When we came
nearer this appearance, who should it be but Monsieur Guardeloop, mine
and Ramble's French tailor, attended by others, leading one of Madame
Depingle's[139] maids to the church, in order to their espousals. It was
his sword tucked so high above his waist, and the circumflex which
persons of his profession take in their walking, that made him appear at
a distance wounded and falling. But the morning being rainy, methought
the march to this wedding was but too lively a picture of wedlock
itself. They seemed both to have a month's mind to make the best of
their way single; yet both tugged arm in arm; and when they were in a
dirty way, he was but deeper in the mire, by endeavouring to pull out
his companion, and yet without helping her. The bridegroom's feathers in
his hat all drooped, one of his shoes had lost an heel. In short, he was
in his whole person and dress so extremely soused, that there did not
appear one inch or single thread about him unmarried.[140] Pardon me,
that the melancholy object still dwells upon me so far, as to reduce me
to punning.
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