 CHAPTER XXI It was a cheerless morning when they got into the street, blowing and raining hard, and the clouds looked dull and stormy. The night had been very wet. Large pools of water had collected in the road, and the kettles were overflowing. There was a faint glimmering of the coming day in the sky, but it rather aggravated than relieved the gloom of the scene—the somber light only serving to pale that which the street lamps afforded, without shedding any warmer or brighter tints upon the wet hostops and dreary streets. There appeared to be nobody stirring in that quarter of the town. The windows of the houses were all closely shut, and the streets through which they passed were noiseless and empty. By the time they had turned into the Bethnal Green Road, the day had fairly begun to break. Many of the lamps were already extinguished. A few country wagons were slowly toiling on towards London. Now and then a stage-coach covered with mud rattled briskly by. The driver, bestowing as he passed, added monetary lash upon the heavy waggoner, who, by keeping on the wrong side of the road, had endangered his arriving at the office a quarter of a minute after his time. The public houses with gas-lights burning inside were already open. By degrees other shops began to be unclosed, and a few scattered people were met with. Then came straggling groups of laborers going to their work. Then men and women with fish-baskets on their heads, donkey carts laden with vegetables, chased carts filled with livestock or whole carcasses of meat, milk women with pails, an unbroken concourse of people trudging out with various supplies to the eastern suburbs of the town. As they approached the city, the noise and traffic gradually increased. When they threaded the streets between Shortitz and Smithfield, it had swelled into a roar of sound and bustle. It was as light as it was likely to be, till night came on again, and the busy morning of half the London population had begun. Turning down Sun Street and Crowd Street and crossing Finsbury Square, Mr. Sykes struck, by way of Chiswell Street, into Barbican, thence into Long Lane and so into Smithfield, from which latter place arose a tumult of discordant sounds that filled Oliver Twist with amazement. It was market-morning. The ground was covered, nearly ankle-deep with filth and mire. A thick steam, perpetually rising from the reeking bodies of the cattle, and mingling with the fog which seemed to rest upon the chimby-tops, hung heavily above. All the pens in the centre of the large area, and as many temporary pens as could be crowded into the vacant space, were filled with sheep, tied up to posts by the gutter side where long lines of beasts and oxen three or four deep. Countrymen, butchers, drovers, hawkers, boys, thieves, idlers, and vagabonds of every low grade, were mingled together in a mass. The whistling of drovers, the barking dogs, the bellowing and plunging of the oxen, the bleeding of the sheep, the grunting and squeaking of pigs, the cries of hawkers, the shouts, oaths and quarreling on all sides, the ringing of bells and roar of voices that issued from every public house, the crowding, pushing, driving, beating, whooping, and yelling, the hideous and discordant dim that resounded from every corner of the market, and the unwashed unshaven, squalid, and dirty figures constantly running to and fro and bursting in and out of the throng, rendered it a stunning and bewildering scene which quite confounded the senses. Mr. Sykes, dragging Oliver after him, elbowed his way through the thickest of the crowd, and bestowing very little attention on the numerous sights and sounds which so astonished the boy. He nodded twice or thrice to a passing friend, and resisting as many invitations to take a morning-dram pressed steadily onward until they were clear of the turmoil and had made their way through Hosier Lane into Colburn. "'Now, youngen,' said Sykes, looking up at the clock of St Andrew's Church, "'hard upon seven, you must step out. Come, don't leg behind already, lazy legs!' Mr. Sykes accompanied this speech with a jerk at his little companion's wrist. Oliver, quickening his pace into a kind of trot between a fast walk and a run, kept up with the rapid strides of the house-breaker as well as he could. They held their course at this rate, until they had passed Hyde Park Corner and were on their way to Kensington, when Sykes relaxed his pace until an empty cart which was at some little distance behind came up. Seeing Hounslow written on it, he asked the driver with as much civility as he could assume if he would give them a lift as far as Isleworth. "'Jump up,' said the man. "'Is that your boy?' "'Yes, he's my boy,' replied Sykes, looking hard at Oliver, and putting his hand abstractedly into the pocket where the pistol was. "'Your father walks rather too quick for you. Don't he, my man?' inquired the driver, seeing that Oliver was out of breath. "'Not a bit of it,' replied Sykes, interposing. "'He's used to it. Here. Take hold of my hand, Ned. In with you!' Thus addressing Oliver, he helped him into the cart, and the driver, leading to a heap of sacks, told him to lie down there and rest himself. As they passed the different milestones Oliver wondered more and more where his companion meant to take him. Kensington, Hammersmith, Chiswick, Q-Bridge, Brentford were all passed, and yet they went on as steadily as if they had only just begun their journey. At length they came to a public house called the Cochin Horses, a little way beyond which another road appeared to run off, and here the cart stopped. Sykes dismounted with great precipitation, holding Oliver by the hand all the while, and lifting him down directly, bestowed a furious look upon him, and wrapped the side pocket with his fist in a significant manner. "'Good-bye, boy,' said the man. "'He's sulky,' replied Sykes, giving him a shake. "'He's sulky. A young dog. Don't mind him. Not I,' rejoined the other, getting into his cart. "'It's a fine day, after all,' and he drove away. Sykes waited until he had fairly gone, and then telling Oliver he might look about him if he wanted, once again led him onward on his journey. They turned round to the left, a short way past the public house, and then, taking a right-hand road, walked on for a long time, passing many large gardens and gentlemen's houses on both sides of the way, and stopping for nothing but a little beer until they reached town. Here, against the wall of a house, Oliver saw, written up in pretty large letters, Hampton. They lingered about in the field for some hours. At length they came back into the town, and turning into an old public house with a defaced signboard, ordered some dinner by the kitchen fire. The kitchen was an old low-roofed room, with a great beam across the middle of the ceiling, and benches with high backs to them by the fire, on which were seated several rough men in smock-frocks drinking and smoking. They took no notice of Oliver, and very little of Sykes, and as Sykes took very little notice of them, he and his young comrade sat in a corner by themselves, without being much troubled by their company. They had some cold meat for dinner, and sat so long after it, while Mr. Sykes indulged themselves with three or four pipes, that Oliver began to feel quite certain they were not going any further. Being much tired with the walk and getting up so early, he dozed a little at first, then quite overpowered by fatigue, and the fumes of the tobacco fell asleep. It was quite dark when he was awakened by a push from Sykes, rousing himself sufficiently to sit up and look about him. He found that worthy in close fellowship and communication with a laboring man over a pint of ale. "'So you're going on to lower Halifah, are you?' inquired Sykes. "'Yes, I am,' replied the man, who seemed a little the worse or better as the case may be for drinking, and not slow about it neither. My horse has him got a load behind him going back, as he had coming up in the morning, and he won't be longer doing of it. Here's luck to him. He card he's a good one. "'Could you give me and my boy a lift as far as there?' demanded Sykes, pushing the ale towards his new friend. "'If you're going directly, I can,' replied the man, looking out of the pot. "'Are you going to Halifah?' "'Going on to Sheperton,' replied Sykes. "'I'm your man as far as I go,' replied the other. "'Is all paid, Becky?' "'Yes, the other gentleman's paid,' replied the girl. "'I say,' said the man, with tipsy gravity. "'That won't do you now. Why not?' rejoined Sykes. "'You're going to accommodate us and watch to prevent my standing treat for a pint or so in return.' The stranger reflected upon this argument, with a very profound face. Having done so, he seized Sykes by the hand, and declared he was a real good fellow, to which Mr. Sykes replied, he was joking, as if he had been sober there would have been strong reason to suppose he was. After the exchange of a few more compliments they bed the company good night and went out, the girl gathering up the pots and glasses as they did so, and lounging out to the door, with her hands full, to see the party start. The horse, whose health had been drunk in his absence, was standing outside, ready harness to the cart. Oliver and Sykes got in without any further ceremony, and the man to whom he belonged, having lingered for a minute or two to bear him up, and to defy the hostler and the world to produce his equal, mounted also. Then the hostler was told to give the horse his head, and his head being given him, he made a very unpleasant use of it, tossing it into the air with great disdain, and running into the parlor windows over the way, after performing those feats, and after supporting himself for a short time on his hind legs, he started off at great speed, and rattled out of the town right gallantly. The night was very dark, a damp mist rose from the river, and the marshy ground about, and spread itself over the dreary fields. It was piercing cold too, all was gloomy and black. Not a word was spoken, for the driver had grown sleepy, and Sykes was in no mood to lead him into conversation. Oliver sat huddled together in a corner of the cart, bewildered with alarm and apprehension, and figuring strange objects in the gaunt trees, whose branches waved grimly to and fro as if in some fantastic joy at the desolation of the scene. As they passed Sanbury Church, the clock struck seven. There was a light in the fairy-house window opposite, which streamed across the road, and threw into more sombre shadow a dark yew-tree with graves beneath it. There was a dull sound of falling water not far off, and the leaves of the old trees stirred gently in the night wind. It seemed like quiet music for the repose of the dead. Sanbury was passed through, and they came again into the lonely road. Two or three miles more, and the cart stopped. Sykes alighted, took Oliver by the hand, and they once again walked on. They turned into no house at Sheperton, as the weary boy had expected, but still kept walking on in mud and darkness through gloomy lanes and over cold open wastes, until they came within sight of the lights of a town at no great distance. On looking intently forward Oliver saw that the water was just below them, and that they were coming to the foot of a bridge. Sykes kept straight on, until they were close upon the bridge, then turned suddenly down a bank upon the left. The water, thought Oliver, turning sick with fear, he has brought me to this lonely place to murder me. He was about to throw himself on the ground and make one struggle for his young life, when he saw that they stood before a solitary house, all runous and decayed. There was a window on each side of the dilapidated entrance, and one story above, but no light was visible. The host was dark, dismantled, and the all appearance uninhabited. Sykes, with Oliver's hand still in his, softly approached the low porch, and raised the latch. The door yielded to the pressure, and they passed in together. End of Chapter 21 Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens Chapter 22 The Burglary Hello! cried a loud, hoarse voice as soon as they set foot in the passage. Don't make such a row, said Sykes, bolting the door. Show a glim, Toby! Aha! My pal! cried the same voice. A glim, Barney, a glim! Show the gentleman in, Barney! Wake up first, if convenient! The speaker appeared to throw a boot-jack, or some such article, at the person he addressed, to rouse him from his slumbers, for the noise of a wooden body falling violently was heard, and then an indistinct muttering as of a man between sleep and awake. Do you hear? cried the same voice. There's Bill Sykes in the passage, with nobody to do the civil to him, and you sleeping there as if you took laudanum with your meals and nothing stronger. Are you any fresher now, or do you want the iron candlestick to wake you thoroughly? A pair of slipshod feet shuffled hastily across the bare floor of the room, as this interrogatory was put, and there issued, from a door on the right hand, first a feeble candle, and next the form of the same individual who had been here to thwart, described as laboring under the infirmity of speaking through his nose, and officiating as waiter at the public-house on Saffron Hill. Bista Sykes! exclaimed Barney, with real or counterfeit joy. Cobbid, sir, Cobbid! Here, you get on first, said Sykes, putting Oliver in front of him. Quicker, or I shall tread upon your heels! Muttering a curse upon his tardiness, Sykes pushed Oliver before him, and they entered a low dark room with a smoky fire, two or three broken chairs, a table, and a very old couch, on which with his legs much higher than his head a man was reposing at full length, smoking a long clay pipe. He was dressed in a smartly cut snuff-colored coat, with large brass buttons, an orange decorative, a coarse-staring shawl pattern waistcoat, and drab bridges. Mr. Crackett, for he it was, had no very great quantity of hair, either upon his head or face, but what he had was of a reddish dye, and tortured into long corkscrew curls, through which he occasionally thrust some very dirty fingers ornamented with large common rings. He was a trifle above the middle size, and apparently rather weak in the legs, but this circumstance by no means detracted from his own admiration of his top boots, which he contemplated in their elevated situation with lively satisfaction. Bill, my boy, said this figure, turning his head towards the door. I'm glad to see you. I was almost afraid you'd given it up. In which case I should have made a personal venture. Hello!" Uttering this exclamation, in a tone of great surprise, as his eyes rested on Oliver, Mr. Toby Crackett brought himself into a sitting posture, and demanded who that was. The boy, only the boy, replied Sykes, drawing a chair towards the fire. What of Bista Faggins, lads, exclaimed Barney with a grin. Faggins, eh? exclaimed Toby, looking at Oliver. What an invaluable boy that'll make for the old lady's pockets and chapels. His mug is a fortune to him. There, there's enough of that, interposed Sykes, impatiently. And stooping over his recumbent friend, he whispered a few words in his ear, at which Mr. Crackett laughed immensely and honoured Oliver with a long stare of astonishment. Now, said Sykes, as he resumed his seat, if you'll give us something to eat and drink while we're waiting, you'll put some heart in us, or in me at all events. Sit down by the fire, yanker, and rest yourself, for you'll have to go out with us again tonight, though not very far off. Oliver looked at Sykes in mute and tibid wonder, and drawing a stool to the fire, sat with his aching head upon his hands, scarcely knowing where he was or what was passing around him. Here, said Toby, as the young Jew placed some fragments of food and a bottle upon the table. Success to the Crack! He rose to honour the toast, and carefully depositing his empty pipe in a corner, advanced to the table, filled a glass with spirits, and drank off its contents. Mr. Sykes did the same. A drain for the boy, said Toby, half filling a wine-glass, down with it, innocence. Indeed, said Oliver, looking pitously up into the man's face, indeed, down with it, echoed Toby, do you think I don't know what's good for you? Tell him to drink it, Bill. He had better, said Sykes, clapping his hand upon his pocket. Burn my body if he isn't more troubled than a whole family of dodgers. Drink it, you perverse imp! Drink it! Frightened by the menacing gesture of the two men, Oliver hastily swallowed the contents of the glass, and immediately fell into a violent fit of coughing, which delighted Toby Crackett and Barney, and even drew a smile from the surly Mr. Sykes. This done, and Sykes having satisfied his appetite, Oliver could eat nothing but a small crust of bread which they made him swallow. The two men laid themselves down on chairs for a short nap. Oliver retained his stool by the fire. Barney, wrapped in a blanket, stretched himself on the floor, close outside the fender. They slept, or appeared to sleep, for some time. Nobody stirring but Barney, who rose once or twice to throw cold on the fire. Oliver fell into a heavy dose, imagining himself straying along the gloomy lanes, or wondering about the dark churchyard, or retracing some one or other of the scenes of the past day, when he was roused by Toby Crackett jumping up and declaring it was half past one. In an instant the other two were on their legs, and all were actively engaged in busy preparation. Sykes and his companion enveloped their necks and chins in large, dark shawls, and drew on their greatcoats. Barney, opening a cupboard, brought forth several articles which he hastily crammed into the pockets. "'Barkers for me, Barney,' said Toby Crackett. "'Here they are,' replied Barney, producing a pair of pistols. "'You load it them yourself.' "'All right,' replied Toby, stowing them away. "'The persuaders?' "'I've got them,' replied Sykes. "'Crepe, keys, center bits, darkies, nothing forgotten,' inquired Toby, fastening a small crow-bar to a loop inside the skirt of his coat. "'All right,' rejoined his companion. "'Bring them bits of timber, Barney. That's the time of day.' With these words he took a thick stick from Barney's hands, who, having delivered another to Toby, busied himself in fastening on Oliver's cape. "'Now, then,' said Sykes, holding out his hand. Oliver, who was completely stupefied by the unwanted exercise and the air and the drink which had been forced upon him, put his hand mechanically into that which Sykes extended for the purpose. "'Take his other hand, Toby,' said Sykes. "'Look out, Barney.' The man went to the door and returned to announce that all was quiet. The two robbers issued forth with Oliver between them. Barney, having made all fast, rolled himself up as before, and was soon asleep again. It was now intensely dark. The fog was much heavier than it had been in the early part of the night, and the atmosphere was so damp that, although no rain fell, Oliver's hair and eyebrows within a few minutes after leaving the house had become stiff with the half frozen moisture that was floating about. They crossed the bridge and kept on towards the lights which he had seen before. They were at no great distance off, and as they walked pretty briskly they soon arrived at Chertsey. "'Slap through the town,' whispered Sykes. "'There'll be nobody in the way to-night to see us.' Toby acquiesced, and they hurried through the main street of the little town which at that late hour was wholly deserted. A dim light shone at intervals from some bedroom window, and the horse-marking of dogs occasionally broke the silence of the night. But there was nobody abroad. They had cleared the town as the church fell struck too. Quickening their pace, they turned up a road upon the left hand. After walking about a quarter of a mile, they stopped before a detached house surrounded by a wall, to the top of which Toby Crackett, scarcely pausing to take breath, climbed in a twinkling. "'The boy next,' said Toby. "'Hoist him up. All catch hold of him.' Before Oliver had time to look round, Sykes had caught him under the arms, and in three or four seconds he and Toby were lying on the grass on the other side. Sykes followed directly, and they stole cautiously towards the house. And now, for the first time, Oliver, well-nigh mad with grief and terror, saw that host-breaking and robbery, if not murder, were the objects of the expedition. He clasped his hands together and involuntarily uttered a subdued exclamation of horror. A mist came before his eyes. The cold sweat stood upon his ashy face. His limbs failed him, and he sank upon his knees. "'Get up,' murmured Sykes, trembling with rage, and drawing the pistol from his pocket. "'Get up, or I'll strew your brains upon the grass.' "'Oh, for God's sake, let me go,' cried Oliver. "'Let me run away and die in the fields. I will never come near London. Never, never. Oh, pray have mercy on me, and do not make me steal, for the love of all the bright angels that rest in heaven have mercy upon me.' The man to whom this appeal was made swore a dreadful oath, and had cocked the pistol, when Toby, striking it from his grass, placed his hands upon the boy's mouth, and dragged him to the house. "'Hash!' cried the man. "'It won't answer here. See another word, and I'll do your business myself with a crack on the head. That makes no noise, and is quite as certain and more genteel. Here, Bill, wrench the shutter open. He's game enough now, I'll engage. I've seen older hands of his age took the same way for a minute or two on a cold night.' Sykes, invoking terrific implications upon Fagan's head for sending Oliver on such an errand, plied the crowbar vigorously, but with little noise. After some delay, and some assistance from Toby, the shutter to which he had referred swung open on its hinges. It was a little lattice window, about five feet and a half above the ground at the back of the house, which belonged to a scullery, or small, brewing place, at the end of the passage. The aperture was so small that the inmates had probably not thought it worthwhile to defend it more securely, but it was large enough to admit a boy of Oliver's size, nevertheless. A very brief exercise of Mr. Sykes' art sufficed to overcome the fastening of the lattice, and it soon stood wide open also. Now listen, you young lamb, whispered Sykes, drawing a dark lantern from his pocket and throwing the glare full on Oliver's face. I'm going to put you through there. Take this light, go softly up the steps straighter for you, and along the little hall to the street door, unfastened it, and let us in. There's a boat at the top you won't be able to reach, interposed Toby. Stand upon one of the hallchairs. There are three there, Bill, with a jolly large blue unicorn and gold pitchfork on them, which is the old lady's arms. Keep quiet, can't you? replied Sykes, with a threatening look. The room door is open, is it? Wide, replied Toby, after peeping in to satisfy himself. The game of that is that they always leave it open with a catch, so that the dog, who's got a bed in here, may walk up and down the passage when he feels wakeful. Ha-ha! Barney, ticed up away tonight, so neat. Although Mr. Crackett spoke in a scarcely audible whisper and laughed without noise, Sykes imperiously commanded him to be silent and to get to work. Toby complied, by first producing his lantern and placing it on the ground, then by planting himself firmly with his head against the wall beneath the window and his hands upon his knees so as to make a step of his back. This was no sooner done than Sykes mounting upon him, put Oliver gently through the window with his feet first, and without leaving hold of his collar planted him safely on the floor inside. Take this lantern, said Sykes, looking into the room. You see the stairs are for you. Oliver, more dead than alive, gasped out. Yes. Sykes, pointing to the street door with the pistol-barrel, briefly advised him to take notice that he was within shot all the way, and that if he faltered he would fall dead that instant. It's done in a minute, said Sykes, in the same low whisper. Directly I leave go if you do your work. Hark! What's that? whispered the other man. They listened intently. Nothing, said Sykes, releasing his hold of Oliver. Now! In the short time he had had to collect his senses, the boy had firmly resolved that whether he died in the attempt or not he would make one effort to dart upstairs from the hall and alarm the family. Filled with this idea he advanced at once, but stealthily. Come back, suddenly cried Sykes aloud. Back! Back! Scared by the sudden breaking of the dead stillness of the place and by a loud cry which followed it, Oliver let his lantern fall and knew not whether to advance or fly. The cry was repeated, a light appeared, a vision of two terrified half-dressed men at the top of the stairs swam before his eyes, a flash, a loud noise, a smoke, a crash somewhere but where he knew not, and he staggered back. Sykes had disappeared for an instant but he was up again and hid him by the cauldron before the smoke had cleared away. He fired his own pistol after the men who were already retreating and dragged the boy up. Clasp your arm tighter, said Sykes as he drew him through the window. Give me a shawl here. They've hit him! Quick! How the boy bleeds! Then came the loud ringing of a bell mingled with the noise of firearms and the shouts of men and the sensation of being carried over uneven ground at a rapid pace, and then the noises grew confused in the distance and a cold, deadly feeling crept over the boy's heart and he saw or heard no more. End of Chapter 22 Oliver Twist, Chapter 23 This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Reading by Brad Philippone Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens, Chapter 23 which contains the substance of a pleasant conversation between Mr. Bumble and a lady and shows that even a beetle may be susceptible on some points. The night was bitter cold. The snow lay on the ground frozen into a hard, thick crust, so that only the heaps that had drifted into byways and corners were affected by the sharp wind that howled abroad, which, as if expending increased fury on such prey as it found, caught it savagely up in clouds, and whirling it into a thousand misty eddies scattered it in air. Bleak, dark, and piercing cold, it was a night for the well housed and fed to draw round the bright fire and thank God they were at home, and for the homeless starving wretch to lay him down and die, many hunger-worn outcasts closed their eyes in our bare streets at such times, who let their crimes have been what they may, can hardly open them in a more bitter world. Such was the aspect of out-of-doors affairs, when Mrs. Corny, the matron of the work-house to which our readers have been already introduced as the birthplace of Oliver Twist, sat herself down before a cheerful fire in her own little room, and glanced with no small degree of complacency at a small round table on which stood a tray of corresponding size, furnished with all necessary materials for the most grateful meal that matrons enjoy. In fact, Mrs. Corny was about to sod us herself with a cup of tea, as she glanced from the table to the fireplace, with the smallest of all possible kettles, with singing a small song and a small voice. Her inward satisfaction evidently increased so much so indeed that Mrs. Corny smiled. Well, said the matron, leaning her elbow on the table and looking reflectively at the fire, I'm sure we have all on us a great deal to be grateful for, a great deal if we did but know it. Mrs. Corny shook her head mournfully, as if deploring the mental blindness of those poppers who did not know it, and thrusting a silver spoon, private property, into the inmost recesses of a two-ounce tin tea-caddy, proceeded to make the tea. How slight a thing will disturb the equanimity of our frail minds, the black teapot, being very small and easily filled, ran over while Mrs. Corny was moralizing, and the water slightly scalded Mrs. Corny's hand. Drat the pot, said the worthy matron, setting it down very hastily on the hob. A little stupid thing that only holds a couple of cups. What use is it of to anybody? Except, said Mrs. Corny, pausing, except to a poor desolate creature like me, oh dear! With these words the matron dropped into her chair, and once more resting her elbow on the table thought of her solitary fate. The small teapot and the single cup had awakened in her mind sad recollections of Mr. Corny, who had not been did more than five and twenty years, and she was overpowered. I shall never get another, said Mrs. Corny, pettishly. I shall never get another, like him. Whether this remark bore reference to the husband or the teapot is uncertain. It might have been the latter for Mrs. Corny looked at it as she spoke, and took it up afterwards. She had just tasted her first cup, when she was disturbed by a soft tap at the room door. Oh, come in with you, said Mrs. Corny sharply. Some of the old women dying, I suppose. They always die when I'm at meals. Don't stand there letting the cold air in, don't. What's a mist now, eh? Nothing, ma'am, nothing, replied a man's voice. Dear me, exclaimed the matron, in a much sweeter tone, is that Mr. Bumble— At your service, ma'am, said Mr. Bumble, who had been stopping outside to rub his shoes clean, and to shake the snow off his coat, who now made his appearance, bearing the cocked hat in one hand, and a bundle in the other. Shall I shut the door, ma'am? The lady modestly hesitated to reply, lest there should be any impropriety in holding an interview with Mr. Bumble with closed doors. Mr. Bumble, taking advantage of the hesitation, and being very cold himself, shut it without permission. Hard weather, Mr. Bumble, said the matron. Hard indeed, ma'am, replied the beetle. Ante parochial weather this, ma'am. We have given away, Mrs. Corni, we have given away a matter of twenty-quarter lows at a cheese-and-a-half this very blessed afternoon, and yet them poppers are not contented. Of course not. When would they be, Mr. Bumble, said the matron, sipping her tea. When indeed, ma'am, rejoined Mr. Bumble. Why, here's one man that, in consideration of his wife and large family, has a quarter-and-low for a good pound of cheese, full weight. Is he grateful, ma'am? Is he grateful? Not a copper farthing's worth of it. What does he do, ma'am? But ask for a few coals, if it's only a pocket-hacker-chiefful, he says. Coals? What would he do with coals? Toast his cheese with him and then come back for more? That's the way with these people, ma'am. Give him an apron full of coals to-day, and they'll come back for another the day after tomorrow as brazen as alabaster. The matron expressed her entire concurrence in this intelligible simile, and the beetle went on. I never, said Mr. Bumble, see anything like the pitch it's got to. The day of four yesterday, a man—you have been a married woman, ma'am, and I may mention it to you—a man with hardly a rag upon his back—here, Mrs. Corney looked at the floor—goes to our overseer's door when he has got company coming to dinner, and says he must be relieved, Mrs. Corney. As he wouldn't go away and shock the company very much, our overseer sent him out a pound of potatoes and a half pint of oatmeal. My heart, says the ungrateful villain. What's the use of this to me? You might as well give me a pair of iron spectacles. Very good, says our overseer, taking him away again. You won't get anything else here. Then I'll die in the streets, says the vagrant. Oh, no, you won't, says our overseer. Ha-ha! That was very good. So like Mr. Granite wasn't it, interposed the maiden. Well, Mr. Bumble—well, ma'am, rejoined the beetle—he went away. And he did die in the streets. There's an obstinate popper for you. It beats anything I could have believed, observed the matron emphatically. But don't you think out of door relief a very bad thing any way, Mr. Bumble? You're a gentleman I've experienced and ought to know, come. Mrs. Corny, said the beetle, smiling as men smile who are conscious of superior information. Out of door relief, properly managed, properly managed, ma'am, is the parochial safeguard. The great principle of out-of-door relief is to give the poppers exactly what they don't want, and then they get tired of coming. Dear me, exclaimed Mrs. Corny. Well, that is a good one, too. Yes, betwixt you and me, ma'am, returned Mr. Bumble, that's the great principle. And that's the reason why, if you look at any cases that get into them audacious newspapers, you'll always observe that sick families have been relieved with slices of cheese. That's the rule now, Mrs. Corny, all over the country. But, however, said the beetle, stopping to unpack his bundle, these are official secrets, ma'am, not to be spoken of, except, as I may say, among the parochial officers, such as ourselves. This is the port wine, ma'am. The board ordered for the infirmary. Real, fresh, genuine port wine, only out of the cask this forenoon, clear as a bell and no sediment. Having held the first bottle up to the light and shaken it well to test its excellence, Mr. Bumble placed them both on top of a chest of drawers, folded the handkerchief in which they had been wrapped, put it carefully in his pocket, and took up his hat as if to go. "'You'll have a very cold walk, Mr. Bumble,' said the matron.' "'It blows, ma'am,' replied Mr. Bumble, turning up his coat-collar, enough to cut one's ears off. The matron looked from the little kettle to the beetle, who was moving towards the door, and as the beetle coughed a preparatory to bidding her good night, bashfully inquired whether he wouldn't take a cup of tea. Mr. Bumble instantaneously turned back his collar again, laid his hat and stick upon a chair, and drew another chair up to the table. As he slowly seated himself he looked at the lady. She fixed her eyes upon the little teapot. Mr. Bumble coughed again and slightly smiled. Mrs. Courtney rose to get another cup and saucer from the closet. As she sat down, her eyes once again encountered those of the gallant beetle she colored and applied herself to the task of making his tea. Again Mr. Bumble coughed, louder this time, than he had coughed yet. "'Sweet, Mr. Bumble,' inquired the matron, taking up the sugar basin. "'Very sweet, indeed,' replied Mr. Bumble. He fixed his eyes on Mrs. Courtney as he said this, and if ever a beetle looked tender, Mr. Bumble was that beetle at that moment. The tea was made and handed in silence. Mr. Bumble, having spread a handkerchief over his knees to prevent the crumbs from sullying the splendor of his shorts, began to eat and drink, varying these amusements occasionally, by fetching a deep sigh which, however, had no injurious effect upon his appetite, but on the contrary, rather seemed to facilitate his operations in the tea-and-toast department. "'You have a cat, ma'am, I see,' said Mr. Bumble, glancing at one who, in the centre of her family, was basking before the fire, and kittens, too, I declare. "'I am so fond of the Mr. Bumble you can't think,' replied the matron. "'They're so happy, so frolicsome, and so cheerful, that they are quite companions for me.' "'Very nice animals, ma'am,' replied Mr. Bumble, approvingly. "'So very domestic.' "'Oh, yes,' rejoined the matron with enthusiasm. "'So fond of their home, too, that it's quite a pleasure, I'm sure.' "'This is corny, ma'am,' said Mr. Bumble, slowly, and marking the time with his teaspoon. "'I mean to say this, ma'am, that any cat or kitten that could live with you, ma'am, and not be fond of its home, must be an ass, ma'am.' "'Oh, Mr. Bumble,' remonstrated Mrs. Corny.' "'It's of no use disguising facts, ma'am,' said Mr. Bumble, slowly flourishing his teaspoon with a kind of amorous dignity, which could make him doubly impressive. "'I would drown it myself with pleasure.' "'Then you're a cruel man,' said the matron, vivaciously, as she held out her hand for the Beatles' cup, and a very hard-hearted man besides. "'Hard-hearted, ma'am,' said Mr. Bumble. "'Hard?' Mr. Bumble resigned his cup without another word, squeezed Mrs. Corny's little finger as she took it, and inflicted two open-handed slaps upon his laced waistcoat, gave a mighty sigh, and hitched his chair a very little morsel farther from the fire. It was a round table, and as Mrs. Corny and Mr. Bumble had been sitting opposite each other, with no great space between them, and fronting the fire, it will be seen that Mr. Bumble, in receding from the fire, and still keeping at the table, increased the distance between himself and Mrs. Corny, which, proceeding, some prudent readers will doubtless be disposed to admire, and to consider an act of great heroism on Mr. Bumble's part. She being, in some short, tempted by time, place, and opportunity to give utterance to certain soft nothings, which, however well they may become the lips of the light and thoughtless, do seem immeasurably beneath the dignity of judges of the land, members of parliament, ministers of state, lord-mayors, and other great public functionaries, but more particularly beneath the stateliness and gravity of a beetle, who, as is well known, should be the sternest and most inflexible among them all. Whatever were Mr. Bumble's intentions, however, and no doubt they were of the best, it unfortunately happened, as has been twice before remarked, that the table was a round one, consequently Mr. Bumble, moving his chair by little and little, soon began to diminish the distance between himself and the matron, and continuing to travel round the outer edge of the circle, brought his chair in time close to that in which the matron was seated. The two chairs touched, and when they did so, Mr. Bumble stopped. Now, if the matron had moved her chair to the right, she would have been scorched by the fire, and if to the left, she must have fallen into Mr. Bumble's arms, so, being a discreet matron, and no doubt foreseeing these consequences at a glance, she remained where she was, and handed Mr. Bumble another cup of tea. Hard-hearted, Mrs. Corney, said Mr. Bumble, stirring his tea and looking up into the matron's face. Are you hard-hearted, Mrs. Corney? Dear me, exclaimed the matron, what a very curious question from a single man. What can you want to know for, Mr. Bumble? The beetle drank his tea to the last drop, finished a piece of toast, whisked the crumbs off his knees, wiped his lips, and deliberately kissed the matron. Mr. Bumble cried that discreet lady in a whisper, for the fright was so great that she had quite lost her voice. Mr. Bumble, I shall scream! Mr. Bumble made no reply, but in a slow and dignified manner put his arm round the matron's waist. As the lady had stated her intention of screaming, of course she would have screamed at this additional boldness, but that the exertion was rendered unnecessary by a hasty knocking at the door, which was no sooner heard than Mr. Bumble darted with much agility to the wine-bottles, and began dusting them with great violence while the matron sharply demanded who was there. It is worthy of remark as a curious physical instance of the efficacy of a sudden surprise in counteracting the effects of extreme fear that her voice had quite recovered all its official asperity. If you please, mistress, said a withered old female popper, obviously ugly, putting her head in at the door. Old Sally is a-going fast. Well, what's that to me, angrily demanded the matron? I can't keep her alive, can I?" No, no, mistress, replied the old woman. Nobody can. She's far beyond the reach of help. I've seen many a-people die, little babes and great strong men, and I know when deaths are coming well enough. But she's troubled in her mind, and when the fits are not on her, it's not often, for she is dying very hard. She says she has got something to tell which you must hear. She'll never die quiet until you come, mistress. At this intelligence the worthy Mrs. Corny muttered a variety of invectives against old women who couldn't even die without purposely annoying their betters, and muffling herself in a thick shawl which she hastily caught up briefly requested Mr. Bumble to stay till she came back, lest anything particular should occur. During the messenger walked fast, and not be all night hobbling up the stairs, she followed her from the room with a very ill grace scolding all the way. Mr. Bumble's conduct on being left to himself was rather inexplicable. He opened the closet, camped at the teaspoons, waved the sugar tongs, closely inspected a silver milk-pot to ascertain that it was of the genuine metal, and having satisfied his curiosity on these points, put on his cocked hat corner-wise, and danced with much gravity four distinct times round the table. Having gone through this very extraordinary performance, he took off the cocked hat again, and spreading himself before the fire with his back towards it seemed to be mentally engaged in taking an exact inventory of the furniture. CHAPTER XXIV It was no unfit messenger of death who had disturbed the quiet of the matron's room. Her body was bent by age, her limbs trembled with palsy, her face distorted into a mumbling leer resembled more the grotesque shaping of some wild pencil than the work of nature's hand. Alas! How few of nature's faces are left alone to gladden us with their beauty! The cares and sorrows and hungarings of the world change them as they change hearts, and it is only when these passions sleep and have lost their hold for ever that the troubled clouds pass off and leave heaven's surface clear. It is a common thing for the countenances of the dead, even in that fixed and rigid state, to subside into the long forgotten expression of sleeping infancy, and settle into the very look of early life, so calm, so peaceful do they grow again, that those who knew them in their happy childhood kneel by the coffin-side in awe and see the angel even upon earth. The old crone tottered along the passages and up the stairs, muttering some indistinct answers to the chidings of her companion, being at length compelled to pause for breath, she gave the light into her hand, and remained behind to follow as she might, while the more nimble superior made her way to the room where the sick woman lay. It was a bare garret room, with a dim light burning at the farther end. There was another old woman watching by the bed. The parish apothecaries' apprentice was standing by the fire, making a toothpick out of a quill. "'Cold night, Mrs. Corney,' said this young gentleman, as the matron entered. "'Very cold indeed, sir,' replied the mistress, in her most civil tones, and dropping a curtsy as she spoke. "'You should get better colds out of your contractors,' said the apothecaries' deputy, breaking a lump on the top of the fire with the rusty poker. "'These are not at all the sort of thing for a cold night. There the boards choosing, sir,' returned the matron. "'The least they could do would be to keep us pretty warm, for our places are hard enough.' The conversation was here interrupted by a moan from the sick woman. "'Oh,' said the young mag, turning his face towards the bed, as if he had previously quite forgotten the patient. "'It's all you-a-pee there, Mrs. Corney.' "'Is it? Is it, sir?' asked the matron. "'If she lasts a couple of hours, I shall be surprised,' said the apothecaries' apprentice, intent upon the toothpick's point. "'It's a break-up of the system altogether. Is she dozing, old lady?' The attendant stooped over the bed to ascertain and nodded in the affirmative. "'Then perhaps she'll go off in that way, if you don't make a row,' said the young man. "'Put the light on the floor. She won't see it there.' The attendant did as she was told, shaking her head meanwhile to intimate that the woman would not die so easily. Having done so, she resumed her seat by the side of the other nurse, who had by this time returned. The mistress, with an expression of impatience, wrapped herself in her shawl and sat at the foot of the bed. The apothecaries' apprentice, having completed the manufacture of the toothpick, planted himself in front of the fire and made good use of it for ten minutes or so. When apparently growing rather dull, he wished Mrs. Corney joy of her job and took himself off on tiptoe. When they had sat in silence for some time, the two old women rose from the bed, and crouching over the fire, held out their withered hands to catch the heat. The flame threw a ghastly light on their shriveled faces, and made their ugliness appear terrible, as in this position they began to converse in a low voice. Did she say any more, Annie dear, while I was gone, inquired the messenger? Not a word, replied the other. She plucked and tore at her arms for a little time, but I held her hands, and she soon dropped off. She hasn't much strength in her, so I easily kept her quiet. I ain't so weak for an old woman, although I am on perish allowance. No, no. Did she drink the hot wine the doctor said she was to have, demanded the first? I tried to get it down, rejoined the other, but her teeth were tight set, and she clenched the mug so hard that it was as much as I could do to get it back again. So I drank it, and it did me good. Looking cautiously round to ascertain that they were not overheard, the two hags cowered nearer to the fire, and chuckled heartily. I mined the time, said the first speaker, when she would have done the same, and made rare fun of it afterwards. I, that she would, rejoined the other. She had a merry heart, a many, many beautiful corpses she laid out as nice and neat as waxwork. My old eyes have seen them, I, and those old hands touch them, too, for I have helped his scalls of time. Stretching forth her trembling fingers as she spoke, the old creature shook them exultingly before her face, and fumbling in her pocket brought out an old-time-discuttered tin snuff-box, from which she shook a few grains into the outstretched palm of her companion, and a few more into her own. While they were thus employed, the matron, who had been impatiently watching them until the dying woman should awaken from her stupor, joined them by the fire, and sharply asked how long she was to wait. Not long, Mistress, replied the second woman, looking up into her face, we have none of us long to wait for death. Patience, patience. He'll be here soon enough for us all. With your tongue, you doting idiot, said the matron sternly. You, Martha, tell me, has she been in this way before? Often answered the first woman. But we'll never be again, added the second one. That is, she'll never wake again but once. And mine, Mistress, that won't be for long. Long or short, said the matron, snappishly, she won't find me here when she does wake. Take care, both of you, how you worry me again for nothing. There's no part of my duty to see all the old women in the house die, and I won't, that's more. Mind you, you impudent old heritans, if you make a fool of me again, all soon cure you, I warrant you. She was bouncing away when a cry from the two women, who had turned towards the bed, caused her to look round. The patient had raised herself upright, and was stretching her arms towards them. "'Who's that?' she cried, in a hollow voice. Hush, hush!' said one of the women, stooping over her. Lie down, lie down. "'I'll never lie down again alive,' said the woman, struggling. "'I will tell her. Come here. Nearer. Let me whisper in your ear.' She clutched the matron by the arm, and, forcing her into a chair by the bedside, was about to speak when, looking round, she caught sight of the two old women bending forward in the attitude of eager listeners. "'Turn them away,' said the woman drowsily. "'Make haste, make haste!' The two old crones, chiming in together, began pouring out many piteous lamentations, that the poor dear was too far gone to know her best friends, and were uttering sundry protestations that they would never leave her, when the superior pushed them from the room, closed the door, and returned to the bedside. On being excluded the old ladies changed their tone, and cried through the keyhole that old Sally was drunk, which, indeed, was not unlikely, since, in addition to a moderate dose of opium prescribed by the apothecary, she was laboring under the effects of a final taste of gin and water which had been privily administered in the openness of their hearts by the worthy old ladies themselves. "'Now, listen to me,' said the dying woman, aloud, as if making a great effort to revive one latent spark of energy. In this very room, in this very bed, I once nursed a pretty young creature that was brought into the house with her feet cut, and bruised with walking, and all soiled with dust and blood. She gave birth to a boy, and died. Let me think. What was the year again? Never mind the year,' said the impatient auditor. What about her?' I remembered the sick woman, relapsing into her former drowsy state. What about her? What about—' "'I know,' she cried, jumping fiercely up, her face flushed, and her eyes starting from her head. I robbed her, so I did. She wasn't cold. I tell you, she wasn't cold. When I stole it, stole what, for God's sake,' cried the matron with a gesture as if she would call for help, it,' replied the woman, laying her hand over the other's mouth. The only thing she had—she wanted clothes to keep her warm, and food to eat, but she had kept it safe and had it in her bosom. It was gold, I tell you, rich gold that might have saved her life. Gold, echoed the matron, bending eagerly over the woman as she fell back. Go on, go on, yes, what of it? Who was the mother? When was it?' "'She charged me to keep it safe,' replied the woman with a groan, and trusted me as the only woman about her. I stole it in my heart when she first showed it me hanging round her neck, and the child's death perhaps is on me besides. They would have treated him better if they had known it all. Known what?' asked the other, speak. The boy grew so like his mother,' said the woman, rambling on and not heeding the question, that I could never forget it when I saw his face. Poor girl, poor girl! She was so young, too. Such a gentle lamb! Wait there's more to tell, I have not told you all, have I?' No, no,' replied the matron, and climbing her head to catch the words as they came more faintly from the dying woman. Be quick, or it may be too late. The mother,' said the woman, making a more violent effort than before, the mother, when the pains of death first came upon her, whispered in my ear that if her baby was born alive and thrived the day might come when it would not feel so much disgrace to hear its poor young mother named. And, O kind heaven, she said, folding her thin hands together, whether it be boy or girl, raise up some friends for it in this troubled world, and take pity upon a lonely, desolate child, abandoned to its mercy. The boy's name demanded the matron. They called him Oliver, replied the woman feebly. The gold I stole was—'Yes, yes, what?' cried the other. She was bending eagerly over the woman to hear her reply, but drew back instinctively, as she once again rose slowly and stiffly into a sitting posture. Then clutching the coverlid with both hands, muttered some indistinct sounds in her throat, and fell lifeless on the bed. "'Stone dead,' said one of the old women, hurrying in as soon as the door was opened, and nothing to tell after all rejoined the matron, walking carelessly away. The two crones, to all appearance, too busily occupied in the preparations for their dreadful duties to make any reply, were left alone, hovering about the body. CHAPTER XXV. While these things were passing in the country-workhouse, Mr. Faggin sat in the old din, the same from which Oliver had been removed by the girl, brooding over a dull, smoky fire. He held a pair of bellows upon his knee, with which he had apparently been endeavouring to rouse it into more cheerful action, but he had fallen into deep thought, and with his arms folded on them, and his chin resting on his thumbs, fixed his eyes abstractedly on the rusty bars. At a table behind him sat the artful dodger, Master Charles Bates and Mr. Chitling, all intent upon a game of wist. The artful taking dummy against Master Bates and Mr. Chitling. The countenance of the first-name gentleman, peculiarly intelligent at all times, acquired great additional interest from his close observance of the game, and his attentive perusal of Mr. Chitling's hand, upon which, from time to time, as occasion served, he bestowed a variety of earnest glances, wisely regulating his own play by the result of his observations upon his neighbour's cards. It being a cold night the dodger wore his hat, as indeed was often his custom within doors. He also sustained a clay pipe between his teeth, which he only removed for a brief space when he deemed it necessary to apply for refreshment to a court-pot upon the table, which stood ready filled with gin and water for the accommodation of the company. Master Bates was also attentive to the play, but being of a more excitable nature than his accomplished friend, it was observable that he more frequently applied himself to the gin and water, and moreover indulged in many jests and irrevolent remarks, all highly unbecoming a scientific rubber. Indeed the artful, presuming upon their close attachment more than once took occasion to reason gravely with his companion upon these improprieties, all of which remonstrances Master Bates receives in extremely good part, merely requesting his friend to be blowed, or to insert his head in a sack, or replying with some other neatly turned witticism of a similar kind, the happy application of which excited considerable admiration in the mind of Mr. Chitling. It was remarkable that the latter gentleman and his partner invariably lost, and that the circumstance, so far from angering Master Bates, appeared to afford him the highest amusement, inasmuch as he laughed most uproariously at the end of every deal, and protested that he had never seen such a jolly game in all his born days. "'That's two doubles and the rub,' said Mr. Chitling, with a very long face as he drew half a crown from his waist-good pocket. "'I never see such a fatter as you, Jack, you win everything, and when we've good cards, Charlie, and I can't make nothing of them.' Either the Master or the Manor of the Remark, which was made very ruefully, delighted Charlie Bates so much, that his consequent short of laughter roused the Jew from his reverie, and induced him to inquire what was the matter. "'Batterfegen,' cried Charlie, "'I wish you had watched the play. Tommy Chitling hasn't won a point, and I went partners with him against the artful and dumb. "'I, I,' said the Jew, with a grin, which sufficiently demonstrated that he was at no loss to understand the reason. "'Try again, Tom, try again.' "'No more of it for me, thank ye, Fegen,' replied Mr. Chitling. "'I've had enough. That, yet, Dodger, has such a rod of luck, and has no standard at gain him.' "'A-ha, my dear,' replied the Jew. "'You must get up very early in the morning to win against the Dodger.' "'Morning,' said Charlie Bates, "'you must put your boots on overnight and have a telescope at each eye and an opera-glass between your shoulders if you want to come over him.' Mr. Dawkins received these handsome compliments with much philosophy, and offered to cut any gentleman in company for the first picture-card at a shilling at a time. Nobody accepting the challenge, and his pipe being by this time smoked out, he proceeded to amuse himself by sketching a ground plan of new-gate on the table, with a piece of chalk which had served him in lieu of counters, whistling, meantime, with peculiar shrillness. "'How precious do you are, Tommy,' said the Dodger, stopping short when there had been a long silence in addressing Mr. Chitling. "'What do you think he's a thinkin' of, Fegen?' "'How should I know, my dear,' replied the Jew, looking round as he plied the bellows. "'About his losses, maybe, or the little retirement in the country that he's just left, eh? Is that it, my dear?' "'Not a bit of it,' replied the Dodger, stopping the subject of discourse, as Mr. Chitling was about to reply. "'What do you say, Charlie?' "'I should say,' replied Master Bates, with a grin, that he was uncommon, sweet upon Betsy. See how he's a-blushin'—oh, my eye, here's a merry-go-rounder. Tommy Chitling's in love—oh, Fegen, Fegen, what a spree!' He overpowered with the notion of Mr. Chitling being the victim of the tender passion. Master Bates threw himself back in his chair with such violence that he lost his balance and pitched over upon the floor, where, the accident abating nothing of his merriment, he lay at full length until his laugh was over, when he resumed his former position and began another laugh. "'Never mind him, my dear,' said the Jew, winking at Mr. Dawkins, and giving Master Bates a reproving tap with the nozzle of his bellows. Betsy's a fine girl. Stick up to her, Tom, stick up to her.' "'What I mean to say, Fegen,' replied Mr. Chitling, very rid in the face, "'is that that isn't anything to anybody here.' "'No more it is,' replied the Jew. "'Charlie will talk. Don't mind him, my dear, don't mind him. Betsy's a fine girl. Do as she bids you, Tom, and you will make your fortune. Though I do do, as she bids me,' replied Mr. Chitling, "'I shouldn't have been milled if it hadn't been for her advice. But it turned out a good job for you, didn't it, Fegen? And what six weeks of it? It must come some time or another, and why not in the wintertime we did don't want to go out or walk and so much, eh, Fegen?' "'Ah, to be sure, my dear,' replied the Jew. "'You wouldn't mind it again, Tom, would you?' asked the Dodger, winking upon Charlie and the Jew. If Bet was all right. I mean to say that I shouldn't,' replied Tom angrily. "'There now. Ah, who'll say as much as that? I should like to know, eh, Fegen?' "'Nobody, my dear,' replied the Jew. Not a soul, Tom. I don't know one of them that would do it beside you. Not one of them, my dear. I might have got clear off of I'd split upon her, mightn't I, Fegen?' Angrily pursued the poor half-wit dup. A word from me would have done it, wouldn't it, Fegen? To be sure it would, my dear,' replied the Jew. "'But I didn't blab it. Did I, Fegen?' demanded Tom, pouring question upon question with great volubility. "'No, no, to be sure,' replied the Jew. "'You were too stout-hotted for that a-deal to stout, my dear. Perhaps I was,' replied Tom, looking round. "'And if I was, what's to laugh at in that, eh, Fegen?' The Jew, perceiving that Mr. Chitling was considerably roused, hastened to assure him that nobody was laughing, and to prove the gravity of the company, appealed to master Bates the principal offender. But unfortunately Charlie, in opening his mouth to reply that he was never more serious in his life, was unable to prevent the escape of such a violent roar that the abused Mr. Chitling, without any preliminary ceremonies, rushed across the room and aimed a blow at the offender, who, being skillful in evading pursuit, ducked to avoid it, and chose his time so well that it lighted on the chest of the merry old gentleman, and caused him to stagger to the wall, where he stood panting for breath while Mr. Chitling looked on in intense dismay. "'Hark!' said the Dodger at this moment. "'I heard the tinkler catching up the light. He crept softly upstairs. The bell was rung again, with some impatience, while the party were in darkness. After a short pause the Dodger reappeared, and whispered faggin mysteriously. "'What!' cried the Jew, alone!' The Dodger nodded in the affirmative, and shading the flame of the candle with his hand gave Charlie Bates a private intimation in dumb show that he had better not be funny just then. Having performed this friendly office he fixed his eyes on the Jew's face and awaited his directions. The old man bit his yellow fingers and meditated for some seconds, his face working with agitation the while as if he dreaded something, and feared to know the worst. At Lainty raised his head. "'Where is he?' he asked. The Dodger pointed to the floor above, and made a gesture as if to leave the room. "'Yes,' said the Jew, answering the mute inquiry. "'Bring him down. Hush! Quiet, Charlie! Gently, Tom! Scass! Scass!' This brief direction to Charlie Bates and his recent antagonist was softly and immediately obeyed. There was no sound of their whereabout when the Dodger descended the stairs, bearing the light in his hand and followed by a man in a coarse smock frock, who, after casting a hurry-clance round the room, pulled off a large wrapper which had concealed the lower portion of his face, and disclosed, all haggard, unwashed and unshorn, the features of a flash tobey-cracket. "'How are you, Fagerie?' said this worthy, nodding to the Jew. Pop that shawl away in my castor, Dodger, so that I may know where to find it when I cut. That's the time of day. You'll be a fine young craxman of full the old file, now.' With these words he pulled up the smock frock, and, winding it round his middle, drew a chair to the fire, and placed his feet upon the hob. "'See there, Fagerie,' he said, pointing disconsorately to his top boots. "'Not a drop of day and martin, since you know when. Not a bubble of blacking, by Jove. But don't look at me in that way, man. All in good time. I can't talk about business to live, eat, and drink. So produce the sustenance, and let's have a quiet fill-out for the first time these three days.' The Jew motioned to the Dodger to place what eatables there were upon the table, and, seating himself opposite the house-breaker, waited his leisure. To judge from appearances, Tobi was by no means in a hurry to open the conversation. At first the Jew contented himself with patiently watching his countenance, as if to gain from its expression some clue to the intelligence he brought, but in vain. He looked tired and worn, but there was the same complacent repose upon his features that they always wore, and, through dirt and beard and whisker, there still shone, unimpaired, the self-satisfied smirk of flash Tobi cracket. Then the Jew, in an agony of impatience, watched every morsel he put into his mouth, pacing up and down the room, meanwhile, in irrepressible excitement. It was all of no use. Tobi continued to eat with the utmost outward indifference, until he could eat no more. Then, ordering the Dodger out, he closed the door, mixed a glass of spirits and water, and composed himself for talking. First and foremost, Faguie, said Tobi, yes, yes, interposed the Jew, drawing up his chair. The cracket stopped to take a draft of spirits and water, and to declare that the gin was excellent. Then, placing his feet against the low mantelpiece the way as to bring his boots to about the level of his eye, he quietly resumed. First and foremost, Faguie, said the house-breaker, how's Bill? What? Screamed the Jew, starting from his seat. Why, you don't mean to say, began Tobi turning pale. Me, cried the Jews, stamping furiously on the ground. Where are they? The sakes and the boy! Where are they? Where have they been? Where are they hiding? Why have they not been here? The crack failed, said Tobi, faintly. I know it, replied the Jew, tearing a newspaper from his pocket and pointing to it. What more? They fired and hit the boy. We cut over the fields at the back with him between us, straight as the crow flies. Through hedge and ditch, they gave chase, dammy. The whole country was awakened the dogs upon us. The boy! Bill had led him on his back and scutted like the wind. We stopped to take him between us, his head hung down, and he was cold. They were close upon our heels, every man for himself, and each from the gallows. We potted company, and I left the youngster lying in a ditch. Alive or dead, that's all I know about him. The Jew stopped to hear no more, but uttering a loud yell and twining his hands in his hair, rust from the room and from the house. End of Chapter 25 Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens Chapter 26 In which a mysterious character appears upon the scene, and many things inseparable from this history are done and performed. The old man had gained the street corner before he began to recover the effect of Toby Crackett's intelligence. He had relaxed nothing of his unusual speed, but was still pressing onward in the same wild and disordered manner with a sudden dashing past of a carriage, and a boisterous cry from the foot-passengers who saw his danger drove him back upon the pavement. Avoiding as much as was possible all the main streets and skulking only through the byways and alleys, he had lengthy merged on Snow Hill. Here he walked even faster than before, nor did he linger until he had again turned into a court, when, as if conscious that he was now in his proper element, he fell into his usual shuffling pace and seemed to breathe more freely. Near to the spot on which Snow Hill and Halburn Hill meet opens upon the right hand as you come out of the city a narrow and dismal alley leading to Saffron Hill. In its filthy shops are exposed for sale huge bunches of second-hand silk handkerchiefs of all sizes and patterns, for here reside the traders who purchased them from pickpockets. Hundreds of these handkerchiefs hang dangling from pegs outside the windows or flotting from the door-posts, and the shells within are piled with them. Combined as the limits of field-lane are, it has its barber, its coffee-shop, its beer-shop, and its fried-fish warehouse. It is a commercial colony of itself, the emporium of petty larceny visited at early morning and setting in dusk by silent merchants who traffic in dark back parlours and who go as strangely as they come. Here the clothesmen, the shoe-vamper, and the rag-merchant display their goods as sign-boards to the petty thief. Here stories of old iron and bones and heaps of mildewy fragments of woollen stuff and linen rust and rot in the grimy cellars. It was in to this place that the Jew turned. He was well known to the sallow denizens of the lane, for such as them as were on the lookout to buy or sell, not it familiarly as he passed along. He replied to their salutations in the same way, but bestowed no closer recognition until he reached the further end of the alley, when he stopped to address a salesman of small stature who had squeezed as much of his person into a child's chair as the child would hold, and was smoking a pipe at his warehouse-door. "'Why, the sight of you, Mr. Faggen, would cure the hop-tull me,' said this respectable trader, in acknowledgment of the Jew's inquiry after his health. "'The neighborhood was a little too hot, lively,' said Faggen, elevating his eyebrows and crossing his hands upon his shoulders. "'Well, I've heard that complaint of it once or twice before,' replied the trader. "'But it soon cools down again, don't you find it so?' Faggen nodded in the affirmative. Pointing in the direction of Saffron Hill he inquired whether anyone was up yonder to-night. At the cripples inquired the man. The Jew nodded. "'Let me see,' pursued the merchant, reflecting. "'Yes. There's some half-dozen of them gone in, that I know. I don't think your friend's there. Sykes is not, I suppose,' inquired the Jew, with a disappointed countenance. "'Non estuinis,' as the lawyers say, replied the little man, shaking his head and looking amazedly sly. "'Have you got anything in my line to-night?' "'Nothing to-night,' said the Jew, turning away. "'Are you going up to the cripples, Faggen?' cried the little man, calling after him. "'Stop! I don't mind if I have a drop there with you.' But as the Jew, looking back, waved his hand to intimate that he preferred being alone, and moreover, as the little man could not very easily disengage himself from the chair, the sight of the cripples was, for a time, bereft of the advantage of Mr. Lively's presence. By the time he had got upon his legs, the Jew had disappeared, so Mr. Lively, after ineffectually standing on tiptoe in the hope of catching sight of him, again forced himself into the little chair, and exchanging a shake of the head with the lady in the opposite shop in which doubt and mistrust were plainly mingled, resumed his pipe with a grave demeanor. The three cripples, or rather the cripples, which was the sign by which the establishment was familiarly known to its patrons, was the public house in which Mr. Sykes and his dog have already figured. Merely making a sign to a man at the bar, Faggin walked straight upwards and opening the door of a room, and softly insinuating himself into the chamber, looked anxiously about, shading his eyes with his hand, as if in search of some particular person. The room was illuminated by two gas-lights, the glare of which was prevented by the barred shutters, and closely drawn curtains of faded red from being visible outside. The ceiling was blackened to prevent its colour from being injured by the flaring of the lamps, and the place was so full of dense tobacco smoke that at first it was scarcely possible to discern anything more. By degrees, however, as some of it cleared away through the open door, an assemblage of heads, as confused by the noises that greeted the air, might be made out, and as the eye grew more accustomed to the scene, the spectator gradually became aware of the presence of a numerous company, male and female, crowded round a long table at the upper end of which sat a chairman with a hammer of office in his hand, while a professional gentleman with a bluish nose and his face tied up for the benefit of a toothache presided at a jingling piano in a remote corner. As Fagan stepped softly in, the professional gentleman running over the keys by way of prelude occasioned a general cry of order for a song, which having subsided, a young lady proceeded to entertain the company with a ballad in four verses, between each of which the accompanist played the melody all through, as loud as he could. When this was over, the chairman gave a sentiment after which the professional gentleman on the chairman's right and left volunteered a duet and sang it with great applause. It was curious to observe some faces which stood out prominently from among the group. There was the chairman himself, the landlord of the house, a coarse, rough, heavy built fellow who, while the songs were proceeding, rolled his eyes hither and dither, and seeming to give himself up to joviality, had an eye for everything that was done, and an ear for everything that was said, and sharp ones, too. Near him were the singers receiving with professional indifference the compliments of the company and applying themselves, in turn, to a dozen proffered glasses of spirits and water, tendered by their more boisterous admirers, whose countenances expressive of almost every vice in almost every grade irresistibly attracted the attention by their very repulsiveness. Everything, ferocity, and drunkenness in all its stages were there in their strongest aspect, and women, some with the last lingering tinge of their early freshness almost fading as you looked, others with every mark and stamp of their sex utterly beaten out, and presenting but one loathsome blank of profigalcy and crime, some mere girls, others but young women, and none past the prime of life, form the darkest and saddest portion of this dreary picture. Faggen, troubled by no grave emotions, looked eagerly from face to face, while these proceedings were in progress, but apparently without meeting that of which he was in search, succeeding at length in catching the eye of the man who occupied the chair, he beckoned to him slightly and left the room as quietly as he had entered it. What can I do for you, Mr. Faggen? inquired the man, as he fathered him out to the landing. Won't you join us? They'll be delighted, every one of them. The Jew shook his head impatiently, and said in a whisper, Is he here? No, replied the man. And no news of Barney, inquired Faggen. None, replied the landlord of the cripples, for it was he. He won't stir till it's all safe. He's all right enough, Barney is, else I should have heard of him. I'll pound it that Barney's managing properly. Let him alone for that. Will he be here to-night?" asked the Jew, laying the same emphasis on the pronoun as before. "'Monks, do you mean?' inquired the landlord, hesitating. "'Hush!' said the Jew. "'Yes.' "'Certain,' replied the man, drawing a gold watch from his fob. "'I expected him here before now. If you'll wait ten minutes, he'll be no-no,' said the Jew hastily, as though however desirous he might be to see the person in question, he was nevertheless relieved by his absence. Tell him I came here to see him, and that he must come to me ten minutes before he leaves. "'No, say to-morrow. As he is not here, to-morrow will be time enough.' "'Good,' said the man, nothing more. "'Not a word now,' said the Jew, descending the stairs. "'I say,' said the other, looking over the rails and speaking in a horse-whisper, "'What a time this would be for a cell! I've got Phil Barker here, so drunk, that a boy might take him . . . ah, but it's not Phil Barker's time,' said the Jew, looking up. "'Phil has something more to do before we could afford to part with him, so go back to the company, my dear, and tell them to lead merry lives while they last. Ha-ha-ha!' The landlord reciprocated the old man's laugh and returned to his guests. The Jew was no sooner alone than his countenance resumed its former expression of anxiety and thought. After a brief reflection, he called a hack-cabralet, and bad the man to drive towards Bethnal Green. He dismissed him within some quarter of a mile of Mr. Sykes' residence, and performed the short remainder of the distance on foot. Now, much of the Jew, as he knocked at the door, if there is any deep play here, I shall have it out of you, my girl, cunning as you are. She was in her room, the woman said. Faggen crept softly upstairs and entered it without any previous ceremony. The girl was alone, lying with her head upon the table, and her hair straggling over it. She has been drinking, thought the Jew coolly, or perhaps she is only miserable. The old man turned to close the door as he made this reflection. The noise thus occasioned roused the girl. She eyed his crafty face narrowly as she inquired to his recital of Toby Crackett's story. When it was concluded, she sank into her former attitude, but spoke not a word. She pushed the candle impatiently away, and once or twice as she feverishly changed her position, shuffled her feet upon the ground, but this was all. During the silence the Jew looked restlessly about the room, as if to assure himself that there were no appearances of Sykes having covertly returned. Apparently satisfied with his inspection, he coughed twice or thrice, and made as many efforts to open a conversation. But the girl heated him no more than if he had been made of stone. At length he made another attempt, and rubbing his hands together in his most conciliatory tone. And where should you think Bill was now, my dear? The girl moaned out from some half-intelligible reply that she could not tell, and seemed from the smothered noise that escaped her to be crying. And the boy, too, said the Jew, straining his eyes to catch a glimpse of her face. Poor little child, left in a ditch-nance, only think. A child, said the girl, suddenly looking up, is better where he is than among us. And if no harm comes to Bill from it, I hope he lies dead in the ditch, and that his young bones may rot there. What! cried the Jew in amazement. I, I do return the girl meeting his gaze. I shall be glad to have him away from my eyes, and to know that the worst is over. I can't bear to have him about me. The sight of him turns me against myself, and all of you Poo! said the Jew, scornfully. You're drunk! Am I cried the girl bitterly? It's no fault of yours, if I am not. You'd never have me anything else if you had your will except now. The humour doesn't suit you, doesn't it? No, rejoined the Jew furiously-it does not. Change it then, responded the girl with a laugh. change it! exclaimed the Jew, exasperated It, exclaimed the Jew, exasperated beyond all bounds by his companions' unexpected obscenity and the vexation of the night. I will change it. Listen to me, who with six words can strangle Sykes as surely as if I had this bull's throat between my fingers now. If he comes back and leaves the boy behind him, if he gets all free and dead or alive fails to restore him to me, murder him yourself if you would have him escape Jack Ketch, and do it the moment he sets foot in this room, or mind me, it will be too late. What is all this, cried the girl involuntarily? What is it, pursued Fagan, mad with rage, when the boy is worth hundreds of pounds to me, am I to lose what chanced through me in the way of getting safely through the whims of a drunken gang that I could whistle away the lives of, and me bound to a born devil that only wants the will, and has the power to—to— panting for breath, the old man stammered for a word, and in that instant checked the torrent of his wrath, and changed his whole demeanor. A moment before his clenched hands had grasped the air, his eyes had dilated, and his face grown livid with passion, but now he shrunk into a chair and cowering together trembled with his apprehension of having himself disclose some hidden villainy. After a short silence he ventured to look round at his companion. He appeared somewhat reassured on beholding her in the same listless attitude from which he had first roused her. Nancy, dear, croaked the Jew in his usual voice, do you mind me, dear? Don't worry me now, Fagan, replied the girl, raising her head languidly. If Bill is not done it this time he will another. He has done many a good job for you, and will do many more when he can, and when he can't he won't, so know more about that. Regarding this boy, my dear, said the Jew, rubbing the palms of his hands nervously together. The boy must take his chance with the rest, interrupted Nancy hastily, and I say again I hope he is dead and out of harm's way and out of yours. That is, if Bill comes to no harm, and if Toby gets clear off, Bill's pretty short to be safe, for Bill's worth two of Toby any time. And about what I was saying, my dear, observed the Jew, keeping his glistening eye steadily upon her. You must say it all over again if it's anything you want me to do, rejoin Nancy, and if it is, you had better wait till to-morrow. You put me up for a minute, but now I'm stupid again. Fagan put several other questions, all with the same drift of ascertaining whether the girl had profited by his unguarded hints, but she answered them so readily and was with all so utterly unmoved by his searching looks that his original impression of her being more than a trifle in liquor was confirmed. Nancy indeed was not exempt from a failing which was very common among the Jew's female pupils, and in which in their tender years they were rather encouraged than checked. Her disordered appearance and a wholesale perfume of Geneva which pervaded the apartment afforded strong confirmatory evidence of the justice of the Jew's supposition. And when, after indulging in the temporary display of violence above described, she subsided first into dullness and afterwards into a compound of feelings, under the influence of which she shed tears one minute and in the next gave utterance to various exclamations of never-say-die and diverse calculations as to what might be the amount of the odds so long as a lady or gentleman was happy. Mr. Fagan, who had had considerable experience of such matters in his time, saw with great satisfaction that she was far from gone indeed. Having eased his mind by this discovery, and having accomplished his two-fold object of imparting to the girl what he had that night heard, and of ascertaining with his own eyes that Sykes had not returned, Mr. Fagan again turned his face homeward, leaving his young friend asleep, with her head upon the table. It was within an hour of midnight, the weather being dark and piercing cold, he had no great temptation to loiter. The sharp wind that scoured the street seemed to have cleared them of passengers, as of dust and mud, for few people were abroad, and they were to all appearance hastening fast home. It blew from the right quarter for the Jew, however, and straight before it he went trembling and shivering, as every fresh gust drove him rudely on his way. He had reached the corner of his own street, and was already thumbling in his pocket for the door-key, when a dark figure emerged from a projecting entrance which lay in deep shadow, and crossing the road, glided up to him, unperceived. Fagan, whispered a voice close to his ear, ah, said the Jew, turning quickly round, is that, yes, interrupted the stranger, I've been lingering here these two hours, where the devil have you been? On your business, my dear," replied the Jew, glancing uneasily at his companion and slackening his pace as he spoke, on your business all night. Oh, of course, said the stranger with a sneer. Well in what come of it? Nothing good, said the Jew. Nothing bad, I hope, said the stranger, stopping short, and turning a startled look on his companion. The Jew shook his head, and was about to reply, when the stranger interrupting him, motioned to the house, before which they had by this time arrived, remarking that he had better say what he had got to say undercover, for his blood was chilled and standing about so long and the wind blew through him. Fagan looked as if he could have willingly excused himself from taking home a visitor at that unseasonable hour, and indeed muttered something about having no fire, but his companion, repeating his request in a peremptory manner, he unlocked the door and requested him to close it softly while he got a light. It's as dark as the grave, said the man, groping forward a few steps. Make haste! Shut the door, whispered Fagan, from the end of the passage, as he spoke it closed with a loud noise. That wasn't my doing, said the other man, feeling his way. The wind blew it too, or at shot of its odour-core, one or the other. Look sharp with the light, or I shall knock my brains out to gain something in this confounded hole!" Fagan stealthily descended the kitchen stairs. After a short absence he returned with a lighted candle, and the intelligence that Toby Crackett was asleep in the back room below, and that the boys were in the front one. Beckoning the man to follow him, he led the way upstairs. We can say the few words we've got to say in here, my dear, said the Jew, throwing open a door on the first floor. And as there are holes in the shutters that we never show lights to our neighbours, we'll set the candle on the stairs, there. With these words the Jew, stooping down, placed the candle on an upper flight of stairs, exactly opposite to the room door. This done he led the way into the apartment, which was destitute of all moveables save a broken armchair, and an old couch or sofa without covering which stood behind the door. Upon this piece of furniture the stranger sat himself with the air of a weary man, and the Jew, drawing up the armchair opposite, they sat face to face. It was not quite dark, the door was partially opened, and the candle outside threw a feeble reflection on the opposite wall. They conversed for some time in whispers, though nothing of the conversation was distinguishable beyond a few disjointed words here and there. A listener might easily have perceived that Fagan appeared to be defending himself against some remarks of the stranger, and that the latter was in a state of considerable irritation. They might have been talking thus for a quarter of an hour or more, when monks, by which name the Jew had desecrated the strange man several times in the course of their colloquy, said, raising his voice a little, I tell you again it was badly planned. Why not have him kept here, among the rest, and made a sneaking sniveling pickpocket of him at once? Only here he had exclaimed the Jew, shrugging his shoulders. Why do you mean to say you couldn't have done it if you had chosen, demanded monk sternly? Haven't you done it with other boys' scores of times? If you had had patience for a twelve-month, at most couldn't you have got him convicted and sent safely out to the kingdom, perhaps for life? Whose turn would that have served, my dear, inquired the Jew humbly? Mine, replied monks. But not mine, said the Jew, submissively. He might have become of use to me. When there are two parties to a bargain, it is only reasonable that the interests of both should be consulted. Is it, my good friend? But then, demanded monks. I saw it was not easy to train him to the business, replied the Jew. He was not like other boys in the same circumstances. Curse him no, muttered the man, or he would have been a thief long ago. I had no hold upon him to make him worse, pursued the Jew, anxiously watching the countenance of his companion. His hand was not in. I had nothing to frighten him with, which we always must have at the beginning, or we labor in vain. What could I do? Send him out with the Dodger and Charlie. We had enough of that at first, my dear, I trembled for us all. That was not my doing, observed monks. No, no, my dear, renewed the Jew. And I don't quarrel with it now, because if it had never happened, you might never have clapped eyes on the boy to notice him. And so led to the discovery that it was him you were looking for. Still I got him back for you by means of the girl, and then she begins to favour him. Throttle the girl," said monks impatiently. Well, we can't afford to do that just now, my dear," replied the Jew, smiling. And besides, that sort of thing is not in our way, or one of these days I might be glad to have it done. I know what these girls are, monks, well, as soon as the boy begins to hearten, she'll care no more for him than for a block of wood. You want him made a thief. If he is alive, I can make him one from this time, and if—if," said the Jew, drawing nearer to the other, it's not likely mind. But the worst comes to the worst, and he is dead. It's no fault of mind if he is, interposed the other man, with a look of terror, and clasping the Jew's arm with trembling hands. Mind that, Fagin! I had no hand in it, anything but his death. I told you for the first. I won't shed blood. It's always found out, and haunts a man besides. If they shot him dead, I was not the cause. Do you hear me? Fire, this infernal den! What's that? What cried the Jew, grasping the coward round the body with both arms as he sprung to his feet? Where? Yonder," replied the man, glaring at the opposite wall. The shadow. I saw the shadow of a woman in a cloak and bonnet pass along the wainscourt like a breath. The Jew released his hold, and they rushed tumultuously from the room. The candle, wasted by the draught, was standing where it had been placed. It showed them only the empty staircase and their own white faces. They listened intently. A profound silence reigned throughout the house. It's your fancy, said the Jew, taking up the light and turning to his companion. I swear I saw it," replied Monks, trembling. It was bending forward when I saw it first, and when I spoke it darted away. The Jew glanced contemptuously at the pale face of his associate, and telling him he could follow, if he pleased, ascended the stairs. They looked into all the rooms. They were cold, bare, and empty. They descended into the passage, and thence into the cellars below. The green damp hung upon the low walls. The tracks of the snail and slug glistened in the light of the candle, but all was still as death. What you think now, said the Jew, when they had regained the passage, besides ourselves there's not a creature in the house except Toby and the boys, and they're safe enough. See here! As a proof to the fact, the Jew drew forth two keys from his pocket, and explained that when he first went downstairs he had locked them in to prevent any intrusion on the conference. The accumulated testimony effectually staggered Mr. Monks. His protestations had gradually become less and less vehement as they proceeded in their search without making any discovery, and now he gave vent to several very grim laughs, and confessed it could only have been his excited imagination. He declined any renewal of the conversation, however, for that night, suddenly remembering that it was past one o'clock, and so the amiable couple parted. CHAPTER XXVII As it would be by no means, seemingly, in a humble author, to keep so mighty a personage as a beetle waiting with his back to the fire and the skirts of his coat gathered up under his arms, until such time as it might suit his pleasure to relieve him, and as it would still less become his station or his gallantry to involve in the same neglect a lady on whom the beetle had looked with an eye of tenderness and affection, and in whose ear he had whispered sweet words which, coming from such a quarter, might well thrill the bosom of maid or matron of whatsoever degree. The historian whose pen traces these words, trusting that he knows his place and that he entertains a becoming reverence for those upon earth to whom high and important authority is delegated, hastens to pay them that respect which their position demands, and to treat them with all that dutious ceremony which their exalted rank and, by consequence, great virtues imperatively claim at his hands. Towards this end, and indeed he had purpose to introduce in this place a dissertation touching the divine right of beetles and elucidative of the position that a beetle can do no wrong, which could not fail to have been both pleasurable and profitable to the right-minded reader, but which he is unfortunately compelled by want of time and space to postpone to some more convenient and fitting opportunity, on the arrival of which he will be prepared to show that a beetle properly constituted, that is to say, a parochial beetle attached to a parochial workhouse, and attending in his official capacity the parochial church, is, in right and virtue of his office, possessed of all the excellences and best qualities of humanity, and that to none of these excellencies can mere company's beetles, or quart of law beetles, or even chapel of ease beetles, save the last, and they are in a very lowly and inferior degree, lay the remotest sustainable claim. Mr. Bumble had recounted the teaspoons, reweighed the sugar-tongs, made a closer inspection of the milk-pot, and ascertained to a nitety the exact condition of the furniture, down to the very horse-hair seats of the chairs, and had repeated each process full half a dozen times before he began to think that it was time for Mrs. Corny to return. Thinking begets thinking, as there were no sounds of Mrs. Corny's approach, it occurred to Mr. Bumble that it would be an innocent and virtuous way of spending the time if he were further to allay his curiosity by a cursory glance at the interior of Mrs. Corny's chest of drawers. Having listened at the keyhole to assure himself that nobody was approaching the chamber, Mr. Bumble, beginning at the bottom, proceeded to make himself acquainted with the contents of the three long drawers, which being filled with various garments of good fashion and texture, carefully preserved between two layers of old newspapers, speckled with dried lavender, seemed to yield him exceeding satisfaction. Arriving in course of time at the right-hand corner drawer, in which was the key, and beholding therein a small padlocked box, which, being shaken, gave forth a pleasant sound as of the chinking of coin, Mr. Bumble returned with a stately walk to the fireplace, and resuming his old attitude, said with a grave and determined air, I'll do it. He followed up this remarkable declaration by shaking his head in a waggish manner for ten minutes, as though he were remonstrating with himself for being such a pleasant dog, and then he took a view of his legs in profile with much seeming pleasure and interest. He was still placidly engaged in this latter survey, when Mrs. Corny, hurrying into the room, threw herself in a breathless state on a chair by the fireside, and covering her eyes with one hand, placed the other over her heart, and gasped for breath. Mrs. Corny, said Mr. Bumble, stooping over the matron, what is this, ma'am? Has anything happened, ma'am? Pray answer me. I'm on—on—Mr. Bumble, in his alarm, could not immediately think of the word tenterhooks, so he said, broken bottles. Oh, Mr. Bumble, cried the lady, I have been so dreadfully put out. Put out, ma'am, exclaimed Mr. Bumble, who has dared to I know, said Mr. Bumble, checking himself with native majesty. This is them vicious poppers. It's dreadful to think of, said the lady, shuddering. Then don't think of it, ma'am, rejoined Mr. Bumble. I can't help it, whimpered the lady. Then take something, ma'am, said Mr. Bumble, soothingly. A little of the wine, not for the world, replied Mrs. Corny. I couldn't—oh, the top shelf for the right-hand corner—oh! Uttering these words, the good lady pointed distractedly to the cupboard, and underwent a convulsion from internal spasms. Mr. Bumble rushed to the closet, and snatching a pite green-glass bottle from the shelf thus incoherently indicated, filled a teacup with its contents, and held it to the lady's lips. I'm better now, said Mrs. Corny, falling back after drinking half of it. Mr. Bumble raised his eyes piously to the ceiling in thankfulness, and bringing them down again to the brim of the cup lifted it to his nose. Peppermint exclaimed Mrs. Corny in a faint voice, smiling gently on the beetle as she spoke. Try it! There's a little—a little something else in it. Mr. Bumble tasted the medicine with a doubtful look, smacked his lips, took another taste, and put the cup down empty. It's very comforting, said Mrs. Corny. Very much so indeed, ma'am, said the beetle. As he spoke he drew a chair beside the matron, and tenderly inquired what had happened to distress her. Nothing, replied Mrs. Corny, I am a foolish, excitable, weak creature. Not weak, ma'am, retorted Mr. Bumble, drawing his chair a little closer. Are you a weak creature, Mrs. Corny? We are all weak creatures, said Mrs. Corny, laying down a general principle. So we are, said the beetle. Nothing was said on either side for a minute or two afterwards. By the expiration of that time Mr. Bumble had illustrated the position by removing his left arm from the back of Mrs. Corny's chair, where it had previously rested, to Mrs. Corny's apron-string round which it gradually became entwined. We are all weak creatures, said Mr. Bumble. Mrs. Corny sighed. Don't sigh, Mrs. Corny, said Mr. Bumble. I can't help it, said Mrs. Corny, and she sighed again. This is a very comfortable room, ma'am, said Mr. Bumble looking round. Another room, and this, ma'am, would be a complete thing. It would be too much for one, murmured the lady. But not for two, ma'am, rejoined Mr. Bumble in soft accents. Hey, Mrs. Corny? Mrs. Corny drooped her head when the beetle said this. The beetle drooped his to get a view of Mrs. Corny's face. Mrs. Corny, with great propriety, turned her head away, and released her hand to get at her pocket-hankerchief, but insensibly replaced it in that of Mr. Bumble. The board allows you, coals, don't they, Mrs. Corny? inquired the beetle, affectionately pressing her hand. And candles, replied Mrs. Corny, slightly returning the pressure. Coals, candles, and house-rent-free, said Mr. Bumble. Oh, Mrs. Corny, what an angel you are! The lady was not proof against this burst of feeling. She sank into Mr. Bumble's arms, and that gentleman in his agitation imprinted a passionate kiss upon her chase-nose. Such parochial perfection, exclaimed Mr. Bumble rapturously. You know that Mr. Slout is worse to-night, my fascinator? Yes, replied Mrs. Corny bashfully. He can't live a week, the doctor says, pursued Mr. Bumble. He is the master of this establishment. His death will cause a wake-and-see. That wake-and-see must be filled up. Oh, Mrs. Corny, what a prospect this opens! What an opportunity for a jining of hearts and house-keepings! Mrs. Corny sobbed. The little word, said Mr. Bumble, bending over the bashful beauty. The one little, little, little word, my blessed Corny—yes, sighed out the matron. One more, pursued the beetle. Compose your darling feelings for only one more. When is it to come off? Mrs. Corny twice essayed to speak, and twice failed. At length, summoning of courage, she threw her arms around Mr. Bumble's neck, and said it might as well be as soon as ever he pleased, and that he was an irresistible duck. Matters being thus amicably unsatisfactorily arranged, the contract was solemnly ratified in another teacup full of the peppermint mixture, which was rendered the more necessary by the flutter and agitation of the lady's spirits. While it was being disposed of, she acquainted Mr. Bumble with the old woman's decease. Very good, said that gentleman, sipping his peppermint. I'll call at Sourberry's as I go home, and tell him to send to-morrow morning. Was it that as frightened you love? It wasn't anything particular, dear, said the lady, evasive beautifully. It must have been something, love, urged Mr. Bumble. Won't you tell your own bee? Not now, rejoined the lady, one of these days. After we're married, dear, after we're married, exclaimed Mr. Bumble. It wasn't any impudence from any of the male poppers as no, no, love, interposed the lady hastily. If I thought it was, continued Mr. Bumble, if I thought as any one of them had dared to lift his well-garage to that lovely countenance, they wouldn't have dared to do it, love, responded the lady. They had better not, said Mr. Bumble, clenching his fist. Let me see any man, parochial or extra-parochial, as would presume to do it, and I can tell him that he wouldn't do it a second time. Unembellished by any violence of gesticulation, this might have seemed no very high compliment to the lady's charms. But as Mr. Bumble accompanied the threat with many war-like gestures, she was much touched with this proof of his devotion and protested with great admiration that he was indeed a dove. The dove then turned up his coat-collar and put on his cocked hat, and having exchanged a long and affectionate embrace with his future partner, once again brave the cold wind of the night, merely pausing for a few minutes in the male pauper's ward to abuse them a little, with the view of satisfying himself that he could fill the office of work-host master with needful acerbity. Assured of his qualifications, Mr. Bumble left the building with a light heart and bright visions of his future promotion, which served to occupy his mind until he reached the shop of the undertaker. Now Mr. and Mrs. Sourberry, having gone out to tea and supper, and Noah Claypole not being at any time disposed to take upon himself a greater amount of physical exertion that is necessary to a convenient performance of the two functions of eating and drinking, the shop was not closed, although it was past the usual hour of shutting up. Mr. Bumble tapped with his cane on the counter several times, but attracting no attention and beholding a light shining through the glass window of the little parlour at the back of the shop, he made bold to peep in and see what was going forward. When he saw what was going forward he was not a little surprised. The cloth was laid out for supper. The table was covered with bread and butter, plates and glasses, a porter-pot and a wine-bottle. At the upper end of the table Mr. Noah Claypole laud negligently in an easy chair, with his legs thrown over one of the arms, an open clasp-knife in one hand, and a mass of buttered bread in the other. Close beside him stood Charlotte, opening oysters from a barrel, which Mr. Claypole condescended to swallow with remarkable avidity. A more than ordinary redness in the region of the young gentleman's nose, and a kind of fixed wink in his right eye, denoted that he was in a slight degree intoxicated. These symptoms were confirmed by the intense relish with which he took his oysters, for which nothing but a strong appreciation of their cooling properties, in cases of internal fever, could have sufficiently accounted. He has a delicious fat one, no idea, said Charlotte. Try him, do only this one. What a delicious thing is a oyster! remarked Mr. Claypole after he had swallowed it. What a pity it is a number of him should ever make you feel uncomfortable. Isn't it, Charlotte? It's quite a cruelty, said Charlotte. So it is, acquiesce, Mr. Claypole. Ain't your fond of oysters? Not over much, replied Charlotte. I'd like to see you eat them, Noah, dear, better than eating them myself. Law, said Noah, reflectively. How queer! Have another, said Charlotte. Here's one with such a beautiful, delicate beard. I can't imagine any more, said Noah. I'm very sorry. Come here, Charlotte, and I'll kiss you. What! said Mr. Bumble, bursting into the room. Say that again, sir. Charlotte uttered a scream, and hit her face in her apron. Mr. Claypole, without making any further change in the position then suffering his legs to reach the ground, gazed at the beetle in drunken terror. Say it again, you wild, audacious fellow, said Mr. Bumble. How dare you mention such a thing, sir? And how dare you encourage them, you insolent minx! Kiss her!" exclaimed Mr. Bumble in strong indignation. Fah! I didn't mean to do it, said Noah, blumbering. She's always a kissin' of me, whether I like it or not. Oh, Noah! cried Charlotte, reproachfully. You are, you know you are! retorted Noah. She's always a doin' of it, Mr. Bumble. She chocks me under the chin, please, sir, and makes all manner of love. Silence! cried Mr. Bumble sternly. Take yourself downstairs, ma'am. Noah, you shut up the shop. Say another word till your master comes home at your peril. And when he does come home tell him that Mr. Bumble said he was to send an old woman's shell after breakfast to-morrow morning. Do you hear, sir? Kissing! cried Mr. Bumble, holding up his hands. The sin and wickedness of the lower orders in this parochial district is frightful. If Parliament don't take their abominable courses under consideration, this country's ruined, and the character of the peasantry gone forever. With these words the beetle strode with a lofty and gloomy air from the undertaker's premises. And now that we have accompanied him so far on his road home, and have made all necessary preparations for the old woman's funeral, let us set on foot a few inquiries after young Oliver Twist, and ascertain whether he be still lying in the ditch where Toby Crackett left him.