Once again, let me pause upon a memorable period of my life. Let mestand aside, to see the phantoms of those days go by me, accompanyingthe shadow of myself, in dim procession.

Weeks, months, seasons, pass along. They seem little more than a summerday and a winter evening. Now, the Common where I walk with Dora is allin bloom, a field of bright gold; and now the unseen heather lies inmounds and bunches underneath a covering of snow. In a breath, the riverthat flows through our Sunday walks is sparkling in the summer sun, isruffled by the winter wind, or thickened with drifting heaps of ice.Faster than ever river ran towards the sea, it flashes, darkens, androlls away.

Not a thread changes, in the house of the two little bird-like ladies.The clock ticks over the fireplace, the weather-glass hangs in the hall.Neither clock nor weather-glass is ever right; but we believe in both,devoutly.

I have come legally to man's estate. I have attained the dignity oftwenty-one. But this is a sort of dignity that may be thrust upon one.Let me think what I have achieved.

I have tamed that savage stenographic mystery. I make a respectableincome by it. I am in high repute for my accomplishment in allpertaining to the art, and am joined with eleven others in reportingthe debates in Parliament for a Morning Newspaper. Night after night, Irecord predictions that never come to pass, professions that are neverfulfilled, explanations that are only meant to mystify. I wallow inwords. Britannia, that unfortunate female, is always before me, like atrussed fowl: skewered through and through with office-pens, and boundhand and foot with red tape. I am sufficiently behind the scenes to knowthe worth of political life. I am quite an Infidel about it, and shallnever be converted.

My dear old Traddles has tried his hand at the same pursuit, but itis not in Traddles's way. He is perfectly good-humoured respecting hisfailure, and reminds me that he always did consider himself slow. He hasoccasional employment on the same newspaper, in getting up the facts ofdry subjects, to be written about and embellished by more fertile minds.He is called to the bar; and with admirable industry and self-denialhas scraped another hundred pounds together, to fee a Conveyancer whosechambers he attends. A great deal of very hot port wine was consumed athis call; and, considering the figure, I should think the Inner Templemust have made a profit by it.

I have come out in another way. I have taken with fear and tremblingto authorship. I wrote a little something, in secret, and sent it to amagazine, and it was published in the magazine. Since then, I have takenheart to write a good many trifling pieces. Now, I am regularly paid forthem. Altogether, I am well off, when I tell my income on the fingersof my left hand, I pass the third finger and take in the fourth to themiddle joint.

We have removed, from Buckingham Street, to a pleasant little cottagevery near the one I looked at, when my enthusiasm first came on. Myaunt, however (who has sold the house at Dover, to good advantage), isnot going to remain here, but intends removing herself to a still moretiny cottage close at hand. What does this portend? My marriage? Yes!

Yes! I am going to be married to Dora! Miss Lavinia and Miss Clarissahave given their consent; and if ever canary birds were in a flutter,they are. Miss Lavinia, self-charged with the superintendence of mydarling's wardrobe, is constantly cutting out brown-paper cuirasses, anddiffering in opinion from a highly respectable young man, with a longbundle, and a yard measure under his arm. A dressmaker, always stabbedin the breast with a needle and thread, boards and lodges in the house;and seems to me, eating, drinking, or sleeping, never to take herthimble off. They make a lay-figure of my dear. They are always sendingfor her to come and try something on. We can't be happy together forfive minutes in the evening, but some intrusive female knocks at thedoor, and says, 'Oh, if you please, Miss Dora, would you step upstairs!'

Miss Clarissa and my aunt roam all over London, to find out articles offurniture for Dora and me to look at. It would be better for them to buythe goods at once, without this ceremony of inspection; for, when we goto see a kitchen fender and meat-screen, Dora sees a Chinese house forJip, with little bells on the top, and prefers that. And it takes along time to accustom Jip to his new residence, after we have bought it;whenever he goes in or out, he makes all the little bells ring, and ishorribly frightened.

Peggotty comes up to make herself useful, and falls to work immediately.Her department appears to be, to clean everything over and over again.She rubs everything that can be rubbed, until it shines, like her ownhonest forehead, with perpetual friction. And now it is, that I begin tosee her solitary brother passing through the dark streets at night, andlooking, as he goes, among the wandering faces. I never speak to him atsuch an hour. I know too well, as his grave figure passes onward, whathe seeks, and what he dreads.

Why does Traddles look so important when he calls upon me this afternoonin the Commons--where I still occasionally attend, for form's sake, whenI have time? The realization of my boyish day-dreams is at hand. I amgoing to take out the licence.

It is a little document to do so much; and Traddles contemplates it,as it lies upon my desk, half in admiration, half in awe. There are thenames, in the sweet old visionary connexion, David Copperfield and DoraSpenlow; and there, in the corner, is that Parental Institution,the Stamp Office, which is so benignantly interested in the varioustransactions of human life, looking down upon our Union; and there isthe Archbishop of Canterbury invoking a blessing on us in print, anddoing it as cheap as could possibly be expected.

Nevertheless, I am in a dream, a flustered, happy, hurried dream. Ican't believe that it is going to be; and yet I can't believe but thateveryone I pass in the street, must have some kind of perception, that Iam to be married the day after tomorrow. The Surrogate knows me, whenI go down to be sworn; and disposes of me easily, as if there were aMasonic understanding between us. Traddles is not at all wanted, but isin attendance as my general backer.

'I hope the next time you come here, my dear fellow,' I say to Traddles,'it will be on the same errand for yourself. And I hope it will besoon.'

'Thank you for your good wishes, my dear Copperfield,' he replies. 'Ihope so too. It's a satisfaction to know that she'll wait for me anylength of time, and that she really is the dearest girl--'

'When are you to meet her at the coach?' I ask.

'At seven,' says Traddles, looking at his plain old silver watch--thevery watch he once took a wheel out of, at school, to make a water-mill.'That is about Miss Wickfield's time, is it not?'

'A little earlier. Her time is half past eight.' 'I assure you, my dearboy,' says Traddles, 'I am almost as pleased as if I were going tobe married myself, to think that this event is coming to such a happytermination. And really the great friendship and consideration ofpersonally associating Sophy with the joyful occasion, and invitingher to be a bridesmaid in conjunction with Miss Wickfield, demands mywarmest thanks. I am extremely sensible of it.'

I hear him, and shake hands with him; and we talk, and walk, and dine,and so on; but I don't believe it. Nothing is real.

Sophy arrives at the house of Dora's aunts, in due course. She has themost agreeable of faces,--not absolutely beautiful, but extraordinarilypleasant,--and is one of the most genial, unaffected, frank, engagingcreatures I have ever seen. Traddles presents her to us with greatpride; and rubs his hands for ten minutes by the clock, with everyindividual hair upon his head standing on tiptoe, when I congratulatehim in a corner on his choice.

I have brought Agnes from the Canterbury coach, and her cheerful andbeautiful face is among us for the second time. Agnes has a great likingfor Traddles, and it is capital to see them meet, and to observe theglory of Traddles as he commends the dearest girl in the world to heracquaintance.

Still I don't believe it. We have a delightful evening, and aresupremely happy; but I don't believe it yet. I can't collect myself. Ican't check off my happiness as it takes place. I feel in a misty andunsettled kind of state; as if I had got up very early in the morning aweek or two ago, and had never been to bed since. I can't make out whenyesterday was. I seem to have been carrying the licence about, in mypocket, many months.

Next day, too, when we all go in a flock to see the house--ourhouse--Dora's and mine--I am quite unable to regard myself as itsmaster. I seem to be there, by permission of somebody else. I halfexpect the real master to come home presently, and say he is glad to seeme. Such a beautiful little house as it is, with everything so brightand new; with the flowers on the carpets looking as if freshly gathered,and the green leaves on the paper as if they had just come out; with thespotless muslin curtains, and the blushing rose-coloured furniture, andDora's garden hat with the blue ribbon--do I remember, now, how I lovedher in such another hat when I first knew her!--already hanging on itslittle peg; the guitar-case quite at home on its heels in a corner;and everybody tumbling over Jip's pagoda, which is much too big for theestablishment. Another happy evening, quite as unreal as all the restof it, and I steal into the usual room before going away. Dora is notthere. I suppose they have not done trying on yet. Miss Lavinia peepsin, and tells me mysteriously that she will not be long. She is ratherlong, notwithstanding; but by and by I hear a rustling at the door, andsomeone taps.

I say, 'Come in!' but someone taps again.

I go to the door, wondering who it is; there, I meet a pair of brighteyes, and a blushing face; they are Dora's eyes and face, and MissLavinia has dressed her in tomorrow's dress, bonnet and all, for me tosee. I take my little wife to my heart; and Miss Lavinia gives a littlescream because I tumble the bonnet, and Dora laughs and cries at once,because I am so pleased; and I believe it less than ever.

'Do you think it pretty, Doady?' says Dora.

Pretty! I should rather think I did.

'And are you sure you like me very much?' says Dora.

The topic is fraught with such danger to the bonnet, that Miss Laviniagives another little scream, and begs me to understand that Dora is onlyto be looked at, and on no account to be touched. So Dora stands in adelightful state of confusion for a minute or two, to be admired; andthen takes off her bonnet--looking so natural without it!--and runs awaywith it in her hand; and comes dancing down again in her own familiardress, and asks Jip if I have got a beautiful little wife, and whetherhe'll forgive her for being married, and kneels down to make him standupon the cookery-book, for the last time in her single life.

I go home, more incredulous than ever, to a lodging that I have hard by;and get up very early in the morning, to ride to the Highgate road andfetch my aunt.

I have never seen my aunt in such state. She is dressed inlavender-coloured silk, and has a white bonnet on, and is amazing. Janethas dressed her, and is there to look at me. Peggotty is ready to go tochurch, intending to behold the ceremony from the gallery. Mr. Dick,who is to give my darling to me at the altar, has had his hair curled.Traddles, whom I have taken up by appointment at the turnpike, presentsa dazzling combination of cream colour and light blue; and both he andMr. Dick have a general effect about them of being all gloves.

No doubt I see this, because I know it is so; but I am astray, and seemto see nothing. Nor do I believe anything whatever. Still, as we drivealong in an open carriage, this fairy marriage is real enough to fillme with a sort of wondering pity for the unfortunate people who haveno part in it, but are sweeping out the shops, and going to their dailyoccupations.

My aunt sits with my hand in hers all the way. When we stop a little wayshort of the church, to put down Peggotty, whom we have brought on thebox, she gives it a squeeze, and me a kiss.

'God bless you, Trot! My own boy never could be dearer. I think of poordear Baby this morning.' 'So do I. And of all I owe to you, dear aunt.'

'Tut, child!' says my aunt; and gives her hand in overflowing cordialityto Traddles, who then gives his to Mr. Dick, who then gives his to me,who then gives 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 loomin full action, for any sedative effect it has on me. I am too far gonefor 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, eventhen, why pew-openers must always be the most disagreeable femalesprocurable, and whether there is any religious dread of a disastrousinfection of good-humour which renders it indispensable to set thosevessels of vinegar upon the road to Heaven.

Of the clergyman and clerk appearing; of a few boatmen and someother people strolling in; of an ancient mariner behind me, stronglyflavouring the church with rum; of the service beginning in a deepvoice, and our all being very attentive.

Of Miss Lavinia, who acts as a semi-auxiliary bridesmaid, being thefirst to cry, and of her doing homage (as I take it) to the memory ofPidger, in sobs; of Miss Clarissa applying a smelling-bottle; of Agnestaking care of Dora; of my aunt endeavouring to represent herself asa model of sternness, with tears rolling down her face; of little Doratrembling very much, and making her responses in faint whispers.

Of our kneeling down together, side by side; of Dora's trembling lessand less, but always clasping Agnes by the hand; of the service beinggot through, quietly and gravely; of our all looking at each other in anApril state of smiles and tears, when it is over; of my young wife beinghysterical 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; ofPeggotty's hugging me in a corner, and telling me she saw my own dearmother married; of its being over, and our going away.

Of my walking so proudly and lovingly down the aisle with my sweet wifeupon my arm, through a mist of half-seen people, pulpits, monuments,pews, fonts, organs, and church windows, in which there flutter faintairs of association with my childish church at home, so long ago.

Of their whispering, as we pass, what a youthful couple we are, and whata pretty little wife she is. Of our all being so merry and talkative inthe carriage going back. Of Sophy telling us that when she saw Traddles(whom I had entrusted with the licence) asked for it, she almostfainted, having been convinced that he would contrive to lose it, or tohave his pocket picked. Of Agnes laughing gaily; and of Dora being sofond of Agnes that she will not be separated from her, but still keepsher hand.

Of there being a breakfast, with abundance of things, pretty andsubstantial, to eat and drink, whereof I partake, as I should do in anyother dream, without the least perception of their flavour; eatingand drinking, as I may say, nothing but love and marriage, and no morebelieving in the viands than in anything else.

Of my making a speech in the same dreamy fashion, without having an ideaof what I want to say, beyond such as may be comprehended in the fullconviction that I haven't said it. Of our being very sociably and simplyhappy (always in a dream though); and of Jip's having wedding cake, andits not agreeing with him afterwards.

Of the pair of hired post-horses being ready, and of Dora's going awayto change her dress. Of my aunt and Miss Clarissa remaining with us; andour walking in the garden; and my aunt, who has made quite a speech atbreakfast touching Dora's aunts, being mightily amused with herself, buta little proud of it too.

Of Dora's being ready, and of Miss Lavinia's hovering about her, loth tolose the pretty toy that has given her so much pleasant occupation.Of Dora's making a long series of surprised discoveries that shehas forgotten all sorts of little things; and of everybody's runningeverywhere to fetch them.

Of their all closing about Dora, when at last she begins to saygood-bye, looking, with their bright colours and ribbons, like a bedof flowers. Of my darling being almost smothered among the flowers, andcoming out, laughing and crying both together, to my jealous arms.

Of my wanting to carry Jip (who is to go along with us), and Dora'ssaying no, that she must carry him, or else he'll think she don't likehim any more, now she is married, and will break his heart. Of ourgoing, arm in arm, and Dora stopping and looking back, and saying, 'IfI have ever been cross or ungrateful to anybody, don't remember it!' andbursting into tears.

Of her waving her little hand, and our going away once more. Of heronce more stopping, and looking back, and hurrying to Agnes, and givingAgnes, above all the others, her last kisses and farewells.

We drive away together, and I awake from the dream. I believe it atlast. It is my dear, dear, little wife beside me, whom I love so well!

'Are you happy now, you foolish boy?' says Dora, 'and sure you don'trepent?'

I have stood aside to see the phantoms of those days go by me. They aregone, and I resume the journey of my story.