner behind me, strongly flavouring the church
with rum; of the service beginning in a deep voice, and our all being very
attentive.
    Of Miss Lavinia, who acts as a semi-auxiliary bridesmaid, being the first to
cry, and of her doing homage (as I take it) to the memory of Pidger, in sobs; of
Miss Clarissa applying a smelling-bottle; of Agnes taking care of Dora; of my
aunt endeavouring to represent herself as a model of sternness, with tears
rolling down her face; of little Dora trembling very much, and making her
responses in faint whispers.
    Of our kneeling down together, side by side; of Dora's trembling less and
less, but always clasping Agnes by the hand; of the service being got through,
quietly and gravely; of our all looking at each other in an April state of
smiles and tears, when it is over; of my young wife being hysterical in the
vestry, and crying for her poor papa, her dear papa.
    Of her soon cheering up again, and our signing the register all round. Of my
going into the gallery for Peggotty to bring her to sign it; of Peggotty's
hugging me in a corner, and telling me she saw my own dear mother married; of
its being over, and our going away.
    Of my walking so proudly and lovingly down the aisle with my sweet wife upon
my arm, through a mist of half-seen people, pulpits, monuments, pews, fonts
