 front of the house, occasioned by all the men,
boys, and hobbledehoys attached to the farm, each of whom had got a white bow in
his button-hole, and all of whom were cheering with might and main: being
incited thereunto, and stimulated therein, by the precept and example of Mr.
Samuel Weller, who had managed to become mighty popular already, and was as much
at home as if he had been born on the land.
    A wedding is a licensed subject to joke upon, but there really is no great
joke in the matter after all; - we speak merely of the ceremony, and beg it to
be distinctly understood that we indulge in no hidden sarcasm upon a married
life. Mixed up with the pleasure and joy of the occasion, are the many regrets
at quitting home, the tears of parting between parent and child, the
consciousness of leaving the dearest and kindest friends of the happiest portion
of human life, to encounter its cares and troubles with others still untried and
little known: natural feelings which we would not render this chapter 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. Winkle 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
