CHARACTERS INTRODUCED.

Anny. A pauper. (Ch. xxiv, li.)

Artful Dodger, The. See Dawkins, John.

Barney. A villanous young Jew, with a chronic catarrh, employed

at The Three Cripples Inn, Little Saffron Hill.

xlii, xlv.)

(Ch. xv, xxii

Bates, Charley. A thief; ore of Fagin's "apprentices." (Ch. ix, x, xii, xiii, xvi, xviii, xxv.) See DAWKINS, JOHN. Bayton. One of the poor of the parish. (Ch. v.)

Becky. Bar-maid at the Red Lion Inn.

Bedwin, Mrs. Mr. Brownlow's housekeeper. (Ch. xii, xiv, xvii xli, li.)

Bet, or Betsy. A thief in Fagin's service, and a companion of Nancy. (Ch. ix, xiii, xvi, xviii.) See SIKES, BILL.

Bill. A grave-digger. (Ch. v.)

Blathers and Duff. Bow-street officers. (Ch. xxxi.)

Bolter, Morris. See CLAYPOLE, NOAH.

Brittles. A servant at Mrs. Maylie's. (Ch. xxviii, xxx, xxxi, liii.) See GILES, MR.

Brownlow, Mr. A benevolent old gentleman, who takes Oliver into his house, and treats him kindly. (Ch. x-xii, xvi, xli, xlvi, xlix, li-liii.) See FANG (MR.), FAGIN, MONKS.

Bull's-eye. Bill Sikes's dog. (Ch. xiii, xv, xvi, xix, xxxix, xlviii, 1.) See SIKES, BILL.

Bumble, Mr. A beadle puffed up with the insolence of office. He visits the branch workhouse where Oliver Twist is "farmed," and is received with great attention by Mrs. Mann, the matron.

Mrs. Mann ushered the beadle into a small parlor with a brick floor, placed a seat for him, and officiously deposited his cocked hat and cane on the table be fore him. Mr. Bumble wiped from his forehead the perspiration which his walk had engendered, glanced complacently at the cocked hat, and smiled. Yes, he smiled. Beadles are but men; and Mr. Bumble smiled.

"Now, don't you be offended at what I'm a-going to say," observed Mrs. Mann with captivating sweetness. "You 've had a long walk, you know, or 1 would n't mention it. Now, will you take a little drop of something, Mr. Bum ble?"

"Not a drop, not a drop," said Mr. Bumble, waving his right hand in a dig ified but still placid manner.

'I think you will," said Mrs. Mann, who had noticed the tone of the refusal and the gesture that had accompanied it,— “just a leetle drop, with a little cold water, and a lump of sugar."

Mr. Bumble coughed.

"Now, just a little drop," said Mrs. Mann persuasively.

"What is it?" inquired the beadle.

"Why, it's what I'm obliged to keep a little of in the house, to put in the blessed infants' daffy when they ain't well, Mr. Bumble," replied Mrs. Manc as she opened a corner cupboard, and took down a bottle and glass. "It's gin." "Do you give the children daffy, Mrs. Mann?" inquired Bumble, following with his eyes the interesting process of mixing.

"Ah, bless 'em! that I do, dear as it is," replied the nurse. "I could n't see 'em suffer before my eyes, you know, sir."

"No," said Mr. Bumble approvingly; "no, you could not. You are a hu mane woman, Mrs. Mann." (Here she set down the glass.) "I shall take an early opportunity of mentioning it to the Board, Mrs. Mann." (He drew it towards him.) "You feel as a mother, Mrs. Mann." (He stirred the gin and water.) "I-I drink your health with cheerfulness, Mrs. Mann;" and he swallowed half of it.

"And now about business," said the beadle, taking out a leathern pocket. book. "The child that was half-baptized, Oliver Twist, is eight years old to. Lay."

"Bless him!" interposed Mrs. Mann, inflaming her left eye with the corner of her apron.

"And notwithstanding an offered reward of ten pound, which was afterwards increased to twenty pound; notwithstanding the most superlative, and, I may say, supernat'ral exertions on the part of this parish," said Bumble, "we have never been able to discover who is his father, or what is his mother's settlement, name, or condition."

Mrs. Mann raised her hands in astonishment, but added, after a moment's reflection," How comes he to have any name at all, then?"

The beadle drew himself up with great pride, and said, “I inwented it." "You, Mr. Bumble?"

"I, Mrs. Mann. We name our foundlin's in alphabetical order. The last was a S,- Swubble: I named him. This was a T,-Twist: I named him. The next one as comes will be Unwin, and the next Vilkins. I have got names ready made to the end of the alphabet, and all the way through it again, when we come to Z."

"Why, you're quite a literary character, sir," said Mrs. Mann.

"Well, well," said the beadle, evidently gratified with the compliment; "per haps I may be, perhaps I may be, Mrs. Mann." He finished the gin and water, and added, "Oliver being now to old to remain here, the Board have determined to have him back into the house; and I have come out myself to take him there: so let me see him at once."

Mrs. Corney being matron of the workhouse, and the death of Mr. Slout, the master of the establishment, being daily expected, Mr. Bum. ble, who stands next in the order of succession. thinks it might be a good opportunity for "a joining of hearts and housekeepings." With this idea in his mind, he pays the lady a visit, and. while she is out of the room for a few moments, counts the spoons, weighs the sugar-tongs, losely inspects the silver milk-pot, takes a mental inventory of the furniture, and makes himself acquainted with the con ents of a ches

of drawers. Upon her return, after some billing and cooing, she says "the one little, little, little word" he begs to hear, and bashfully consents to become Mrs. Bumbie as soon as ever he pleases. But the course of Mr. Bumble's love does not run smooth after marriage; for his wife turns out to be a thorough shrew. When the first tiff occurs, Mrs. Bumble bursts into tears, but they do not serve to soften the heart of Mr. Bumble; for he smilingly bids her keep on. "It opens the lungs," he tells her, "washes the countenance, exercises the eyes, and softens the temper: so cry away." When, however, she changes her tactics, boldly flies at him, and gives him a sound and well-merited drubbing, he yields incontinently, and indulges in sad and solitary reflections. "I sold myself," he says, "for six tea-spoons, a pair of sugar-tongs, and a milk-pot, with a small quantity of second-hand furniter, and twenty pound in money. I went very reasonable, cheap, - dirt cheap.”

This precious pair are afterwards guilty, first, of selling certain articles which were left in the workhouse by the mother of Oliver Twist, and which are necessary to his identification; and, secondly, of witnessing what they suppose to be the destruction of these articles. Brought before Mr. Brownlow, they are confronted with proofs and witnesses of their rascality; but Bumble excuses himse.f by saying, "It was all Mrs. Bumble. She would do it."

"That is no excuse," replied Mr. Brownlow. "You were present on the oc casion of the destruction of these trinkets, and, indeed, are the more guilty of the two, in the eye of the law; for the law supposes that your wife acts under your direction."

"If the law supposes that," said Mr. Bumble, squeezing his hat emphatically in both hands, "the law is a ass, a idiot. If that's the eye of the law, the law's a bachelor; and the worst I wish the law is, that his eye may be opened by experience, by experience."

Notwithstanding this disclaimer of any personal responsibility in the matter, Mr. Bumble loses his situation, and retires with his wife to private life. (Ch. i, iii-v, vii, xvii, xxiii, xxxvii, xxxviii, li.) See DICK (LITtle), Twist (Oliver).

Charlotte. Servant to Mrs. Sowerberry; afterwards married to Noah Claypole. (Ch. iv-vi, xxvii, xlii, liii.)

Citling, Tom. An "apprentice" of Fagin's; a "half-witted dupe," who makes a rather unsuccessful thief. (Ch. xviii, xxv, xxxix, l.)

Claypole, Noah. A chuckle-headed charity-boy, apprenticed to Mr. Sowerberry the undertaker. He afterwards goes to Lon

don. and becomes a thief. (Ch. v, vi, xxvii, xlii, xliii, xlvxlvii, liii.) Corney, Mrs. Matron of a workhouse; afterwards married to Mr. Bumble. (Ch. xxiii, xxiv, xxvii, xxxvii, xxxviii, li.) See BUM BLE, MR. will on kes Crackit, Toby. A housebreaker. (Ch. xxiii, xxv, xxviii, xxxix, 1.) Dawkins, John, called THE ARTFUL DODGER. A young pick

pocket in the service of Fagin the Jew. When Oliver Twist runs away from his master, and sets out for London, he meets the Artful Dodger on the road, who gives him something to eat, and afterwards takes him to Fagin's den.

"Don't fret your eyelids"... said the young gentleman. "I've got to be in London to-night, and I know a 'spectable old genelman as lives there, wot 'll give you lodgings for nothink, and never ask for the change; that is, if any genelman he knows interduces you. And don't he know me? Oh, no! Not in the least! By no means! Certainly not!"

Although the Dodger is an adept in thieving and knavery, he is detected at last in attempting to pick a gentleman's pocket, and is sentenced to transportation for life. While in court, he maintains his accustomed coolness, impudently chaff's the police-officers, asking the jailer to communicate" the names of them two files as was on the bench," and generally "doing full justice to his bringing-up, and establishing for himself a glorious reputation." When brought into court, he requests to know what he is "placed in that 'ere disgraceful sitivation for."

"Hold your tongue; will you ?" said the jailer.

"I'm an Englishman, ain't I?" rejoined the Dodger. "Where are my privileges?"

"You'll get your privileges soon enough," retorted the jailer," and pepper with 'em."

"We'll see wot the Secretary of State for the Home Affairs has got to say to the beaks, if I don't," replied Mr. Dawkins. "Now, then, wot is this here business? I shall thank the madg'strates to dispose of this here little affair and not to keep me while they read the paper; for I've got an appointment with a gentleman in the city and as I 'm a man of my word, and wery punctual in business-matters, he 'll go away if I ain't there to my time, and then, p'r'aps, there won't be an action for damage against those as kept me away. Oh, no certainly not!"

The evidence against him is direct and conclusive; but the Dodg er continues unabashed; and, when the magistrate asks him if he has any thing to say, he affects not to hear the question.

"Do you hear his worship ask you if you 've any thing to say?" inquired the ailer, nudging the silent Dodger with his elbow.