OLIVER TWIST;

OR, THE PARISH BOY'S PROgress.

BY BOZ.

ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.

BOOK THE SECOND.

CHAPTER THE FIRST,

WHICH CONTAINS THE SUBSTANCE OF A PLEASANT CONVERSATION BETWEEN MR. BUMBLE AND A LADY; AND SHOWS THAT EVEN A BEADLE MAY BE SUSCEPTIBLE ON SOME POINTS.

THE night was bitter cold; the snow lay upon the ground frozen into a hard thick crust, so that only the heaps that had drifted into by. ways and corners were affected by the sharp wind that howled abroad, which, as if expending increased fury on such prey as it found, caught it savagely up in clouds, and, whirling it into a thousand misty eddies, scattered it in air. Bleak, dark, and piercing cold, it was a night for the well-housed and fed to draw round the bright fire, and thank God they were at home; and for the homeless starving wretch to lay him down and die. Many hunger-worn outcasts close their eyes in our bare streets at such times, who, let their crimes have been what they may, can hardly open them in a more bitter world.

Such was the aspect of out-of-door affairs when Mrs. Corney, the matron of the workhouse to which our readers have been already introduced as the birth-place of Oliver Twist, set herself down before a cheerful fire in her own little room, and glanced with no small degree of complacency at a small round table, on which stood a tray of corresponding size, furnished with all necessary materials for the most grateful meal that matrons enjoy. In fact, Mrs. Corney was about to solace herself with a cup of tea and as she glanced from the table to the fireplace, where the smallest of all possible kettles was singing a small song in a small voice, her inward satisfaction evidently increased, -so much so, indeed, that Mrs. Corney smiled.

"Well," said the matron, leaning her elbow on the table, and looking reflectively at the fire, "I'm sure we have all on us a great deal to be grateful for a great deal, if. we did but know it. Ah!"

Mrs. Corney shook her head mournfully, as if deploring the mental blindness of paupers who did not know it, and thrusting a silver spoon (private property) into the inmost recesses of a two-ounce tin tea-caddy, proceeded to make the tea.

How slight a thing will disturb the equanimity of our frail minds! The black teapot, being very small and easily filled, ran over while Mrs. Corney was moralizing, and the water slightly scalded Mrs. Corney's hand.

"Drat the pot!" said the worthy matron, setting it down very hastily on the hob; "a little stupid thing, that only holds a couple of cups! What use is it of to anybody ?-except," said Mrs. Corney pausing,— "except a poor desolate creature like me. Oh dear !"

With these words the matron dropped into her chair, and, once more resting her elbow upon the table, thought of her solitary fate. The small teapot and the single cup had awakened in her mind sad recollections of Mr. Corney, (who had not been dead more than five-andtwenty years,) and she was overpowered.

"I shall never get another?" said Mrs. Corney pettishly, "I shall never get another-like him!"

Whether this remark bore reference to the husband or the teapot is uncertain. It might have been the latter; for Mrs. Corney looked at it as she spoke, and took it up afterwards. She had just tasted her first cup, when she was disturbed by a soft tap at the room door.

"Oh, come in with you!" said Mrs. Corney sharply. "Some of the old women dying, I suppose; they always die when I'm at meals, Don't stand there, letting the cold air in, don't! What's amiss now, eh ?"

"Nothing, ma'am, nothing," replied a man's voice.

"Dear me !" exclaimed the matrop in a much sweeter tone, "is that Mr. Bumble ?"

"At your service, ma'am," said Mr. Bumble, who had been stopping outside to rub his shoes clean, and shake the snow off his coat, and who now made his appearance, bearing the cocked-hat in one hand and a bundle in the other. "Shall I shut the door, maʼam?”

The lady modestly hesitated to reply, lest there should be any impropriety in holding an interview with Mr. Bumble with closed doors. Mr. Bumble, taking advantage of the hesitation, and being very cold himself, shut it without farther permission.

"Hard weather, Mr. Bumble," said the matron.

"Anti-porochial wea

"Hard, indeed, ma'am," replied the beadle. ther this, ma'am. We have given away, Mrs. Corney, we have given away a matter of twenty quartern loaves, and a cheese and a half, this very blessed afternoon; and yet them paupers are not contented."

"Of course not. When would they be, Mr. Bumble ?” said the matron, sipping her tea.

"When, indeed, ma'am !" rejoined Mr. Bumble. “Why, here 's one man that, in consideration of his wife and large family, has a quartern loaf and a good pound of cheese, full weight. Is he grateful, ina'am,—is he grateful? Not a copper farthing's worth of it! What does he do, ma'am, but ask for a few coals, if it's only a pockethandkerchief full, he says! Coals!—what would he do with coals?— Toast his cheese with 'em, and then come back for more. That's the

way with these people, ma'am ;-give 'em a apron full of coals to-day, and they'll come back for another the day after to-morrow, as brazen as alabaster!"

The matron expressed her entire concurrence in this intelligible simile, and the beadle went on.

"I never," said Mr, Bumble, " see any thing like the pitch it's got to. The day afore yesterday, a man-you have been a married woman, ma'am, and I may mention it to you—a man, with hardly a rag upon his back, (here Mrs. Corney looked at the floor,) goes to our overseer's door when he has got company coming to dinner, and says he must be relieved, Mrs. Corney. As he wouldn't go away, and shocked the company very much, our overseer sent him out a pound of potatoes and half a pint of oatmeal. My God!' says the ungrateful villain, 'what's the use of this to me? You might as well give me a pair of iron spectacles.''Very good,' says our overseer, taking 'em away again, you won't get anything else here.' Then I'll die in the streets!' says the vagrant.-Oh no, you won't,' says our overseer.'

6

"Ha! ha!—that was very good!-so like Mr. Grannet, wasn't it?" interposed the matron. "Well, Mr. Bumble?"

"Well, ma'am," rejoined the beadle, "he went away, and did die in the streets. There's a obstinate pauper for you!"

"It beats anything I could have believed!" observed the matron emphatically. "But don't you think out-of-door relief a very bad thing any way, Mr. Bumble? You're a gentleman of experience, and ought to know. Come."

"Mrs. Corney," said the beadle, smiling as men smile who are conscious of superior information, "out-of-door relief, properly managed,properly managed, ma'am,—is the porochial safe-guard. The great principle of out-of-door relief is to give the paupers exactly what they don't want, and then they get tired of coming."

"Dear me !" exclaimed Mrs. Corney. "Well, that is a good one,

too!"

Yes. Betwixt you and me, ma'am," returned Mr. Bumble, "that's the great principle; and that's the reason why, if you look at any cases that get into them owdacious newspapers, you'll always observe that sick families have been relieved with slices of cheese. That's the rule now, Mrs. Corney, all over the country.-But, however," said the bea. dle, stooping to unpack his bundle, "these are official secrets, ma'am ; not to be spoken of except, as I may say, among the porochial officers such as ourselves. This is the port wine, ma'am, that the board ordered for the infirmary,-real fresh, genuine port wine, only out of the cask this afternoon,-clear as a bell, and no sediment."

Having held the first bottle up to the light, and shaken it well to test its excellence, Mr. Bumble placed them both on the top of the chest of drawers, folded the handkerchief in which they had been wrapped, put it carefully in his pocket, and took up his hat as if to go.

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"You'll have a very cold walk, Mr. Bumble," said the matron.

"It blows, ma'am," replied Mr. Bumble, turning up his coat-collar, enough to cut one's ears off."

The matron looked from the little kettle to the beadle, who was mov. ing towards the door; and as the beadle coughed, preparatory to bidding her good night, bashfully inquired whether-whether he would'nt take a cup of tea?

Mr. Bumble instantaneously turned back his collar again, laid his hat and stick upon a chair, and drew another chair up to the table. As he slowly seated himself, he looked at the lady: she fixed her eyes upon the little teapot. Mr. Bumble coughed again, and slightly

smiled.

Mrs. Corney arose to get another cup and saucer from the closet. As she sat down, her eyes once again encountered those of the gallant beadle; she colored, and applied herself to the task of making his tea. Again Mr. Bumble coughed,-louder this time than he had coughed yet.

"Sweet, Mr. Bumble ?" inquired the matron, taking up the sugarbasin.

"Very sweet, indeed, ma'am," replied Mr. Bumble. He fixed his eyes on Mrs. Corney as he said this; and, if ever a beadle looked tender, Mr. Bumble was that beadle at that moment.

The tea was made, and handed in silence. Mr. Bumble, having spread a handkerchief over his knees to prevent the crumbs from sullying the splendor of his shorts, began to eat and drink, varying these amusements occasionally by fetching a deep sigh, which, however, had no injurious effect upon his appetite, but, on the contrary, rather seemed to facilitate his operations in the tea and toast department.

"You have a cat, ma'am, I see," said Mr. Bumble, glancing at one, who in the centre of her family was basking before the fire: "and kittens too, I declare!"

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"I am so fond of them, Mr. Bumble, you can't think," replied the matron. "They're so happy, so frolicksome, and so cheerful, that they are quite companions for me,"

"Very nice animals, ma'am," replied Mr. Bumbie approvingly; "so very domestic."

"Oh, yes!" rejoined the matron with enthusiasm; "so fond of their home too, that it's quite a pleasure, I'm sure.”

"Mrs. Corney, ma'am," said Mr. Bumble slowly, and marking the time with his teaspoon, "I mean to say this, ma'am, that any cat or kitten that could live with you, ma'am, and not be fond of its home, must be an ass, ma'am."

"Oh, Mr. Bumble!" remonstrated Mrs. Corney.

"It's no use disguising facts, ma'am," said Mr. Bumble, slowly

flourishing the teaspoon with a kind of amorous dignity that made him doubly impressive; "I would drown it myself with pleasure."

"Then you 're a cruel man," said the matron vivaciously, as she held out her hand for the beadle's cup, "and a very hard-hearted man besides."

Hard-hearted, ma'am!" said Mr. Bumble, "hard!" Mr. Bumble resigned his cup without another word, squeezed Mrs. Corney's little finger as she took it, and inflicting two-openhanded slaps upon his laced waistcoat, gave a mighty sigh, and hitched his chair a very little morsel farther from the fire.

It was a round table; and as Mrs. Corney and Mr. Bumble had been sitting opposite each other, with no great space between them, and fronting the fire, it will be seen that Mr. Bumble, in receding from the fire, and still keeping at the table, increased the distance between himself and Mrs. Corney; which proceeding some prudent readers will doubtless be disposed to admire, and to consider an act of great heroism on Mr. Bumble's part, he being in some sort tempted by time, place, and opportunity to give utterance to certain soft nothings, which, however well they may become the lips of the light and thoughtless, do seem immeasurably beneath the dignity of judges of the land, members of parliament, ministers of state, lord-mayors, and other great public functionaries, but more particularly beneath the stateliness and gravity of a beadle, who (as is well known) should be the sternest and most inflexible among them all.

Whatever were Mr. Bumble's intentions, however,-and no doubt they were of the best,-whatever they were, it unfortunately happened, as has been twice before remarked, that the table was a round one; consequently Mr. Bumble, moving his chair by little and little, soon began to diminish the distance between himself and the matron, and, continuing to travel round the outer edge of the circle, brought his chair in time close to that in which the matron was seated. Indeed, the two chairs touched; and, when they did so, Mr. Bumble stopped.

Now, if the matron had moved her chair to the right, she would have been scorched by the fire, and if to the left, she must have fallen into Mr. Bumble's arms: so (being a discreet matron, and no doubt foreseeing these consequences at a glance,) she remained where she was, and handed Mr. Bumble another cup of tea.

Hard-hearted, Mrs. Corney?" said Mr. Bumble, stirring his tea, and looking up into the matron's face; "are you hard-hearted, Mrs. Corney ?"

"what a very

curious question

"Dear me!" exclaimed the matron, from a single man! What can you want to know for, Mr. Bumble ?" The beadle drank his tea to the last drop, finished a piece of toast, whisked the crumbs off his knees, wiped his lips, and deliberately kissed the matron.