Oliver Twist

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OLIVER TWIST

OR

THE PARISH BOY'S PROGRESS

BY

CHARLES DICKENS









CHAPTER I



TREATS OF THE PLACE WHERE OLIVER TWIST WAS BORN AND OF THE

CIRCUMSTANCES ATTENDING HIS BIRTH



Among other public buildings in a certain town, which for many

reasons it will be prudent to refrain from mentioning, and to

which I will assign no fictitious name, there is one anciently

common to most towns, great or small: to wit, a workhouse; and

in this workhouse was born; on a day and date which I need not

trouble myself to repeat, inasmuch as it can be of no possible

consequence to the reader, in this stage of the business at all

events; the item of mortality whose name is prefixed to the head

of this chapter.



For a long time after it was ushered into this world of sorrow

and trouble, by the parish surgeon, it remained a matter of

considerable doubt whether the child would survive to bear any

name at all; in which case it is somewhat more than probable that

these memoirs would never have appeared; or, if they had, that

being comprised within a couple of pages, they would have

possessed the inestimable merit of being the most concise and

faithful specimen of biography, extant in the literature of any

age or country.



Although I am not disposed to maintain that the being born in a

workhouse, is in itself the most fortunate and enviable

circumstance that can possibly befall a human being, I do mean to

say that in this particular instance, it was the best thing for

Oliver Twist that could by possibility have occurred. The fact

is, that there was considerable difficulty in inducing Oliver to

take upon himself the office of respiration,--a troublesome

practice, but one which custom has rendered necessary to our easy

existence; and for some time he lay gasping on a little flock

mattress, rather unequally poised between this world and the

next: the balance being decidedly in favour of the latter. Now,

if, during this brief period, Oliver had been surrounded by

careful grandmothers, anxious aunts, experienced nurses, and

doctors of profound wisdom, he would most inevitably and

indubitably have been killed in no time. There being nobody by,

however, but a pauper old woman, who was rendered rather misty by

an unwonted allowance of beer; and a parish surgeon who did such

matters by contract; Oliver and Nature fought out the point

between them. The result was, that, after a few struggles,

Oliver breathed, sneezed, and proceeded to advertise to the

inmates of the workhouse the fact of a new burden having been

imposed upon the parish, by setting up as loud a cry as could

reasonably have been expected from a male infant who had not been

possessed of that very useful appendage, a voice, for a much

longer space of time than three minutes and a quarter.



As Oliver gave this first proof of the free and proper action of

his lungs, the patchwork coverlet which was carelessly flung over

the iron bedstead, rustled; the pale face of a young woman was

raised feebly from the pillow; and a faint voice imperfectly

articulated the words, 'Let me see the child, and die.'



The surgeon had been sitting with his face turned towards the

fire: giving the palms of his hands a warm and a rub

alternately. As the young woman spoke, he rose, and advancing to

the bed's head, said, with more kindness than might have been

expected of him:



'Oh, you must not talk about dying yet.'



'Lor bless her dear heart, no!' interposed the nurse, hastily

depositing in her pocket a green glass bottle, the contents of

which she had been tasting in a corner with evident satisfaction.



'Lor bless her dear heart, when she has lived as long as I have,

sir, and had thirteen children of her own, and all on 'em dead

except two, and them in the wurkus with me, she'll know better

than to take on in that way, bless her dear heart! Think what it

is to be a mother, there's a dear young lamb do.'



Apparently this consolatory perspective of a mother's prospects

failed in producing its due effect. The patient shook her head,

and stretched out her hand towards the child.



The surgeon deposited it in her arms. She imprinted her cold

white lips passionately on its forehead; passed her hands over

her face; gazed wildly round; shuddered; fell back--and died.

They chafed her breast, hands, and temples; but the blood had

stopped forever. They talked of hope and comfort. They had been

strangers too long.



'It's all over, Mrs. Thingummy!' said the surgeon at last.



'Ah, poor dear, so it is!' said the nurse, picking up the cork of

the green bottle, which had fallen out on the pillow, as she

stooped to take up the child. 'Poor dear!'



'You needn't mind sending up to me, if the child cries, nurse,'

said the surgeon, putting on his gloves with great deliberation.

'It's very likely it _will_ be troublesome. Give it a little gruel

if it is.' He put on his hat, and, pausing by the bed-side on

his way to the door, added, 'She was a good-looking girl, too;

where did she come from?'



'She was brought here last night,' replied the old woman, 'by the

overseer's order. She was found lying in the street. She had

walked some distance, for her shoes were worn to pieces; but

where she came from, or where she was going to, nobody knows.'



The surgeon leaned over the body, and raised the left hand. 'The

old story,' he said, shaking his head: 'no wedding-ring, I see.

Ah! Good-night!'



The medical gentleman walked away to dinner; and the nurse,

having once more applied herself to the green bottle, sat down on

a low chair before the fire, and proceeded to dress the infant.



What an excellent example of the power of dress, young Oliver

Twist was! Wrapped in the blanket which had hitherto formed his

only covering, he might have been the child of a nobleman or a

beggar; it would have been hard for the haughtiest stranger to

have assigned him his proper station in society. But now that he

was enveloped in the old calico robes which had grown yellow in

the same service, he was badged and ticketed, and fell into his

place at once--a parish child--the orphan of a workhouse--the

humble, half-starved drudge--to be cuffed and buffeted through

the world--despised by all, and pitied by none.



Oliver cried lustily. If he could have known that he was an

orphan, left to the tender mercies of church-wardens and

overseers, perhaps he would have cried the louder.









CHAPTER II



TREATS OF OLIVER TWIST'S GROWTH, EDUCATION, AND BOARD



For the next eight or ten months, Oliver was the victim of a

systematic course of treachery and deception. He was brought up

by hand. The hungry and destitute situation of the infant orphan

was duly reported by the workhouse authorities to the parish

authorities. The parish authorities inquired with dignity of the

workhouse authorities, whether there was no female then domiciled

in 'the house' who was in a situation to impart to Oliver Twist,

the consolation and nourishment of which he stood in need. The

workhouse authorities replied with humility, that there was not.

Upon this, the parish authorities magnanimously and humanely

resolved, that Oliver should be 'farmed,' or, in other words,

that he should be dispatched to a branch-workhouse some three

miles off, where twenty or thirty other juvenile offenders

against the poor-laws, rolled about the floor all day, without

the inconvenience of too much food or too much clothing, under

the parental superintendence of an elderly female, who received

the culprits at and for the consideration of sevenpence-halfpenny

per small head per week. Sevenpence-halfpenny's worth per week

is a good round diet for a child; a great deal may be got for

sevenpence-halfpenny, quite enough to overload its stomach, and

make it uncomfortable. The elderly female was a woman of wisdom

and experience; she knew what was good for children; and she had

a very accurate perception of what was good for herself. So, she

appropriated the greater part of the weekly stipend to her own

use, and consigned the rising parochial generation to even a

shorter allowance than was originally provided for them. Thereby

finding in the lowest depth a deeper still; and proving herself a

very great experimental philosopher.



Everybody knows the story of another experimental philosopher who

had a great theory about a horse being able to live without

eating, and who demonstrated it so well, that he had got his own

horse down to a straw a day, and would unquestionably have

rendered him a very spirited and rampacious animal on nothing at

all, if he had not died, four-and-twenty hours before he was to

have had his first comfortable bait of air. Unfortunately for,

the experimental philosophy of the female to whose protecting care

Oliver Twist was delivered over, a similar result usually

attended the operation of _her_ system; for at the very moment when

the child had contrived to exist upon the smallest possible

portion of the weakest possible food, it did perversely happen in

eight and a half cases out of ten, either that it sickened from

want and cold, or fell into the fire from neglect, or got

half-smothered by accident; in any one of which cases, the

miserable little being was usually summoned into another world,

and there gathered to the fathers it had never known in this.



Occasionally, when there was some more than usually interesting

inquest upon a parish child who had been overlooked in turning up

a bedstead, or inadvertently scalded to death when there happened

to be a washing--though the latter accident was very scarce,

anything approaching to a washing being of rare occurrence in the

farm--the jury would take it into their heads to ask troublesome

questions, or the parishioners would rebelliously affix their

signatures to a remonstrance. But these impertinences were

speedily checked by the evidence of the surgeon, and the

testimony of the beadle; the former of whom had always opened the

body and found nothing inside (which was very probable indeed),

and the latter of whom invariably swore whatever the parish

wanted; which was very self-devotional. Besides, the board made

periodical pilgrimages to the farm, and always sent the beadle

the day before, to say they were going. The children were neat

and clean to behold, when _they_ went; and what more would the

people have!



It cannot be expected that this system of farming would produce

any very extraordinary or luxuriant crop. Oliver Twist's ninth

birthday found him a pale thin child, somewhat diminutive in

stature, and decidedly small in circumference. But nature or

inheritance had implanted a good sturdy spirit in Oliver's

breast. It had had plenty of room to expand, thanks to the spare

diet of the establishment; and perhaps to this circumstance may

be attributed his having any ninth birth-day at all. Be this as

it may, however, it was his ninth birthday; and he was keeping it

in the coal-cellar with a select party of two other young

gentleman, who, after participating with him in a sound

thrashing, had been locked up for atrociously presuming to be

hungry, when Mrs. Mann, the good lady of the house, was

unexpectedly startled by the apparition of Mr. Bumble, the

beadle, striving to undo the wicket of the garden-gate.



'Goodness gracious! Is that you, Mr. Bumble, sir?' said Mrs.

Mann, thrusting her head out of the window in well-affected

ecstasies of joy. '(Susan, take Oliver and them two brats

upstairs, and wash 'em directly.)--My heart alive! Mr. Bumble,

how glad I am to see you, sure-ly!'



Now, Mr. Bumble was a fat man, and a choleric; so, instead of

responding to this open-hearted salutation in a kindred spirit,

he gave the little wicket a tremendous shake, and then bestowed

upon it a kick which could have emanated from no leg but a

beadle's.



'Lor, only think,' said Mrs. Mann, running out,--for the three

boys had been removed by this time,--'only think of that! That I

should have forgotten that the gate was bolted on the inside, on

account of them dear children! Walk in sir; walk in, pray, Mr.

Bumble, do, sir.'



Although this invitation was accompanied with a curtsey that

might have softened the heart of a church-warden, it by no means

mollified the beadle.



'Do you think this respectful or proper conduct, Mrs. Mann,'

inquired Mr. Bumble, grasping his cane, 'to keep the parish

officers a waiting at your garden-gate, when they come here upon

porochial business with the porochial orphans? Are you aweer,

Mrs. Mann, that you are, as I may say, a porochial delegate, and

a stipendiary?'



'I'm sure Mr. Bumble, that I was only a telling one or two of the

dear children as is so fond of you, that it was you a coming,'

replied Mrs. Mann with great humility.



Mr. Bumble had a great idea of his oratorical powers and his

importance. He had displayed the one, and vindicated the other.

He relaxed.



'Well, well, Mrs. Mann,' he replied in a calmer tone; 'it may be

as you say; it may be. Lead the way in, Mrs. Mann, for I come on

business, and have something to say.'



Mrs. Mann ushered the beadle into a small parlour with a brick

floor; placed a seat for him; and officiously deposited his

cocked hat and cane on the table before 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 I wouldn't mention it. Now, will you take a little

drop of somethink, Mr. Bumble?'



'Not a drop. Nor a drop,' said Mr. Bumble, waving his right hand

in a dignified, but 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 leetle 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 into the blessed infants' Daffy, when they ain't well, Mr.

Bumble,' replied Mrs. Mann as she opened a corner cupboard, and

took down a bottle and glass. 'It's gin. I'll not deceive you,

Mr. B. 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

couldn't see 'em suffer before my very eyes, you know sir.'



'No'; said Mr. Bumble approvingly; 'no, you could not. You are a

humane woman, Mrs. Mann.' (Here she set down the glass.) 'I

shall take a 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

nine year old to-day.'



'Bless him!' interposed Mrs. Mann, inflaming her left eye with

the corner of her apron.



'And notwithstanding a 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 was his mother's settlement,

name, or con--dition.'



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 fondlings in alphabetical order. The

last was a S,--Swubble, I named him. This was a T,--Twist, I

named _him_. The next one 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; 'perhaps I may be. Perhaps I may be, Mrs. Mann.' He

finished the gin-and-water, and added, 'Oliver being now too old

to remain here, the board have determined to have him back into

the house. I have come out myself to take him there. So let me

see him at once.'



'I'll fetch him directly,' said Mrs. Mann, leaving the room for

that purpose. Oliver, having had by this time as much of the

outer coat of dirt which encrusted his face and hands, removed,

as could be scrubbed off in one washing, was led into the room by

his benevolent protectress.



'Make a bow to the gentleman, Oliver,' said Mrs. Mann.



Oliver made a bow, which was divided between the beadle on the

chair, and the cocked hat on the table.



'Will you go along with me, Oliver?' said Mr. Bumble, in a

majestic voice.



Oliver was about to say that he would go along with anybody with

great readiness, when, glancing upward, he caught sight of Mrs.

Mann, who had got behind the beadle's chair, and was shaking her

fist at him with a furious countenance. He took the hint at

once, for the fist had been too often impressed upon his body not

to be deeply impressed upon his recollection.



'Will she go with me?' inquired poor Oliver.



'No, she can't,' replied Mr. Bumble. 'But she'll come and see

you sometimes.'



This was no very great consolation to the child. Young as he

was, however, he had sense enough to make a feint of feeling

great regret at going away. It was no very difficult matter for

the boy to call tears into his eyes. Hunger and recent ill-usage

are great assistants if you want to cry; and Oliver cried very

naturally indeed. Mrs. Mann gave him a thousand embraces, and

what Oliver wanted a great deal more, a piece of bread and

butter, less he should seem too hungry when he got to the

workhouse. With the slice of bread in his hand, and the little

brown-cloth parish cap on his head, Oliver was then led away by

Mr. Bumble from the wretched home where one kind word or look had

never lighted the gloom of his infant years. And yet he burst

into an agony of childish grief, as the cottage-gate closed after

him. Wretched as were the little companions in misery he was

leaving behind, they were the only friends he had ever known; and

a sense of his loneliness in the great wide world, sank into the

child's heart for the first time.



Mr. Bumble walked on with long strides; little Oliver, firmly

grasping his gold-laced cuff, trotted beside him, inquiring at

the end of every quarter of a mile whether they were 'nearly

there.' To these interrogations Mr. Bumble returned very brief

and snappish replies; for the temporary blandness which

gin-and-water awakens in some bosoms had by this time evaporated;

and he was once again a beadle.



Oliver had not been within the walls of the workhouse a quarter

of an hour, and had scarcely completed the demolition of a second

slice of bread, when Mr. Bumble, who had handed him over to the

care of an old woman, returned; and, telling him it was a board

night, informed him that the board had said he was to appear

before it forthwith.



Not having a very clearly defined notion of what a live board

was, Oliver was rather astounded by this intelligence, and was

not quite certain whether he ought to laugh or cry. He had no

time to think about the matter, however; for Mr. Bumble gave him

a tap on the head, with his cane, to wake him up: and another on

the back to make him lively: and bidding him to follow,

conducted him into a large white-washed room, where eight or ten

fat gentlemen were sitting round a table. At the top of the

table, seated in an arm-chair rather higher than the rest, was a

particularly fat gentleman with a very round, red face.



'Bow to the board,' said Bumble. Oliver brushed away two or

three tears that were lingering in his eyes; and seeing no board

but the table, fortunately bowed to that.



'What's your name, boy?' said the gentleman in the high chair.



Oliver was frightened at the sight of so many gentlemen, which

made him tremble: and the beadle gave him another tap behind,

which made him cry. These two causes made him answer in a very

low and hesitating voice; whereupon a gentleman in a white

waistcoat said he was a fool. Which was a capital way of raising

his spirits, and putting him quite at his ease.



'Boy,' said the gentleman in the high chair, 'listen to me. You

know you're an orphan, I suppose?'



'What's that, sir?' inquired poor Oliver.



'The boy _is_ a fool--I thought he was,' said the gentleman in the

white waistcoat.



'Hush!' said the gentleman who had spoken first. 'You know

you've got no father or mother, and that you were brought up by

the parish, don't you?'



'Yes, sir,' replied Oliver, weeping bitterly.



'What are you crying for?' inquired the gentleman in the white

waistcoat. And to be sure it was very extraordinary. What _could_

the boy be crying for?



'I hope you say your prayers every night,' said another gentleman

in a gruff voice; 'and pray for the people who feed you, and take

care of you--like a Christian.'



'Yes, sir,' stammered the boy. The gentleman who spoke last was

unconsciously right. It would have been very like a Christian,

and a marvellously good Christian too, if Oliver had prayed for

the people who fed and took care of _him_. But he hadn't, because

nobody had taught him.



'Well! You have come here to be educated, and taught a useful

trade,' said the red-faced gentleman in the high chair.



'So you'll begin to pick oakum to-morrow morning at six o'clock,'

added the surly one in the white waistcoat.



For the combination of both these blessings in the one simple

process of picking oakum, Oliver bowed low by the direction of

the beadle, and was then hurried away to a large ward; where, on

a rough, hard bed, he sobbed himself to sleep. What a novel

illustration of the tender laws of England! They let the paupers

go to sleep!



Poor Oliver! He little thought, as he lay sleeping in happy

unconsciousness of all around him, that the board had that very

day arrived at a decision which would exercise the most material

influence over all his future fortunes. But they had. And this

was it:



The members of this board were very sage, deep, philosophical

men; and when they came to turn their attention to the workhouse,

they found out at once, what ordinary folks would never have

discovered--the poor people liked it! It was a regular place of

public entertainment for the poorer classes; a tavern where there

was nothing to pay; a public breakfast, dinner, tea, and supper

all the year round; a brick and mortar elysium, where it was all

play and no work. 'Oho!' said the board, looking very knowing;

'we are the fellows to set this to rights; we'll stop it all, in

no time.' So, they established the rule, that all poor people

should have the alternative (for they would compel nobody, not

they), of being starved by a gradual process in the house, or by

a quick one out of it. With this view, they contracted with the

water-works to lay on an unlimited supply of water; and with a

corn-factor to supply periodically small quantities of oatmeal;

and issued three meals of thin gruel a day, with an onion twice a

week, and half a roll of Sundays. They made a great many other

wise and humane regulations, having reference to the ladies,

which it is not necessary to repeat; kindly undertook to divorce

poor married people, in consequence of the great expense of a

suit in Doctors' Commons; and, instead of compelling a man to

support his family, as they had theretofore done, took his family

away from him, and made him a bachelor! There is no saying how

many applicants for relief, under these last two heads, might

have started up in all classes of society, if it had not been

coupled with the workhouse; but the board were long-headed men,

and had provided for this difficulty. The relief was inseparable

from the workhouse and the gruel; and that frightened people.



For the first six months after Oliver Twist was removed, the

system was in full operation. It was rather expensive at first,

in consequence of the increase in the undertaker's bill, and the

necessity of taking in the clothes of all the paupers, which

fluttered loosely on their wasted, shrunken forms, after a week

or two's gruel. But the number of workhouse inmates got thin as

well as the paupers; and the board were in ecstasies.



The room in which the boys were fed, was a large stone hall, with

a copper at one end: out of which the master, dressed in an

apron for the purpose, and assisted by one or two women, ladled

the gruel at mealtimes. Of this festive composition each boy had

one porringer, and no more--except on occasions of great public

rejoicing, when he had two ounces and a quarter of bread besides.



The bowls never wanted washing. The boys polished them with

their spoons till they shone again; and when they had performed

this operation (which never took very long, the spoons being

nearly as large as the bowls), they would sit staring at the

copper, with such eager eyes, as if they could have devoured the

very bricks of which it was composed; employing themselves,

meanwhile, in sucking their fingers most assiduously, with the

view of catching up any stray splashes of gruel that might have

been cast thereon. Boys have generally excellent appetites.

Oliver Twist and his companions suffered the tortures of slow

starvation for three months: at last they got so voracious and

wild with hunger, that one boy, who was tall for his age, and

hadn't been used to that sort of thing (for his father had kept a

small cook-shop), hinted darkly to his companions, that unless he

had another basin of gruel per diem, he was afraid he might some

night happen to eat the boy who slept next him, who happened to

be a weakly youth of tender age. He had a wild, hungry eye; and

they implicitly believed him. A council was held; lots were cast

who should walk up to the master after supper that evening, and

ask for more; and it fell to Oliver Twist.



The evening arrived; the boys took their places. The master, in

his cook's uniform, stationed himself at the copper; his pauper

assistants ranged themselves behind him; the gruel was served

out; and a long grace was said over the short commons. The gruel

disappeared; the boys whispered each other, and winked at Oliver;

while his next neighbors nudged him. Child as he was, he was

desperate with hunger, and reckless with misery. He rose from

the table; and advancing to the master, basin and spoon in hand,

said: somewhat alarmed at his own temerity:



'Please, sir, I want some more.'



The master was a fat, healthy man; but he turned very pale. He

gazed in stupefied astonishment on the small rebel for some

seconds, and then clung for support to the copper. The

assistants were paralysed with wonder; the boys with fear.



'What!' said the master at length, in a faint voice.



'Please, sir,' replied Oliver, 'I want some more.'



The master aimed a blow at Oliver's head with the ladle; pinioned

him in his arm; and shrieked aloud for the beadle.



The board were sitting in solemn conclave, when Mr. Bumble rushed

into the room in great excitement, and addressing the gentleman

in the high chair, said,



'Mr. Limbkins, I beg your pardon, sir! Oliver Twist has asked

for more!'



There was a general start. Horror was depicted on every

countenance.



'For _more_!' said Mr. Limbkins. 'Compose yourself, Bumble, and

answer me distinctly. Do I understand that he asked for more,

after he had eaten the supper allotted by the dietary?'



'He did, sir,' replied Bumble.



'That boy will be hung,' said the gentleman in the white

waistcoat. 'I know that boy will be hung.'



Nobody controverted the prophetic gentleman's opinion. An

animated discussion took place. Oliver was ordered into instant

confinement; and a bill was next morning pasted on the outside of

the gate, offering a reward of five pounds to anybody who would

take Oliver Twist off the hands of the parish. In other words,

five pounds and Oliver Twist were offered to any man or woman who

wanted an apprentice to any trade, business, or calling.



'I never was more convinced of anything in my life,' said the

gentleman in the white waistcoat, as he knocked at the gate and

read the bill next morning: 'I never was more convinced of

anything in my life, than I am that that boy will come to be

hung.'



As I purpose to show in the sequel whether the white waistcoated

gentleman was right or not, I should perhaps mar the interest of

this narrative (supposing it to possess any at all), if I

ventured to hint just yet, whether the life of Oliver Twist had

this violent termination or no.









CHAPTER III



RELATES HOW OLIVER TWIST WAS VERY NEAR GETTING A PLACE WHICH

WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN A SINECURE



For a week after the commission of the impious and profane

offence of asking for more, Oliver remained a close prisoner in

the dark and solitary room to which he had been consigned by the

wisdom and mercy of the board. It appears, at first sight not

unreasonable to suppose, that, if he had entertained a becoming

feeling of respect for the prediction of the gentleman in the

white waistcoat, he would have established that sage individual's

prophetic character, once and for ever, by tying one end of his

pocket-handkerchief to a hook in the wall, and attaching himself

to the other. To the performance of this feat, however, there

was one obstacle: namely, that pocket-handkerchiefs being

decided articles of luxury, had been, for all future times and

ages, removed from the noses of paupers by the express order of

the board, in council assembled: solemnly given and pronounced

under their hands and seals. There was a still greater obstacle

in Oliver's youth and childishness. He only cried bitterly all

day; and, when the long, dismal night came on, spread his little

hands before his eyes to shut out the darkness, and crouching in

the corner, tried to sleep: ever and anon waking with a start

and tremble, and drawing himself closer and closer to the wall,

as if to feel even its cold hard surface were a protection in the

gloom and loneliness which surrounded him.



Let it not be supposed by the enemies of 'the system,' that,

during the period of his solitary incarceration, Oliver was

denied the benefit of exercise, the pleasure of society, or the

advantages of religious consolation. As for exercise, it was

nice cold weather, and he was allowed to perform his ablutions

every morning under the pump, in a stone yard, in the presence of

Mr. Bumble, who prevented his catching cold, and caused a

tingling sensation to pervade his frame, by repeated applications

of the cane. As for society, he was carried every other day into

the hall where the boys dined, and there sociably flogged as a

public warning and example. And so for from being denied the

advantages of religious consolation, he was kicked into the same

apartment every evening at prayer-time, and there permitted to

listen to, and console his mind with, a general supplication of

the boys, containing a special clause, therein inserted by

authority of the board, in which they entreated to be made good,

virtuous, contented, and obedient, and to be guarded from the

sins and vices of Oliver Twist: whom the supplication distinctly

set forth to be under the exclusive patronage and protection of

the powers of wickedness, and an article direct from the

manufactory of the very Devil himself.



It chanced one morning, while Oliver's affairs were in this

auspicious and comfortable state, that Mr. Gamfield,

chimney-sweep, went his way down the High Street, deeply

cogitating in his mind his ways and means of paying certain

arrears of rent, for which his landlord had become rather

pressing. Mr. Gamfield's most sanguine estimate of his finances

could not raise them within full five pounds of the desired

amount; and, in a species of arthimetical desperation, he was

alternately cudgelling his brains and his donkey, when passing

the workhouse, his eyes encountered the bill on the gate.



'Wo--o!' said Mr. Gamfield to the donkey.



The donkey was in a state of profound abstraction: wondering,

probably, whether he was destined to be regaled with a

cabbage-stalk or two when he had disposed of the two sacks of

soot with which the little cart was laden; so, without noticing

the word of command, he jogged onward.



Mr. Gamfield growled a fierce imprecation on the donkey

generally, but more particularly on his eyes; and, running after

him, bestowed a blow on his head, which would inevitably have

beaten in any skull but a donkey's. Then, catching hold of the

bridle, he gave his jaw a sharp wrench, by way of gentle reminder

that he was not his own master; and by these means turned him

round. He then gave him another blow on the head, just to stun

him till he came back again. Having completed these

arrangements, he walked up to the gate, to read the bill.



The gentleman with the white waistcoat was standing at the gate

with his hands behind him, after having delivered himself of some

profound sentiments in the board-room. Having witnessed the

little dispute between Mr. Gamfield and the donkey, he smiled

joyously when that person came up to read the bill, for he saw at

once that Mr. Gamfield was exactly the sort of master Oliver

Twist wanted. Mr. Gamfield smiled, too, as he perused the

document; for five pounds was just the sum he had been wishing

for; and, as to the boy with which it was encumbered, Mr.

Gamfield, knowing what the dietary of the workhouse was, well

knew he would be a nice small pattern, just the very thing for

register stoves. So, he spelt the bill through again, from

beginning to end; and then, touching his fur cap in token of

humility, accosted the gentleman in the white waistcoat.



'This here boy, sir, wot the parish wants to 'prentis,' said Mr.

Gamfield.



'Ay, my man,' said the gentleman in the white waistcoat, with a

condescending smile. 'What of him?'



'If the parish vould like him to learn a right pleasant trade, in

a good 'spectable chimbley-sweepin' bisness,' said Mr. Gamfield,

'I wants a 'prentis, and I am ready to take him.'



'Walk in,' said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. Mr.

Gamfield having lingered behind, to give the donkey another blow

on the head, and another wrench of the jaw, as a caution not to

run away in his absence, followed the gentleman with the white

waistcoat into the room where Oliver had first seen him.



'It's a nasty trade,' said Mr. Limbkins, when Gamfield had again

stated his wish.



'Young boys have been smothered in chimneys before now,' said

another gentleman.



'That's acause they damped the straw afore they lit it in the

chimbley to make 'em come down again,' said Gamfield; 'that's all

smoke, and no blaze; vereas smoke ain't o' no use at all in

making a boy come down, for it only sinds him to sleep, and

that's wot he likes. Boys is wery obstinit, and wery lazy,

Gen'l'men, and there's nothink like a good hot blaze to make 'em

come down vith a run. It's humane too, gen'l'men, acause, even

if they've stuck in the chimbley, roasting their feet makes 'em

struggle to hextricate theirselves.'



The gentleman in the white waistcoat appeared very much amused by

this explanation; but his mirth was speedily checked by a look

from Mr. Limbkins. The board then proceeded to converse among

themselves for a few minutes, but in so low a tone, that the

words 'saving of expenditure,' 'looked well in the accounts,'

'have a printed report published,' were alone audible. These

only chanced to be heard, indeed, or account of their being very

frequently repeated with great emphasis.



At length the whispering ceased; and the members of the board,

having resumed their seats and their solemnity, Mr. Limbkins

said:



'We have considered your proposition, and we don't approve of

it.'



'Not at all,' said the gentleman in the white waistcoat.



'Decidedly not,' added the other members.



As Mr. Gamfield did happen to labour under the slight imputation

of having bruised three or four boys to death already, it

occurred to him that the board had, perhaps, in some

unaccountable freak, taken it into their heads that this

extraneous circumstance ought to influence their proceedings. It

was very unlike their general mode of doing business, if they

had; but still, as he had no particular wish to revive the

rumour, he twisted his cap in his hands, and walked slowly from

the table.



'So you won't let me have him, gen'l'men?' said Mr. Gamfield,

pausing near the door.



'No,' replied Mr. Limbkins; 'at least, as it's a nasty business,

we think you ought to take something less than the premium we

offered.'



Mr. Gamfield's countenance brightened, as, with a quick step, he

returned to the table, and said,



'What'll you give, gen'l'men? Come! Don't be too hard on a poor

man. What'll you give?'



'I should say, three pound ten was plenty,' said Mr. Limbkins.



'Ten shillings too much,' said the gentleman in the white

waistcoat.



'Come!' said Gamfield; 'say four pound, gen'l'men. Say four

pound, and you've got rid of him for good and all. There!'



'Three pound ten,' repeated Mr. Limbkins, firmly.



'Come! I'll split the diff'erence, gen'l'men,' urged Gamfield.

'Three pound fifteen.'



'Not a farthing more,' was the firm reply of Mr. Limbkins.



'You're desperate hard upon me, gen'l'men,' said Gamfield,

wavering.



'Pooh! pooh! nonsense!' said the gentleman in the white

waistcoat. 'He'd be cheap with nothing at all, as a premium.

Take him, you silly fellow! He's just the boy for you. He wants

the stick, now and then: it'll do him good; and his board

needn't come very expensive, for he hasn't been overfed since he

was born. Ha! ha! ha!'



Mr. Gamfield gave an arch look at the faces round the table, and,

observing a smile on all of them, gradually broke into a smile

himself. The bargain was made. Mr. Bumble, was at once

instructed that Oliver Twist and his indentures were to be

conveyed before the magistrate, for signature and approval, that

very afternoon.



In pursuance of this determination, little Oliver, to his

excessive astonishment, was released from bondage, and ordered to

put himself into a clean shirt. He had hardly achieved this very

unusual gymnastic performance, when Mr. Bumble brought him, with

his own hands, a basin of gruel, and the holiday allowance of two

ounces and a quarter of bread. At this tremendous sight, Oliver

began to cry very piteously: thinking, not unnaturally, that the

board must have determined to kill him for some useful purpose,

or they never would have begun to fatten him up in that way.



'Don't make your eyes red, Oliver, but eat your food and be

thankful,' said Mr. Bumble, in a tone of impressive pomposity.

'You're a going to be made a 'prentice of, Oliver.'



'A prentice, sir!' said the child, trembling.



'Yes, Oliver,' said Mr. Bumble. 'The kind and blessed gentleman

which is so many parents to you, Oliver, when you have none of

your own: are a going to 'prentice' you: and to set you up in

life, and make a man of you: although the expense to the parish

is three pound ten!--three pound ten, Oliver!--seventy

shillins--one hundred and forty sixpences!--and all for a naughty

orphan which nobody can't love.'



As Mr. Bumble paused to take breath, after delivering this

address in an awful voice, the tears rolled down the poor child's

face, and he sobbed bitterly.



'Come,' said Mr. Bumble, somewhat less pompously, for it was

gratifying to his feelings to observe the effect his eloquence

had produced; 'Come, Oliver! Wipe your eyes with the cuffs of

your jacket, and don't cry into your gruel; that's a very foolish

action, Oliver.' It certainly was, for there was quite enough

water in it already.



On their way to the magistrate, Mr. Bumble instructed Oliver that

all he would have to do, would be to look very happy, and say,

when the gentleman asked him if he wanted to be apprenticed, that

he should like it very much indeed; both of which injunctions

Oliver promised to obey: the rather as Mr. Bumble threw in a

gentle hint, that if he failed in either particular, there was no

telling what would be done to him. When they arrived at the

office, he was shut up in a little room by himself, and

admonished by Mr. Bumble to stay there, until he came back to

fetch him.



There the boy remained, with a palpitating heart, for half an

hour. At the expiration of which time Mr. Bumble thrust in his

head, unadorned with the cocked hat, and said aloud:



'Now, Oliver, my dear, come to the gentleman.' As Mr. Bumble

said this, he put on a grim and threatening look, and added, in a

low voice, 'Mind what I told you, you young rascal!'



Oliver stared innocently in Mr. Bumble's face at this somewhat

contradictory style of address; but that gentleman prevented his

offering any remark thereupon, by leading him at once into an

adjoining room: the door of which was open. It was a large room,

with a great window. Behind a desk, sat two old gentleman with

powdered heads: one of whom was reading the newspaper; while the

other was perusing, with the aid of a pair of tortoise-shell

spectacles, a small piece of parchment which lay before him. Mr.

Limbkins was standing in front of the desk on one side; and Mr.

Gamfield, with a partially washed face, on the other; while two

or three bluff-looking men, in top-boots, were lounging about.



The old gentleman with the spectacles gradually dozed off, over

the little bit of parchment; and there was a short pause, after

Oliver had been stationed by Mr. Bumble in front of the desk.



'This is the boy, your worship,' said Mr. Bumble.



The old gentleman who was reading the newspaper raised his head

for a moment, and pulled the other old gentleman by the sleeve;

whereupon, the last-mentioned old gentleman woke up.



'Oh, is this the boy?' said the old gentleman.



'This is him, sir,' replied Mr. Bumble. 'Bow to the magistrate,

my dear.'



Oliver roused himself, and made his best obeisance. He had been

wondering, with his eyes fixed on the magistrates' powder,

whether all boards were born with that white stuff on their

heads, and were boards from thenceforth on that account.



'Well,' said the old gentleman, 'I suppose he's fond of

chimney-sweeping?'



'He doats on it, your worship,' replied Bumble; giving Oliver a

sly pinch, to intimate that he had better not say he didn't.



'And he _will_ be a sweep, will he?' inquired the old gentleman.



'If we was to bind him to any other trade to-morrow, he'd run

away simultaneous, your worship,' replied Bumble.



'And this man that's to be his master--you, sir--you'll treat him

well, and feed him, and do all that sort of thing, will you?'

said the old gentleman.



'When I says I will, I means I will,' replied Mr. Gamfield

doggedly.



'You're a rough speaker, my friend, but you look an honest,

open-hearted man,' said the old gentleman: turning his

spectacles in the direction of the candidate for Oliver's

premium, whose villainous countenance was a regular stamped

receipt for cruelty. But the magistrate was half blind and half

childish, so he couldn't reasonably be expected to discern what

other people did.



'I hope I am, sir,' said Mr. Gamfield, with an ugly leer.



'I have no doubt you are, my friend,' replied the old gentleman:

fixing his spectacles more firmly on his nose, and looking about

him for the inkstand.



It was the critical moment of Oliver's fate. If the inkstand had

been where the old gentleman thought it was, he would have dipped

his pen into it, and signed the indentures, and Oliver would have

been straightway hurried off. But, as it chanced to be

immediately under his nose, it followed, as a matter of course,

that he looked all over his desk for it, without finding it; and

happening in the course of his search to look straight before

him, his gaze encountered the pale and terrified face of Oliver

Twist: who, despite all the admonitory looks and pinches of

Bumble, was regarding the repulsive countenance of his future

master, with a mingled expression of horror and fear, too

palpable to be mistaken, even by a half-blind magistrate.



The old gentleman stopped, laid down his pen, and looked from

Oliver to Mr. Limbkins; who attempted to take snuff with a

cheerful and unconcerned aspect.



'My boy!' said the old gentleman, 'you look pale and alarmed.

What is the matter?'



'Stand a little away from him, Beadle,' said the other

magistrate: laying aside the paper, and leaning forward with an

expression of interest. 'Now, boy, tell us what's the matter:

don't be afraid.'



Oliver fell on his knees, and clasping his hands together, prayed

that they would order him back to the dark room--that they would

starve him--beat him--kill him if they pleased--rather than send

him away with that dreadful man.



'Well!' said Mr. Bumble, raising his hands and eyes with most

impressive solemnity. 'Well! of all the artful and designing

orphans that ever I see, Oliver, you are one of the most

bare-facedest.'



'Hold your tongue, Beadle,' said the second old gentleman, when

Mr. Bumble had given vent to this compound adjective.



'I beg your worship's pardon,' said Mr. Bumble, incredulous of

having heard aright. 'Did your worship speak to me?'



'Yes. Hold your tongue.'



Mr. Bumble was stupefied with astonishment. A beadle ordered to

hold his tongue! A moral revolution!



The old gentleman in the tortoise-shell spectacles looked at his

companion, he nodded significantly.



'We refuse to sanction these indentures,' said the old gentleman:

tossing aside the piece of parchment as he spoke.



'I hope,' stammered Mr. Limbkins: 'I hope the magistrates will

not form the opinion that the authorities have been guilty of any

improper conduct, on the unsupported testimony of a child.'



'The magistrates are not called upon to pronounce any opinion on

the matter,' said the second old gentleman sharply. 'Take the

boy back to the workhouse, and treat him kindly. He seems to

want it.'



That same evening, the gentleman in the white waistcoat most

positively and decidedly affirmed, not only that Oliver would be

hung, but that he would be drawn and quartered into the bargain.

Mr. Bumble shook his head with gloomy mystery, and said he wished

he might come to good; whereunto Mr. Gamfield replied, that he

wished he might come to him; which, although he agreed with the

beadle in most matters, would seem to be a wish of a totally

opposite description.



The next morning, the public were once informed that Oliver Twist

was again To Let, and that five pounds would be paid to anybody

who would take possession of him.









CHAPTER IV



OLIVER, BEING OFFERED ANOTHER PLACE, MAKES HIS FIRST ENTRY INTO

PUBLIC LIFE



In great families, when an advantageous place cannot be obtained,

either in possession, reversion, remainder, or expectancy, for

the young man who is growing up, it is a very general custom to

send him to sea. The board, in imitation of so wise and salutary

an example, took counsel together on the expediency of shipping

off Oliver Twist, in some small trading vessel bound to a good

unhealthy port. This suggested itself as the very best thing

that could possibly be done with him: the probability being, that

the skipper would flog him to death, in a playful mood, some day

after dinner, or would knock his brains out with an iron bar;

both pastimes being, as is pretty generally known, very favourite

and common recreations among gentleman of that class. The more

the case presented itself to the board, in this point of view,

the more manifold the advantages of the step appeared; so, they

came to the conclusion that the only way of providing for Oliver

effectually, was to send him to sea without delay.



Mr. Bumble had been despatched to make various preliminary

inquiries, with the view of finding out some captain or other who

wanted a cabin-boy without any friends; and was returning to the

workhouse to communicate the result of his mission; when he

encountered at the gate, no less a person than Mr. Sowerberry,

the parochial undertaker.



Mr. Sowerberry was a tall gaunt, large-jointed man, attired in a

suit of threadbare black, with darned cotton stockings of the

same colour, and shoes to answer. His features were not

naturally intended to wear a smiling aspect, but he was in

general rather given to professional jocosity. His step was

elastic, and his face betokened inward pleasantry, as he advanced

to Mr. Bumble, and shook him cordially by the hand.



'I have taken the measure of the two women that died last night,

Mr. Bumble,' said the undertaker.



'You'll make your fortune, Mr. Sowerberry,' said the beadle, as

he thrust his thumb and forefinger into the proffered snuff-box

of the undertaker: which was an ingenious little model of a

patent coffin. 'I say you'll make your fortune, Mr. Sowerberry,'

repeated Mr. Bumble, tapping the undertaker on the shoulder, in a

friendly manner, with his cane.



'Think so?' said the undertaker in a tone which half admitted and

half disputed the probability of the event. 'The prices allowed

by the board are very small, Mr. Bumble.'



'So are the coffins,' replied the beadle: with precisely as near

an approach to a laugh as a great official ought to indulge in.



Mr. Sowerberry was much tickled at this: as of course he ought

to be; and laughed a long time without cessation. 'Well, well,

Mr. Bumble,' he said at length, 'there's no denying that, since

the new system of feeding has come in, the coffins are something

narrower and more shallow than they used to be; but we must have

some profit, Mr. Bumble. Well-seasoned timber is an expensive

article, sir; and all the iron handles come, by canal, from

Birmingham.'



'Well, well,' said Mr. Bumble, 'every trade has its drawbacks. A

fair profit is, of course, allowable.'



'Of course, of course,' replied the undertaker; 'and if I don't

get a profit upon this or that particular article, why, I make it

up in the long-run, you see--he! he! he!'



'Just so,' said Mr. Bumble.



'Though I must say,' continued the undertaker, resuming the

current of observations which the beadle had interrupted: 'though

I must say, Mr. Bumble, that I have to contend against one very

great disadvantage: which is, that all the stout people go off

the quickest. The people who have been better off, and have paid

rates for many years, are the first to sink when they come into

the house; and let me tell you, Mr. Bumble, that three or four

inches over one's calculation makes a great hole in one's

profits: especially when one has a family to provide for, sir.'



As Mr. Sowerberry said this, with the becoming indignation of an

ill-used man; and as Mr. Bumble felt that it rather tended to

convey a reflection on the honour of the parish; the latter

gentleman thought it advisable to change the subject. Oliver

Twist being uppermost in his mind, he made him his theme.



'By the bye,' said Mr. Bumble, 'you don't know anybody who wants

a boy, do you? A porochial 'prentis, who is at present a

dead-weight; a millstone, as I may say, round the porochial

throat? Liberal terms, Mr. Sowerberry, liberal terms?' As Mr.

Bumble spoke, he raised his cane to the bill above him, and gave

three distinct raps upon the words 'five pounds': which were

printed thereon in Roman capitals of gigantic size.



'Gadso!' said the undertaker: taking Mr. Bumble by the

gilt-edged lappel of his official coat; 'that's just the very

thing I wanted to speak to you about. You know--dear me, what a

very elegant button this is, Mr. Bumble! I never noticed it

before.'



'Yes, I think it rather pretty,' said the beadle, glancing

proudly downwards at the large brass buttons which embellished

his coat. 'The die is the same as the porochial seal--the Good

Samaritan healing the sick and bruised man. The board presented

it to me on Newyear's morning, Mr. Sowerberry. I put it on, I

remember, for the first time, to attend the inquest on that

reduced tradesman, who died in a doorway at midnight.'



'I recollect,' said the undertaker. 'The jury brought it in,

"Died from exposure to the cold, and want of the common

necessaries of life," didn't they?'



Mr. Bumble nodded.



'And they made it a special verdict, I think,' said the

undertaker, 'by adding some words to the effect, that if the

relieving officer had--'



'Tush! Foolery!' interposed the beadle. 'If the board attended

to all the nonsense that ignorant jurymen talk, they'd have

enough to do.'



'Very true,' said the undertaker; 'they would indeed.'



'Juries,' said Mr. Bumble, grasping his cane tightly, as was his

wont when working into a passion: 'juries is ineddicated,

vulgar, grovelling wretches.'



'So they are,' said the undertaker.



'They haven't no more philosophy nor political economy about 'em

than that,' said the beadle, snapping his fingers contemptuously.



'No more they have,' acquiesced the undertaker.



'I despise 'em,' said the beadle, growing very red in the face.



'So do I,' rejoined the undertaker.



'And I only wish we'd a jury of the independent sort, in the

house for a week or two,' said the beadle; 'the rules and

regulations of the board would soon bring their spirit down for

'em.'



'Let 'em alone for that,' replied the undertaker. So saying, he

smiled, approvingly: to calm the rising wrath of the indignant

parish officer.



Mr Bumble lifted off his cocked hat; took a handkerchief from the

inside of the crown; wiped from his forehead the perspiration

which his rage had engendered; fixed the cocked hat on again;

and, turning to the undertaker, said in a calmer voice:



'Well; what about the boy?'



'Oh!' replied the undertaker; 'why, you know, Mr. Bumble, I pay a

good deal towards the poor's rates.'



'Hem!' said Mr. Bumble. 'Well?'



'Well,' replied the undertaker, 'I was thinking that if I pay so

much towards 'em, I've a right to get as much out of 'em as I

can, Mr. Bumble; and so--I think I'll take the boy myself.'



Mr. Bumble grasped the undertaker by the arm, and led him into

the building. Mr. Sowerberry was closeted with the board for

five minutes; and it was arranged that Oliver should go to him

that evening 'upon liking'--a phrase which means, in the case of

a parish apprentice, that if the master find, upon a short trial,

that he can get enough work out of a boy without putting too much

food into him, he shall have him for a term of years, to do what

he likes with.



When little Oliver was taken before 'the gentlemen' that evening;

and informed that he was to go, that night, as general house-lad

to a coffin-maker's; and that if he complained of his situation,

or ever came back to the parish again, he would be sent to sea,

there to be drowned, or knocked on the head, as the case might

be, he evinced so little emotion, that they by common consent

pronounced him a hardened young rascal, and ordered Mr. Bumble to

remove him forthwith.



Now, although it was very natural that the board, of all people

in the world, should feel in a great state of virtuous

astonishment and horror at the smallest tokens of want of feeling

on the part of anybody, they were rather out, in this particular

instance. The simple fact was, that Oliver, instead of

possessing too little feeling, possessed rather too much; and was

in a fair way of being reduced, for life, to a state of brutal

stupidity and sullenness by the ill usage he had received. He

heard the news of his destination, in perfect silence; and,

having had his luggage put into his hand--which was not very

difficult to carry, inasmuch as it was all comprised within the

limits of a brown paper parcel, about half a foot square by three

inches deep--he pulled his cap over his eyes; and once more

attaching himself to Mr. Bumble's coat cuff, was led away by that

dignitary to a new scene of suffering.



For some time, Mr. Bumble drew Oliver along, without notice or

remark; for the beadle carried his head very erect, as a beadle

always should: and, it being a windy day, little Oliver was

completely enshrouded by the skirts of Mr. Bumble's coat as they

blew open, and disclosed to great advantage his flapped waistcoat

and drab plush knee-breeches. As they drew near to their

destination, however, Mr. Bumble thought it expedient to look

down, and see that the boy was in good order for inspection by

his new master: which he accordingly did, with a fit and

becoming air of gracious patronage.



'Oliver!' said Mr. Bumble.



'Yes, sir,' replied Oliver, in a low, tremulous voice.



'Pull that cap off your eyes, and hold up your head, sir.'



Although Oliver did as he was desired, at once; and passed the

back of his unoccupied hand briskly across his eyes, he left a

tear in them when he looked up at his conductor. As Mr. Bumble

gazed sternly upon him, it rolled down his cheek. It was followed

by another, and another. The child made a strong effort, but it

was an unsuccessful one. Withdrawing his other hand from Mr.

Bumble's he covered his face with both; and wept until the tears

sprung out from between his chin and bony fingers.



'Well!' exclaimed Mr. Bumble, stopping short, and darting at his

little charge a look of intense malignity. 'Well! Of _all_ the

ungratefullest, and worst-disposed boys as ever I see, Oliver,

you are the--'



'No, no, sir,' sobbed Oliver, clinging to the hand which held the

well-known cane; 'no, no, sir; I will be good indeed; indeed,

indeed I will, sir! I am a very little boy, sir; and it is

so--so--'



'So what?' inquired Mr. Bumble in amazement.



'So lonely, sir! So very lonely!' cried the child. 'Everybody

hates me. Oh! sir, don't, don't pray be cross to me!' The child

beat his hand upon his heart; and looked in his companion's face,

with tears of real agony.



Mr. Bumble regarded Oliver's piteous and helpless look, with some

astonishment, for a few seconds; hemmed three or four times in a

husky manner; and after muttering something about 'that

troublesome cough,' bade Oliver dry his eyes and be a good boy.

Then once more taking his hand, he walked on with him in silence.



The undertaker, who had just putup the shutters of his shop, was

making some entries in his day-book by the light of a most

appropriate dismal candle, when Mr. Bumble entered.



'Aha!' said the undertaker; looking up from the book, and pausing

in the middle of a word; 'is that you, Bumble?'



'No one else, Mr. Sowerberry,' replied the beadle. 'Here! I've

brought the boy.' Oliver made a bow.



'Oh! that's the boy, is it?' said the undertaker: raising the

candle above his head, to get a better view of Oliver. 'Mrs.

Sowerberry, will you have the goodness to come here a moment, my

dear?'



Mrs. Sowerberry emerged from a little room behind the shop, and

presented the form of a short, then, squeezed-up woman, with a

vixenish countenance.



'My dear,' said Mr. Sowerberry, deferentially, 'this is the boy

from the workhouse that I told you of.' Oliver bowed again.



'Dear me!' said the undertaker's wife, 'he's very small.'



'Why, he _is_ rather small,' replied Mr. Bumble: looking at Oliver

as if it were his fault that he was no bigger; 'he is small.

There's no denying it. But he'll grow, Mrs. Sowerberry--he'll

grow.'



'Ah! I dare say he will,' replied the lady pettishly, 'on our

victuals and our drink. I see no saving in parish children, not

I; for they always cost more to keep, than they're worth.

However, men always think they know best. There! Get downstairs,

little bag o' bones.' With this, the undertaker's wife opened a

side door, and pushed Oliver down a steep flight of stairs into a

stone cell, damp and dark: forming the ante-room to the

coal-cellar, and denominated 'kitchen'; wherein sat a slatternly

girl, in shoes down at heel, and blue worsted stockings very much

out of repair.



'Here, Charlotte,' said Mr. Sowerberry, who had followed Oliver

down, 'give this boy some of the cold bits that were put by for

Trip. He hasn't come home since the morning, so he may go

without 'em. I dare say the boy isn't too dainty to eat 'em--are

you, boy?'



Oliver, whose eyes had glistened at the mention of meat, and who

was trembling with eagerness to devour it, replied in the

negative; and a plateful of coarse broken victuals was set before

him.



I wish some well-fed philosopher, whose meat and drink turn to

gall within him; whose blood is ice, whose heart is iron; could

have seen Oliver Twist clutching at the dainty viands that the

dog had neglected. I wish he could have witnessed the horrible

avidity with which Oliver tore the bits asunder with all the

ferocity of famine. There is only one thing I should like

better; and that would be to see the Philosopher making the same

sort of meal himself, with the same relish.



'Well,' said the undertaker's wife, when Oliver had finished his

supper: which she had regarded in silent horror, and with

fearful auguries of his future appetite: 'have you done?'



There being nothing eatable within his reach, Oliver replied in

the affirmative.



'Then come with me,' said Mrs. Sowerberry: taking up a dim and

dirty lamp, and leading the way upstairs; 'your bed's under the

counter. You don't mind sleeping among the coffins, I suppose?

But it doesn't much matter whether you do or don't, for you can't

sleep anywhere else. Come; don't keep me here all night!'



Oliver lingered no longer, but meekly followed his new mistress.









CHAPTER V



OLIVER MINGLES WITH NEW ASSOCIATES. GOING TO A FUNERAL FOR THE

FIRST TIME, HE FORMS AN UNFAVOURABLE NOTION OF HIS MASTER'S

BUSINESS



Oliver, being left to himself in the undertaker's shop, set the

lamp down on a workman's bench, and gazed timidly about him with

a feeling of awe and dread, which many people a good deal older

than he will be at no loss to understand. An unfinished coffin

on black tressels, which stood in the middle of the shop, looked

so gloomy and death-like that a cold tremble came over him, every

time his eyes wandered in the direction of the dismal object:

from which he almost expected to see some frightful form slowly

rear its head, to drive him mad with terror. Against the wall

were ranged, in regular array, a long row of elm boards cut in

the same shape: looking in the dim light, like high-shouldered

ghosts with their hands in their breeches pockets.

Coffin-plates, elm-chips, bright-headed nails, and shreds of

black cloth, lay scattered on the floor; and the wall behind the

counter was ornamented with a lively representation of two mutes

in very stiff neckcloths, on duty at a large private door, with a

hearse drawn by four black steeds, approaching in the distance.

The shop was close and hot. The atmosphere seemed tainted with

the smell of coffins. The recess beneath the counter in which

his flock mattress was thrust, looked like a grave.



Nor were these the only dismal feelings which depressed Oliver.

He was alone in a strange place; and we all know how chilled and

desolate the best of us will sometimes feel in such a situation.

The boy had no friends to care for, or to care for him. The

regret of no recent separation was fresh in his mind; the absence

of no loved and well-remembered face sank heavily into his heart.



But his heart was heavy, notwithstanding; and he wished, as he

crept into his narrow bed, that that were his coffin, and that he

could be lain in a calm and lasting sleep in the churchyard

ground, with the tall grass waving gently above his head, and the

sound of the old deep bell to soothe him in his sleep.



Oliver was awakened in the morning, by a loud kicking at the

outside of the shop-door: which, before he could huddle on his

clothes, was repeated, in an angry and impetuous manner, about

twenty-five times. When he began to undo the chain, the legs

desisted, and a voice began.



'Open the door, will yer?' cried the voice which belonged to the

legs which had kicked at the door.



'I will, directly, sir,' replied Oliver: undoing the chain, and

turning the key.



'I suppose yer the new boy, ain't yer?' said the voice through

the key-hole.



'Yes, sir,' replied Oliver.



'How old are yer?' inquired the voice.



'Ten, sir,' replied Oliver.



'Then I'll whop yer when I get in,' said the voice; 'you just see

if I don't, that's all, my work'us brat!' and having made this

obliging promise, the voice began to whistle.



Oliver had been too often subjected to the process to which the

very expressive monosyllable just recorded bears reference, to

entertain the smallest doubt that the owner of the voice, whoever

he might be, would redeem his pledge, most honourably. He drew

back the bolts with a trembling hand, and opened the door.



For a second or two, Oliver glanced up the street, and down the

street, and over the way: impressed with the belief that the

unknown, who had addressed him through the key-hole, had walked a

few paces off, to warm himself; for nobody did he see but a big

charity-boy, sitting on a post in front of the house, eating a

slice of bread and butter: which he cut into wedges, the size of

his mouth, with a clasp-knife, and then consumed with great

dexterity.



'I beg your pardon, sir,' said Oliver at length: seeing that no

other visitor made his appearance; 'did you knock?'



'I kicked,' replied the charity-boy.



'Did you want a coffin, sir?' inquired Oliver, innocently.



At this, the charity-boy looked monstrous fierce; and said that

Oliver would want one before long, if he cut jokes with his

superiors in that way.



'Yer don't know who I am, I suppose, Work'us?' said the

charity-boy, in continuation: descending from the top of the

post, meanwhile, with edifying gravity.



'No, sir,' rejoined Oliver.



'I'm Mister Noah Claypole,' said the charity-boy, 'and you're

under me. Take down the shutters, yer idle young ruffian!' With

this, Mr. Claypole administered a kick to Oliver, and entered the

shop with a dignified air, which did him great credit. It is

difficult for a large-headed, small-eyed youth, of lumbering make

and heavy countenance, to look dignified under any circumstances;

but it is more especially so, when superadded to these personal

attractions are a red nose and yellow smalls.



Oliver, having taken down the shutters, and broken a pane of

glass in his effort to stagger away beneath the weight of the

first one to a small court at the side of the house in which they

were kept during the day, was graciously assisted by Noah: who

having consoled him with the assurance that 'he'd catch it,'

condescended to help him. Mr. Sowerberry came down soon after.

Shortly afterwards, Mrs. Sowerberry appeared. Oliver having

'caught it,' in fulfilment of Noah's prediction, followed that

young gentleman down the stairs to breakfast.



'Come near the fire, Noah,' said Charlotte. 'I saved a nice

little bit of bacon for you from master's breakfast. Oliver,

shut that door at Mister Noah's back, and take them bits that

I've put out on the cover of the bread-pan. There's your tea;

take it away to that box, and drink it there, and make haste, for

they'll want you to mind the shop. D'ye hear?'



'D'ye hear, Work'us?' said Noah Claypole.



'Lor, Noah!' said Charlotte, 'what a rum creature you are! Why

don't you let the boy alone?'



'Let him alone!' said Noah. 'Why everybody lets him alone

enough, for the matter of that. Neither his father nor his

mother will ever interfere with him. All his relations let him

have his own way pretty well. Eh, Charlotte? He! he! he!'



'Oh, you queer soul!' said Charlotte, bursting into a hearty

laugh, in which she was joined by Noah; after which they both

looked scornfully at poor Oliver Twist, as he sat shivering on

the box in the coldest corner of the room, and ate the stale

pieces which had been specially reserved for him.



Noah was a charity-boy, but not a workhouse orphan. No

chance-child was he, for he could trace his genealogy all the way

back to his parents, who lived hard by; his mother being a

washerwoman, and his father a drunken soldier, discharged with a

wooden leg, and a diurnal pension of twopence-halfpenny and an

unstateable fraction. The shop-boys in the neighbourhood had

long been in the habit of branding Noah in the public streets,

with the ignominious epithets of 'leathers,' 'charity,' and the

like; and Noah had bourne them without reply. But, now that

fortune had cast in his way a nameless orphan, at whom even the

meanest could point the finger of scorn, he retorted on him with

interest. This affords charming food for contemplation. It

shows us what a beautiful thing human nature may be made to be;

and how impartially the same amiable qualities are developed in

the finest lord and the dirtiest charity-boy.



Oliver had been sojourning at the undertaker's some three weeks

or a month. Mr. and Mrs. Sowerberry--the shop being shut

up--were taking their supper in the little back-parlour, when Mr.

Sowerberry, after several deferential glances at his wife, said,



'My dear--' He was going to say more; but, Mrs. Sowerberry

looking up, with a peculiarly unpropitious aspect, he stopped

short.



'Well,' said Mrs. Sowerberry, sharply.



'Nothing, my dear, nothing,' said Mr. Sowerberry.



'Ugh, you brute!' said Mrs. Sowerberry.



'Not at all, my dear,' said Mr. Sowerberry humbly. 'I thought

you didn't want to hear, my dear. I was only going to say--'



'Oh, don't tell me what you were going to say,' interposed Mrs.

Sowerberry. 'I am nobody; don't consult me, pray. _I_ don't

want to intrude upon your secrets.' As Mrs. Sowerberry said

this, she gave an hysterical laugh, which threatened violent

consequences.



'But, my dear,' said Sowerberry, 'I want to ask your advice.'



'No, no, don't ask mine,' replied Mrs. Sowerberry, in an

affecting manner: 'ask somebody else's.' Here, there was

another hysterical laugh, which frightened Mr. Sowerberry very

much. This is a very common and much-approved matrimonial course

of treatment, which is often very effective. It at once reduced

Mr. Sowerberry to begging, as a special favour, to be allowed to

say what Mrs. Sowerberry was most curious to hear. After a short

duration, the permission was most graciously conceded.



'It's only about young Twist, my dear,' said Mr. Sowerberry. 'A

very good-looking boy, that, my dear.'



'He need be, for he eats enough,' observed the lady.



'There's an expression of melancholy in his face, my dear,'

resumed Mr. Sowerberry, 'which is very interesting. He would

make a delightful mute, my love.'



Mrs. Sowerberry looked up with an expression of considerable

wonderment. Mr. Sowerberry remarked it and, without allowing

time for any observation on the good lady's part, proceeded.



'I don't mean a regular mute to attend grown-up people, my dear,

but only for children's practice. It would be very new to have a

mute in proportion, my dear. You may depend upon it, it would

have a superb effect.'



Mrs. Sowerberry, who had a good deal of taste in the undertaking

way, was much struck by the novelty of this idea; but, as it

would have been compromising her dignity to have said so, under

existing circumstances, she merely inquired, with much sharpness,

why such an obvious suggestion had not presented itself to her

husband's mind before? Mr. Sowerberry rightly construed this, as

an acquiescence in his proposition; it was speedily determined,

therefore, that Oliver should be at once initiated into the

mysteries of the trade; and, with this view, that he should

accompany his master on the very next occasion of his services

being required.



The occasion was not long in coming. Half an hour after

breakfast next morning, Mr. Bumble entered the shop; and

supporting his cane against the counter, drew forth his large

leathern pocket-book: from which he selected a small scrap of

paper, which he handed over to Sowerberry.



'Aha!' said the undertaker, glancing over it with a lively

countenance; 'an order for a coffin, eh?'



'For a coffin first, and a porochial funeral afterwards,' replied

Mr. Bumble, fastening the strap of the leathern pocket-book:

which, like himself, was very corpulent.



'Bayton,' said the undertaker, looking from the scrap of paper to

Mr. Bumble. 'I never heard the name before.'



Bumble shook his head, as he replied, 'Obstinate people, Mr.

Sowerberry; very obstinate. Proud, too, I'm afraid, sir.'



'Proud, eh?' exclaimed Mr. Sowerberry with a sneer. 'Come,

that's too much.'



'Oh, it's sickening,' replied the beadle. 'Antimonial, Mr.

Sowerberry!'



'So it is,' asquiesced the undertaker.



'We only heard of the family the night before last,' said the

beadle; 'and we shouldn't have known anything about them, then,

only a woman who lodges in the same house made an application to

the porochial committee for them to send the porochial surgeon to

see a woman as was very bad. He had gone out to dinner; but his

'prentice (which is a very clever lad) sent 'em some medicine in

a blacking-bottle, offhand.'



'Ah, there's promptness,' said the undertaker.



'Promptness, indeed!' replied the beadle. 'But what's the

consequence; what's the ungrateful behaviour of these rebels,

sir? Why, the husband sends back word that the medicine won't

suit his wife's complaint, and so she shan't take it--says she

shan't take it, sir! Good, strong, wholesome medicine, as was

given with great success to two Irish labourers and a

coal-heaver, only a week before--sent 'em for nothing, with a

blackin'-bottle in,--and he sends back word that she shan't take

it, sir!'



As the atrocity presented itself to Mr. Bumble's mind in full

force, he struck the counter sharply with his cane, and became

flushed with indignation.



'Well,' said the undertaker, 'I ne--ver--did--'



'Never did, sir!' ejaculated the beadle. 'No, nor nobody never

did; but now she's dead, we've got to bury her; and that's the

direction; and the sooner it's done, the better.'



Thus saying, Mr. Bumble put on his cocked hat wrong side first,

in a fever of parochial excitement; and flounced out of the shop.



'Why, he was so angry, Oliver, that he forgot even to ask after

you!' said Mr. Sowerberry, looking after the beadle as he strode

down the street.



'Yes, sir,' replied Oliver, who had carefully kept himself out of

sight, during the interview; and who was shaking from head to

foot at the mere recollection of the sound of Mr. Bumble's voice.



He needn't haven taken the trouble to shrink from Mr. Bumble's

glance, however; for that functionary, on whom the prediction of

the gentleman in the white waistcoat had made a very strong

impression, thought that now the undertaker had got Oliver upon

trial the subject was better avoided, until such time as he

should be firmly bound for seven years, and all danger of his

being returned upon the hands of the parish should be thus

effectually and legally overcome.



'Well,' said Mr. Sowerberry, taking up his hat, 'the sooner this

job is done, the better. Noah, look after the shop. Oliver, put

on your cap, and come with me.' Oliver obeyed, and followed his

master on his professional mission.



They walked on, for some time, through the most crowded and

densely inhabited part of the town; and then, striking down a

narrow street more dirty and miserable than any they had yet

passed through, paused to look for the house which was the object

of their search. The houses on either side were high and large,

but very old, and tenanted by people of the poorest class: as

their neglected appearance would have sufficiently denoted,

without the concurrent testimony afforded by the squalid looks of

the few men and women who, with folded arms and bodies half

doubled, occasionally skulked along. A great many of the

tenements had shop-fronts; but these were fast closed, and

mouldering away; only the upper rooms being inhabited. Some

houses which had become insecure from age and decay, were

prevented from falling into the street, by huge beams of wood

reared against the walls, and firmly planted in the road; but

even these crazy dens seemed to have been selected as the nightly

haunts of some houseless wretches, for many of the rough boards

which supplied the place of door and window, were wrenched from

their positions, to afford an aperture wide enough for the

passage of a human body. The kennel was stagnant and filthy.

The very rats, which here and there lay putrefying in its

rottenness, were hideous with famine.



There was neither knocker nor bell-handle at the open door where

Oliver and his master stopped; so, groping his way cautiously

through the dark passage, and bidding Oliver keep close to him

and not be afraid the undertaker mounted to the top of the first

flight of stairs. Stumbling against a door on the landing, he

rapped at it with his knuckles.



It was opened by a young girl of thirteen or fourteen. The

undertaker at once saw enough of what the room contained, to know

it was the apartment to which he had been directed. He stepped

in; Oliver followed him.



There was no fire in the room; but a man was crouching,

mechanically, over the empty stove. An old woman, too, had drawn

a low stool to the cold hearth, and was sitting beside him.

There were some ragged children in another corner; and in a small

recess, opposite the door, there lay upon the ground, something

covered with an old blanket. Oliver shuddered as he cast his

eyes toward the place, and crept involuntarily closer to his

master; for though it was covered up, the boy felt that it was a

corpse.



The man's face was thin and very pale; his hair and beard were

grizzly; his eyes were bloodshot. The old woman's face was

wrinkled; her two remaining teeth protruded over her under lip;

and her eyes were bright and piercing. Oliver was afraid to look

at either her or the man. They seemed so like the rats he had

seen outside.



'Nobody shall go near her,' said the man, starting fiercely up,

as the undertaker approached the recess. 'Keep back! Damn you,

keep back, if you've a life to lose!'



'Nonsense, my good man,' said the undertaker, who was pretty well

used to misery in all its shapes. 'Nonsense!'



'I tell you,' said the man: clenching his hands, and stamping

furiously on the floor,--'I tell you I won't have her put into

the ground. She couldn't rest there. The worms would worry

her--not eat her--she is so worn away.'



The undertaker offered no reply to this raving; but producing a

tape from his pocket, knelt down for a moment by the side of the

body.



'Ah!' said the man: bursting into tears, and sinking on his

knees at the feet of the dead woman; 'kneel down, kneel down

--kneel round her, every one of you, and mark my words! I say

she was starved to death. I never knew how bad she was, till the

fever came upon her; and then her bones were starting through the

skin. There was neither fire nor candle; she died in the

dark--in the dark! She couldn't even see her children's faces,

though we heard her gasping out their names. I begged for her in

the streets: and they sent me to prison. When I came back, she

was dying; and all the blood in my heart has dried up, for they

starved her to death. I swear it before the God that saw it!

They starved her!' He twined his hands in his hair; and, with a

loud scream, rolled grovelling upon the floor: his eyes fixed,

and the foam covering his lips.



The terrified children cried bitterly; but the old woman, who had

hitherto remained as quiet as if she had been wholly deaf to all

that passed, menaced them into silence. Having unloosened the

cravat of the man who still remained extended on the ground, she

tottered towards the undertaker.



'She was my daughter,' said the old woman, nodding her head in

the direction of the corpse; and speaking with an idiotic leer,

more ghastly than even the presence of death in such a place.

'Lord, Lord! Well, it _is_ strange that I who gave birth to her,

and was a woman then, should be alive and merry now, and she

lying there: so cold and stiff! Lord, Lord!--to think of it;

it's as good as a play--as good as a play!'



As the wretched creature mumbled and chuckled in her hideous

merriment, the undertaker turned to go away.



'Stop, stop!' said the old woman in a loud whisper. 'Will she be

buried to-morrow, or next day, or to-night? I laid her out; and

I must walk, you know. Send me a large cloak: a good warm one:

for it is bitter cold. We should have cake and wine, too, before

we go! Never mind; send some bread--only a loaf of bread and a

cup of water. Shall we have some bread, dear?' she said eagerly:

catching at the undertaker's coat, as he once more moved towards

the door.



'Yes, yes,' said the undertaker,'of course. Anything you like!'

He disengaged himself from the old woman's grasp; and, drawing

Oliver after him, hurried away.



The next day, (the family having been meanwhile relieved with a

half-quartern loaf and a piece of cheese, left with them by Mr.

Bumble himself,) Oliver and his master returned to the miserable

abode; where Mr. Bumble had already arrived, accompanied by four

men from the workhouse, who were to act as bearers. An old black

cloak had been thrown over the rags of the old woman and the man;

and the bare coffin having been screwed down, was hoisted on the

shoulders of the bearers, and carried into the street.



'Now, you must put your best leg foremost, old lady!' whispered

Sowerberry in the old woman's ear; 'we are rather late; and it

won't do, to keep the clergyman waiting. Move on, my men,--as

quick as you like!'



Thus directed, the bearers trotted on under their light burden;

and the two mourners kept as near them, as they could. Mr.

Bumble and Sowerberry walked at a good smart pace in front; and

Oliver, whose legs were not so long as his master's, ran by the

side.



There was not so great a necessity for hurrying as Mr. Sowerberry

had anticipated, however; for when they reached the obscure

corner of the churchyard in which the nettles grew, and where the

parish graves were made, the clergyman had not arrived; and the

clerk, who was sitting by the vestry-room fire, seemed to think

it by no means improbable that it might be an hour or so, before

he came. So, they put the bier on the brink of the grave; and

the two mourners waited patiently in the damp clay, with a cold

rain drizzling down, while the ragged boys whom the spectacle had

attracted into the churchyard played a noisy game at

hide-and-seek among the tombstones, or varied their amusements by

jumping backwards and forwards over the coffin. Mr. Sowerberry

and Bumble, being personal friends of the clerk, sat by the fire

with him, and read the paper.



At length, after a lapse of something more than an hour, Mr.

Bumble, and Sowerberry, and the clerk, were seen running towards

the grave. Immediately afterwards, the clergyman appeared:

putting on his surplice as he came along. Mr. Bumble then

thrashed a boy or two, to keep up appearances; and the reverend

gentleman, having read as much of the burial service as could be

compressed into four minutes, gave his surplice to the clerk, and

walked away again.



'Now, Bill!' said Sowerberry to the grave-digger. 'Fill up!'



It was no very difficult task, for the grave was so full, that

the uppermost coffin was within a few feet of the surface. The

grave-digger shovelled in the earth; stamped it loosely down with

his feet: shouldered his spade; and walked off, followed by the

boys, who murmured very loud complaints at the fun being over so

soon.



'Come, my good fellow!' said Bumble, tapping the man on the back.

'They want to shut up the yard.'



The man who had never once moved, since he had taken his station

by the grave side, started, raised his head, stared at the person

who had addressed him, walked forward for a few paces; and fell

down in a swoon. The crazy old woman was too much occupied in

bewailing the loss of her cloak (which the undertaker had taken

off), to pay him any attention; so they threw a can of cold water

over him; and when he came to, saw him safely out of the

churchyard, locked the gate, and departed on their different

ways.



'Well, Oliver,' said Sowerberry, as they walked home, 'how do you

like it?'



'Pretty well, thank you, sir' replied Oliver, with considerable

hesitation. 'Not very much, sir.'



'Ah, you'll get used to it in time, Oliver,' said Sowerberry.

'Nothing when you _are_ used to it, my boy.'



Oliver wondered, in his own mind, whether it had taken a very

long time to get Mr. Sowerberry used to it. But he thought it

better not to ask the question; and walked back to the shop:

thinking over all he had seen and heard.









CHAPTER VI



OLIVER, BEING GOADED BY THE TAUNTS OF NOAH, ROUSES INTO ACTION,

AND RATHER ASTONISHES HIM



The month's trial over, Oliver was formally apprenticed. It was

a nice sickly season just at this time. In commercial phrase,

coffins were looking up; and, in the course of a few weeks,

Oliver acquired a great deal of experience. The success of Mr.

Sowerberry's ingenious speculation, exceeded even his most

sanguine hopes. The oldest inhabitants recollected no period at

which measles had been so prevalent, or so fatal to infant

existence; and many were the mournful processions which little

Oliver headed, in a hat-band reaching down to his knees, to the

indescribable admiration and emotion of all the mothers in the

town. As Oliver accompanied his master in most of his adult

expeditions too, in order that he might acquire that equanimity

of demeanour and full command of nerve which was essential to a

finished undertaker, he had many opportunities of observing the

beautiful resignation and fortitude with which some strong-minded

people bear their trials and losses.



For instance; when Sowerberry had an order for the burial of some

rich old lady or gentleman, who was surrounded by a great number

of nephews and nieces, who had been perfectly inconsolable during

the previous illness, and whose grief had been wholly

irrepressible even on the most public occasions, they would be as

happy among themselves as need be--quite cheerful and

contented--conversing together with as much freedom and gaiety,

as if nothing whatever had happened to disturb them. Husbands,

too, bore the loss of their wives with the most heroic calmness.

Wives, again, put on weeds for their husbands, as if, so far from

grieving in the garb of sorrow, they had made up their minds to

render it as becoming and attractive as possible. It was

observable, too, that ladies and gentlemen who were in passions

of anguish during the ceremony of interment, recovered almost as

soon as they reached home, and became quite composed before the

tea-drinking was over. All this was very pleasant and improving

to see; and Oliver beheld it with great admiration.



That Oliver Twist was moved to resignation by the example of

these good people, I cannot, although I am his biographer,

undertake to affirm with any degree of confidence; but I can most

distinctly say, that for many months he continued meekly to

submit to the domination and ill-treatment of Noah Claypole: who

used him far worse than before, now that his jealousy was roused

by seeing the new boy promoted to the black stick and hatband,

while he, the old one, remained stationary in the muffin-cap and

leathers. Charlotte treated him ill, because Noah did; and Mrs.

Sowerberry was his decided enemy, because Mr. Sowerberry was

disposed to be his friend; so, between these three on one side,

and a glut of funerals on the other, Oliver was not altogether as

comfortable as the hungry pig was, when he was shut up, by

mistake, in the grain department of a brewery.



And now, I come to a very important passage in Oliver's history;

for I have to record an act, slight and unimportant perhaps in

appearance, but which indirectly produced a material change in

all his future prospects and proceedings.



One day, Oliver and Noah had descended into the kitchen at the

usual dinner-hour, to banquet upon a small joint of mutton--a

pound and a half of the worst end of the neck--when Charlotte

being called out of the way, there ensued a brief interval of

time, which Noah Claypole, being hungry and vicious, considered

he could not possibly devote to a worthier purpose than

aggravating and tantalising young Oliver Twist.



Intent upon this innocent amusement, Noah put his feet on the

table-cloth; and pulled Oliver's hair; and twitched his ears; and

expressed his opinion that he was a 'sneak'; and furthermore

announced his intention of coming to see him hanged, whenever

that desirable event should take place; and entered upon various

topics of petty annoyance, like a malicious and ill-conditioned

charity-boy as he was. But, making Oliver cry, Noah attempted to

be more facetious still; and in his attempt, did what many

sometimes do to this day, when they want to be funny. He got

rather personal.



'Work'us,' said Noah, 'how's your mother?'



'She's dead,' replied Oliver; 'don't you say anything about her

to me!'



Oliver's colour rose as he said this; he breathed quickly; and

there was a curious working of the mouth and nostrils, which Mr.

Claypole thought must be the immediate precursor of a violent fit

of crying. Under this impression he returned to the charge.



'What did she die of, Work'us?' said Noah.



'Of a broken heart, some of our old nurses told me,' replied

Oliver: more as if he were talking to himself, than answering

Noah. 'I think I know what it must be to die of that!'



'Tol de rol lol lol, right fol lairy, Work'us,' said Noah, as a

tear rolled down Oliver's cheek. 'What's set you a snivelling

now?'



'Not _you_,' replied Oliver, sharply. 'There; that's enough. Don't

say anything more to me about her; you'd better not!'



'Better not!' exclaimed Noah. 'Well! Better not! Work'us,

don't be impudent. _Your_ mother, too! She was a nice 'un she

was. Oh, Lor!' And here, Noah nodded his head expressively; and

curled up as much of his small red nose as muscular action could

collect together, for the occasion.



'Yer know, Work'us,' continued Noah, emboldened by Oliver's

silence, and speaking in a jeering tone of affected pity: of all

tones the most annoying: 'Yer know, Work'us, it can't be helped

now; and of course yer couldn't help it then; and I am very sorry

for it; and I'm sure we all are, and pity yer very much. But yer

must know, Work'us, yer mother was a regular right-down bad 'un.'



'What did you say?' inquired Oliver, looking up very quickly.



'A regular right-down bad 'un, Work'us,' replied Noah, coolly.

'And it's a great deal better, Work'us, that she died when she

did, or else she'd have been hard labouring in Bridewell, or

transported, or hung; which is more likely than either, isn't

it?'



Crimson with fury, Oliver started up; overthrew the chair and

table; seized Noah by the throat; shook him, in the violence of

his rage, till his teeth chattered in his head; and collecting

his whole force into one heavy blow, felled him to the ground.



A minute ago, the boy had looked the quiet child, mild, dejected

creature that harsh treatment had made him. But his spirit was

roused at last; the cruel insult to his dead mother had set his

blood on fire. His breast heaved; his attitude was erect; his

eye bright and vivid; his whole person changed, as he stood

glaring over the cowardly tormentor who now lay crouching at his

feet; and defied him with an energy he had never known before.



'He'll murder me!' blubbered Noah. 'Charlotte! missis! Here's

the new boy a murdering of me! Help! help! Oliver's gone mad!

Char--lotte!'



Noah's shouts were responded to, by a loud scream from Charlotte,

and a louder from Mrs. Sowerberry; the former of whom rushed into

the kitchen by a side-door, while the latter paused on the

staircase till she was quite certain that it was consistent with

the preservation of human life, to come further down.



'Oh, you little wretch!' screamed Charlotte: seizing Oliver with

her utmost force, which was about equal to that of a moderately

strong man in particularly good training. 'Oh, you little

un-grate-ful, mur-de-rous, hor-rid villain!' And between every

syllable, Charlotte gave Oliver a blow with all her might:

accompanying it with a scream, for the benefit of society.



Charlotte's fist was by no means a light one; but, lest it should

not be effectual in calming Oliver's wrath, Mrs. Sowerberry

plunged into the kitchen, and assisted to hold him with one hand,

while she scratched his face with the other. In this favourable

position of affairs, Noah rose from the ground, and pommelled him

behind.







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