^ ^Ji^^^c^— 
 

 rvt% 
 
NEW AMERICAN WORKS, &c. 
 
 LEA & BLANCHARD, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO CAREY & CO. 
 
 HAVE RECENTLY PUBLISHED 
 
 STANLEY ; 
 
 OR, THE RECOLLECTIONS OP A MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 BY AN UNKNOWN WRITER. 
 -: In 2 vols. 12mo. 
 
 Stanley is fer above the common class of novels. It is evidently the production 
 of a ripe scholar and a deep thinker; one who has seen much and meditated more; 
 and who, from the affluence of his stores, sometimes becomes profuse in the distribu- 
 tion of his knowledge. The criticisms in which the work abounds are original, 
 vigorous, searching and profound, and the charactersof several of the distinguished 
 writers of the present century are drawn with singular felicity. Altogether it is 
 the efibrt of a highly cultivated mind, rich alike in natural endowments and ac- 
 quired treasures. — Saturday News. 
 
 The name of the author is unknown, but he is evidently one who has not only 
 the capacity deeply to think, but he possesses the rare ability to express his senti- 
 ments in appropriate language. The work is of superior merit, and, though not per- 
 haps adapted to please the gay and the frivolous, will command the attention of the 
 educated and intellectual reader. It is full of interest, abounding in exciting and 
 mysterious adventures, interspersed with numerous discussions of a moral nature, 
 developing the resources of extensive intellectual culture. — Saturday Evening 
 Post. 
 
 We can truly say that we have rarely, if ever, cast our eyes over pages more 
 rich with literary knowledge, or original description of character and scenery. His 
 thorough acquaintance with classic and modern poetry and astute criticism, places 
 him at once in the foremost rank of American didactic writers. — United States 
 Gazette. 
 
 There is a great deal of literary and philosophical criticism in it, generally we 
 should think of a very wholesome and conservative character. Indeed it strikes 
 us as being of an elevated tone — rich in thought, graphic, and many times eloquent 
 and powerful in description, and containing many beautiful and original illustrations 
 drawn from the treasured stores of a mind well tempered, if not profoundly culti- 
 vated. The author, whoever he is, must be a man of extensive acquirements, ex- 
 perience and study. — Madisonian. 
 
 ROB OF THE BOWL; 
 
 OR, A LEGEND OF ST. INGOES. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF "HORSE SHOE ROBINSON," &c. 
 In Two Volumes, V2mo. 
 
 The hero, " Rob of the Bowl," is a finely executed conception. The perfect 
 originality of the design, the bold colouring and elaborate finish of this character, 
 
stamp the author as an artist of no ordinary power. He has now produced an able 
 work that will be read with pleasure wherever the English language is understood. 
 His well known powers of description renders his account of the eventful scenes of 
 the early colonists most lifelike and pleasingly exact. — Gentleman's Magazine. 
 
 Many of the scenes and incidents are told with great spirit, and there is a fresh- 
 ness and vigour about it which stirs the blood, and keeps the attention unflagging. 
 It has a heartiness, which we like far better than the sickly refinement of the 
 swarm of English fashionable novels which darken our land. The simplicity of 
 early manners, and the rudeness of provincial life, are brought vividly before us ; 
 and the sketches are traced with a free and vigorous, though sometimes a careless 
 pencil. — Galaxy. 
 
 PETER PILGRIM: 
 
 BY DR. BIRD, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "NICK OF THE WOODS," "CALAVAR," &c., &c. 
 In Two VoluTues, \2mo. 
 
 It is a sort of Decameron of Tales, of which the scenes are laid in various parts 
 of our country, and it abounds in rich traditionary lore and national characters. 
 The tale entitled "Merry the Miner" is one of the most imaginative and powerful 
 we ever read, combining the author's most finished style, with a power and moral 
 sublimity for which we are at a loss to find a parallel. The " Night on the Terra- 
 pin Rocks," and the " Mammoth Cave," are written in the same powerful style. 
 Peter Pilgrim will enhance in no small degree the already brilliant reputation of 
 the author of the " Gladiator" and " Calavar." — Weekly Messenger. 
 
 ALTHEA VERNON: 
 
 OR, 
 TOGETHER WITH 
 
 OR, THE BLUE COTTON UMBRELLA. 
 
 BY MISS LESLIE. 
 
 AUTHOR OF " THE PENCIL SKETCHES," &c. 
 
 In One Volume, 12mo. 
 
 " Althea Vernon," and "The Blue Cotton Umbrella," fill a good sized volume 
 with agreeable matter and pertinent advice. Miss Leslie's productions are now 
 the staple commodities of domestic literature ; her works are to be found in every 
 house. The volume under notice is a favourable specimen of her well known 
 jpowers of composition. Miss Leslie may be termed the " Martineau" of social 
 me.-—Gentlemnn^s Magazine. 
 
JESUS AND HIS BIOGRAPHERS : 
 
 OR, THE REMARKS ON THE FOUR GOSPELS. 
 
 REVISED, WITH COPIOUS ADDITIONS. 
 
 BY WILLIAM H. FURNESS. 
 
 In One VoUime. 
 
 " A great deal is said about the beauty of the Scriptures, without reference to 
 any just principles of taste." 
 
 This well printed handsome octavo volume differs considerably from the former 
 publication of the "Remarks of the Four Gospels," by the searching revision of the 
 former discussion, the omission of two chapters of that work, and the addition of 
 eight chapters, not before given ; by which the present becomes a new work, rather 
 than a new edition of the former. 
 
 In the modest yet elegant preface to this work, the author says — " The reader 
 will look in vain in these pages, for an exposition of the peculiar opinions of any 
 denomination of Christians. The work makes pretensions to no such character. 
 It is simply an attempt to state the convictions of an individual mind upon a subject 
 of the greatest interest; to give expression to a deep sense of the vital truth of the 
 divinest chapter in the history of the world ; to bring home to other minds the 
 reality of that momentous period, when a full revelation was made by the Father of 
 lights, and this earth was honoured by the presence of a special messenger from 
 heaven." 
 
 To all who are acquainted with the clearnfess, beauty and accuracy of style, the 
 diligent research, the logical strictness of argument and the profound truthfulness 
 of Mr. Furness as a writer and especially as an expositor of the Scriptures, nothing 
 need be said to induce them to read with interest and attention this work on the 
 Four Gospels. But we would say to all who are seeking for moral truth, for the 
 light of pure Christianity — thirsting for a real, personal knowledge of the Lord 
 Jesus Christ — and for a higher, truer estimation of those matchless Records, His 
 Gospels — turn ye to this book — peruse this most remarkable exposition — the work 
 of a pure-minded, able, truth-loving man — with the same pure spirit, and sincere 
 desire after the truth that animates his pages, and ye will not find your labour 
 vain. — Boston Evening Gazette. 
 
 (NEARLY READY.) 
 
 PHECiLlTTIOn, 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 BY THE AUTHOR, OF "THE SPY," "PIONEERS," &c. &c. 
 
 " Be wise to-day ; 'tis madness to defer — 
 To-morrow's caution may arrive too late." 
 
 A new edition, revised by the Author. — In Two Volumes, 12mo. 
 
A NEW EDITION. 
 THE AUTHOR OF " THK PILOT'S" NEW STQRY OF THE SEA. 
 
 Now Ready, in Two Volumes, 12mo., 
 
 HOMEWARD BOUND : 
 
 OR, THE CHASE. 
 
 A STORY OF THE SEA. 
 
 BY J. FENIMORE COOPER, ESa, 
 Author of " The PUot," " The Red Rover,'' " The Water Witch," <$c 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 *' A most spirited and interesting narrative. Mr. Cooper has never been seen to 
 more advantage." — Literary Gazette. 
 
 " This work is entitled to high praise." — Spectator. 
 
 " Written with great spirit and good feeling." — Times. 
 
 " In every respect quite equal — in some decidedly superior — to any preceding 
 story by the same author." — Morning Post. 
 
 " Never has Mr. Cooper's pen been more successful than in the present story. 
 In ' Homeward Bound,' after so long an interval partially devoted to publications of 
 a different description, he bursts upon us like a giant ' refreshed.' " — Globe. 
 
 " The interest of this novel is so absorbing, and such is the skill with which 
 every circumstance is described, that we are rivetted to the page with almost as 
 earnest a feeling as if we participated in the exciting perils and adventures of the 
 gallant Montauk and its passengers. The management of the ship at sea, the 
 disasters on the coast of Africa, the raft, and the wreck, and indeed every particle 
 of the nautical panorama, is in the highest degree spirited and faithful. ' Home- 
 ward Bound' is indeed a remarkable work, and may be ranked amongst the best of 
 Mr. Cooper's tales." — Atlas. 
 
 " This book is really what it professes to be, ' A Story of the Sea,' and in many 
 respects it is the finest novel of its class yet produced by the Smollett of America. 
 The plot is simple ; and yet what diversity of incident — what startling situations — 
 what singular characters — what change of scene does it not involve ! In the 
 adventures and perils of the Montauk, a sympathy is excited by the rare power of 
 the novelist, as though the ship were a human being. Her flight through the vast 
 waste of waters, her dangers by storm and wreck, and the strange circumstances 
 that befel her on the wild and desolate coast of Africa, keep curiosity perpetually 
 on the alert, and urge the reader onwards in the narrative with the same breathless 
 haste as that by which the vessel herself was propelled before the wind." — Naval 
 and Military Gazette. 
 
 ALSO, 
 
 HOME AS FOUND; 
 
 BEINO 
 
 A SEQUEL TO "HOMEWARD BOUND." 
 BY MR. COOPER. 
 
 In Two Volumes, 12mo. 
 
5 
 A VOYAGE 
 
 ROUND THE WORLD; 
 
 INCLUDING 
 
 AN EMBASSY TO MUSCAT AND SIAM 
 
 1835, 1836, AND 1837. 
 
 BY W. S. W. RUSCHENBERGER, M. D., 
 
 Surgeon U. S. Navy ; Honorary Member of the Philadelphia Medical Society ; 
 
 Member of the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia, <SfC. 
 
 AUTHOR OF " THREE YEARS IN THE PACIFIC." 
 
 Believe me, I speak as my understanding instructs me ; and as mine honesty 
 puts it to utterance. — The Winter's Tale. 
 
 In One Volume, Svo. 
 
 Dr. R. is well known to the public as the author of the popular work, " Three 
 Years in the Pacific." He was fleet-surgeon on board the Peacock sloop of war 
 in her late voyage of circumnavigation — and besides being a man of observation 
 and science, he is a very agreeable writer. The work is full of information of a 
 novel and interesting character. — Mercantile Journal. 
 
 The reading community is much indebted to Dr. Ruschenberger for the gratifi- 
 cation to be derived from a perusal of his voyage ; nor are the nation and the navy 
 less so — the one for its addition to the stock of literature, and the other for the 
 credit reflected upon the service by the production of a member of the corps. — 
 Army and Navy Chronicle. 
 
 Doctor Ruschenberger has furnished us with an octavo volume, written in an 
 easy and pleasing style, which contains interesting sketches of several countries 
 and people with which we are comparatively but little acquainted — among these 
 Zanzibar, Arabia, Hindoostan, Ceylon, Java, Siam, China, Cochin China, the 
 Bonien Islands, the Sandwich Islands, and the Californias. We are gratified, too, 
 as every reader will be, to find, that the narrative is free from the uninteresting 
 details of courses and distances with which accounts of similar voyages were 
 formerly defaced. — Baltimore Gazette. 
 
 We most cordially commend the volume before us to the perusal of every class 
 of readers as replete with curious and instructive facts, alike valuable to the mer- 
 chant, the philosopher and the man of science. — Saturday Evening Post. 
 
 We have perused with no ordinary feelings of satisfaction, the excellent book at 
 the head of this article. Very few, if any, works have been published by Ameri- 
 cans who have visited the countries of the East ; and those written by English 
 travellers are so frequently tinctured with national feeling and prejudice, that no 
 correct opinion can be formed as to the success and efforts of other governments in 
 the advancement of their commerce and prosperity. The amount of information 
 afforded to the literary and scientific reader, is very great, and the exposition of 
 facts highly entertaining. The work is written in a clear, easy and vigorous style, 
 and is " got up" by the publishers in a manner calculated to set this off to the best 
 advantage. — Saturday Chronicle. 
 
TRAVELS IN THE THREE GREAT EMPIRES OF 
 
 AUSTRIA, RUSSIA AND TURKEY. 
 
 BY C. B. ELLIOTT, F. R. S. 
 
 Vicar of Godalmin, late of the Bengal Civil Service, and author of 
 
 " Letters from the North of Europe.''^ 
 
 IN TWO VOLS. ROYAL 12mO. 
 
 These highly entertaining and instructive volumes will be sought after with 
 avidity, by those who are desirous of becoming acquainted with the manners and 
 habits of the people of Austria, Russia and Turkey. The work is one of intense in- 
 terest, and is written in a style at once free, easy and familiar. The social, domes- 
 tic and political relations of each nation are dwelt upon, while the accounts of cities, 
 scenery and antiquities are equally interesting. Religion and Literature are not 
 forgotten, but introduced throughout the volumes in a highly philosophical spirit. — 
 Saturday Chronicle, 
 
 THE STRANGER IN CHINA; 
 
 OR, THE FAN QUI'S VISIT TO THE CELESTIAL EMPIRE 
 
 IN 1836 AND 1837. 
 By C. T. Downing, Esq., Member Royal College of Surgeons, «f*c. 
 
 IN TWO VOLS. 12mO. 
 
 Under the title of " The Fan Qui in China," Mr. Downing has published two vo- 
 lumes, which exhibit a clearer, more accurate, and more minute picture of the Ce- 
 lestial Empire and its terrestrial inhabitants than any work, always excepting the 
 stupendous work of the Jesuits, that has hitherto appeared. 
 
 We commend them heartily to the reader, who will find in them not only matter 
 for reflection, but a fund of real entertainment. — London Monthly Chronicle. 
 
 THE CITY OF THE CZAR; 
 
 OR, A VISIT TO ST. PETERSBURGH 
 
 IN THE WINTER OF 1829-30. 
 Bv THOMAS RAIKES, Esa. In 2 vols. 12mo. 
 
 TALES, ILLUSTRATING THE PASSIONS: 
 
 CONTAINING 
 REMORSE— JEALOUSY— REVENGE— LOVE-.DESPAIR— HATRED. 
 
 By G. P. R. JAMES, Esq. 
 
 Author of" The Gipsy," " Darnley," <^c. 
 
 Also, an edition of the same work illustrated with Sixteen Splendid Engravings, 
 from Drawings by the most Eminent Artists, under the Superintendence of Mr. 
 Charles Heath — forming a beautiful volume, printed on very fine paper, and bound 
 in handsome embossed cloth. 
 
 f 
 €* 
 
SAM SLICK'S SAYINGS AND DOINGS. 
 
 FIRST AND SECOND SERIES. 
 \* Either Series may be had separately, in one volume. 
 Sam Slick's shrewd observations and odd quaint humour are admirable. — Athe- 
 
 TKBUm- 
 
 Full of spirit, originality and humour. — Morning Chronicle. 
 
 Never did it fall to our lot to read a more irresistibly laughable work than the 
 one now before us. — Despatch. 
 
 The humour of Mr. Slick is by far the best thing of its kind we have ever seen. 
 It is indeed truly delightful. Such a book as this stands in need of neither our 
 praise nor recommendation. It will make its own way ; for it is of the right stuff. 
 — Scotsman. 
 
 Sam Slick is one of the most sagacious as well as amusing authors of his time 
 and country. — Atlas. 
 
 A very clever work. It is full of original humour and striking national charac- 
 teristics. — Literary Gazette. 
 
 Nothing can be more amusing than Sam Slick's strictures on men and manners, 
 and the satirical rogue speaks truth as well as fiin. No one who enjoys a laugh 
 should omit to read him. — Courier. 
 
 The raciest production which has issued from the press for a long time. — Cale- 
 donian Mercury. 
 
 The author of this work, which has furnished the newspapers with so many 
 bonne bouches in the way of extracts, is a man of original genius and shrewd ob- 
 servation, with an inexhaustible vein of wit and humour. — Dublin Mail. 
 
 One of those genuinely original works which carry their own letter of recom- 
 mendation, and are every where relished. — Globe. 
 
 A very clever and characteristic work. The humour is rich and dry, the satire 
 broad and sharp, without ill-nature. — Spectator, 
 
 A fine edition in Six Volumes, Royal 12mo., printed on beautiful paper, and 
 handsomely bound in embossed cloth, or in full-coloured calf, of 
 
 THE 
 
 POETIOAL "^OHES op SIH "TTALTBR SOOTT. 
 
 COMPLETE. 
 
 Also, to match the above, in Seven Royal 12mo. Volumes, 
 MEMOIRS OF THE LIFE OF 
 
 SHIS Wi^HflffiiaSS S©®ffiffie 
 
 BY J. G. LOCKHART, Esq. 
 
 The appearance of Lockhart's Life of Scott has been looked forward to with no 
 ordinary degree of expectation. The interest which its announcement excited was 
 as general as it was intense. It is impossible that the task of bringing out such a 
 book could have fallen into better hands. J. G. Lockhart is a man whose high 
 character, independent of his relationship, insures the absence of every thing im- 
 proper or indecorous in a biographical work, and whose eminence as an author is a 
 sufficient guarantee for the good taste and ability with which the whole plan and 
 details will be managed. If any thing were wanting to prove Mr. Lockhart's fit- 
 ness for the duty which has devolved upon him, it is to be found in his " Life ot 
 Burns. "-^Afcerrfeen Herald. 
 
8 
 
 Whether it be owing to our own prepossession, or to the skill of the writer, we 
 find its execution immeasurably superior to that of any similar work that has of late 
 years issued from the press. — Brighton Gazette. 
 
 We have here a recurrence of that pleasing excitement, through all the reading 
 world, which was wont to attend the appearance of each new " Waverley novel." 
 The voice of the mighty minstrel again rises, as it were, from the grave, and we 
 cease for a lime in the midst of the anxious and feverish contentions of faction, to 
 listen to the tones which delighted and astonished our earlier years. This volume, 
 indeed, unexpectedly possesses all the interest of a new sweep from the lyre which 
 was supposed for ever dumb. — Dundee Chronicle. 
 
 Also, the same work in two vols, octavo, bound in embossed cloth. 
 
 THEODORE HOOK'S NEW NOVEL. 
 
 GURNEY MARRIED; 
 
 A SEQUEL TO 
 
 GILBERT GURNEY. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF " SAYINGS AND DOINGS," " JACK BRAG," &C. 
 
 In Two Volumes, 12mo. 
 
 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 COXKEEDZAN. 
 
 BY MRS. MATHEWS. 
 
 " A man so various, that he seem'd to be 
 Not one, but all mankind's epitome." — Dryden. 
 Proteus for shape, and mocking-bird for tongue. 
 
 In Two Volumes, Royal 12mo. 
 
 ELVIRA : 
 
 OR 
 
 THE NABOB'S WIFE. 
 
 BY MRS. MONKLAND. 
 Author of " Village Reminiscences" &c. 
 
 In Two Vols. 12mo. 
 
9 
 SPLENDID ILLUSTRATED EDITION 
 
 OF 
 
 THE BOOK OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 BY G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ. 
 
 Author of " Attila," " The Gipsy," &c. &c. 
 
 In one handsome Royal Octavo Volume, printed on fine paper, with Sixteen 
 beautiful Engravings, done on Steel, from Designs by the best Artists ; and bound 
 in Extra Embossed Cloth, or Morocco Extra with Gilt Edges. 
 
 THE NOVELS 
 
 OF 
 
 JANE AUSTEN 
 
 CONTAINING 
 
 PRIDE AND PREJUDICE, 
 MANSFIELD PARK, 
 PERSUASION, 
 
 SENSE AND SENSIBILITY, 
 EMMA, AND 
 NORTHANGER ABBEY. 
 
 COMPLETE IN ONE LARGE VOLUME. 
 
 Bound in elegant Embossed Cloth, or neatly half bound with Calf 
 backs and corners. 
 
 Miss Austen's novels are among the most original that have appeared since the 
 " Amelia" of Fielding. We see in them no traces of thoughts, or incidents, or cha- 
 racters, supplied by other writers; they are self-suggested throughout. As a picture 
 of the habits of the provincial middle classes thirty years ago, they are as true to 
 life as the master-pieces of Gainsborough, possessing all his exactness and literal 
 fidelity, without his coarse vigour. No one makes so much of a rustic pic-nic ; im- 
 parts such a piquant flavour to the gossip of country cousins ; or portrays a village 
 " Mrs. Candor" with such skill and whimsical efifect, without verging on caricature, 
 as Miss Austen. She makes as free of the old maid's tea-table, and lets us into all 
 the secrets of the Lady of the Manor's coterie. She has no heroes or heroines, in 
 the ordinary acceptation of the term ; her dramatis personce are for the most part 
 of a homely, quiescent, every-day caste ; yet they uniformly interest us, being 
 worked out with uncommon ingenuity, and their veriest common-places turned to 
 humorous account. Miss Austen never affects the romantic or imaginative. She 
 has no highly-wrought scenes of passion or pathos ; no startling surprises, or melo- 
 dramatic contrasts ; but finishes up to nature, without once going beyond it. Her 
 dialogues are remarkable for their ease, and point, and archness, and so exquisitely 
 characteristic as almost to induce the conviction that they had been overheard by 
 the writer, and taken down in short-hand. Those who have read " Emma," and 
 more especially " Mansfield Park," will have little hesitation in placing Miss Aus- 
 ten in the same rank with Goldsmith ; for, like him, she is the most social and un- 
 ambitious of novelists, and scatters over the homeliest subjects a thousand artless, 
 inimitable graces. How perfect is her description of the gipsy-party on the village 
 common ; and of the broad shady oak in Mansfield Park, under which the young 
 
 2 
 
10 
 
 folks used to loiter away the summer eveningf, till the approach of the thrifty and 
 prolix Mrs. Norris, who was much addicted to unseasonable lecturing, would com- 
 pel them to a precipitate departure ! Wit without malice, humour without gross- 
 ness, refinement of touch without apparent effort, and repose of manner without 
 insipidity ; — these are the main characteristics of Miss Austen's productions, who 
 in her own circumscribed sphere has never yet been rivalled, and most likely 
 never will be so. 
 
 " Her fables appear to us, in their own way, nearly faultless. * * * She conducts 
 her conversations with a regard to character hardly exceeded by Shakspeare him- 
 self. Like him, she shows as admirable a discrimination in the character of fools, 
 as of people of sense : a merit which is far from common. * * * Those who delight 
 in the study of human nature, may improve in the knowledge of it, and in the pro- 
 fitable application of that knowledge, by the perusal of such fictions as those before 
 U8." — Quarterly Review. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED EDITION COMPLETE. 
 
 OLITEE TWIST. 
 
 BY BOZ. 
 
 IN ONE HANDSOMK ROYAL OCTAVO VOLUME. 
 PRINTED ON FINE PAPER. 
 
 WITH TWENTY-FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS, 
 
 DESIGNED BY CRUIKSHANK, ENGRAVED BY YEAGER, AND 
 PRINTED ON CREAM-COLOURED PAPER J 
 
 To match their fine edition of the Pickwick Papers, by Charles Dickens, (Boz.) 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Oliver asking for more. 
 
 Oliver escapes being bound Apprentice to the Sweep. 
 
 Oliver plucks up a spirit. 
 
 Oliver introduced to the respectable old gentleman. 
 
 Oliver amazed at the Dodger's mode of going to work. 
 
 Oliver recovering from the fever. 
 
 Oliver claimed by his affectionate friends. 
 
 Oliver's reception by Fagin and the boys. 
 
 Master Bates explains a professional Technicality. 
 
 The Burglary. 
 
 Mr. Bumble and Mrs. Corney taking Tea. 
 
 Mr. Claypole as he appeared when his master was out. 
 
 Oliver Twist at Mrs. Maylie's Door. 
 
II 
 
 Oliver waited on by the Bow Street Runners. 
 
 Monks and the Jew. 
 
 Mr. Bumble degraded in the eyes of the Paupers. 
 
 The Evidence destroyed. 
 
 Mr. Fagin and his Pupils recovering Nancy. 
 
 The Jew and Morris Bolter begin to understand each other. 
 
 The Meeting. 
 
 Sikes attempting to destroy his Dog. 
 
 The last chance. 
 
 Fagin in the condemned cell. 
 
 Rose Maylie and Oliver. 
 
 NOW READY, 
 NUMBERS ONE TO NINE 
 
 OF 
 
 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES 
 
 OF 
 
 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY, 
 
 CONTAINING 
 
 A Faithful Account of the Fortunes, Misfortunes, Uprisings, Downfall- 
 ings, and complete career of the Nickleby Family. 
 
 EDITED BY BOZ. 
 
 WITH EIGHTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS, 
 
 BY PHIZ. 
 
 Plate 1. — Mr. Ralph Nickleby's first visit to his poor relations. 
 
 Plate 2. — The Yorkshire Schoolmaster at the Saracen's Head. 
 
 Plate 3. — Nicholas starts for Yorkshire. 
 
 Plate 4.— The Five Sisters of York. 
 
 Plate 5. — The Internal Economy of Dotheboy's Hall. 
 
 Plate 6. — Kate Nickleby sitting to Miss La Creevy. 
 
 Plate 7. — Newman Noggs leaves the Ladies in the Empty Houm. 
 
 Plate 8. — Nicholas astonishes Mr. Squeers and Family. 
 
 Plate 9. — Nicholas engaged as Tutor in a private family. 
 
 Plate 10. — Madame Mantaline introduces Kate to Miss Knag. 
 
 Plate 11. — Miss Nickleby introduced to her uncle's friends. 
 
 Plate 12. — Mr. Ralph Nickleby's Honest Composure. 
 
 Plate 13. — The Country Manager rehearses a Combat. 
 
 Plate 14. — The Professional Gentleman at Madame Mantaline's. 
 
 Plate 15. — Nicholas instructs Smike in the art of acting. 
 
 Plate 16. — The great bespeak for Miss Snevellicci. 
 
 Plate 17. — Nicholas hints at the probability of his leaving the company. 
 
 Plate 18. — AiFectionate behaviour of Miss Pyke and Pluck. 
 
 To be continued Monthly and completed in Twenty Numbers. 
 
14 
 
 displayed by the artists in their respective delineations of the well known charac- 
 ters of the most jjopular of modern works of humour. Art will soon have rendered 
 the features and figures of Mr. Pickwick and his friends as familiar to us as those 
 of Don Quixotte and Sancho Panza." — Weekly Messenger. 
 
 They have also made arrangement for, and will publish immediately upon its re- 
 ceipt in this country, 
 
 A STORY OF THE 
 
 RIOTS OF LONDON— 1780. 
 BY "BOZ," 
 
 Authoj' of the '^ Pichmck Papers,''^ " Oliver Tmst" ^c. 
 
 BRIDGEWATER TREATISES. 
 
 In Seven Volumes Octavo. Handsomely bound in Embossed cloth or in half 
 
 coloured calf. 
 
 I. The Adaptation of External Nature to the Moral and Intellectual Constitution of 
 Man. By the Rev. Thomas Chalmers, D. D., Professor of Divinity in the Uni- 
 versity of Edinburgh. 
 
 II. The Adaptation of External Nature to the Physical Condition of Man. By John 
 KiDD, M. D., F. R. S., RegiusProfessorof Medicine in the University of Oxford. 
 
 III. Astronomy and General Physics, considered with reference to Natural Theolo- 
 gy. By the Rev. Wm. Whewell, M. A., F. R. S., Fellow of Trinity College, 
 Cambridge. 
 
 VI. The Hand, its mechanism and vital endowments as evmcing design. By Sir 
 
 Charles Bell, K. H., F. R. S. 
 v. Chemistry, Meteorology, and the Function of Digestion. By Wm. Prout, M. 
 
 D., F. R. S. 
 
 VI. The History, Habits, and Instincts of Animals. By the Rev. Wm. Kirby, M. 
 A., F. R. S., Illustrated by numerous engravings on copper. 
 
 VII. Animal and Vegetable Physiology, considered with reference to Natural 
 Theology. By Peter Mark Roget, M. D. Illustrated with nearly 500 wood- 
 cuts. 
 
 VIII. Geology and Mineralogy considered with reference to Natural Theology. By 
 the Rev. Wm. Buckland, D. D., Canon of Christ Church, and Reader in Geology 
 and Mineralogy in the University of Oxford, being the last of the Bridgewater 
 Treatises on the Power, Wisdom, and Goodness of God as manifested in the 
 Creation. With eighty-nine copper-plates and maps. 
 
 WASHINGTON IRVING. 
 
 THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS ; or. Scenes, Incidents, and Adventures in the Far 
 West, digested from the Journal of Captain B. L. Boneville, of the Army of the 
 United States, and Illustrated from various other sources. By Washington 
 Irving. With two large maps. In 2 vols. 
 
 By the same Author. 
 
 ASTORIA ; or. Anecdotes of an Enterprise beyond the Rocky Mountains. By 
 Washington Irving. Handsomely bound, in two volumes, embossed cloth. 
 
15 
 
 LIFE OF JEFFERSON. 
 
 THE LIFE OF THOMAS JEFFERSON, third President of the United States, 
 with parts of his correspondence never before published, and notices of his opi- 
 nions on questions of Civil Government, National Policy, and Constitutional Law. 
 By George Tucker, Professor of Moral Philosophy, in the University of Vir- 
 ginia. With an engraved bust. In two volumes. 
 
 LADY MONTAGUE. 
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGUE, 
 edited by Lord Wharncliffe, including upwards of 150 letters, never before 
 published. A memoir of the Court of George I. by Lady Montague, and a Life 
 of the Authoress, illustrative anecdotes, and notes added, and the suppressed 
 passages restored. Handsomely bound in two volumes, embossed cloth. 
 
 NEW HISTORY OF ROME. 
 
 A HISTORY OF ROME. Principally from the German of Schlosser, Wachsmuth, 
 Heeren, Niebuhr, &c. In 1 vol. 8vo. 
 
 A PILGRIMAGE TO THE HOLY LAND, comprising Recollections, Sketches, 
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'.i('//^y/.y.-/zAw/(/d^/y/^y-/^^ /y)^>^/^;<^;%'.iiV7' . 
 
 /;■/• 
 
^.^4, 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS, 
 
 (BOZ,) 
 
 AUTHOR OP 
 
 "PICKWICK PAPERS," "NICHOLAS NICKLEBY," 
 
 « SKETCHES OF EVERY-DAY LIFE," 
 
 &C. &C. &C. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA : 
 
 LEA & BLANCHARD, 
 
 BUCCESSORS TO CAREY & CO, 
 
 1839. 
 
^i^K^-^^?^ •'^Ck 
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 OLIVER ASKING FOR MORE Page 19 
 
 OLIVER ESCAPES BEING BOUND APPRENTICE TO THE SWEEP 23 
 
 OLIVER PLUCKS UP A SPIRIT 33 
 
 OLIVER INTRODUCED TO THE RESPECTABLE OLD GENTLEMAN 40 
 
 OLIVER AMAZED AT THE DODGER'S MODE OF "GOING TO WORK." 44 
 
 OLIVER RECOVERING FROM THE FEVER 51 
 
 OLIVER CLAIMED BY HIS AFFECTIONATE FRIENDS ,.. 65 
 
 OLIVER'S RECEPTION BY FAGIN AND THE BOYS 67 
 
 MASTER BATES EXPLAINS A PROFESSIONAL TECHNICALITY. 75 
 
 THE BURGLARY 91 
 
 MR. BUMBLE AND MRS. CORNEY TAKING TEA 94 
 
 MR. CLAYPOLE AS HE APPEARED WHEN HIS MASTER WAS OUT 109 
 
 OLIVER TWIST AT MRS. MAYLIE'S DOOR 113 
 
 OLIVER WAITED ON BY THE BOW-STREET RUNNERS 122 
 
 MONKS AND THE JEW 136 
 
 MR. BUMBLE DEGRADED IN THE EYES OF THE PAUPERS 143 
 
 THE EVIDENCE DESTROYED 149 
 
 MR. FAGIN AND HIS PUPILS RECOVERING NANCY 151 
 
 THE JEW AND MORRIS BOLTER BEGIN TO UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER . 168 
 
 THE MEETING 180 
 
 SIKES ATTEMPTING TO 'DpSTROY' HIS DOG . . .; 190 
 
 THE LAST CHANCE .',...;....; 200 
 
 FAGIN IN THE CON^)EMNED CELl, ...••...-.." •■••: 208 
 
 ROSE MAYLIE AND OLIVER 211 
 
 (2) 
 
.,.-■''-? 
 
 / 
 
 O; 
 
 ^ 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 
 
 CHAPTER THE FIRST 
 Treats of the place where Oliver Twist 
 was born, and of the circumstances at- 
 tending his Birth Page 13 
 
 CHAPTER THE SECOND 
 Treats of Oliver Twist's Growth, Educa- 
 tion, and Board H 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRD 
 Relates how Oliver was very near getting 
 a place, which would not have been a 
 
 sinecure .' 19 
 
 CHAPTER THE FOURTH. 
 Oliver, being offered another place, makes 
 his first entry into public life 23 
 
 CHAPTER THE FIFTH. 
 Oliver mingles with new associates, and, 
 going to a funeral for the first time, forms 
 an unfavourable notion of liis master's 
 
 business 26 
 
 CHAPTER THE SIXTH. 
 Oliver, being goaded by the taunts of Noah, 
 rouses into action, and rather astonishes 
 
 him 31 
 
 CHAPTER THE SEVENTH. 
 
 Oliver continues refractory 33 
 
 CHAPTER THE EIGHTH. 
 Oliver walks to London, and encounters on 
 the road a strange sort of young gentle- 
 man 36 
 
 CHAPTER THE NINTH. 
 Containing further particulars concerning 
 the pleasant old gentleman and his hope- 
 ful pupils 40 
 
 CHAPTER THE TENTH. 
 Oliver becomes better acquainted with the 
 characters of his new associates, and pur- 
 chases experience at a high price. Being 
 a short but very important chapter in this 
 
 history 43 
 
 CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH 
 Treats of Mr. Fang, the police magistrate, 
 and furnishes a slight specimen of his 
 mode of administering justice 45 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWELFTH, 
 
 In which Oliver is taken better care of than 
 he ever was before, with some particulars 
 concerning a certain picture 49 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH 
 Reverts to the merry old gentleman and his 
 youthful friends, through whom a new 
 acquaintance is introduced to the intelli- 
 gent reader, and connected with whom 
 various pleasant matters are related ap- 
 pertaining to this history 52 
 
 CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH. 
 Comprising further particulars of Oliver's 
 stay at Mr. Brownlow's, with the remark- 
 able prediction which one Mr. Grimwig 
 uttered concerning him, when he went 
 out on an errand 57 
 
 CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH. 
 Showing how very fond of Oliver Twist, 
 the merry old Jew and Miss Nancy were 62 
 
 CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH 
 Relates what became of Oliver Twist, after 
 he had been claimed by Nancy 65 
 
 CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH. 
 Oliver's destiny continuing unpropitious, 
 brings a great man to London to injure 
 his reputation 69 
 
 CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH. 
 How Oliver passed his time in the improv- 
 ing society of his reputable friends .... 74 
 
 CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH, 
 In which a notable plan is discussed and 
 determined on 78 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH, 
 Wherein Oliver is delivered over to Mr. 
 William Sikes 82 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST. 
 The expedition 86 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND. 
 TheBurglary 88 
 
 BOOK THE SECOND. 
 
 CHAPTER THE FIRST, 
 Which contains the substance of a plea- 
 sant conversation between Mr. Bumble 
 and a lady ,- and shows that even a bea- 
 dle may be susceptible on some points . 
 
 92 
 
 CHAPTER THE SECOND 
 Treats of a very poor subject, but is a short 
 one, and may be found of importance in 
 this history 96 
 
 11 
 
 QJ/?01 
 
xu 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRD, 
 Wherein this history reverts to Mr. Fagin 
 and company 97 
 
 CHAPTER THE FOURTH, 
 In which a mysterious character appears 
 upon the scene, and many things insepar- 
 able from this history are done and per- 
 formed 100 
 
 CHAPTER THE FIFTH 
 Atones for the unpoliteness of a former 
 chapter, which deserted a lady most un- 
 ceremoniously 106 
 
 CHAPTER THE SIXTH 
 Looks after Oliver, and proceeds with his 
 adventures 110 
 
 CHAPTER THE SEVENTH 
 Has an introductory account of the inmates 
 of the house to which Oliver resorted, 
 and relates what they thought of hira .. 114 
 
 CHAPTER THE EIGHTH 
 Involves a critical position 119 
 
 CHAPTER THE NINTH. 
 Of the happy life Oliver began to lead with 
 his kind friends 124 
 
 CHAPTER THE TENTH, 
 
 Wherein the happiness of Oliver and his 
 friends experiences a Nudden check .... 128 
 
 CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH 
 
 Contains some introductory particulars rela- 
 tive to a young gentleman who now 
 arrives upon the scene, and a new adven- 
 ture which happened to Oliver 132 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWELFTH, 
 Containing the unsatisfactory result of Oli- 
 ver's adventure, and a conversation of 
 some importance between Harry Maylie 
 and Rose 136 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH 
 Is a short one, and may appear of no great 
 importance in its place, but it should be 
 read notwithstanding, as a sequel to the 
 last, and a key to one that will follow 
 when its time arrives 140 
 
 CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH, 
 
 In which the reader, if he or she resort to 
 
 the fifth chapter of this second book, will 
 
 perceive a contrast not uncommon in 
 
 matrimonial cases 141 
 
 BOOK THE THIRD. 
 
 CHAPTER THE FIRST, 
 Containing an account of what passed be- 
 tween Mr. and Mrs. Bumble and Monlis 
 at their nocturnal interview 146 
 
 CHAPTER THE SECOND 
 Introduces some respectable characters with 
 whom the reader is already acquainted, 
 and shows how Monks and the Jew laid 
 their worthy heads together 150 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRD. 
 A strange interview, which is a sequel to 
 the last chapter 155 
 
 CHAPTER THE FOURTH, 
 Containing fresh discoveries, and showing 
 that surprises, like misfortunes, seldom 
 come alone 160 
 
 CHAPTER THE FIFTH. 
 An old acquaintance of Oliver's exhibiting 
 decioed marks of genius, becomes a pub- 
 lic character in the metropolis 165 
 
 CHAPTER THE SIXTH. 
 Wherein is shown how the artful Dodger 
 got into trouble 170 
 
 CHAPTER THE SEVENTH. 
 Hie time arrives for Nancy to redeem her 
 
 pledge to Rose Maylie. She fails. Noah 
 Claypole is employed by Fagin on a 
 secret mission 174 
 
 CHAPTER THE EIGHTH. 
 The appointment kept 179 
 
 CHAPTER THE NINTH. 
 Fatal Consequences 183 
 
 CHAPTER THE TENTH. 
 The flight of Sikes 187 
 
 CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH. 
 Monks and Mr. Brownlow at length meet 
 Their conversation, and the intelligence 
 that interrupts it 191 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWELFTH. 
 The pursuit and escape 195 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH, 
 
 Aflfbrding an explanation of more mysteries 
 
 than one, and comprehending a proposal 
 
 of marriage, with no word of settlement 
 
 or pin-money 200 
 
 CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH. 
 The Jew's last night alive 206 
 
 CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH, 
 And Last 210 
 
OLIVER TWIST; 
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 
 
 CHAPTER THE FIRST 
 
 Treats of the place where Oliver Twist was born, 
 and of the circumstances attending his Dirth. 
 
 Among other public buildingfs in a cer- 
 tain town which shall be nameless, is one 
 which is common to most towns great or 
 email, to wit, a workhouse ; and in this work- 
 house there was born on a day and date 
 which I need not trouble myself to repeat, 
 inasmuch as it can be of n» possible conse- 
 quence to the reader, m this stage of the 
 business at all events, the item of mortal- 
 ity whose name is prefixed to the head of 
 this chapter. For a long time after ho 
 was ushered into this world of sorrow and 
 ti'ouble, by the pari h surgeon, it remained 
 a matter of considerable doubt whether 
 the child would survive to bear any name 
 at all ; in which case it is somewhat more 
 than probable that these memoirs would 
 never ha\ e appeared, or, if they had, being 
 comprised within a couple of pages, they 
 would have possessed the inestimable 
 merit of being the most concise and faith- 
 ful specimen of biography extant in the 
 literature of any age or country. Although 
 I am not disposed to maintain that the 
 being born in a workhouse is in itself the 
 most fortunate and enviable circumstance 
 that can possibly befal a human being, I 
 do mean to say that in this particular 
 instance it was the best thing for Oliver 
 Twist that could by possibility have oc- 
 curred. The fact is, that there was con- 
 siderable difficulty in inducing Oliver to 
 take upon himself the office of respiration, 
 ^a troublesome practice, but one which 
 •ustom has rendered necessary to our 
 easy existence, — and for some time he lay 
 2 
 
 gasping on a little flock mattress, rather 
 unequally poised between this world and 
 the next, the balance being decidedly in 
 favour of the latter. Now, if during thia 
 brief period Oliver had been surrounded 
 by careful grandmothers, anxious aunts, 
 experienced nurses, and doctors of pro- 
 found wisdom, he would most inevitably 
 and indubitably have been killed in no 
 time. There being nobody by, however, 
 but a pauper old woman, who was ren- 
 dered rather misty by an unwonted allow- 
 ance of beer, and a parish surgeon who 
 did such matters by contract, Oliver and 
 nature fought out the point between them. 
 The result was, that, after a few struggles, 
 Oliver breathed, sneezed, and proceeded 
 to advertise to the inmates of the work- 
 house the fact of a new burden having 
 been imposed upon the parish, by setting 
 up as loud a cry as could reasonably have 
 been expected from a male infant who had 
 not been possessed of that very usefiil ap- 
 pendage, a voice, for a much longer space 
 of time than three minutes and a quarter. 
 
 As Oliver gave this first testimony of 
 the free and proper action of his lungs, 
 the patchwork coverlet, which was care- 
 lessly flung over the iron bedstead, rus- 
 tled ; the pale face of a young female waa 
 raised feebly from the pillow ; and a faint 
 voice imperfectly articulated the words 
 " Let me see the child, and die." 
 
 The surgeon had been sitting with his 
 face turned towards the fire, giving the 
 palms of his hands a warm, and a rub, 
 alternately; but as the young woman 
 spoke, he rose, and, advancing to th« 
 bed's head, said with more kindn ;ss than 
 might have been expected of him — 
 
 (13> 
 
14 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 "Oh, you must not talk about dying', 
 yet." 
 
 '* Lor bless her dear heart, no !" inter- 
 posed the nurse, hastily depositing in her 
 pocket a green glass bottle, the contents 
 of which she had been tasting in a corner 
 with evident satisfaction. " Lor bless her 
 dear heart, when she has lived as long as 
 I have, sir, and had thirteen children of 
 her own, and all on 'em dead except two, 
 and them in the wurkus with me, she '11 
 know better than to take on in that way, 
 bless her dear heart ! Think what it is 
 to be a mother, there's a dear young 
 lamb, do." 
 
 Apparently this consolatory perspective 
 of a mother's prospects failed in producing 
 its due effect. The patient shook her 
 head, and stretched out her hand towards 
 the child. 
 
 The surgeon deposited it in her arms. 
 She imprinted her cold white lips passion- 
 ately on its forehead, passed her hands 
 over her face, gazed wildly round, shud- 
 dered, fell back — and died. They chafed 
 her breast, hands, and temples; but the 
 blood had frozen for ever. They talked 
 of hope and comfort. They had been 
 strangers too long. 
 
 " It's all over, Mrs. Thingummy," said 
 tiie surgeon, at last. 
 
 " Ah, poor dear ; so it is !" said the 
 nurse, picking up the cork of the green 
 bottle which had fallen out on the pillow 
 as she stooped to take up the child. " Poor 
 dear !" 
 
 " You needn't mind sending up to me, 
 if the child cries, nurse," said the surgeon, 
 putting on his gloves with great delib- 
 eration. " It 's very likely it will be 
 troublesome. Give it a little gruel if it 
 is." He put on his hat, and pausing by 
 the bed-side on his way to the door, added, 
 " She was a good looking girl too ; where 
 did she come from'?" 
 
 " She was brought here last night," re- 
 plied the old woman, " by the overseer's 
 order. She was found lying in the street ; 
 she had walked some distance, for her 
 shoes were worn to pieces; but where 
 she cime from, or where she was going 
 to, nobody knows." 
 
 Tiie surgeon leant over the boly, and 
 raised the left hand. " The old story," he 
 said, shaking his head : " no wedding-ring, 
 I see. Ah ! good night." 
 
 The medical gentleman walked away 
 to dinner; and the nurse, hiving once 
 more applied herself to the green bottle, 
 «at down on a low chair before the fire, 
 •and proceeded to dress the infant. 
 
 And what an example of the power of 
 
 dress young Oliver Twist was ! Wrapped 
 in the blanket which had hitherto formed 
 his only covering, he might have been the 
 child of a nobleman or a beggar ; — it 
 would have been hard for the haughtiest 
 stranger to have fixed his station in socie- 
 ty. But now he was enveloped in the 
 old calico robes, that had grown yellow in 
 the same service; he was badged and 
 ticketed, and fell into his place at once — 
 a parish child — the orphan of a workhouse 
 — the humble, half-starved drudge — to be 
 cuffed and bnfieted through the world, 
 despised by all, and pitied by none. 
 
 Oliver cried lustily. If he could have 
 known that he was an orphan, left to the 
 tender mercies of churchwardens and 
 overseers, perhaps he would have cried 
 the louder. 
 
 CHAPTER THE SECOND 
 
 Treats of Oliver Twist's Growth, Education, 
 and Board. 
 
 For the next eight or ten months, Oli- 
 ver was the victim of a systematic course 
 of treachery and deception — he was 
 brought up by hand. The liungry and 
 destitute situation of the infant orphan 
 was duly reported by the workhouse 
 authorities to the parish authorities. The 
 parish authorities inquired with dignity 
 of the workhouse authorities, whether 
 there was no female then domiciled in 
 " the house" who was in a situation to im- 
 part to Oliver the consolation and nour- 
 ishment of which he stood in need. The 
 workhouse authorities replied with hu- 
 mility that there was not. Upon this, the 
 parish authorities magnanimously and hu- 
 manely resolved, that Oliver should be 
 " farmed," or, in other words, that he 
 should be despatched to a branch-work- 
 house some three miles off, where twenty 
 or thirty other juvenile offenders against 
 the poor-laws rolled about the floor all 
 day, without the inconvenience of too 
 much food, or too much clothing, under 
 the parental superintendence of an elderly 
 female who received the culprits at and 
 for the consideration of sevenpence-halt- 
 penny per small head per week. Seven- 
 pence-halfpenny's worth per week is a 
 good round diet for a child ; a great deal 
 may be got for sevenpcnce-halfpenny — 
 quite enough to overload its stomach, and 
 make it uncomfortable. The elderly fe- 
 male was a woman of wisdom and expe- 
 rience; she knew what was good for 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 15 
 
 children, and she had a very accurate per- 
 ception of what was good for herself So, 
 she appropriated the greater part of the 
 weekly stipend to her own use, and con- 
 signed the rising parochial generation to 
 even a shorter allowance than was origin- 
 ally provided for them; thereby finding 
 in the lowest depth a deeper still, and 
 proving herself a very great experimental 
 philosopher. 
 
 Everybody knows the story of another 
 experimental philosopher, who had a great 
 theory about a horse being able to live 
 without eating, and who demonstrated it 
 so well, that he got his own horse down 
 to a straw a day, and would most unques- 
 tionably have rendered him a very spirited 
 and rampacious animal upon nothing at 
 all, if he hadn't died, just four-and-twenty 
 hours before he was to have had his first 
 comfortable bait of air. Unfortunately 
 for the experimental philosophy of the fe- 
 male to whose protecting care Oliver 
 Twist was delivered over, a similar result 
 usually attended the operation of her sys- 
 tem ; for just at the very moment when a 
 child had contrived to exist upon the 
 smallest possible portion of the weakest 
 possible food, it did perversely happen in 
 eight and a half cases out of ten, either 
 tliat it sickened from want and cold, or 
 fell into the fire from neglect, or got 
 smothered by accident; in any one of 
 which cases, tlie miserable little being 
 was usually summoned into another world, 
 and there gathered to the fathers which 
 it had never known in this. 
 
 Occasionally, when there was some 
 more than usually interesting inquest 
 upon a parish child who had been over- 
 looked in turning up a bedstead, or inad- 
 vertently scalded to death when there 
 happened to be a washing, (though the 
 latter accident was very scarce, — any- 
 thing approaching to a washing being of 
 rare occurrence in the farm,) the jury 
 would take it into their heads to ask trou- 
 blesome questions, or the parishioners 
 would rebelliously affix their signatures 
 to a remonstrance : but these impertinen- 
 ces were speedily checked by the evi- 
 dence of the surgeon, and the testimony 
 of the beadle ; the former of whom had 
 always opened the body, and found no- 
 thing inside (which was very probable 
 indeed), and the latter of whom invaria- 
 bly swore whatever the parish wanted, 
 which was very self-devotional. Besides, 
 the board made periodical pilgrimages to 
 the farm, and always sent the beadle the 
 day before, to say they were coming. The 
 children were neat and clean to behold, 
 
 when they went ; and what more would 
 the people have 1 
 
 It cannot be expected that this system 
 of farming would produce any very ex- 
 traordinary or luxuriant crop. Oliver 
 Twist's eighth birth-day found him a pale, 
 thin child, somewhat diminutive in sta- 
 ture, and decidedly small in circumfer- 
 ence. But nature or inheritance had im- 
 planted a good sturdy spirit in Oliver's 
 breast ; it had plenty of room to expand, 
 thanks to the spare diet of tlie establish, 
 ment; and perhaps to this circumstance 
 may be attributed his having any eighth 
 birtli-day at all. Be this as it may, how- 
 ever it was his eighth birth-day ; and he 
 was keeping it in the coal-cellar with a 
 select party of two other young gentle- 
 men, who, after participating with him in 
 a sound threshing, had been locked up 
 therein, for atrociously presuming to be 
 hungry, when Mrs. Mann, the good lady 
 of the house, was unexpectedly startled 
 by the apparition of Mr. Bumble the bea- 
 dle, striving to undo the wicket of the 
 garden-gate. 
 
 " Goodness gracious ! is that you, Mr. 
 Bumble, sir 1" said Mrs. Mann, thrusting 
 her head out of the window in well-aftecl- 
 ed ecstacies of joy. " (Susan, take Oli- 
 ver and them two brats up stairs, and 
 wash 'em directly.) — My heart alive', 
 Mr. Bumble, how glad I am to see you 
 sure-ly !" 
 
 Now Mr. Bumble was a fat man, and a 
 choleric one ; so, instead of responding to 
 this open-hearted salutation in a kindred 
 spirit, he gave the little wicket a tremen- 
 dous shake, and then bestowed upon it a 
 kick, which could have emanated from no 
 leg but a beadle's. 
 
 " Lor, only think," said Mrs. Mann, run- 
 ning out, — for the three boys had been re- 
 moved by this time, — " only think of that ! 
 That I should have forgotten that the gate 
 was bolted on the inside, on account of 
 them dear children ! Walk in, sir ; walk 
 in, pray, Mr. Bumble ; do, sir." 
 
 Although this invitation was accompa- 
 nied with a curtsey that might have soft- 
 ened the heart of a churchwarden, it by 
 no means mollified the beadle. 
 
 " Do you think this respectful or proper 
 conduct, Mrs. Mann," inquired Mr. Bum- 
 ble, grasping his cane, — "to keep the 
 parish officers a-waiting at your garden 
 gate, when they come here on porochiai 
 business connected with the porochiai or- 
 phans ] Are you aware, Mrs. Mann, that 
 you are, as I may say, a porochiai dele- 
 gate, and a stipendiary ]" 
 
 " I'm sure, Mr. Bumble, that I was only 
 
 k 
 
16 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 a-telling one or two of the dear children 
 as is so fond of you, that it was you a-com- 
 ing," replied Mrs. Mann with great hu- 
 mility. 
 
 Mr. Bumble had a great idea of his 
 oratorical powers and his importance. He 
 had displayed the one, and vindicated the 
 other. He relaxed. 
 
 " Well, well, Mrs. Mann," he replied 
 in a calmer tone ; " it may be as you say ; 
 it may be. Lead the way in, Mrs. Mann ; 
 for I come on business, and have got some- 
 thing to say." 
 
 Mrs. Mann ushered the beadle into a 
 small parlour with a brick floor, placed a 
 seat for him, and officiously deposited his 
 cocked hat and cane on the table before 
 him. Mr. Bumble wiped from his fore- 
 head the perspiration which his walk had 
 engendered, glanced complacently at the 
 cocked hat, and smiled. Yes, he smiled ; 
 beadles are but men, and Mr. Bumble 
 smiled. 
 
 " Now don't you be offended at wliat 
 I'm a-going to say," observed Mrs. Mann 
 with captivating sweetness. "You've had 
 a long walk, you know, or I wouldn't men- 
 tion it. Now will you take a little drop 
 of something, Mr. Bumble 1" 
 
 " Not a drop — not a drop," said Mr. 
 Bumble, waving his right hand in a dig- 
 nified, but still placid manner. 
 
 " I think you will," said Mrs. Mann, 
 •who had noticed tlie tone of the refusal, 
 and the gesture that had accompanied it. 
 " Just a leetle drop, with a little cold wa- 
 ter, and a lump of sugar." 
 
 Mr. Bumble coughed. 
 
 "Now, just a little drop," said Mrs. 
 Mann persuasively. 
 
 " What is it ]" inquired the beadle. 
 
 " Why it 's w'lia', J 'm obliged to keep a 
 little of m the house, to put in the blessed 
 infant:^ Daffy when they ain't well, Mr. 
 Bumble," replied Mrs. Mann as she open- 
 ed a corner cupboard, and took down a 
 bottle and glass. " It 's gin." 
 
 " Do you give the children Daffy, 
 Mrs. Mann "J" inquired Bumble, following 
 with his eyes the interesting process of 
 mixing. 
 
 " Ah, bless 'em, that I do, dear as it is," 
 replied the nurse. " I couldn't see 'em 
 suffer before my eyes, you know, sir." 
 
 " No," said Mr. Bumble approvingly ; 
 " no, you could not. You are a humane 
 woman, Mrs. Mann." — (Here she set down 
 tJie glass.) — " I shall take an early oppor- 
 tunity of mentioning it to the board, Mrs. 
 Mann." — (He drew it towards him.) — 
 ** You feel as a mother, Mrs. Mann." — 
 (He stirred the gin and water.) — " I — I 
 
 drink your health with cheerfulness, Mrs. 
 Mann ;" — and he swallowed half of it. 
 
 " And now about business," said the 
 beadle, taking out a leathern pocket-bOok. 
 " The child that was half-baptised, Oliver 
 Twist, is eight years old to-day." 
 
 " Bless him !" interposed Mrs. Mann, 
 inflaming her left eye with the comer of 
 her apron. 
 
 "And notwithstanding an offered re- 
 ward of ten pound, which was afterwards 
 increased to twenty pound, — notwithstand- 
 ing the most superlative, and, I may say, 
 supernat'ral exertions on the part of this 
 parish," said Bumble, "we have never 
 been able to discover who is his father, or 
 what is his mother's settlement, name, or 
 condition." 
 
 Mrs. Mann raised her hands in astonish- 
 ment ; but added, after a moment's reflec- 
 tion, " How comes he to have any name 
 at all, then ?" 
 
 The beadle drew himself up with great 
 pride, and said, " I inwented it." 
 
 " You, Mr. Bumble !" 
 
 " I, Mrs. Mann. W"e name our found- 
 lin's in alphabetical order. The last was 
 a S, — Swubble : I named him. This was 
 a T, — Twist : I named him. The next 
 one as comes will be Unwin, and the next 
 Vilkins. I have got names ready made to 
 the end of the alphabet, and all the way 
 through it again, when we come to Z." 
 
 " Why, you 're quite a literary charac- 
 ter, sir !" said Mrs. Mann. 
 
 " Well, well," said the beadle, evi- 
 dently gratified with the compliment ; 
 " perhaps I may be ; perhaps I may be, 
 Mrs. Mann." He finished the gin and 
 water, and added, " Oliver being now too 
 old to remain here, the Board have deter- 
 mined to have him back into the house ; 
 and I have come out myself to take him 
 there, — so let me see him at once." 
 
 "I'll fetch him directly," said Mrs. 
 Mann, leaving the room for that purpose. 
 And Oliver having by this time had as 
 much of the outer coat of dirt which en- 
 crusted his face and hands removed as 
 could be scrubbed off in one washing, was 
 led into the room by his benevolent pro- 
 tectress. 
 
 " Make a bow to the gentleman, Oli- 
 ver," said Mrs. Mann. 
 
 Oliver made a bow, which was divided 
 between the beadle on the chair and the 
 cocked hat on the table. 
 
 " Will you go along with me, Oliver?" 
 said Mr. Bumble in a majestic voice. 
 
 Oliver was about to say that he would 
 go along with anybody with great readi- 
 ness, wJien, glancing upv/ards, he caught 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 17 
 
 sight of Mrs. Mann, who had got behind 
 the beadle's chair, and was shaking her 
 fist at him with a furious countenance. 
 He took the hint at once, for the fist had 
 been too oft:en impressed upon liis body 
 not to be deeply impressed upon his recol- 
 lection. 
 
 " Will she go with mel" inquired poor 
 Oliver. 
 
 " No, she can't," replied Mr. Bumble ; 
 but she'll come and see you, sometimes." 
 
 This was no very great consolation to 
 the child ; but, young as he was, he had 
 sense enough to make a feint of feeling 
 great regret at going away. It was no 
 very difficult matter for the boy to call 
 the tears into his eyes. Hunger and re- 
 cent ill-usage are great assistants if you 
 want to cry ; and Oliver cried very na- 
 turally indeed. Mrs. Mann gave him a 
 thousand embraces, and, what Oliver 
 wanted a great deal more, a piece of bread 
 and butter, lest he should seem too hun- 
 gry when he got to the workhouse. With 
 the slice of bread in his hand, and the 
 little brown-cloth parish cap upon his 
 head, Oliver was then led away by Mr. 
 Bumble from the wretched home where 
 one kind word or look had never lighted 
 the gloom of his infant years. And yet 
 he burst into an agony of childish grief 
 as the cottage-gate closed after him. 
 Wretched as were the little companions 
 in misery he was leaving behind, they 
 were the only friends he had ever known ; 
 and a sense of his loneliness in the great 
 wide world sank into the child's heart for 
 the first time. 
 
 Mr. Bumble walked on with long strides; 
 and little Oliver, firmly grasping his gold- 
 laced cuff, trotted beside him, inquiring 
 at the end of every quarter of a mile 
 whether they were " nearly there," to 
 which interrogations Mr. Bumble return- 
 ed very brief and snappish replies; for 
 the temporary blandness which gin and 
 water awakens in some bosoms had by 
 this time evaporated, and he was once 
 again a beadle. 
 
 Oliver had not been within the walls of 
 the workhouse a quarter of an hour, and 
 had scarcely completed the demolition of 
 a second slice of bread, when Mr. Bumble, 
 who had handed him over to the care of 
 an old woman, returned, and, telling him 
 it was a board night, informed him that 
 the board had said he was to appear be- 
 fore it forthwith. 
 
 Not having a very clearly defined notion 
 
 what a live board was, Oliver was rather 
 
 astounded by this intelligence, and was not 
 
 quite certain whether he ought to laugh 
 
 2* 
 
 or cry. He had no time to think about 
 the matter, however ; for Mr. Bumble gave 
 him a tap on the head with his cane to 
 wake him up, and another on his back to 
 make him lively, and, bidding him follow, 
 conducted him into a large whitewashed 
 room, where eight or ten fat gentlemen 
 were sitting round a table, at the top of 
 which, seated in an arm-chair rather higher 
 than the rest, was a particularly fat gen- 
 tleman with a very round, red face. 
 
 " Bow to the board," said Bumble. Oli- 
 ver brushed away two or three tears that 
 were lingering in his eyes, and seeing no 
 board but the table, fortunately bowed to 
 that. 
 
 " What 's your name, boy 1" said the 
 gentleman in the high chair. 
 
 Oliver was frightened at the sight of 
 so many gentlemen, which made him 
 tremble : and the beadle gave him another 
 tap behind, which made him cry ; and 
 these two causes made him answer in a 
 very low and hesitating voice ; whereupon 
 a gentleman in a white waistcoat said he 
 was a fool, which was a capital way of 
 raising his spirit, and putting him quite at 
 his ease. 
 
 " Boy," said the gentleman in the high 
 chair ; " listen to me. You know you 're 
 an orphan, I suppose 1" 
 
 " What 's that, sir f " inquired poor Oli- 
 ver. 
 
 " The boy is a fool — T thought he was," 
 said the gentleman in the white waistcoat, 
 in a very decided tone. If one member 
 of a class be blessed with an intuitive per- 
 ception of others of the same race, the 
 gentleman in the white waistcoat was un- 
 questionably well qualified to pronounce 
 an opinion on the matter. 
 
 " Hush !" said the. gentleman who had 
 spoken first. " You know you 've* got no 
 father or mother, and that you are brought 
 up by the parish, don't you 1" 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied Oliver, weeping bit- 
 terly. 
 
 " What are you crying for "!" inquired 
 the gentleman in the white waistcoat ; and 
 to be sure it was very extraordinary. 
 What could he be crying for ■? 
 
 " I hope you say your prayers every 
 night," said another gentleman in a gruff 
 voice, " and pray for the people who feed 
 you, and take care of you, like a Chris- 
 tian." 
 
 " Yes, sir," stammered the boy. The 
 gentleman who spoke last was uncon- 
 sciously right. It would have been very 
 like a Christian, and a marvellously good 
 Christian, too, if Oliver had prayed for 
 the people who fed and took care of kim. 
 
18 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 But he hadn't, because nobody had taught 
 him. 
 
 " Well you have come here to bo edu- 
 cated, and taught a useful trade," said 
 the red-faced gentleman in the high chair. 
 
 " So you '11 begin to pick oakum to-mor- 
 row morning at six o'clock," added the 
 surly one in the white waistcoat. 
 
 For the combination of both these bless- 
 ings in the one simple process of picking 
 oakum, Oliver bowed low by the direction 
 of the beadle, and was then hurried away 
 to a large ward, where, on a rough hard 
 bed, he sobbed himself to sleep. What a 
 noble illustration of the tender Jaws of this 
 fevoured country ! they let the paupers go 
 to sleep ! 
 
 Poor Oliver ! he little thought, as he lay 
 sleeping in happy unconsciousness of all 
 around him, that the board had that very 
 day arrived at a decision which would ex- 
 ercise the most material influence over all 
 his future fortunes. But they had. And 
 this was it : — 
 
 The members of this board were very 
 sage, deep, philosophical men ; and when 
 they came to turn their attention to the 
 workhouse, they found out at once, what 
 ordinary folks would never have discover- 
 ed, — the poor people liked it ! It was a 
 regular place of public entertainment for 
 the poorer classes, — a tavern where there 
 was nothing to pay,— a public breakfast, 
 dinner, tea, and supper, all the year round, 
 — a brick and mortar elysium, where it 
 was all play and no work. " Oho !" said 
 the board, looking very knowing ; " we 
 are the fellows to set this to rights ; we '11 
 stop it all in no time." So they establish- 
 ed the rule, tliat all poor people should 
 have the alternative (for they would com- 
 pel nobody, not they,) of being starved by 
 a gradual process in the house, or by a 
 quick one out of it. With this view, they 
 contracted with the water-works to lay on 
 an unlimited supply of water, and with a 
 corn-factor to supply periodically small 
 quantities of oatmeal; and issued three 
 meals of thin gruel a-day, with an onion 
 twice a week, and half a roll on Sundays. 
 They made a great many other wise and 
 humane regulatioa<5 having reference to 
 tlie ladies, wnich it is not necessary to 
 repeat ; kindly undertook to divorce poor 
 married people, in consequence of the 
 great expense of a suit in Doctors' Com- 
 mons ; and, instead of compelling a man 
 to support his family as they had thereto- 
 fore done, took his family away from him, 
 and made him a bachelor ! There is no 
 telling how many applicants for relief un- 
 der these last two heads would not have 
 
 started up in all classes of society, if it 
 had not been coupled with the workhouse. 
 But they were long-headed men, and they 
 had provided for this difficulty. The re- 
 lief was inseparable from the workhouse 
 and the gruel ; and that frightened people. 
 
 For the first three months after Oliver 
 Twist was removed, the system was in 
 full operation. It was rather expensive 
 at first, in consequence of the increase in 
 the undertaker's bill, and the necessity of 
 taking in the clothes of all the paupers, 
 which fluttered loosely on their wasted, 
 shrunken forms, after a week or two's 
 gruel. But the number of workhouse in- 
 mates got thin, as well as the paupers; 
 and the board were in ecstasies. The 
 room in which the boys were fed, was a 
 large stone hall, with a copper at one end, 
 out of which the master, dressed in an 
 apron for the purpose, and assisted by one 
 or two women, ladled the gruel at meal 
 times ; of which composition each boy 
 had one porringer, and no more, — except 
 on festive occasions, and then he had two 
 ounces and a quarter of bread besides. 
 The bowls never wanted washing — the 
 boys polished them with their spoons, till 
 they shone again; and when they had 
 performed this operation (which never took 
 very long, the spoons being nearly as large 
 as the bowls), they would sit staring at 
 the copper with such eager eyes, as if 
 they could devour the very bricks of which 
 it was composed; employing themselves 
 meanwhile in sucking their fingers most 
 assiduously, with the view of catching up 
 any stray splashes of gruel that might 
 have been cast thereon. Boys have gene- 
 rally excellent appetites: Oliver Twist 
 and his companions suffered the tortures 
 of slow starvation for three months ; at 
 last they got so voracious and wild with 
 hunger, that one boy, who was tall for his 
 age, and hadn't been used to that sort of 
 thing, (for his father had kept a small 
 cook's shop,) hinted darkly to his compa- 
 nions, that unless he had another basin of 
 gruel per diem, he was afraid he should 
 some night eat the boy who slept next him, 
 who happened to be a weakly youth of 
 tender age. He had a wild, hungry eye, 
 and they implicitly believed him. A coun- 
 cil was held ; lots were cast who should 
 walk up to the master after supper that 
 evening, and ask for more ; and it fell to 
 Oliver Twist. 
 
 The evening arrived: the boys took 
 their places ; the master, in his cook's uni- 
 form, stationed himself at the copper ; his 
 pauper assistants ranged themselves be- 
 hind him ; the gruel was served out, and 
 
\ 
 
C /'/''."•v// ^/^/mi^^^-' 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 iff 
 
 a long grace was said over the short com- 
 mons. The gruel disappeared, and the 
 boys wliispered to each other and winked 
 at Oliver, while his next neighbours 
 nudged him. Child as he was, he was 
 desperate with hunger, and reckless with 
 misery. He rose irom the table, and, ad- 
 vancing, basin and spoon in hand, to the 
 master, said, somewhat alarmed at his 
 own temerity — 
 
 " Please, sir, I want some more." 
 
 The master was a fat, healthy man, but 
 he turned very pale. He gazed in stupi- 
 fied astonishment on the small rebel for 
 some seconds, and then clung for support 
 to the copper. The assistants were para- 
 lysed with wonder, and the boys with fear. 
 
 " What !" said the master at length, in 
 a faint voice. 
 
 " Please, sir," replied Oliver, " I want 
 some more." 
 
 The master aimed a blow at Oliver's 
 head with the ladle, pinioned him in his 
 arms, and shrieked aloud for the beadle. 
 
 The board were sitting in solemn con- 
 clave, when Mr. Bumble rushed into the 
 room in great excitement, and addressing 
 the gentleman in the high chair, said, — 
 
 " Mr. Limbkins, I beg your pardon, sir ; 
 — Oliver Twist has asked for more." 
 There was a general start. Horror was 
 depicted on every countenance. 
 
 " For more .'" said Mr. Limbkins. 
 " Compose yourself. Bumble, and answer 
 me distinctly. Do I understand that he 
 asked for more, after he had eaten the sup- 
 per allotted by the dietary f 
 
 " He did, sir," replied Bumble. 
 
 " That boy will be hung," said the gen- 
 tleman in the white waistcoat ; " I ImOw 
 that boy will be hung." 
 
 Nobody controverted the prophetic gen- 
 tleman's opinion. An animated discussion 
 took place. Oliver was ordered into in- 
 stant confinement; and a bill was next 
 morning pasted on the outside of the gate, 
 offering a reward of five pounds to any- 
 body who would take Oliver Twist off the 
 hands of the parish : in other words, five 
 pounds and Oliver Twist were offered to 
 any man or woman who wanted an ap- 
 prentice to any trade, business, or calling. 
 
 " I never was more convinced of any- 
 thing in my life," said the gentleman in 
 the white waistcoat, as he knocked at the 
 gate and read the bill next morning, — " I 
 never was more convinced of anything in 
 my life, than I am that that boy wiU come 
 to be hung." 
 
 As 1 propose to show in the sequel whe- 
 ther tlie white-waistcoated gentleman was 
 right or not, I should perhaps mar the in- 
 
 terest of this narrative, (supposing- it to 
 possess any at all,) if I ventured to hint 
 just yet, whether the life of Oliver Twist 
 will be a long or a short piece of biogra- 
 phy. 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRD 
 
 Relates how Oliver was very near getting a place, 
 which would not have been a sinecure. 
 
 For a week after the commission of the 
 impious and profane offence of asking for 
 more, Oliver remained a close prisoner in 
 the darllf and solitary room to which he 
 had been consigned by the wisdom and 
 mercy of the board. It appears, at first 
 sight, not unreasonable to suppose, that, 
 if he had entertained a becoming feeling 
 of respect for the prediction of the gentle- 
 man in the white waistcoat, he would 
 have established that sage individual's 
 prophetic character, once and for ever, by 
 tying one end of his pocket-handkerchief 
 to a hook in the wall, and attaching him- 
 self to the other. To the performance of 
 this feat, however, there was qne obstacle, 
 namely, that pocket-handkerchiefs being 
 decided articles of luxury, had been, for 
 all future times and ages, removed from 
 the noses of paupers by the express order 
 of the board in council assembled, solemnly 
 given and pronounced under their hands 
 and seals. There was a still greater 
 obstacle in Oliver's youth and childish- 
 ness. He only cried bitterly all day ; and 
 when the long, dismal night came on, he 
 spread his little hands before his eyes to 
 shut out the darkness, and crouching in 
 the corner, tried to sleep, ever and anon 
 waking with a start and tremble, and 
 drawing himself closer and closer to the 
 wall, as if to feel even its cold hard sur- 
 face were a protection in the gloom and 
 loneliness which surrounded him. 
 
 Let it not be supposed by the enemies 
 of " the system," that, during the period 
 of his solitary incarceration, Oliver was 
 denied the benefit of exercise, the plea- 
 sure of society, or the advantages of reli- 
 gious consolation. As for exercise, it was 
 nice cold weather, and he was allowed to 
 perform his ablutions every morning under 
 the pump, in a stone yard, in the presence 
 of Mr. Bumble, who prevented his catch- 
 ing cold, and caused a tingling sensation 
 to pervade his frame, by repeated applica- 
 tions of the cane ; as for society, he was 
 carried every other day into the hall 
 where the boys dined, and there sociably 
 flogged as a public warning and example; 
 
20 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 and, so far from being daaied the advan- 
 tages of religious consolation, he was 
 kicked into the same apartment every 
 evening at prayer-time, and there permit- 
 ted to listen to, and console his mind with, 
 a general supplication of the boys, con- 
 taining a special clause therein inserted 
 by the authority of the board, in which 
 they entreated to be made good, virtuous, 
 contented, and obedient, and to be guarded 
 from the sins and vices of Oliver Twist, 
 whom the supplication distinctly set forth 
 to be under the exclusive patronage and 
 protection of the powers of wickedness, 
 and an article direct from the manufactory 
 of the devil himself. 
 
 It chanced one morning, while Oliver's 
 affairs were in this auspicious and com- 
 fortable state, that Mr. Ganifield, chim- 
 ney-sweeper, was wending his way adown 
 the High-street, deeply cogitating in his 
 mind, his ways and means of paying cer- 
 tain arrears of rent, for which his land- 
 lord had become rather pressing. Mr. 
 Gamfield's most sanguine calculation of 
 funds could not raise them within full five 
 pounds of the desired amount ; and, in a 
 species of arithmetical desperation, he 
 was alternately cudgelling his brains and 
 his donkey, when, passing the workhouse, 
 his eyes encountered the bill on the gate. 
 
 " Woo !" said Mr. Gamfield to the don- 
 key. 
 
 The donkey was in a state of profound 
 abstraction, — wondering, probably, whe- 
 ther he was destined to be regaled with a 
 cabbage-stalk or two, when he had dis- 
 posed of the two sacks of soot with which 
 the little cart was laden ; so, without no- 
 ticing the word of command, he jogged 
 onwards. 
 
 Mr. Gamfield growled a fierce impreca- 
 tion on the donkey generally, but more 
 particularly on his eyes; and running 
 after him, bestowed a blow on his head 
 which would inevitably have beaten in 
 any skull but a donkey's ; then, catching 
 hold of the bridle, he gave his jaw a sharp 
 wrench, by way of gentle reminder that 
 he was not his own master ; and, having 
 by these means turned him round, he gave 
 him another blow on the head, just to stun 
 him until he came back again ; and, hav- 
 ing done so, walked to the gate to read 
 the bill. 
 
 The gentleman with the white waist- 
 coat was standing at the gate with his 
 hands behind him, after having delivered 
 himself of some profound sentiments in 
 the board-room. Having witnessed the 
 little dispute between Mr. Gamfield and 
 Uie donkey, he smiled joyously when that 
 
 person came up to read the bill, for he 
 saw at once that Mr. Gamfield was just 
 exactly the sort of master Oliver Twist 
 wanted. Mr. Gamfield smiled, too, as he 
 perused the document, for five pounds was 
 just the sum he had been wishing for ; 
 and, as to the boy with which it was en- 
 cumbered, Mr. Gamfield, knowing what 
 the dietary of the workhouse was, well 
 knew he would be a nice small pattern, 
 just the very thing for register stoves. 
 So he spelt the bill through again, from 
 beginning to end ; and then, touching his 
 fijr cap in token of humility, accosted the 
 gentleman in the white waistcoat. 
 
 " This here boy, sir, wot the parish 
 wants to 'prentis," said Mr. Gamfield. 
 
 " Yes, my man," said the gentleman in 
 the white waistcoat, with a condescend- 
 ing smile, " what of him 1" 
 
 " If the parish vould like him to learn 
 a light, pleasant trade, in a good 'specta- 
 ble chimbley-sweepin bisness," said Mr. 
 Gamfield, " I wants a 'prentis, and I 'm - 
 ready to take him." 
 
 "Walk in," said the gentleman with 
 the white waistcoat. And Mr. Gamfieli 
 having lingered behind, to give the don 
 key another blow on the head, and anothe; 
 wrench of the jaw as a caution not to ru» 
 away in his absence, followed the gentle- 
 man in the white waistcoat, into the room 
 where Oliver had first seen him. 
 
 "It's a nasty trade," said Mr. Limb- 
 kins, when Gamfield had again stated his 
 wish. 
 
 " Young boys have been smothered in 
 chimneys, before now," said another gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 '• That 's acause they damped the straw 
 afore they lit it in the chimbley to make 
 'em come down again," said Gamfield; 
 " that 's all smoke, and no blaze ; vereas 
 smoke ain't o' no use at all in makin' a boy 
 come down ; it only sinds him to sleep, 
 and that 's wot he likes. Boys is wery 
 obstinit, and wery lazy, gen'lm'n, and 
 there 's nothink like a good hot blaze to 
 make 'em come down vith a run ; it 's 
 humane too, gen'lm'n, acause, even if 
 they've stuck in the chimbley, roastin' 
 their feet makes 'em struggle to hextri^ 
 cate theirselves." 
 
 The gentleman in the white waistcoat 
 appeared very much amused with this ex- 
 planation; but his mirth was speedily 
 checked by a look from Mr. Linibkins. 
 The board then proceeded to converse 
 among themselves for a few minutes ; but 
 in so low a tone that the words " saving 
 of expenditure," " look well in the ac- 
 counts," " have a printed report publish- 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 21 
 
 ed," were alone audible : and they only 
 chanced to be heard on account of their 
 being very frequently repeated witli great 
 emphasis. 
 
 At length the whispering ceased, and 
 the members of the board having resumed 
 their seats, and their solemnity, Mr. Limb- 
 kins said, 
 
 " We have considered your proposition, 
 and we don't approve of it." 
 
 " Not at all," said the gentleman in the 
 white waistcoat. 
 
 " Decidedly not," added the other mem- 
 bers. 
 
 As Mr. Gamfield did happen to labour 
 under the slight imputation of having 
 bruised three or four boys to death, al- 
 ready, it occurred to him that the board 
 had perhaps, in some unaccountable freak, 
 taken it into their heads that this ex- 
 traneous circumstance ought to influence 
 their proceedings. It was very unlike 
 their general mode of doing business, if 
 they had ; but still, as he had no particu- 
 lar wish to revive the rumour, he twisted 
 his cap in his liands, and walked slowly 
 from the table. 
 
 " So you won't let me have him, gen'l- 
 men," said Mr. Gamfield, pausing near the 
 door. 
 
 " No," replied Mr. Limbkins; "at least, 
 as it's a nasty business, we think you 
 ought to take something less than the pre- 
 mium we offered." 
 
 Mr. Gamfield's countenance brightened, 
 as with a quick step he returned to the 
 table, and said, 
 
 " What '11 you give, gen'lmen 1 Come, 
 don't be too hard on a poor man. What '11 
 you give "!" 
 
 "I should say three pound ten was 
 plenty," said Mr. Limbkins. 
 
 "Ten shillings too much," said the 
 gentleman in the white waistcoat. 
 
 "Come," said Gamfield; "say four 
 pound, gen'lmen. Say four pound, and 
 you 've got rid of him for good and all. 
 There !" 
 
 " Three pound ten," repeated Mr. Limb- 
 kins, firmly. 
 
 " Come, I '11 split the diflference, gen'l- 
 men," urged Gamfield, " Three pound 
 fifteen." 
 
 " Not a farthing more," was the firm 
 reply of Mr. Limbkins. 
 
 " You 're desp'rate hard upon me, gen'l- 
 men," said Gamfield, wavering. 
 
 " Pooh ! pooh ! nonsense !" said the gen- 
 tleman in the white waistcoat. "He'd 
 be cheap with nothing at all, as a pre- 
 mium. Take him, you silly fellow ! He 's 
 just the boy for you. He wants the stick 
 
 now and then ; it '11 do him good ; and hia 
 board needn't come very expensive, for 
 he hasn't been overfed since he was born. 
 Ha ! ha ! ha !" 
 
 Mr. Gamfield gave an arch look at the 
 faces round the table, and, observing a 
 smile on all of them, gradually broke into 
 a smile himself. The bargain was made, 
 and Mr. Bumble was at once instructed 
 that Oliver Twist and his indentures were 
 to be conveyed before the magistrate for 
 signature and approval, that very after- 
 noon. 
 
 In pursuance of this determination, little 
 Oliver, to his excessive astonishment, was 
 released fi-om bondage, and ordered to put 
 himself nito a clean shirt. He had hardly 
 achieved this very unusual gymnastic per- 
 formance, when Mr. Bumble brought him 
 with his own hands, a basin of gruel, and 
 the holiday allowance of two ounces and 
 a quarter of bread ; at sight of which Oli- 
 ver began to cry very piteously, tliinking, 
 not unnaturally, that the board must have 
 determined to kill him for some useful 
 purpose, or they never would have begun 
 to fatten him up in this way. 
 
 " Don't make your eyes red, Oliver, but 
 eat your food, and be thankful," said Mr. 
 Bumble, in a tone of impressive pomposity. 
 " You 're a-going to be made a 'prentice 
 of, Oliver." 
 
 " A 'prentice, sir !" said the child, trem- 
 bling. 
 
 " Yes, Oliver," said Mr. Bumble. " The 
 kind and blessed gentlemen which is so 
 many parents to you, Oliver, when you 
 have none of your own, are a-going to 
 'prentice you, and to set you up in life, 
 and make a man of you, although the ex- 
 pense to the parish is three pound ten ! — 
 three pound ten, Oliver ! — seventy shil- 
 lin's ! — one hundred and forty sixpences ! 
 — and all for a naughty orphan which 
 nobody can love." 
 
 As Mr. Bumble paused to take breath 
 after delivering this address, in an awful 
 voice, the tears rolled down the poor 
 child's face, and he sobbed bitterly. 
 
 "Come," said Mr. Bumble, somewhat 
 less pompously ; for it was gratifying to 
 his feelings to observe the effect his elo- 
 quence had produced. "Come, Oliver, 
 wipe your eyes with the cuffs of your 
 jacket, and don't cry into your gruel; 
 that 's a very foolish action, Oliver." It 
 certainly was, for there was quite enough 
 water in it already. 
 
 On their way to the magistrate's, Mr. - 
 Bumble instructed Oliver that all he would 
 have to do, would be to look very happy, 
 and say, when the gentleman asked Mjd 
 
22 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 if he wanted to be apprenticed, that he 
 should like it very much indeed ; both of 
 which injunctions Oliver promised to obey, 
 the more readily as Mr. Bumble threw in 
 a gentle hint, that if he failed in either 
 particular, there was no telling what 
 would be done to him. When they ar- 
 rived at the office, he was shut up in a 
 little room by himself, and admonished by 
 Mr. Bumble to stay there, until he came 
 back to fetch him. 
 
 There the boy remained with a palpi- 
 tating heart for half an hour, at the expi- 
 ration of which time Mr. Bumble thrust 
 in his head, unadorned with the cocked 
 hat, and said aloud, 
 
 "Now, Oliver, my dear, come to the 
 gentleman." As Mr. Bumble said this, 
 he put on a grim and threatening look, 
 and added in a low voice, " Mind what I 
 told you, you young rascal." 
 
 Oliver stared innocently in Mr. Bum- 
 ble's face at this somewhat contradictory 
 style of address ; but that gentleman pre- 
 vented his offering any remark thereupon, 
 by leading him at once into an adjoining 
 room, the door of which was open. It 
 was a large room with a great window ; 
 and behind a desk sat two old gentlemen 
 with powdered heads, one of whom was 
 reading the newspaper, while the other 
 was perusing, with the aid of a pair of 
 tortoise-shell spectacles, a small piece of 
 parchment which lay before him. Mr. 
 Limbkins was standing in front of the 
 desk, on one side ; and Mr. Gamfield, 
 with a partially washed face, on the other ; 
 while two or three bluff-looking men in 
 top-boots were lounging about. 
 
 The old gentleman with the spectacles 
 gradually dozed off, over the little bit of 
 parchment ; and there was a short pause 
 afler Oliver had been stationed by Mr. 
 Bumble in front of the desk. 
 
 " This is the boy, your worship," said 
 Mr. Bumble. 
 
 The old gentleman v/ho was reading 
 the newspaper raised his head for a mo- 
 ment, and pulled the other old gentleman 
 by the sleeve, \^liereupon the last-men- 
 uoned old gentleman woke up. 
 
 " Oh, is this the boy]" said the old gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 " This is him, sir," replied Mr. Bumble. 
 " Bow to the magistrate, my dear." 
 
 Oliver roused himself, and made his 
 best obeisance. He had been wondering, 
 with his eyes fixed on the magistrate's 
 powder, whether all boards were born with 
 that white stuff on their heads, and 
 were boards from thencefortii, on that 
 uccount. 
 
 " Well," said the old gentleman, " I sup- 
 pose he 's fond of chimney -sweeping ?" 
 
 " He dotes on it, your worship," replied 
 Bumble, giving Oliver a sly pinch, to inti- 
 mate that he had better not say he didn't. 
 
 "And he will be a sweep, will he]" 
 inquired the old gentleman. 
 
 " If we was to bind him to any other 
 trade to-morrow, he'd run away simulta- 
 neously, your worship," replied Bumble. 
 
 " And this man that 's to be his master, 
 — you, sir, — you'll treat him well, and 
 feed him, and do all that sort of thing, — 
 will you ]" said the old gentleman. 
 
 " When I says I will, I means I will," 
 replied Mr. Gamfield doggedly. 
 
 " You 're a rough speaker, my friend, 
 but you look an honest, open-hearted man," 
 said the old gentleman, turning his spec- 
 tacles in the direction of the candidate for 
 Oliver's premium, whose villanous coun- 
 tenance was a regular stamped receipt for 
 cruelty. But the magistrate was half 
 blind, and half childish, so he couldn't 
 reasonably be expected to discern what 
 other people did. 
 
 " I hope I am, sir," said Mr. Gamfield 
 with an ugly leer. 
 
 " I have no doubt you are, my friend," 
 replied the old gentleman, fixing his spec- 
 tacles more firmly on his nose, an^ look- 
 ing about him for the inkstand. 
 
 It was the critical moment of Oliver's 
 fate. If the inkstand had been where the 
 old gentleman thought it was, he would 
 have dipped his pen into it and signed the 
 indentures, and Oliver would have been 
 straightway hurried off. But, as it chanced 
 to be immediately under his nose, it fol- 
 lowed as a matter of course that he looked 
 all over his desk for it, without finding it ; 
 and happening in the course of his search 
 to look straight before him, his gaze en- 
 countered the pale and terrified face of 
 Oliver Twist, who, despite of all the ad- 
 monitory looks and pinches of Bumble, 
 was regarding the very repulsive counte- 
 nance of his future master with a mingled 
 expression of horror and fear, too palpable 
 to be mistaken even by a half blind magis- 
 trate. 
 
 The old gentleman stopped, laid down 
 his pen, and looked from Oliver to Mr. 
 Limbkins, who attempted to take snuff 
 with a cheerful and unconcerned aspect. 
 
 " My boy," said the old gentleman, 
 leaning over the desk. Oliver started at 
 the sound, — he might be excused for doing 
 so, for the words were kindly said, and 
 strange sounds frighten one. lie trembled 
 violently, and burst into tears. 
 
 " My boy," said the old gentleman, 
 
W/.^^^^-^^ ^^>^//^,r^^ /^r-^// 
 
 P.^^.^i 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 23 
 
 '• you look pale and alarmed. What is the 
 matter 1" 
 
 " Stand a little away from him, beadle," 
 said the other magistrate, laying aside thf 
 paper, and leaning forward with an ex- 
 pression of some interest. "Now, boy, 
 tell us what's the matter : don't be afraid." 
 
 Oliver fell on his knees, and, clasping 
 his hands together, prayed that they would 
 order him back to the dark room, — that 
 they would starve him — beat him — kill 
 him if they pleased — rather than send him 
 away with that dreadful man, • 
 
 " Well !" said Mr. Bumble, raising his 
 hands and eyes with most impressive so- 
 lemnity, — " Well ! of all the artful and 
 designing orphans that ever I see, Oliver, 
 you are one of the most bare-facedest." 
 
 " Hold your tongue, beadle," said the 
 second old gentleman, when Mr. Bumble 
 had given vent to this compound adjective. 
 
 "I beg your worship's pardon," said 
 Mr. Bumble, incredulous of his having 
 heard aright, — "did your worship speak 
 to me ]" 
 
 " Yes — hold your tongue." 
 
 Mr. Bumble was stupified with astonish- 
 ment. A beadle ordered to hold his tongue ! 
 A moral revolution. 
 
 The old gentleman in the tortoise-shell 
 spectacles looked at his companion : he 
 nodded significantly. 
 
 " We refuse to sanction these inden- 
 tures," said the old gentleman, tossing 
 aside the piece of parchment as he spoke. 
 
 " I hope," stammered Mr. I^imbkins, — 
 "I hope the magistrates will not form the 
 opinion that the authorities have been 
 guilty of any improper conduct, on the 
 unsupported testimony of a mere child." 
 
 "The magistrates are not called upon 
 to pronounce any opinion on the matter," 
 said the second old gentleman sharply. 
 "Take the boy back to the workhouse, and 
 treat him kindly. He seems to want it." 
 
 That same evening the gentleman in 
 the white waistcoat most positively and 
 decidedly affirmed, not only that Oliver 
 (vould bo hung, but that he would be 
 Irawn and quartered into the bargain. 
 Air. Bumble shook his head with gloomy 
 mystery, and said he wished he might 
 come to good ; to which Mr. Gamfield re- 
 plied, that he wished he might come to 
 him, which, although he agreed with the 
 beadie m most matters, would seem to be 
 & wish of a totally opposite description. 
 
 The next morning the public were once 
 more informed that Oliver Twist was 
 again to let, and that five pounds would 
 be paid to anybody who would take pos- 
 »\jSsion of him. 
 
 CHAPTER THE FOURTH. 
 
 Oliver, being offered another place, makes liis first 
 entry into public life. 
 
 In great families, when an advanta- 
 geous place cannot be obtained, either in 
 possession, reversion, remainder, or ex- 
 pectancy, for the young man who is grow- 
 ing up, it is a very general custom to send 
 him to sea. The board, in imitation of so 
 wise and salutary an example, took coun- 
 sel together on the expediency of ship- 
 ping off Oliver Twist in some small trad- 
 ing vessel bound to a good unhealthy port, 
 which suggested itself as the very best 
 thing that could possibly be done with 
 liim ; the probability being, that the skip- 
 per would either flog him to death, in a 
 playful mood, some day afler dinner, or 
 knock his brains out with an iron bar, — 
 both pastimes being, as is pretty generally 
 known, very favourite and common re- 
 creations among gentlemen of that class. 
 The more the case presented itself to the 
 board, in this point of view, the more 
 manifold the advantages of the step ap- 
 peared ; so they came to the conclusion 
 that the only way of providing for Oliver 
 effectually, was to send him to sea with- 
 out delay. ' 
 
 Mr. Bumble had been despatched to 
 make various preliminary inquiries, with 
 the view of finding out some captain or 
 other who wanted a cabin-boy without 
 any friends ; and was returning to the 
 workhouse to communicate the result of 
 his mission, when he encountered just at 
 the gate no less a person than Mr. Sower- 
 berry, the parochial undertaker. 
 
 Mr. Sowerberry was a tall, gaunt, large- 
 jointed man, attired in a suit of thread- 
 bare black, with darned cotton stockings 
 of the same colour, and shoes to answer. 
 His features were not naturally intended 
 to wear a smiling aspect, but he was in 
 general rather given to professional jo- 
 cosity ; his step was elastic, and his face 
 betokened inward pleasantry, as he ad- 
 vanced to Mr. Bumble and shook him cor- 
 dially by the hand. 
 
 " I have taken the measure of the two 
 women that died last night, Mr. Bumble," 
 said the undertaker. 
 
 " You '11 make your fortune, Mr. Sow- 
 erberry," said the beadle, as he thrust his 
 thumb and forefinger into the profrered 
 snufl-box of the undertaker, which was an 
 ingenious little model of a patent coffin. 
 " I say you '11 make your fortune, Mr. 
 Sowerberry," repeated Mr. Bumble, tap- 
 ping the undertaker on the shoulder in • 
 friendly manner, with his cane. 
 
^u 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 "Think so"!" said the undertaker in 
 a tone which half admitted and half dis- 
 puted the probability of the event. " The 
 prices allowed by the board are very 
 small, Mr. Bumble." 
 
 " So are the coffins," replied the bea- 
 dle, with precisely as near an approach to 
 a laugh as a great official ought to in- 
 dulge in. 
 
 Mr. Sowerberry was much tickled at 
 this, as of course he ought to be, and 
 laughed a long time without cessation. 
 " Well, well, Mr. Bumble," he said at 
 length, " there 's no denying that, since 
 the new system of feeding has come in, 
 the coffins are something narrower and 
 more shallow than they used to be ; but 
 we must have some profit, Mr. Bumble. 
 Well-seasoned timber is an expensive ar- 
 ticle, sir ; and all the iron handles come 
 by canal from Birmingham." 
 
 " Well, well," said Mr. Bumble, " eve- 
 ry trade has its drawbacks, and a fair pro- 
 fit is of course allowable." 
 
 " Of course, of course," replied the un- 
 dertaker ; " and if I don't get a profit 
 upon this or that particular article, why, I 
 make it up in the long run, you see — he ! 
 he! he!" 
 
 " Just so," said Mr. Bumble. 
 
 " Though I must say," — continued the 
 undertaker, resuming the current of ob- 
 servations which the beadle had inter- 
 rupted, — " though I must say, Mr. Bum- 
 ble, that I have to contend against one 
 very great disadvantage, which is, that 
 all the stout people go oif the quickest — 
 I mean that the people who have been 
 better off, and have paid rates for many 
 years, are the first to sink when they come 
 into the house ; and let me tell you, Mr. 
 Bumble, that three or four inches over 
 one's calculation makes a great hole in 
 one's profits, especially when one has a 
 family to provide for, sir." 
 
 As Mr. Sowerberry said this, with the 
 becoming indignation of an ill-used man, 
 and as Mr. Bumble felt that it rather 
 tended to convey a reflection on the ho- 
 nour of the parish, the latter gentleman 
 thought it advisable to change the sub- 
 ject ; and Oliver Twist being uppermost 
 in his mind, he made him his theme. 
 
 " By tne bye," said Mr. Bumble, " you 
 don't know anybody who wants a boy, do 
 you — a porochial 'prentis, who is at pre- 
 sent a dead-weight — a millstone, as I may 
 Bay — round the porocliial throat 1 Liberal 
 terms, Mr. Sowerberry — liberal terms ;" — 
 and, as Mr. Bumble spoke, he raised his 
 cane to the bill above him, and gave three 
 (Uftinct raps upon the words " five pounds," 
 
 which were printed therein in Roman 
 capitals of gigantic size. 
 
 " Gadso !" said the undertaker, taking 
 Mr. Bumble by the gilt-edged lappel of 
 his official coat ; " that 's just the very 
 thing I wanted to speak to you about. 
 You know — dear me, what a very elegant 
 button this is, Mr. Bumble ; I never no- 
 ticed it before." 
 
 " Yes, I think it is rather pretty," said 
 the beadle, glancing proudly downwards 
 at the large brass buttons which embel- 
 lished his coat. " The die is the same as 
 the porochial seal, — the Good Samaritan 
 healing the sick and bruised man. The 
 board presented it to me on New-year's 
 morning, Mr. Sowerberry. I put it on, I 
 remember, for the first time, to attend the 
 inquest on that reduced tradesman who 
 died in a doorway at midnight." 
 
 " I recollect," said the undertaker. "The 
 jury brought in ' Died from exposure to 
 the cold, and want of the common neces- 
 saries of life,' — didn't they 1" 
 
 Mr. Bumble nodded. 
 
 " And they made it a special verdict, I 
 think," said the undertaker, " by adding 
 some words to the effect, that if the re- 
 lieving officer had " 
 
 "Tush — foolery!" interposed the bea- 
 dle angrily. " If the board attended to 
 all the nonsense that ignorant jurymen 
 talk, they 'd have enough to do." 
 
 " Very true," said the undertaker ; " they 
 would indeed." 
 
 "Juries," said Mr. Bumble, grasping 
 his cane tightly, as was his wont when 
 working into a passion, — "juries is ineddi 
 cated, vulgar, grovelling wretches." 
 
 " So they are," said the undertaker. 
 
 " They haven't no more philosophy or 
 political economy about 'em than that," 
 said the beadle, snapping his fingers cod 
 templuously. 
 
 " No more they have," acquiesced thp 
 undertaker. 
 
 " I despise 'em," said the beadle, grow- 
 ing very red in the face. 
 
 " So do I," rejoined the undertaker. 
 
 " And I only wish we 'd a jury of the 
 independent sort in the house for a week 
 or two," said the beadle ; " the rules and 
 regulations of the board would soon bring 
 their spirit down for them." 
 
 "Let 'em alone for that," replied the 
 undertaker. So saying, he smiled ap- 
 provingly to calm the rising wrath of the 
 indignant parish officer. 
 
 Mr. Bumble lifted off his cocked-hat, 
 took a handkerchief from the inside of the 
 crown, wiped from his forehead the per- 
 spiration which his rage had engendered, 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 25 
 
 fixed the cocked-hat on again ; and, turning 
 to the undertaker, said in a calmer voice, 
 
 " Well ; what about the boy 1" 
 
 " Oh !" replied the undertaker ; " why, 
 you know, Mr. Bumble, I pay a good deal 
 towards the poor's rates." 
 
 " Hem !" said Mr. Bumble. " Well ?" 
 
 "Well," replied the undertaker, "I 
 was thinking that if I pay so much towards 
 'em, I 've a right to get as much out of 
 'em as I can, Mr. Bumble ; and so — and 
 60—1 think I '11 take the boy myself." 
 
 Mr. Bumble grasped the undertaker by 
 the arm, and led him into the building. 
 Mr. Sowerberry was closeted with the 
 board for five minutes, and then it was 
 arranged that Oliver should go to him 
 that evening "upon liking," — a phrase 
 which means, in the case of a parish ap- 
 prentice, that if the master find, upon a 
 short trial, that he can get enough work 
 out of a boy without putting too much food 
 in him, he shall have him for a term of 
 years, to do what he likes with. 
 
 When little Oliver was taken before 
 "the gentlemen" that evening, and in- 
 formed that he was to go that night as 
 general house-lad to a coffin-maker's, and 
 that if he complained of his situation, or 
 ever came back to the parish again, he 
 would be sent to sea, there to be drowned, 
 or knocked on the head, as the case might 
 be, he evinced so little emotion, that they 
 by common consent pronounced him a 
 hardened young rascal, and ordered Mr. 
 Bumble to remove him forthwith. 
 
 Now, although it was very natural that 
 the board, of all people in the world, 
 should feel in a great state of virtuous 
 astonishment and horror at the smallest 
 tokens of want of feeling on the part of 
 anybody, they were rather out, in this par- 
 ticular instance. The simple fact was, 
 that Oliver, instead of possessing too little 
 feeling, possessed rather too much, and 
 was in a fair way of being reduced to a 
 state of brutal stupidity and sullenness for 
 life, by the ill usage he had received. He 
 heard the news of his destination in per- 
 fect silence, and, having had his luggage 
 put into his hand, — which was not very 
 difficult to carry, inasmuch as it was all 
 comprised within the limits of a brown 
 paper parcel, about half a foot square by 
 three inches deep, — he pulled his cap over 
 his eyes, and once more attaching him- 
 self to Mr. Bumble's coat cuff, was led 
 away by that dignitary to a new scene of 
 suffering. 
 
 For some time Mr. Bumble drew Oliver 
 along, without notice or remark, for the 
 beadle carried his head very erect, as a 
 3 D 
 
 beadle always should; and. it being a 
 wmdy day, little Oliver was completely 
 enshrouded by the skirts of Mr. Bumble's 
 coat as they blew open, and disclosed to 
 great advantage his flapped waistcoat and 
 drab plush knee-breeches. As they drew 
 near to their destination, however, Mr. 
 Bumble thought it expedient to look down 
 and see that the boy was in good order for 
 inspection by his new master, which he 
 accordingly did, with a fit and becoming 
 air of gracious patronage. 
 
 " Oliver !" said Mr. Bumble. 
 
 "Yes, sir," replied Oliver, in a low, 
 tremulous voice. 
 
 " Pull that cap off* of your eyes, and 
 hold up your head, sir." 
 
 Although Oliver did as he was desired 
 at once, and passed the back of his unoc- 
 cupied hand briskly across his eyes, he 
 left a tear in them when he looked up at 
 his conductor. As Mr. Bumble gazed 
 sternly upon him, it rolled down his cheek. 
 It was followed by another, and another. 
 The child made a strong effort, but it was 
 an unsuccessful one; and, withdrawing 
 his other hand from Mr. Bumble's, he co- 
 vered his face with both, and wept till the 
 tears sprung out from between his thin 
 and bony fingers. 
 
 " Well !" exclaimed Mr. Bumble, stop- 
 ping short, and darting at his little charge 
 a look of intense malignity, — " well, of all 
 the ungratefullest, and worst-disposed boys 
 as ever I see, Oliver, you are the " 
 
 "No, no, sir," sobbed Oliver, clinging 
 to the hand which held the well-known 
 cane ; " no, no, sir ; I will be good indeed ; 
 indeed, indeed, I will, sir ! I am a very 
 little boy, sir ; and it is so — so — " 
 
 " So what V inquired Mr. Bumble in 
 amazement. 
 
 " So lonely, sir — so very lonely," cried 
 the child. " Everybody hates me. Oh ! 
 sir, don't be cross to me. I feel as if I 
 had been cut here, sir, and it was all bleed- 
 ing away ;" and the child beat his hand 
 upon his heart, and looked into his com- 
 panion's face with tears of real agony. 
 
 Mr. Bumble regarded Oliver's piteous 
 and helpless look with some astonishment 
 for a few seconds, hemmed three or four 
 times in a husky manner, and after mut- 
 tering something about " that troublesome 
 cough," bid Oliver dry his eyes, and be a 
 good boy ; and, once more taking his hand, 
 walked on with him in silence. 
 
 The undertaker had just put up the 
 shutters of his shop, and was making some 
 entries in his day-book by the light of a 
 most appropriately dismal oandle, when 
 Mr. Bumble entered. 
 
2& 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " Aha !" said the undertaker, looking up 
 from the book, and pausing in the middle 
 of a word ; " is that you, Bumble "!" 
 
 " No one else, Mr. Sovverberry," replied 
 the beadle. " Here, I 've brought the 
 boy." Oliver made a bow. 
 
 "Oh! that's the boy, is it]" said the 
 imdertaker, raising the candle above his 
 head to get a full glimpse of Oliver. 
 " Mrs. Sowerberry ! will you come here 
 a moment, my dear ]" 
 
 Mrs. Sowerberry emerged from a little 
 room behind the shop, and presented the 
 form of a short, thin, squeezed-up woman, 
 with a vixenish countenance. 
 
 " My dear," said Mr. Sowerberry, defe- 
 rentially, " this is the boy from the work- 
 house that I told you of" Oliver bowed 
 again. 
 
 " Dear me !" said the undertaker's wife, 
 "He's very small." 
 
 " Why, he is rather small," replied Mr. 
 Bumble, looking at Oliver as if it were 
 his fault that he wasn't bigger; "he is 
 small, — there's no denying it. But he'll 
 grow, Mrs. Sowerberry, — he '11 grow." 
 
 " Ah ! I dare say he will," replied tlie 
 lady pettishly, "on our victuals and our 
 drink. I see no saving in parish children, 
 not I ; for they always cost more to keep 
 than they 're worth : however, men always 
 think they know best. There, get down 
 stairs, little ba^ o' bones." With this, the 
 undertaker's wife opened a side door, and 
 pushed Oliver down a steep flight of stairs 
 into a stone cell, damp and dark, forming 
 the ante-room to the coal-cellar, and deno- 
 minated " the kitchen," wherein sat a 
 slatternly girl in shoes down at heel, and 
 blue worsted stockings very much out of 
 repair. 
 
 "Here, Charlotte," said Mrs. Sower- 
 berry, who had followed Oliver down, 
 " give this boy some of the cold bits that 
 were put by for Trip : he hasn't come home 
 since the morning, so he may go without 
 'em. I dare say he isn't too dainty to eat 
 em, — are you, boy ?" 
 
 Oliver, whose eyes had glistened at the 
 mention of meat, and who was trembling 
 with eagerness to devour it, replied in the 
 negative ; and a plateful of coarse broken 
 victuals was set before him. 
 
 I wish some well-fed philosopher, whose 
 meat and drink turn to gall within him, 
 whose blood is ice, and whose heart is iron, 
 could have seen Oliver Twist clutching 
 at the dainty viands that the dog had ne- 
 glected, and witnessed the horrible avidity 
 with which he tore the bits asunder with 
 aiJ the ferocity of famine : — there is only 
 one thing I should like better ; and that 
 
 would be to see him making the same sort 
 of meal himself, with the same relish. 
 
 " Well," said the undertaker's wife, 
 when Oliver had finished his supper, 
 which she had regarded in silent horror, 
 and with fearfiil auguries of his future 
 appetite, " have you done 1" 
 
 There being nothing eatable within his 
 reach, Oliver replied in the affirmative. 
 
 " Then come with me," said Mrs. Sow- 
 erberry, taking up a dim and dirty lamp, 
 and leading the way up stairs ; " your bed's 
 under the counter. You won't mind sleep- 
 ing among the coffins, I suppose 1 — ^but it 
 doesn't much matter whether you will or 
 not, for you won't sleep any where else. 
 Come ; don't keep me here all night." 
 
 Oliver lingered no longer, but meekly 
 followed his new mistress. 
 
 CHAPTER THE FIFTH. 
 
 Oliver mingles with new associates, and, going tc 
 a funeral for the first time, forms an unfavoura- 
 ble notion of his master's business. 
 
 Oliver being left to himself in the un- 
 dertaker's shop, set the lamp down on a 
 workman's bench, and gazed timidly about 
 him with a feeling of awe and dread, 
 which many people a good deal older than 
 Oliver will be at no loss to understand. 
 An unfinished coffin on black tressels, 
 which stood in the middle of the shop, 
 looked so gloomy and death-like, that a 
 cold tremble came over him every time 
 his eyes wandered in the direction of the 
 dismal object, from which he almost ex- 
 pected to see some frightful form slowly 
 rear its head to drive him mad with terror. 
 Against the wall were ranged in regular 
 array a long row of elm boards cut into 
 the same shape, and looking in the dim 
 light like high-shouldered ghosts with 
 their hands in their breeches-pockets. 
 Coffin-plates, elm - chips, bright - headed 
 nails, and shreds of black cloth, lay scat- 
 tered on the floor ; and the wall above the 
 counter was ornamented with a lively 
 representation of two mutes in very stiff 
 neckcloths, on duty at a large private 
 door, with a hearse drawn by four black 
 steeds approaching in the distance. The 
 shop was close and hot, and the atmo- 
 sphere seemed tainted with the smell of 
 coffins. The recess beneath the counter 
 in which his flock-mattress was thrust, 
 looked like a grave. 
 
 Nor were these the only dismal feelings 
 which depressed Oliver. He was alone 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 27 
 
 in a strange place ; and we all know how 
 chilled and desolate the best of us will 
 sometimes feel in such a situation. The 
 boy had no friends to care for, or to care 
 for him. The regret of no recent sepa- 
 ration was fresh in his mind ; the absence 
 of no loved and well-remembered face 
 sunk heavily into his heart But his heart 
 teas heavy, notwithstanding ; and he wish- 
 ed, as he crept into his narrow bed, that 
 tliat were his coffin, and that he could be 
 laid in a calm and lasting sleep in the 
 churchyard ground, with the tall grass 
 waving gently above his head, and the 
 sound of the old deep bell to soothe him 
 in his sleep. 
 
 Oliver was awakened in the morning 
 by a loud kicking at the outside of the 
 shop-door, which, before he could huddle 
 on his clothes, was repeated in an angry 
 and impetuous manner about twenty-five 
 times ; and, when he began to undo the 
 chain, the legs left off their volleys, and 
 a voice began. 
 
 " Open the door, will yer 1" cried the 
 voice which belonged to the legs which 
 had kicked at the door. 
 
 "I will directly, sir," replied Oliver, 
 undoing the chain, and turning the key. 
 
 " I suppose yer the new boy, a'nt yer f 
 said the voice through the key-hole. 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied Oliver. 
 
 " How old are yer ■!" inquired the voice. 
 
 "Ten, sir," replied Oliver. 
 
 " Then I '11 whop yer when I get in," 
 said the voice ; " you just see if I don't, 
 that 's all, my work'us brat !" and, having 
 made this obliging promise, the voice be- 
 gan to whistle. 
 
 Oliver had been too often subjected to 
 the process to which the very expressive 
 monysyllable just recorded, bears refer- 
 ence, to entertain the smallest doubt that 
 the owner of the voice, whoever he might 
 be, would redeem his pledge most honour- 
 ably. He drew back the bolts with a 
 trembling hand, and opened the door. 
 
 For a second or two, Oliver glanced up 
 the street, and down the street, and over 
 the way, impressed with the belief that 
 the unknown, who had addressed him 
 through the key-hole, had walked a few 
 paces off to warm himself, for nobody did 
 Oliver see but a big charity-boy sitting on 
 the post in front of the house, eating a 
 slice of bread and butter, which he cut 
 mto wedges the size of his mouth with a 
 elasp-knife, and then consumed with great 
 dexterity. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," said Oliver, 
 at length, seeing that no other visitor 
 made his appearance ; " did you knock 1" 
 
 " I kicked," replied the charity-boy. 
 
 " Did you want a coffin, sir"!" inquired 
 Oliver, innocently. 
 
 At this the charity-boy looked monstrous 
 fierce, and said that Oliver would stand in 
 need of one before long, if he cut jokes 
 with his superiors in that way. 
 
 " Yer don't know who I am, I suppose, 
 work'us 1" said the charity-boy, in con- 
 tinuation ; descending fi'om the top of the 
 post, meanwhile, with edifying gravity. 
 
 " No, sir," rejoined Oliver. 
 
 " I 'm Mister Noah Claypole," said the 
 charity-boy, " and you 're under me. Take 
 down the shutters, yer idle young ruffian !" 
 With this Mr. Claypole administered a 
 kick to Oliver, and entered the shop with 
 a dignified air, which did him great cre- 
 dit : it is difficult for a large-headed, 
 small-eyed youth, of lumbering make and 
 heavy countenance, to look dignified un- 
 der any circumstances ; but it is more 
 especially so, when superadded to these 
 personal attractions, are a red nose and 
 yellow smalls. 
 
 Oliver having taken down the shutters, 
 and broken a pane of glass in his efforts to 
 stagger away beneath the weight of the 
 first one to a small court at the side of the 
 house in which they were kept during the 
 day, was graciously assisted by Noah, 
 who, having consoled him with the assu- 
 rance that "he 'd catch it," condescended 
 to help him. Mr. Sowerberry came down 
 soon after, and, shortly afterwards, Mrs. 
 Sowerberry appeared ; and Oliver having 
 " caught it," in fulfilment of Noah's pre- 
 diction, followed that young gentleman 
 down stairs to breakfest. 
 
 " Come near the fire, Noah," said Char- 
 lotte. " I saved a nice little piece of ba- 
 con for you from master's breakfast. Oli- 
 ver, shut that door at Mister Noah's back, 
 and take them bits that I 've put out on 
 the cover of the bread-pan. There 's your 
 tea ; take it away to that box, and drink 
 it there, and make haste, for they '11 want 
 you to mind the shop. D' ye hear 3" 
 
 " D' ye hear, work'us 1" said Noah 
 Claypole. 
 
 " Lor, Noah !" said Charlotte, " what a 
 rum creature you are ! Why don't you 
 let the boy alone 1" 
 
 " Let him alone !" said Noah. " Why 
 every body lets him alone enough, for the 
 matter of that. Neither his father nor 
 mother will ever interfere with him : all 
 his relations let him have his own way 
 pretty well. Eh, Charlotte ? He ! he ! he !" 
 " Oh, you queer soul !" said Charlotte, 
 bursting into a hearty laugh, in which 
 she was joined by Noah ; after which thev 
 
28 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 both looked scornfully at poor Oliver Twist, 
 as he sat shivering upon the box in the 
 coldest corner of the room, and ate the 
 stale pieces which had been specially re- 
 served for him. 
 
 Noah was a charity-boy, but not a work- 
 house orphan. No chance-child was he, 
 for he could trace his genealogy back all 
 the way to his parents, who lived hard by ; 
 his mother being a washerwoman, and 
 his father a drunken soldier, discharged 
 with a wooden leg and a diurnal pension 
 of twopence-halfpenny and an unstateable 
 fraction. The shop-boys in the neigh- 
 bourhood had long been in the habit of 
 branding Noah in the public streets with 
 the ignominious epithets of "leathers," 
 " charity," and the like ; and Noah had 
 borne them without reply. But now that 
 fortune had cast in his way a nameless 
 orphan, at whom even the meanest could 
 point the finger of scorn, he retorted on 
 him with interest. This affords charming 
 food for contemplation. It shows us what 
 a beautiful thing human nature is, and 
 how impartially the same amiable qualities 
 are developed in the finest lord and the 
 dirtiest charity-boy. 
 
 Oliver had been sojourning at the un- 
 dertaker's some three weeks or a month, 
 and Mr. and Mrs. Sowerberry, the shop 
 being shut up, were taking their supper 
 in the little back-parlour, when Mr. Sow- 
 erberry, after several deferential glances 
 at his wife, said, 
 
 " My dear — " He was going to say 
 more ; but, Mrs. Sowerberry looking up 
 with a peculiarly unpropitious aspect, he 
 stopped short. 
 
 " Well !" said Mrs. Sowerberry, sharply. 
 
 " Nothing, my dear, nothing," said Mr. 
 Sowerberry. 
 
 " Ugh, you brute !" said Mrs. Sower- 
 berry. 
 
 " Not at all, my dear," said Mr. Sower- 
 berry, humbly. " I thought you didn't 
 want to hear, my dear. I was only going 
 to say " 
 
 " Oh, don't tell me what you were go- 
 ing to say," interposed Mrs. Sowerberry. 
 " I am nobody ; don't consult me, pray. / 
 don't want to intrude upon your secrets." 
 And as Mrs. Sowerberry said this, she 
 gave an hysterical laugh, which threaten- 
 ed violent consequences. 
 
 " But, my dear," said Sowerberry, " I 
 want to ask your advice." 
 
 " No, no, don't ask mine," replied Mrs. 
 Sowerberry, in an affecting manner ; " ask 
 somebody else's." Here there was an- 
 other hysterical laugh, which frightened 
 Mr Sowerberry very much. This is a 
 
 very common and much-approved matri- 
 monial course of treatment, which is often 
 very effective. It at once reduced Mr. 
 Sowerberry to begging as a special favour 
 to be allowed to say what Mrs. Sowerberry 
 was most curious to hear, and, after a short 
 altercation of less than three quarters of 
 an hour's duration, the permission waa 
 most graciously conceded. 
 
 " It 's only about young Twist, my dear," 
 said Mr. Sowerberry. " A very good-look- 
 ing boy that, my dear." 
 
 " He need be, for he eats enough," ob- 
 served the lady. 
 
 " There 's an expression of melancholy 
 in his face, my dear," resumed Mr. Sow- 
 erberry, " which is very interesting. He 
 would make a delightful mute, my dear." 
 
 Mrs. Sowerberry looked up with an 
 expression of considerable wonderment. 
 Mr. Sowerberry remarked it, and, without 
 allowing time for any observation on the 
 good lady's part, proceeded. 
 
 " I don't mean a regular mute to attend 
 grown-up people, my dear, but only for 
 children's practice. It would be very new 
 to have a mute in proportion, my dear. 
 You may depend upon it that it would 
 have a superb effect." 
 
 Mrs. Sowerberry, who had a good deal 
 of taste in the undertaking way, was much 
 struck by the novelty of the idea ; but, as 
 it would have been compromising her dig- 
 nity to have said so under existing circum- 
 stances, she merely inquired with much 
 sharpness why such an obvious suggestion 
 had not presented itself to her husband's 
 mind before. Mr. Sowerberry rightly con- 
 strued this as an acquiescence in his pro- 
 position : it was speedily determined that 
 Oliver should be at once initiated into the 
 mysteries of the profession, and, with this 
 view, that he should accompany his mas- 
 ter on the very next occasion of his ser- 
 vices being required. 
 
 The occasion was not long in coming ; 
 for, half an hour after breakfast next morn- 
 ing, Mr. Bumble entered the shop, and 
 supporting his cane against the counter, 
 drew forth his large leathern pocket-book, 
 from which he selected a small scrap of 
 paper which he handed over to Sower- 
 berry. 
 
 " Aha !" said the undertaker, glancing 
 over it with a lively countenance; "an 
 order for a coffin, eh ]" 
 
 " For a coffin first, and a porochial fii- 
 neral afterwards," replied Mr. Bumble, 
 fastening the strap of the leathern pocket- 
 book, which, like himself, was very cor- 
 pulent. 
 
 " Bayton," said the undertaker, looking 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 29 
 
 from the scrap of paper to Mr. Bumble ; 
 '* I never heard the name before." 
 
 Bumble shook his head as he replied, 
 " Obstinate people, Mr. Sowerberry, very 
 obstinate; proud, too, I'm afraid, sir." 
 
 " Proud, eh ]" exclaimed Mr. Sower- 
 berry with a sneer. — "Come, that's too 
 much." 
 
 " Oh, it 's sickening," replied the bea- 
 dle ; " perfectly antimonial, Mr. Sower- 
 berry." 
 
 " So it is," acquiesced the undertaker. 
 
 "We only heard of them the night 
 before last," said the beadle; "and we 
 shouldn't have known anything about them 
 then, only a woman who lodges in the 
 aame house made an application to the 
 porochial committee for them to send the 
 porochial surgeon to see a woman as was 
 very bad. He had gone out to dinner; 
 but his 'prentice, which is a very clever 
 lad, sent 'em some medicine in a blacking- 
 bottle, off-hand." 
 
 " Ah, there 's promptness," said the un- 
 dertaker. 
 
 " Promptness, indeed !" replied the bea- 
 dle. " But what 's the consequence ; what 's 
 the ungrateful behaviour of these rebels, 
 sir] Why, the husband sends back word 
 that the medicine won't suit his wife's 
 complaint, and so she shan't take it — says 
 she shan't take it, sir. Grood, strong, whole- 
 some medicine, as was given with great 
 success to two Irish labourers and a coal- 
 heaver only a week before — sent 'em for 
 nothing, with a blacking-bottle in, and he 
 sends back word that she shan't take it, 
 sir." 
 
 As the flagrant atrocity presented itself 
 to Mr. Bumble's mind in full force, he 
 struck the counter sharply with his cane, 
 and became flushed with indignation. 
 
 " Well," said the undertaker, " I 
 ne — ver-— did " 
 
 " Never did, sir !" ejaculated the beadle, 
 — "no, nor nobody never did; but, now 
 she's dead, we've got to bury her, and 
 that's the direction, and the sooner it's 
 done, the better." 
 
 Thus saying, Mr. Bumble put on his 
 cocked-hat wrong side first, in a fever of 
 parochial excitement, and flounced out 
 of the shop. 
 
 " Why, he was so angry, Oliver, that 
 he forgot even to ask afler you," said Mr. 
 Sowerberry, looking after the beadle aa he 
 strode down the street. 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied Oliver, who had 
 carefully kept himself out of sight during 
 the interview, and who was shaking from 
 head to foot at the mere recollection of the 
 sound of Mr. Bumble's voice. He needn't 
 3* 
 
 have taken the trouble to shrink from Mr. 
 Bumble's glance, however ; for that func- 
 tionary on whom the prediction of the 
 gentleman in the white waistcoat had 
 made a very strong impression, thought 
 that now the undertaker had got Oliver 
 upon trial, the subject was better avoided, 
 until such time as he should be firmly 
 bound for seven years, and all danger of 
 his being returned upon the hands of the 
 parish should be thus effectually and legal- 
 ly overcome. 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Sowerberry, taking 
 up his hat, " the sooner this job is done, 
 the better. Noah, look after the shop. 
 Oliver, put on your cap, and come with 
 me." Oliver obeyed, and followed his 
 master on his professional mission. 
 
 They walked on for some time through 
 the most crowded and densely inhabited 
 part of the town, and then striking down 
 a narrow street more dirty and miserable 
 than any they had yet passed through, 
 paused to look for the house which was 
 the object of their search. The houses 
 on either side were high and large, but 
 very old ; and tenanted by people of the 
 poorest class, as their neglected appear- 
 ance would have sufficiently denoted with- 
 out the concurrent testimony afforded by 
 the squalid looks of the few men and wo- 
 men who, with folded arms and bodies 
 half doubled, occasionally skulked like 
 shadows along. A great many of the 
 tenements had shop-fronts ; but they were 
 fast closed, and mouldering away: only 
 the upper rooms being iahabited. Others, 
 which had become insecure from age and 
 decay, were prevented from falling into 
 the street by the huge beams of wood 
 which were reared against the tottering 
 walls, and firmly planted in the road ; but 
 even these crazy dens seemed to have been 
 selected as the nightly haunts of some 
 houseless wretches, for many of the rough 
 boards which supplied the place of door 
 and window, were wrenched from their 
 positions to afford an aperture wide enough 
 for the passage of a human body. The 
 kennel was stagnant and filthy ; the very 
 rats that here and there lay putrefying 
 in its rottenness, were hideous with famine. 
 
 There was neither knocker nor bell- 
 handle at the open door where Oliver and 
 his master stopped ; so, groping his way 
 cautiously through the dark passage, and 
 bidding Oliver keep close to him and not 
 be afraid, the undertaker mounted to the 
 top of the first flight of stairs, and, stum- 
 bling against a door on the landing, rapped 
 at it with his knuckles. 
 
 It was opened by a young girl of thir« 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 teen or fourteen. The undertaker at once 
 saw enough of what the room contained, 
 to know it was the apartment to which he 
 had been directed. He stepped in, and 
 Oliver followed him. 
 
 There was no fire in the room ; but a 
 man was crouching mechanically over the 
 empty stove. An old woman, too, had 
 drawn a low stool to the cold hearth, and 
 was sitting beside him. There were some 
 ragged children in another corner; and 
 in a small recess opposite the door there 
 lay upon the ground something covered 
 with an old blanket. Oliver shuddered 
 as he cast his eyes towards the place, and 
 crept involuntarily closer to his master ; 
 for, though it was covered up, the boy 
 felt that it was a corpse. 
 
 The man's face was thin and very pale ; 
 his hair and beard were grizzly, and his 
 eyes were bloodshot. The old woman's 
 face was wrinkled, her two remaining 
 teeth protruded over her under lip, and 
 her eyes were bright and piercing. Oli- 
 ver was afraid to look at either her or the 
 man, — they seemed so like the rats he had 
 seen outside. 
 
 " Nobody shall go near her," said the 
 man, starting fiercely up, as the under- 
 taker approached the recess. " Keep back ! 
 d — n you, keep back, if you 've a life to 
 lose." 
 
 "Nonsense! my good man," said the 
 undertaker, who was pretty well used to 
 misery in all its shapes, — " nonsense !" 
 
 " I tell you," said the man, clenching 
 his hands, and stamping furiously on the 
 floor, — " I tell you I won't have her put 
 into the ground. She couldn't rest there. 
 The worms would worry — not eat her, — 
 she is so worn away." 
 
 The undertaker offered no reply to this 
 raving, but producing a tape from his 
 pocket, knelt down for a moment by the 
 side of the body. 
 
 •« Ah !" said the man, bursting into tears, 
 and sinking on his knees at the feet of the 
 dead woman ; " kneel down, kneel down 
 — kneel round her every one of you, and 
 mark my words. I say she starved to 
 death. I never knew how bad she was, 
 till tlie fever came upon her, and then her 
 bones were starting through the skin. 
 There was neither fire nor candle; she 
 died in the dark — in the dark. She 
 couldn't even see her children's faces, 
 though we heard her gasping out their 
 names. I begged for her in the streets, 
 and they sent me to prison. When I 
 came back, she was dying; and all the 
 blood ii> my heart has dried up, for they 
 starved her to death. I swear it before 
 
 the God that saw it, — they starved her !" — 
 He twined his hands in his hair, and with 
 a loud scream rolled grovelling upon the 
 floor, his eyes fixed, and the foam gushing 
 from his lips. 
 
 The terrified children cried bitterly; 
 but the old woman, who had hitherto re- 
 mained as quiet as if she had been wholly 
 deaf to all that passed, menaced them into 
 silence; and having unloosed the man's 
 cravat, who still remained extended on the 
 ground, tottered towards the undertaker. 
 
 " She was my daughter," said the old 
 woman, nodding her head in the direction 
 of the corpse, and speaking with an idiotic 
 leer, more ghastly than even the presence 
 of death itself. — " Lord, Lord ! — well, it is 
 strange that I who gave birth to her, and 
 was a woman then, should be alive and 
 merry now, and she lying there, so cold 
 and stiff"! Lord, Lord ! — to think of it; — 
 it 's as good as a play — as good as a play !" 
 
 As the wretched creature mumbled and 
 chuckled in her hideous merriment, the 
 undertaker turned to go away. 
 
 " Stop, stop !" said the old woman in a 
 loud whisper. "Will she be buried to- 
 morrow — or next day — or to-night 7 I laid 
 her out, and I must walk, you know. Send 
 me a large cloak — a good warm one, for 
 it is bitter cold. We should have cake 
 and wine, too, before we go! Never 
 mind : send some bread — only a loaf of 
 bread and a cup of water. Shall we have 
 some bread, dear?" she said eagerly, 
 catching at the undertaker's coat, as he 
 once more moved towards the door. 
 
 "Yes, yes," said the undertaker, "of 
 course; anything, everything." He dis- 
 engaged himself from the old woman's 
 grasp, and, dragging Oliver afl;er him, 
 hurried away. 
 
 The next day, (the family having been 
 meanwhile relieved with a half-quartern 
 loaf and a piece of cheese, left with them 
 by Mr. Bumble himself,) Oliver and his 
 master returned to the miserable abode, 
 where Mr. Bumble had already arrived, 
 accompanied by four men from the work- 
 house, who were to act as bearers. An 
 old black cloak had been thrown over the 
 rags of the old woman and the man ; the 
 bare coffin having been screwed down, 
 was then hoisted on the shoulders of the 
 bearers, and carried down stairs into the 
 street. 
 
 " Now, you must put your best leg fore- 
 most, old lady," whispered Sowerberry in 
 the old woman's ear ; " we are rather late, 
 and it won't do to keep the clergyman 
 waiting. Move on, my men, — as quick 
 as you like." 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 31 
 
 Thus directed, the bearers trotted on 
 under their light burden, and the two 
 mourners kept as near them as they could. 
 Mr. Bumble and Sowerberry walked at a 
 good smart pace in front; and Oliver, 
 whose legs were not as long as his mas- 
 ter's, ran by the side. 
 
 There was not so great a necessity for 
 hurrying as Mr. Sowerberry had antici- 
 pated, however; for when they reached 
 the obscure corner of the churchyard in 
 which the nettles grew, and the parish 
 graves were made, the clergyman had not 
 arrived, and the clerk, who was sitting 
 by the vestry-room fire, seemed to think 
 it by no means improbable that it might 
 be an hour or so before he came. So they 
 set the bier down on the brink of the 
 grave ; and the two mourners waited pa- 
 tiently in the damp clay with a cold rain 
 drizzling down, while the ragged boys, 
 whom the spectacle had attracted into the 
 churchyard, played a noisy game at hide- 
 and-seek among the tombstones, or varied 
 their amusements by jumping backwards 
 and forwards over the cofBn. Mr. Sower- 
 berry and Bumble, being personal friends 
 of the clerk, sat by the fire with him, and 
 read the paper. 
 
 At length, after the lapse of something 
 more than an hour, Mr. Bumble, and Sow- 
 erberry, and the clerk, were seen running 
 towards the grave; and immediately af- 
 terwards the clergyman appeared, putting 
 on his surplice as he came along. Mr. 
 Bumble then threshed a boy or two, to 
 keep up appearances; and the reverend 
 gentleman, having read as much of the 
 burial service as could be compressed into 
 four minutes, gave his surplice to the clerk, 
 and ran away again. 
 
 "Now, Bill," said Sowerberry to the 
 grave-digger, " fill up." 
 
 It was no very difiicult task, for the 
 grave was so full that the uppermost coffin 
 was within a few feet of the surface. The 
 grave-digger shovelled in the earth, stamp- 
 ed it loosely down with his feet, shoulder- 
 ed his spade, and walked off", followed by 
 the boys, who murmured very loud com- 
 plaints at the fun being over so soon. 
 
 " Come, my good fellow," said Bumble, 
 tapping the man on the back, " they want 
 to shut up the yard." 
 
 The man, who had never once moved 
 since he had taken his station by the grave 
 side, started, raised his head, stared at the 
 person who had addressed him, walked 
 forward for a few paces, and then fell down 
 in a fit. The crazy old woman was too 
 much occupied in bewailing the loss of her 
 cloak (which the undertaker had taken 
 
 ofi^ to pay him any attention; so they 
 threw a can of cold water over him, and 
 when he came to, saw him safely out of 
 the churchyard, locked the gate, and de- 
 parted on their different ways. 
 
 "Well, Oliver," said Sowerberry, as 
 they walked home, " how do you like it ]" 
 
 " Pretty well, thank you, sir," replied 
 Oliver, with considerable hesitation. " Not 
 very much, sir." 
 
 " Ah, you '11 get used to it in time, Oli- 
 ver," said Sowerberry. " Nothing when 
 you are used to it, my boy." 
 
 Oliver wondered in his own mind whe- 
 ther it had taken a very long time to get 
 Mr. Sowerberry used to it ; but he thought 
 it better not to ask the question, and walk- 
 ed back to the shop, thinking over all he 
 had seen and heard. 
 
 CHAPTER THE SIXTH. 
 
 Oliver, being goaded by the taunts of Noah, rouses 
 into action, and rather astonishes him. 
 
 The month's trial over, Oliver was form- 
 ally apprenticed. It was a nice sickly season 
 just at this time. In commercial phrase, cof- 
 fins were looking up ; and, in the course of a 
 few weeks, Oliver had acquired a great deal 
 of experience. The success of Mr. Sow- 
 erberry's ingenious speculation exceeded 
 even his most sanguine hopes. The old- 
 est inhabitants recollected no period at 
 which measles had been so prevalent, or 
 so fatal to infant existence ; and many 
 were the mournfiil processions which lit- 
 tle Oliver headed in a hat-band reaching 
 down to his knees, to the indescribable 
 admiration and emotion of all the mothers 
 in the town. As Oliver accompanied his 
 master in most of his adult expeditions 
 too, in order that he might acquire that 
 equanimity of demeanour and fiill com- 
 mand of nerve which are so essential to 
 a finished undertaker, he had many oppor- 
 tunities of observing the beautifiil resigna- 
 tion and fortitude with which some strong- 
 minded people bear their trials and losses. 
 
 For instance, when Sowerberry had an 
 order for the burial of some rich old lady 
 or gentleman, who was surrounded by a 
 great number of nephews or nieces, who 
 had been perfectly inconsolable during the 
 previous illness, and whose grief had been 
 wholly irrepressible even on the most pub- 
 lic occasions, they would be as happy 
 among themselves as need be — quite 
 cheerful and contented, conversing toge- 
 ther with as much freedom and gaiety Jia 
 if nothing whatever had happened to dis- 
 turb them. Husbands, too, bore the loss 
 
32 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 of their wives with the most heroic calm- 
 ness ; and wives, again, put on weeds for 
 their husbands, as if, so far from grieving 
 in the garb of sorrow, they had made up 
 their minds to render it as becoming and 
 attractive as possible. It was observable, 
 too, that ladies and gentlemen who were 
 in passions of anguish during the cere- 
 'mony of interment, recovered almost as 
 soon as they reached home, and became 
 quite composed before the tea-drinking 
 was over. All this was very pleasant 
 and improving to see ; and Oliver beheld 
 it with great admiration. 
 
 That Oliver Twist was moved to re- 
 signation by the example of these good 
 people, I cannot, although I am his bio- 
 grapher, undertake to affirm with any 
 degree of confidence ; but I can most dis- 
 tinctly say, that for many months he con- 
 tinued meekly to submit to the domination 
 and ill-treatment of Noah Claypole, who 
 used him far worse than ever, now that 
 his jealousy was roused by seeing the new 
 boy promoted to the black stick and hat- 
 band, while he, the old one, remained sta- 
 tionary in the muffin-cap and leathers. 
 Charlotte treated him badly because Noah 
 did ; and Mrs. Sowerberry was his decided 
 enemy because Mr. Sowerberry was dis- 
 posed to be his friend ; so, between these 
 three on one side, and a glut of funerals 
 on the other, Oliver was not altogether as 
 comfortable as the hungry pig was, when 
 he was shut up by mistake in the grain 
 department of a brewery. 
 
 And now I come to a very important 
 passage in Oliver's history, for I have to 
 record an act, slight and unimportant per- 
 haps in appearance, but which indirectly 
 produced a most material change in all his 
 iliture prospects and proceedings. 
 
 One day Oliver and Noah had descended 
 into the kitchen, at the usual dinner-hour, 
 to banquet upon a small joint of mutton — 
 a pound and a half of the worst end of the 
 neck; when, Charlotte being called out 
 of the way, there ensued a brief interval 
 of time, which Noah Claypole, being hun- 
 gry and vicious, considered he could not 
 possibly devote to a worthier purpose than 
 aggravating and tantalising young Oliver 
 Twist. 
 
 Intent upon this innocent amusement, 
 Noah put his feet on the table-cloth, and 
 pulled Oliver's hair, and twitched his ears, 
 and expressed his opinion that he was a 
 " sneak," and furthermore announced his 
 mtention of coming to see him hung when- 
 ever that desirable event should take place, 
 and entered upon various other topics of 
 petty annoyance, like a malicious and ill- 
 
 conditioned charity-boy as he was. But, 
 none of these taunts producing the desired 
 effect of making Oliver cry, Noah at- 
 tempted to be more facetious still, and in 
 this attempt did what many small wits, 
 with far greater reputations than Noah 
 notwithstanding, do to this day when they 
 want to be funny ; he got rather personal. 
 
 " Work'us," said Noah, " how 's your 
 mother 1" 
 
 "She's dead," replied Oliver; "don't 
 you say anything about her to me !" 
 
 Oliver's colour rose as he said this ; he 
 breathed quickly, and there was a curious 
 working of the mouth and nostrils, which 
 Mr. Claypole thought must be the imme- 
 diate precursor of a violent fit of crying. 
 Under this impression he returned to the 
 charge. 
 
 "What did she die of, work'us 3" sdd 
 Noah. 
 
 " Of a broken heart, some of our old 
 nurses told me," replied Oliver, more as 
 if he were talking to himself than answer- 
 ing Noah. " I think I know what it must 
 be to die of thatl" 
 
 "Tol de rol lol lol, right fol lairy, 
 work'us," said Noah, as a tear rolled 
 down Oliver's cheek. "What's set you 
 a snivelling now ?" 
 
 " Not you," replied Oliver, hastily brush- 
 ing the tear away. " Don't think it." 
 
 " Oh, not me, eh V sneered Noah. 
 
 " No, not you," replied Oliver, sharply. 
 " There ; that 's enough. Don't say any- 
 thing more to me about her; you'd better 
 not !" 
 
 " Better not !" exclaimed Noah. " Well ! 
 better not ! work'us ; don't be impudent. 
 Your mother, too! she was a nice 'un, 
 she was. Oh, Lor!" And here Noah 
 nodded his head expressively, and curled 
 up as much of his small red nose as mus- 
 cular action could collect together for the 
 occasion. 
 
 " Yer know, work'us," continued Noah, 
 emboldened by Oliver's silence, and speak- 
 ing in a jeering tone of affected pity — of 
 all tones the most annoying — " Yer know, 
 work'us, it carn't be helped now, and of 
 course yer couldn't help it then, and I 'm 
 very sorry for it, and I 'm sure we all are, 
 and pity yer very much. But yer must 
 know, work'us, your mother was a regular 
 right-down bad 'un." 
 
 " What did you say 1" inquired Oliver, 
 looking up very quickly. 
 
 " A regular right-down bad 'un, work- 
 'us," replied Noah, coolly; "and it's a 
 great deal better, work'us, that she died 
 when she did, or else she'd have been 
 hard labouring in Bridewell, or transport- 
 
A 
 
 /.. 
 
 / 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 33 
 
 ed, or hung, which is more likely than 
 either, isn't iti" 
 
 Crimson with fury, Oliver started up, 
 overthrew chair and table, seized Noah 
 by the throat, shook him in the violence 
 of his rage till his teeth chattered in his 
 head, and, collecting his whole force into 
 one heavy blow, felled him to tlie ground. 
 
 A minute ago the boy had looked the 
 quiet, mild, dejected creature that harsh 
 treatment had made him. But his spirit 
 was roused at last ; the cruel insult to his 
 dead mother had set his blood on fire. 
 His breast heaved, his attitude was erect, 
 his eye bright and vivid, and his whole 
 person changed, as he stood glaring over 
 the cowardly tonnentor that lay crouching 
 at his feet, and defied him with an energy 
 he had never known before. 
 
 " He '11 murder me !" blubbered Noah. 
 " Charlotte ! missis ! here 's the new boy 
 a-murdering me! Help! help! Oliver's 
 gone mad ! Char — ^lotte !" 
 
 Noah's shouts were responded to, by a 
 loud scream from Charlotte, and a louder 
 from Mrs. Sowerberry; the former of 
 whom rushed into the kitchen by a side- 
 door, while the latter paused on the stair- 
 case till she was quite certain that it was 
 consistent with the preservation of human 
 life to come further down. 
 
 " Oh, you little wretch !" screamed 
 Charlotte, seizing Oliver with her utmost 
 force, which was about equal to that of a 
 moderately strong man in particularly good 
 training, — "Oh, you little un-grate-ful, 
 mur-de-rous, hor-rid villain !" and between 
 every syllable Charlotte gave Oliver a 
 blow with all her might, and accompanied 
 it with a scream for the benefit of society. 
 
 Charlotte's fist was by no means a light 
 one ; but, lest it should not be effectual in 
 calming Oliver's wrath, Mrs. Sowerberry 
 plunged into the kitchen, and assisted to 
 hold him with one hand, while she scratch- 
 ed his face with the other; and in this 
 favourable position of afiiiirs Noah rose 
 from the ground, and pummelled' him 
 from behind. 
 
 This was rather too violent exercise to 
 last long ; so, when they were all three 
 wearied out, and could tear and beat no 
 longer, they dragged Oliver, struggling 
 and shouting, but nothing daunted, into 
 the dust-cellar, and there locked him up ; 
 and this being done, Mrs. Sowerberry 
 sunk into a chair, and burst into tears. 
 
 " Bless her, she 's going off!" said Char- 
 lotte. "A glass of water, Noah, dear. 
 Make haste." 
 
 " Oh, Charlotte," said Mrs. Sowerberry, 
 epeaking as well as she could through a 
 E 
 
 deficiency of breath and a sufficiency of 
 cold water, which Noah had poured over 
 her head and shoulders, — " Oh, Charlotte, 
 what a mercy we have not been all mur- 
 dered in our beds !" 
 
 " Ah, mercy, indeed, ma'am," was the 
 reply. " I only hope this '11 teach master 
 not to have any more of these dreadful 
 creatures that are born to be murderers 
 and robbers from their very cradle. Poor 
 Noah ! he was all but killed, ma'am, when 
 I came in." 
 
 "Ah, poor fellow!" said Mrs. Sower- 
 berry, looking piteously on the charity- 
 boy. 
 
 Noah, whose top waistcoat-button might 
 have been somewhere on a level with the 
 crown of Oliver's head, rubbed his eyea 
 with the inside of his wrists while this 
 commiseration was bestowed upon him, 
 and performed some very audible tears 
 and sniffs. 
 
 " What 's to be done !" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Sowerberry. " Your master 's not at home, 
 — there 's not a man in the house, — and 
 he '11 kick that door down in ten minutes." 
 Oliver's vigorous plunges against the bit 
 of timber in question rendered this occur- 
 rence highly probable. 
 
 "Dear, dear! I don't know, ma'am," 
 said Charlotte, "imless we send for the 
 police-officers." 
 
 "Or the millingtary," suggested Mr. 
 Claypole. 
 
 "No, no," said Mrs. Sowerberry, be- 
 thinking herself of Oliver's old friend; 
 " run to Mr. Bumble, Noah, and tell him 
 to come here directly, and not to lose a 
 minute; never mind your cap, — make 
 haste. You can hold a knife to that black 
 eye as you run along, and it'll keep the 
 swelling down." 
 
 Noah stopped to make no reply, but 
 started off" at his fullest speed ; and very 
 much it astonished the people who were 
 out walking, to see a charity-boy tearing 
 through the streets pell-mell, with no cap 
 on his head, and a clasp-knife at his eye. 
 
 CHAPTER THE SEVENTH. \ 
 
 Oliver continues refractory. 
 
 No AH Claypole ran along the streets 
 at his swiftest pace, and paused not once 
 for breath until he reached the workhouse- 
 gate. Having rested here for a minute 
 or so, to collect a good burst of sobs and 
 an imposing show of tears and terror, he 
 knocked loudly at the wicket, and pre- 
 
34 
 
 OLIVER TWIST, 
 
 Bented such a rueful face to the aged pau- 
 per who opened it, that even he, who saw 
 nothing but rueful faces about him at the 
 best of times, started back in astonishment. 
 
 "Why, what's the matter with the 
 boy]" said the old pauper. 
 
 » Mr. Bumble ! Mr. Bumble !" cried 
 Noah, with well-affected dismay, and in 
 tones so loud and agitated that they not 
 only caught the ear of Mr. Bumble him- 
 self, who happened to be hard by, but 
 alarmed him so much that he rushed into 
 the yard without his cocked-hat, — which 
 is a very curious and remarkable circum- 
 stance, as showing that even a beadle, 
 acted upon by a sudden and powerful im- 
 pulse, may be afflicted with a momentary 
 visitation of loss of self-possession, and 
 forgetfulness of personal dignity 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Bumble, sir !" said Noah ; 
 " Oliver, sir, — Oliver has " 
 
 "What] what]" interposed Mr. Bum- 
 ble, with a gleam of pleasure in his metal- 
 Kc eyes. " Not run away ] he hasn't run 
 away ; has he, Noah ]" 
 
 " No, sir, no ; not run away, sir, but he 's 
 turned wicious," replied Noah. "He 
 tried to murder me, sir ; and then he tried 
 to murder Charlotte, and then missis. Oh, 
 what dreadful pain it is ! such agony, 
 please sir !" and here Noah writhed and 
 twisted his body into an extensive variety 
 of eel-like positions ; thereby giving Mr. 
 Bumble to understand that, from the vio- 
 lent and sanguinary onset of Oliver Twist, 
 he had sustained severe internal injury 
 and damage, from which he was at that 
 speaking suffering the acutest torture. 
 
 When Noah saw that the intelligence 
 he communicated perfectly paralysed Mr. 
 Bumble, he imparted additional effect 
 thereunto, by bewailing his dreadful 
 wounds ten times louder than before : and, 
 when he observed a gentleman in a white 
 waistcoat crossing the yard, he was more 
 tragic in his lamentations than ever, right- 
 ly conceiving it highly expedient to attract 
 the notice, and rouse the indignation of 
 the gentleman aforesaid. 
 
 The gentleman's notice was very soon 
 attracted ; for he had not walked three 
 paces when he turned angrily round, and 
 inquired what that young cur was howl- 
 ing for, and why Mr. Bumble did not fa- 
 vour him with something which would 
 render the series of vocular exclamations 
 BO designated, an involuntary process. 
 
 " It 's a poor boy from the free-school, 
 sir," replied Mr. Bumble, " who has been 
 nearly murdered — all but murdered, sir — 
 by young Twist." 
 
 " By Jove !" exclaimed the gentleman 
 
 in the white waistcoat, stopping short. 
 " I knew it ! I felt a strange presenti- 
 ment from the very first, that that auda- 
 cious young savage would come to be 
 hung !" 
 
 "He has likewise attempted, sir, to 
 murder the female servant," said Mr. 
 Bumble, with a face of ashy paleness. 
 
 " And his missis," interposed Mr. Clay- 
 pole. 
 
 " And his master, too, I think you said, 
 Noah]" added Mr. Bumble. 
 
 " No, he 's out, or he would have mur- 
 dered him," replied Noah. "He said he 
 wanted to " 
 
 " Ah ! said he wanted to— did he, my 
 boy ]" inquired the gentleman in the white 
 waistcoat. 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied Noah ; " and, please 
 sir, missis wants to know whether Mr. 
 Bumble can spare time to step up there 
 directly, and flog him, 'cause master 's out." 
 
 " Certainly, my boy ; certainly," said 
 the gentleman in the white waistcoat, 
 smiling benignly, and patting Noah's head, 
 which was about three inches higher than 
 his own. "You're a good boy — a very 
 good boy. Here 's a penny for you. Bum- 
 ble, just step up to Sowerberry's with 
 your cane, and see what 's best to be done. 
 Don't spare him. Bumble." 
 
 " No, I will not, sir," replied the beadle, 
 adjusting the wax-end which was twisted 
 round the bottom of his cane for purposes 
 of parochial flagellation. 
 
 " Tell Sowerberry not to spare him, 
 either. They '11 never do anything with 
 him, without stripes and bruises," said the 
 gentleman in the white waistcoat. 
 
 " I 'II, take care, sir," replied the beadle. 
 And, the cocked-hat and cane having been 
 by this time adjusted to their owner's 
 satisfaction, Mr. Bumble and Noah Clay- 
 pole betook themselves with all speed to 
 the undertaker's shop. 
 
 Here the position of affairs had not a' 
 all improved, for Sowerberry had not yet 
 returned, and Oliver continued to kick 
 with undiminished vigour at the cellar- 
 door. The accounts of his ferocity, as 
 related by Mrs. Sowerberry and Charlotte, 
 were of so startling a nature that Mr, 
 Bumble judged it prudent to parley before 
 opening the door : with this view, he gave 
 a kick at the outside, by way of prelude ; 
 and then, applying his mouth to the key- 
 hole, said, in a deep and impressive tone, 
 
 " Oliver !" 
 
 " Come ; you let me out !" replied Oli- 
 ver, from the inside. 
 
 " Do you know this here voice, Oliver! ' 
 said Mr. Bumble. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 35 
 
 *' Yes," replied Oliver, 
 
 " Ain't you afraid of it, sir 1 Ain't you 
 a-trembling while I speak, sir V said Mr. 
 Bumble. 
 
 " No !" replied Oliver, boldly. 
 
 An answer so different from the one he 
 had expected to elicit, and was in the 
 habit of receiving, staggered Mr. Bumble 
 not a little. He stepped back from the 
 keyhole, drew himself up to his full height, 
 and looked from one to another of the three 
 bystanders in mute astonishment. 
 
 " Oh, you know, Mr. Bumble, he must 
 be mad," said Mrs. Sowerberry. " No boy 
 in half his senses could venture to speak 
 80 to you." 
 
 " It 's not madness, ma'am," replied Mr. 
 Bumble, after a few moments of deep 
 meditation ; " it 's meat." 
 
 " What !" exclaimed Mrs. Sowerberry. 
 
 " Meat, ma'am, meat," replied Bumble, 
 with stern emphasis. "You've over-fed 
 him, ma'am. You've raised a artificial 
 soul and spirit in him, ma'am, unbecoming 
 a person of his condition, as the board, 
 Mrs. Sowerberry, who are practical phi- 
 losophers, will tell you. What have pau- 
 pers to do with soul or spirit either! It's 
 quite enough that we let 'em have live 
 bodies. If you had kept the boy on gruel, 
 ma'am, this would never have happened." 
 
 " Dear, dear !" ejaculated Mrs. Sower- 
 berry, piously raising her eyes to the 
 kitchen ceiling. " This comes of being 
 liberal !" 
 
 The liberality of Mrs. Sowerberry to 
 Oliver had consisted in a profuse bestowal 
 upon him of all the dirty odds and ends 
 which nobody else would eat ; so that there 
 was a great deal of meekness and self- 
 devotion in her voluntarily remaining un- 
 der Mr. Bumble's heavy accusation, of 
 which, to do her justice, she was wholly 
 innocent in thought, word, or deed. 
 
 " Ah !" said Mr. Bumble, when the lady 
 brought her eyes down to earth again. 
 " The only thing that can be done now, 
 that I know of, is to leave him in the cel- 
 lar for a day or so till he 's a little starved 
 down, and then to take him out, and keep 
 him on gruel all through his apprentice- 
 ship. He comes of a bad family — excita- 
 ble natures, Mrs. Sowerberry. Both the 
 nurse and doctor said that that mother of 
 his made her way here against difficulties 
 and pain that would have killed any well- 
 disposed woman weeks before." 
 
 At this point of Mr. Bumble's dis- 
 course, Oliver just hearing enough to 
 know that some further allusion was being 
 made to his mother, recommenced kicking 
 with a violence which rendered every 
 
 other sound inaudible. Sowerberry re- 
 turned at this juncture, and Oliver's 
 offence having been explained to him, with 
 such exaggerations as the ladies thought 
 best calculated to rouse his ire, he unlock- 
 ed the cellar-door in a twinkling, and 
 dragged his rebellious apprentice out by 
 the collar. 
 
 Oliver's clothes had been torn in the 
 beating he had received ; his face was 
 bruised and scratched, and his hair scat- 
 tered over his forehead. The angry flush 
 had not disappeared, however ; and when 
 he was pulled out of his prison, he 
 scowled boldly on Noah, and looked quite 
 undismayed. 
 
 "Now, you are a nice young fellow, 
 ain't you 1" said Sowerberry, giving Oli- 
 ver a shake, and a sound box on the ear. 
 
 " He called my mother names," replied 
 Oliver, sullenly. 
 
 " Well, and what if he did, you little 
 ungrateful wretch ]" said Mrs. Sower- 
 berry. " She deserved what he said, and 
 worse." 
 
 " She didn't !" said Oliver. 
 
 " She did !" said Mrs. Sowerberry. 
 
 " It 's a lie !" said Oliver. 
 
 Mrs. Sowerberry burst into a flood of 
 tears. 
 
 This flood of tears left Sowerberry no 
 alternative. If he had hesitated for one 
 instant to punish Oliver most severely, it 
 must be quite clear to every experienced 
 reader that he would have been, according 
 to all precedents in disputes of matrimony 
 established, a brute, an unnatural husband, 
 an insulting creature, a base imitation of 
 a man, and various other agreeable char- 
 acters too numerous for recital within the 
 limits of this chapter. To do him justice, 
 he was, as far as his power went, — it 
 was not very extensive, — kindly disposed 
 towards the boy ; perhaps because it was 
 his interest to be so, perhaps^ because his 
 wife disliked him. The flood of tears, 
 however, left him no resource ; so he at 
 once gave him a drubbing, which satisfied 
 even Mrs. Sowerberry herself, and ren- 
 dered Mr. Bumble's subsequent applica- 
 tion of the parochial cane rather unneces- 
 sary. For the rest of the day he was shut 
 up in the back kitchen, in company with 
 a pump and a slice of bread ; and, at night, 
 Mrs. Sowerberry, after making various 
 remarks outside the door, by no means 
 complimentary to the memory of his mo- 
 ther, looked into the room, and, amidst the 
 jeers and pointings of Noah and Charlotte, 
 ordered him up stairs to his dismal bed. 
 
 It was not until he was left alone in the 
 silence and stillness of the gloomy work 
 
 ti^i!'*'^,. 
 
36 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 shop of the undertaker, that Oliver gave 
 way to the feelings which the day's 
 treatment may be supposed likely to have 
 awakened in a mere child. He had list- 
 ened to their taunts with a look of dogged 
 contempt; he had borne the lash without 
 a cry, for he felt that pride swelling in his 
 heart which would have kept down a 
 shriek to the last, if they had roasted him 
 alive. But, now that there were none to 
 see or hear him, he fell upon his knees on 
 the floor, and, hiding his face in his hands, 
 wept such tears as God send for the credit 
 of our nature, few so young may ever have 
 cause to pour out before him. 
 
 For a long time Oliver remained mo- 
 tionless in this attitude. The candle was 
 burning low in the socket when he rose 
 to his feet, and having gazed cautiously 
 round him, and listened intently, gently 
 undid the fastenings of the door and looked 
 abroad. 
 
 It was a cold dark night. The stars 
 seemed to the boy's eyes further from the 
 earth than he had ever seen them before ; 
 there was no wind, and the sombre sha- 
 dows thrown by the trees on the earth 
 looked sepulchral and death-like, from 
 being so stni. He softly reclosed the 
 door, and, having availed himself of the 
 expiring light of the candle to tie up ui a 
 handkerchief the few articles of wearing 
 apparel he had, sat himself down upon a 
 bench to wait for morning. 
 
 With the first ray of light that struggled 
 through the crevices in the shutters Oliver 
 rose, and again unbarred the door. One 
 timid look around, — one moment's pause 
 of hesitation, — he had closed it behind 
 him, and was in the open street. 
 
 He looked to the right and to the left, 
 uncertain whither to fly. He remembered 
 to have seen the wagons as they went out, 
 toiling up the hill ; he took the same route, 
 and arriving at a footpath across the fields, 
 which he thought after some distance led 
 out again into the road, struck into it, and 
 walked quickly on. 
 
 Along this same footpath, Oliver well 
 remembered he had trotted beside Mr. 
 Bumble, when he first carried him to the 
 workhouse from the farm. His way lay 
 directly in front of the cottage. His heart 
 beat quickly when he bethought himself of 
 this, and he half resolved to turn back. 
 He had come a long way though, and 
 should lose a great deal of time by doing 
 so. Besides, it was so early that there 
 was very little fear of his being seen ; so 
 he walked on. 
 
 He reached the house. There was no 
 appearance of its inmates stirring at that 
 
 early hour. Oliver stopped, and peeped 
 into the garden, A child was weeding 
 one of the little beds ; and, as he stopped, 
 he raised his pale face, and disclosed the 
 features of one of his former companions. 
 Oliver felt glad to see him before he went, 
 for, though younger than himself, he had 
 been his little friend and playmate; they 
 had been beaten, and starved, and shut up 
 together, many and many a time. 
 
 " Hush, Dick !" said Oliver, as the boy 
 ran to the gate, and thrust his thin arm 
 between the rails to greet him. " Is any 
 one up 1" 
 
 "Nobody but me," replied the child. 
 
 " You mustn't say you saw me, Dick," 
 said Oliver; "I am running away. They 
 beat and ill-use me, Dick ; and I am going 
 to seek my fortune some long way offj I 
 don't know where. How pale you are !" 
 
 "I heard the doctor tell them I was 
 dying," replied the child with a faint smile. 
 "I am very glad to see you, dear; but 
 don't stop, don't stop." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I will, to say good b'ye to 
 you," replied Oliver. "I shall see you 
 again, Dick; I know I shall. You will 
 be well and happy." 
 
 " I hope so," replied the child, " after I 
 am dead, but not before. I know the doc- 
 tor must be right, Oliver ; because I dream 
 so much of heaven, and angels, and kind 
 faces, that I never see when I am awake. 
 Kiss me," said the child, climbing up the 
 low gate, and flinging his little arms round 
 Oliver's neck, " Good b'ye, dear ! God 
 bless you !" 
 
 The blessing was from a young child's 
 lips, but it was the first that Oliver had 
 ever heard invoked upon his head ; and 
 through all the struggles and sufferings of 
 his after-life, through all the troubles and 
 changes of many weary years, he never 
 once forgot it. 
 
 CHAPTER THE EIGHTH. 
 
 Oliver walks to London, and encounters on the road 
 a strange sort of young gentleman, 
 
 Oliver reached the stile at which tlie 
 by-path terminated, and once more gained 
 the high-road. It was eight o'clock now ; 
 and, though he was nearly five miles away 
 from the town, he ran, and hid behind the 
 hedges by turns, till noon, fearing that he 
 might be pursued and overtaken. Then 
 he sat down to rest at the side of a mile- 
 stone, and began to think for the first time 
 where he had better go and try to live. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 m 
 
 The stone by which he was seated, bore 
 m large characters an intimation that it 
 was just seventy miles from that spot to 
 London. The name awakened a new train 
 of ideas in the boy's mind. London ! — 
 that great large place ! — nobody — not even 
 Mr. Bumble — could ever find him there. 
 He had often heard the old men in the 
 workhouse, too, say that no lad of spirit 
 need want in London, and that there were 
 ways of living in that vast city which 
 those who had been bred up in country 
 parts had no idea of. It was tlie very place 
 for a homeless boy, who must die in the 
 streets unless some one helped him. As 
 these things passed through his thoughts, 
 he jumped upon his feet, and again walk- 
 ed forward. 
 
 He had diminished the distance between 
 himself and London by full four miles 
 more, before he recollected how much he 
 must undergo ere he could liope to reach 
 his place of destination. As this consi- 
 deration forced itself upon him, he slack- 
 ened his pace a little, and meditated upon 
 his means of getting there. He had a 
 crust of bread, a coarse shirt, and two 
 pairs of stockings, in his bundle ; and a 
 penny — a gift of Sowerberry's after some 
 funeral in which he had acquitted himself 
 more than ordinarily well — in his pocket. 
 "A clean shirt," thought Oliver, "is a 
 very comfortable thing, — very ; and so are 
 two pairs of darned stockings, and so is a 
 penny ; but they are small helps to a sixty- 
 five miles' walk in winter time." But 
 Oliver's thoughts, like those of most other 
 people, altliough tlicy were extremely 
 ready and active to point out his difficul- 
 ties, were wholly at a loss to suggest any 
 feasible mode of surmounting them ; so, 
 after a good deal of thinking to no parti- 
 cular purpose, he changed his little bundle 
 over to the otlier shoulder, and trudged on. 
 
 Oliver walked twenty miles that day ; 
 and all that time tasted nothing but the 
 crust of dry bread, and a few draughts of 
 water which he begged at the cottage- 
 doors by the road-side. When the night 
 came, he turned into a meadow, and, 
 creeping close under a hay-rick, deter- 
 mined to lie there till morning. He felt 
 frightened at first, for the wind moaned 
 dismally over the empty fields, and he was 
 cold and hungry, and more alone than he 
 had ever felt before. Being very tired 
 with his walk, however, he soon fell asleep 
 and forgot his troubles. 
 
 He felt cold and stiff when he got up 
 
 next morning, and so hungry that he was 
 
 obliged to exchange tlie penny for a small 
 
 loaf in the very first village through which 
 
 4 
 
 he passed. He had walked no more than 
 twelve miles, when night closed in again ; 
 for his feet were sore, and his legs so weak 
 that they trembled beneath him. Another 
 night passed in the bleak damp air only 
 made him worse ; and, when he set for- 
 ward on his journey next morning, he 
 could hardly crawl along. 
 
 He waited at the bottom of a steep hill 
 till a stage-coach came up, and then beg- 
 ged of the outside passengers ; but there 
 were very few who took any notice of him, 
 and even those, told him to wait till they 
 got to the top of the hill, and then let 
 them see how far he could run for a half- 
 penny. Poor Oliver tried to keep up with 
 the coach a little way, but was unable to 
 do it, by reason of his fatigue and sore 
 feet. When the outsides saw this, they 
 put their halfpence back into their pockets 
 again, declaring that he was an idle young 
 dog, and didn't deserve anything ; and the 
 coach rattled away, and left only a cloud 
 of dust behind. 
 
 In some villages, large painted boards 
 were fixed up, warning all persons who 
 begged within the district that they would 
 be sent to jail, which frightened Oliver 
 very much, and made him very glad to get 
 out of them with all possible expedition. In 
 others he would stand about the inn-yards, 
 and look mournfully at every one who 
 passed ; a proceeding which generally ter- 
 minated in the landlady's ordering one of 
 the post-boys who were lounging about, to 
 drive that strange boy out of the place, 
 for she was sure he had come to steal 
 something. If he begged at a fanner's 
 house, ten to one but they threatened to 
 set the dog on him ; and when he showed 
 his nose in a shop, they talked about the 
 beadle, which brought Oliver's heart up 
 into his mouth, — very often the only thing 
 he had there for many hours together. 
 
 In fact, if it had not been for a good- 
 hearted turnpike-man, and a benevolent 
 old lady, Oliver's troubles would have 
 been shortened by the very same process 
 which put an end to his mother's ; in other 
 words, he would most assuredly have fallen 
 dead upon the king's highway. But the 
 turnpike-man gave him a meal of bread 
 and cheese ; and the old lady, who had a 
 shipwrecked grandson wandering bare- 
 footed in some distant part of the earth, 
 took pity upon the poor orphan, and gave 
 him what little she could afford — and 
 more — with such kind and gentle words, 
 and such tears of sympathy and compas- 
 sion, that they sank deeper into Oliver*? 
 soul than all the sufferings he had ever 
 undergone. 
 
38 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 Early on the seventh morning after he 
 had left his native place, Oliver limped 
 slowly into the little town of Barnet. The 
 window-shutters were closed, the street 
 was empty, not a soul had awakened to 
 the business of the day. The sun was 
 rising in all his splendid beauty, but the 
 light only seemed to show the boy his 
 own lonesomeness and desolation as he 
 sat with bleeding feet and covered with 
 dust upon a cold door-step. 
 
 By degrees the shutters were opened, 
 the window-blinds were' drawn up, and 
 people began passing to and fro. Some 
 few stopped to gaze at Oliver for a mo- 
 ment or two, or turned round to stare at 
 him as they hurried by ; but none relieved 
 him, or troubled themselves how he came 
 there. He had no heart to beg, and there 
 he sat. 
 
 He had been crouching on the step for 
 some time, gazing listlessly at the coaches 
 as they passed through, and thinking how 
 strange it seemed that they could do with 
 ease in a few hours what it had taken 
 him a whole week of courage and deter- 
 mination beyond his years to accomplish, 
 when he was roused by observing that a 
 boy who had passed him carelessly some 
 minutes before, had returned, and was 
 now surveying him most earnestly from 
 the opposite side of the way. He took 
 little heed of this at first ; but the boy re- 
 mained in the same attitude of close ob- 
 servation so long, that Oliver raised his 
 head, and returned his steady look. Upon 
 this, the boy crossed over, and walking 
 close up to Oliver, said, 
 
 " Hullo ! my covey, what 's the row ?" 
 
 The boy who addressed this inquiry to 
 the young wayfarer was about his own 
 age, but one of tlie queerest-looking boys 
 that Oliver had ever seen. He was a 
 snub-nosed, flat-browed, common-faced boy 
 enough, and as dirty a juvenile as one 
 would wish to see ; but he had got about 
 liim all the airs and manners of a man. 
 lie was short of his age, with rather bow- 
 legs, and little sharp ugly eyes. His hat 
 was stuck on the top of his head so slightly 
 that it threatened to fa^x :>ff every moment, 
 and would have done so very often if the 
 wearer had not had a knack of every now 
 and then giving his head a sudden twitch, 
 which brought it back to its old place 
 again. He wore a man's coat, w'hich 
 reached nearly to his heels. He had 
 turned the cuffs back halfway up his arm 
 to get his hands out of the sleeves, appa- 
 rently with the ultimate view of thrusting 
 iJiem into the pockets of his corduroy 
 trouser', for there he keot them. He was 
 
 altogether as roystering and swaggering 
 a young gentleman as ever stood three 
 feet six, or something less, in his bluchers. 
 
 " Hullo, my covey, what 's the row 1" 
 said this strange young gentleman to 
 Oliver. 
 
 " I am very hungry and tired," replied 
 Oliver, the tears standing in his eyes aa 
 he spoke. " I have walked a long way, 
 — I have been walking these seven days." 
 
 " Walking for sivin days !" said the 
 young gentleman. " Oh, I see. Beak's 
 orders, eh] But," he added, noticing Oli- 
 ver's look of surprise, " I suppose you 
 don't know wot a beak is, my flash com- 
 pan-i-on." 
 
 Oliver mildly replied, that he had al- 
 ways heard a bird's mouth described by 
 the term in question. 
 
 " My eyes, how green !" exclaimed the 
 young gentleman. " Why, a beak 's a 
 madg'st'rate ; and when you walk by a 
 beak's order, it 's not straight forerd, but 
 always going up, and niver coming down 
 agen. Was you never on the mill 1" 
 
 " What mill !" inquired Oliver. 
 
 " What mill ! — why, the mill, — the mill 
 as takes up so little room that it '11 work 
 inside a stone jug, and always goes better 
 when the wind's low with people than 
 when it 's high, acos then they can't get 
 workmen. But come," said the young 
 gentleman ; " you want grub, and you 
 shall have it. I 'm at low-water-mark,— 
 only one bob and a magpie ; but as far as 
 it goes, I '11 fork out and stump. Up with 
 you on your pins. There: now then, 
 morrice." 
 
 Assisting Oliver to rise, the young gen- 
 tleman took him to an adjacent chandler's 
 shop, where he purchased a sufficiency ol 
 ready-dressed ham and a half-quartern loaf, 
 or, as he himself expressed it, " fourpenny 
 bran ;" the ham being kept clean and pre- 
 served from dust by the ingenious expe- 
 dient of making a hole in the loaf by pull- 
 ing out a portion of the crumb, and stuflf 
 ing it therein. Taking the bread undei 
 his arm, the young gentleman turned into 
 a small public-house, and led the way to 
 a tap-room in the rear of the premises. 
 Here, a pot of beer was brought in by the 
 direction of the mysterious youth; and 
 Oliver, falling to, at his new friend's bid- 
 ding, made a long and hearty meal, during 
 the progress of which the strange boy 
 eyed him from time to time with great 
 attention. 
 
 " Going to London "?" said the strange 
 boy, when Oliver had at length con- 
 cluded. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 39 
 
 " Got any lodgings "!" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Money 1" 
 
 " No." 
 
 The strange boy whistled, and put his 
 arms into his pockets as far as the big- 
 coat sleeves would let them go. 
 
 "Do you live in London!" inquired 
 Oliver. 
 
 " Yes I do, when I 'm at home," replied 
 the boy. " I suppose you want some place 
 to sleep to-night, don't you 7" 
 
 " I do indeed," answered Oliver. " I 
 have not slept under a roof since I left 
 the country." 
 
 " Don't fret your eyelids on that score," 
 said the young gentleman. " I 've got to 
 be in London to-night, and I know a 'spec- 
 table old genelman as lives there, wot '11 
 give you lodgings for nothink, and never 
 ask for tJie change ; that is, if any genel- 
 man he knows interduces you. And don't 
 he know me 1 — Oh, no, — not in the least, 
 — by no means,^-certainly not." 
 
 The young gentleman smiled, as if to 
 intimate that the latter fragments of dis- 
 course were playfully ironical, and finish- 
 ed the beer as he did so. 
 
 This unexpected oiter of a shelter was 
 too tempting to be resisted, especially as 
 it was immediately followed up, by the 
 assurance that the old gentleman already 
 referred to, would doubtless provide Oli- 
 ver with a comfortable place without loss 
 of time. This led to a more friendly and 
 confidential dialogue, from which Oliver 
 discovered that his firiend's name was Jack 
 Dawkins, and that he was a peculiar pet 
 and protege of the elderly gentleman be- 
 fore mentioned. 
 
 Mr. Dawkins's appearance did not say a 
 vast deal in favour of the comforts which 
 his patron's interest obtained for those 
 whom he took under his protection ; but 
 as he had a somewhat flighty and disso- 
 lute mode of conversing, and furthermore 
 avowed that among his intimate friends 
 he was better known by the sobriquet of 
 " The artful Dodger," Oliver concluded 
 that, being of a dissipated and careless 
 turn, the moral precepts of his benefactor 
 had hitherto been thrown away upon him. 
 Under this impression, he secretly resolv- 
 ed to cultivate the good opinion of the old 
 gentleman as quickly as possible ; and, if 
 he found the Dodger incorrigible, as he 
 more than half suspected he should, to 
 decline the honour or his farther acquaint- 
 ance. 
 
 As John Dawkins objected to their en- 
 tering London before nightfall, it was 
 nearly eleven o'clock when they reached 
 
 the turnpike at Islington. They crossed 
 from the Angel into St. John's road, struck 
 down the small street which terminates 
 at Sadler's Wells theatre, through Ex- 
 mouth-street and Coppice-row, down the 
 little court by the side of the workhouse, 
 across the classic ground which once bore 
 the name of ffockjey-in-the-hole, thence 
 into Little Saffron-hill, and so into Saffron- 
 hill the Great, along whicli, the Dodger 
 scudded at a rapid pace, directing Oliver 
 to follow close at his heels. 
 
 Although Oliver had enough to occupy 
 his attention in keeping sight of his lead- 
 er, he could not help bestowing a few 
 hasty glances on either side of the way 
 as lie passed along. A dirtier or more 
 wretched place he had never seen. The 
 street was very narrow and muddy, and 
 the air was impregnated with filthy 
 odours. There were a good many small 
 shops ; but the only stock in trade appear- 
 ed to be heaps of children, who, even at 
 that time of night, were crawling in and 
 out at the doors, or screaming from the 
 inside. The sole places that seemed to 
 prosper amid the general blight of the 
 place were the public-houses, and in them, 
 the lowest orders of Irish (who are gene- 
 rally the lowest orders of anything) were 
 wranglmg with might and main. Covered 
 ways and yards, which here and there 
 diverged from the main street, disclosed 
 little knots of houses where drunken men 
 and women were positively wallowing in 
 the filth; and from several of the door- 
 ways, great ill-looking fellows were cau- 
 tiously emerging, bound, to all appearance, 
 upon no well-disposed or harmless errand. 
 
 Oliver was just considering whether he 
 hadn't better run away, when they reach- 
 ed the bottom of the hill : his conductor, 
 catching him by the arm, pushed open the 
 door of a house near Field-lane, and, draw- 
 ing him into the passage, closed it behind 
 them. 
 
 " Now, then," cried a voice from below, 
 in reply to a whistle from the Dodger. 
 
 " Plummy and slam .'" was the reply. 
 
 This seemed to be some watchword or 
 signal that it was all right ; for the light 
 of a feeble candle gleamed upon the wall 
 at the farther end of the passage, and a 
 man's face peeped out from where a balus- 
 trade of the old kitclien staircase had oeen 
 broken away. 
 
 " There 's two on you," said the man, 
 thrusting the candle farther out, and sha- 
 ding his eyes with his hand. " Who 's 
 the t'other one V 
 
 " A new pal," replied Jack, pulling OH 
 ver forward. 
 
40 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " Where did he come from 1" 
 
 " Greenland. Is Fagin up stairs I" 
 
 " Yes, he 's a sorlin' the wipes. Up 
 with you !" The candle was drawn hack, 
 and the face disappeared. 
 
 Oliver, groping his way with one hand, 
 and with the other firmly grasped by his 
 companion, ascended with much difficulty 
 the dark and broken stairs which his con- 
 ductor mounted with an ease and expedi- 
 tion that showed he was well acquainted 
 with them. He threw open the door of a 
 back-room, and drew Oliver in after 
 him. 
 
 The walls and ceiling of the room were 
 perfectly black with age and dirt. There 
 was a deal-table before the fire, upon which 
 was a candle stuck in a ginger-beer bot- 
 tle ; two or three pewter pots, a loaf and 
 butter, and a plate. In a frying-pan which 
 was on the fire, and which was secured 
 to the mantel-piece by a string, some sau- 
 sages were cooking; and standing over 
 them, with a toasting-fork in his hand, 
 was a very old shrivelled Jew, whose vil- 
 lanous-looking and repulsive face was ob- 
 scured by a quantity of matted red hair. 
 He was dressed in a greasy flannel gown, 
 with his throat bare, and seemed to be 
 dividing his attention between the frying- 
 pan and a clothes-horse, over which a 
 great number of silk handkerchiefs were 
 hanging. Several rough beds made of 
 old sacks were huddled side by side on 
 the floor : and seated round the table were 
 four or five boys, none older than the 
 Dodger, smoking long clay pipes and 
 drinking spirits with all the air oi^ middle- 
 aged men. These all crowded about their 
 associate as he whispered a few words to 
 the Jew, and then turned round and grin- 
 ned at Oliver, as did the Jew himself, 
 toasting-fork in hand. 
 
 " This is him, Fagin," said Jack Daw- 
 kins ; " my friend, Oliver Twist." 
 
 The Jew grinned ; and, making a low 
 obeisance to Oliver, took him by the hand, 
 and hoped he should have the honour of 
 his intimate acquaintance. Upon this, the 
 young gentlemen with the pipes came 
 round him, and shook both his hands very 
 hard, — especially the one in which he held 
 his little bundle. One young gentleman 
 was very anxious to hang up his cap for 
 him; and another was so obliging as to 
 put his hands in his pockets, in order that, 
 as he was very tired, he might not have 
 the trouble of emptying them when he 
 went to bed. These civilities would pro- 
 bably have been extended much further, 
 but for a liberal exercise of the Jew's 
 toastmg-fbrk on the heads and shoulders 
 
 of the afiectionate youths who offered 
 them. 
 
 " We are very glad to see you, Oliver, 
 — very," said the Jew. "Dodger, take 
 off the sausages, and draw a tub near the 
 fire for Oliver. Ah ! you 're a staring at 
 the pocket-handkerchiefs ! eh, my dear 1 
 There are a good many of 'em, ain't there 1 
 We 've just looked 'em out ready for the 
 wash ; that 's all, Oliver ; that 's all. Ha I 
 ha! ha!" 
 
 The latter part of this speech was hail- 
 ed by a boisterous shout firom all the hope- 
 ful pupils of the merry old gentleman, in 
 the midst of which they went to supper. 
 
 Oliver ate his share ; and the Jew then 
 mixed him a glass of hot gin and water, 
 telling him he must drink it off" directly, 
 because another gentleman wanted the 
 tumbler. Oliver did as he was desired. 
 Almost instantly afterwards, he felt him- 
 self gently lifted on to one of tho sacks, 
 and then he sunk into a deep sleep. 
 
 CHAPTER THE NINTH. 
 
 Containing further particulars concerning the plea-' 
 sant old gentleman and his hopeful pupils. 
 
 It was late next morning when Oliver 
 awoke from a sound, long sleep. There 
 was nobody in the room beside, but the 
 old Jew, who was boiling some coffee in 
 a saucepan for breakfast, and whistling 
 softly to himself as he stirred it round and 
 round with an iron spoon. He would stop 
 every now and then to listen, when there 
 was the least noise below; and, when he 
 had satisfied himself, he would go on 
 whistling and stirring again as before. 
 
 Although Oliver had roused himself 
 from sleep, he was not thoroughly awake. 
 There is a drowsy, heavy state, between 
 sleeping and waking, when you dream 
 more in five minutes with your eyes half 
 open, and yourself half conscious of every, 
 thing that is passing around you, than you 
 would in five nights with your eyes fast 
 closed, and your senses wrapt in perfect 
 unconsciousness. At such times, a mortal 
 knows just enough of what his mind is 
 doing, to form some glimmering concep- 
 tion of its mighty powers, its bounding 
 from earth and spurning time and space, 
 when freed from the irksome restraint 
 of its corporeal associate. 
 
 Oliver was precisely in the condition I 
 have described. He saw the Jew with hia 
 half-closed eyes, heard his low whistling, 
 and recognised the sound of the spoon 
 grating against the saucepan's sides ; and 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 41 
 
 yet the self-same senses were mentally 
 engaged at the same time, in busy action 
 with almost everybody he liad ever known. 
 
 When the coffee was done, the Jew 
 drew the saucepan to the hob, and, stand- 
 ing in an irresolute attitude for a few 
 minutes as if he did not- well know how 
 to employ himself, turned round and look- 
 ed at Oliver, and called him by his name. 
 He did not answer, and was to all appear- 
 ance asleep. 
 
 After satisfying himself upon this head, 
 the Jew stepped gently to the door, which 
 he fastened ; he then drew forth, as it 
 seemed to Oliver, from some trap in the 
 floor, a small box, which he placed care- 
 fully on the table. His eyes glistened as 
 he raised the lid and looked in. Dragging 
 an old chair to the table, he sat down, and 
 took from it a magnificent gold watch, 
 sparkling with diamonds. 
 
 " Aha !" said the Jew, shrugging up his 
 shoulders, and distorting every feature 
 with a hideous grin. " Clever dogs ! cle- 
 ver dogs ! Staunch to the last ! Never 
 told the old parson where they were ; 
 never peached upon old Fagin. And why 
 should they ] It wouldn't have loosened 
 the knot, or kept the drop up a minute 
 longer. No, no, no ! Fine fellows ! fine 
 fellows !" 
 
 With these, and other muttered reflec- 
 tions of the like nature, the Jew once more 
 deposited the watch in its place of safety. 
 At least half a dozen more were severally 
 drawn forth from the same box, and sur- 
 veyed with equal pleasure ; besides rings, 
 brooches, bracelets, and other articles of 
 jewellery, of such magnificent materials 
 and costly workmanship, that Oliver had 
 no idea even of their names. 
 
 Having replaced these trinkets, the Jew 
 took out another, so small that it lay in the 
 palm of his hand. There seemed to be 
 some very minute inscription on it, for the 
 Jew laid it flat upon the table, and, shading 
 it with his hand, pored over it long and 
 earnestly. At length he set it down as 
 if despairing of success, and, leaning back 
 in his chair, muttered, 
 
 " What a fine thing capital punishment 
 is ! Dead men never repent ; dead men 
 never bring awkward stories to light. The 
 prospect of the gallows, too, makes them 
 hardy and bold. Ah ! it 's a fine thing for 
 the trade ! Five of them strung up in a 
 row, and none left to play booty or turn 
 white-livered !" 
 
 As the Jew uttered these words, his 
 
 bright dark eyes, which had been staring 
 
 vacantly before him, fell on Oliver's face ; 
 
 the boy's eyes were fixed on his in mute 
 
 4* F 
 
 curiosity, and, although the recogriition 
 was only for an instant — for the briefest 
 space of time that can possibly be con- 
 ceived, — it was enough to show the old 
 man that he had been observed. He closed 
 the lid of the box with a loud crash, and, 
 laying his hand on a bread-knife which 
 was on the table, started furiously up. He 
 trembled very much, though ; for, even in 
 his terror, Oliver could see that the knife 
 quivered in the air. 
 
 " What 's thati" said the Jew. " What 
 do you watch me for] Why are you 
 awake? What have you seenl Speak 
 out, boy ! Quick — quick ! for your life !" 
 " I wasn't able to sleep any longer, sir," 
 replied Oliver, meekly. " I am very sorry 
 if I have disturbed you, sir." 
 
 " You were not awake an hour ago?" 
 said the Jew, scowling fifircely on the boy. 
 " No — no, indeed sir," replied Oliver. 
 " Are you sure 1" cried the Jew, with a 
 still fiercer look than before, and a threat- 
 ening attitude. 
 
 " Upon my word I was not, sir," replied 
 Oliver, earnestly. "I was not, indeed, 
 sir." 
 
 " Tush, tush, my dear !" said the Jew, 
 suddenly resuming his old manner, and 
 playing with the knife a little before he 
 laid it down, as if to induce the belief 
 that he had caught it up m mere sport 
 " Of course I know that, my dear. I only 
 tried to frighten you. You're a brave 
 boy. Ha! ha! you're a brave boy, Oli- 
 ver !" and the Jew rubbed his hands witk 
 a chuckle, but looked uneasily at the box 
 notwithstanding. 
 
 " Did you see any of these pretty things, 
 my dear ]" said the Jew, laying his hand 
 upon it after a short pause. 
 " Yes, ^r," replied Oliver. 
 " Ah !" said the Jew, turning rather 
 pale. " They — they 're mine, Oliver ; my 
 little property. All I have to live upon 
 in my old age. The folks call me a miser, 
 my dear, — only a miser, that's all." 
 
 Oliver thought the old gentleman must 
 be a decided miser, to live in such a dirty 
 place, with so many watches ; but, think- 
 ing that perhaps his fondness for the 
 Dodger and the other boys cost him a 
 good deal of money, he only cast a defe- 
 rential look at the Jew, and asked if he 
 might get up. 
 
 " Certainly, my dear, — certainly," re- 
 plied the old gentleman. " Stay. There 's 
 a pitcher of water in the corner by the 
 door. Bring it here, and I '11 give you a 
 ba^in to wash in, my dear." 
 
 " Oliver got up, walked across the room, 
 and stooped for one instant to raise th« 
 
43 
 
 OLIVER TWJST. 
 
 pitcher. When he turned his head, the 
 box was gone. 
 
 He had scarcely washed himself, and 
 made everything tidy by emptying the 
 basin out of the window, agreeably to the 
 Jew's directions, than the Dodger returned, 
 accompanied by a very sprightly young 
 friend, whom Oliver had seen smoking on 
 the previous night, and who was now for- 
 mally introduced to him as Charley Bates. 
 The four then sat down to breakfast off 
 the coffee and some hot rolls and ham 
 which the Dodger had brought home in 
 the crown of his hat. 
 
 " Well," said the Jew, glancing slyly 
 at Oliver, and addressing himself to the 
 Dodger, " I hope you 've been at work this 
 morning, my dears." 
 
 " Hard," replied the Dodger. 
 
 " As nails," added Charley Bates. 
 
 " Good boys, good boys !" said the Jew. 
 " What have you got. Dodger ]" 
 
 " A couple of pocket-books," replied that 
 young gentleman. 
 
 " Lmed V inquired the Jew with trem- 
 bling eagerness. 
 
 "Pretty well," replied the Dodger, pro- 
 ducing two pocket-books, one green and 
 the other red. 
 
 "Not so heavy as they might be," 
 said the Jew, after looking at the insides 
 carefully ; " but very neat, and nicely 
 made. Ingenious workman, ain't he, Oli- 
 ver?" 
 
 "Very, indeed, sir," said Oliver. At 
 which Mr. Charles Bates laughed uproar- 
 iously, very much to the amazement of 
 Oliver, who saw nothing to laugh at in 
 anything that had passed. 
 
 " And what have you got, my dear ]" 
 said Fagin to Charley Bates. 
 
 " Wipes," replied Master Bates ; at the 
 same time producing four pocket-handker- 
 chiefs. 
 
 " Well," said the Jew, inspecting them 
 closely ; " they 're very good ones, — very. 
 You haven't marked them well, though, 
 Charley ; so the marks shall be picked out 
 with a needle, and we 'II teach Oliver 
 liow to do it. Shall us, Oliver, eh 1 — Ha ! 
 ha! ha!" 
 
 " If you please, sir," said Oliver. 
 
 " You 'd like to be able to make pocket- 
 handkerchiefs as easy as Charley Bates, 
 wouldn't you, my dear V said the Jew. 
 
 " Very much indeed, if you '11 teach 
 ine, sir," replied Oliver. 
 
 Master Bates saw something so ex- 
 quisitely ludicrous in this reply, that he 
 burst into another laugh ; which laugh 
 meeting the coiFee he was drinking, and 
 carrying it down some wrong channel, 
 
 very nearly terminated in his premature 
 suffocation. 
 
 " He is so jolly green," said Charley 
 when he recovered, as an apology to the 
 company for his unpolite behaviour. 
 
 The Dodger said nothing, but he 
 smoothed Oliver's hair down over his 
 eyes, and said he 'd know better by-and- 
 by; upon which the old gentleman, ob- 
 serving Oliver's colour mounting, changed 
 the subject by asking whether there had 
 been much of a crowd at the execution 
 that morning. This made him wonder 
 more and more, for it was plain from the 
 replies of the two boys that they had both 
 been there; and Oliver naturally won- 
 dered how they could possibly have found 
 time to be so very industrious. 
 
 When the breakfast was cleared away, 
 the merry old gentleman and the two boys 
 played at a very curious and uncommon 
 game, which was performed in this way : 
 — The merry old gentleman, placing a 
 snuff-box in one pocket of his trousers, a 
 note-case in the other, and a watch in his 
 waistcoat^pocket, with a guard-chain round 
 his neck, and sticking a mock diamond 
 pin in his shirt, buttoned his coat tight 
 round him, and, putting his spectacle-case 
 and handkerchief in the pockets, trotted 
 up and down the room with a stick, in 
 imitation of the manner in which old gen- 
 tlemen walk about the streets every hour 
 in the day. Sometimes he stopped at the 
 fire-place, and sometimes at the door, 
 making belief that he was staring with 
 all his might into shop- windows. At such 
 times he would look constantly round him 
 for fear of thieves, and keep slapping all 
 his pockets in turn, to see that he hadn't 
 lost anything, in such a very funny and 
 natural manner, that Oliver laughed till 
 the tears ran down his face. All this time 
 the two boys followed him closely about, 
 getting out of his sight so nimbly every 
 time he turned round, that it was impossi- 
 ble to follow their motions. At last the 
 Dodger trod upon his toes, or ran upon bia 
 boot accidentally, while Charley Batea 
 stumbled up against him behind ; and in 
 that one moment they took from him with 
 the most extraordinary rapidity, snuff-box, 
 note-case, watch-guard, chain, shirt-pin, 
 pocket-handkerchief, — even the spectacle- 
 case. If the old gentleman felt a hand 
 in any one of his pockets, he cried out 
 where it was, and tlien the game began 
 all over again. 
 
 When this game had been played a 
 great many times, a couple of young la- 
 dies came to see the young gentlemen, 
 one of whom was called Bet and the other 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 43 
 
 Nancy. They wore a good deal of hair, 
 not very neatly turned up behind, and 
 were rather untidy about the shoes and 
 stockings. They were not exactly pretty, 
 perhaps ; but they had a great deal of 
 colour in their faces, and looked quite 
 Btout and hearty. Being remarkably free 
 and agreeable in their manners, Oliver 
 thought them very nice girls indeed, as 
 there is no doubt they were. 
 
 These visiters stopped a long time. 
 Spirits were produced, in consequence of 
 one of the young ladies complaining of a 
 coldness in her inside, and the conversa- 
 tion took a very convivial and improving 
 turn. At length Charley Bates expressed 
 his opinion that it was time to pad the 
 hoof, which it occurred to Oliver must be 
 French for going out ; for directly after- 
 wards the Dodger, and Charley, and the 
 two young ladies went away together, 
 having been kindly furnished with money 
 to spend, by the amiable old Jew. 
 
 " There, my dear," said Fagin, " that 's 
 a pleasant life, isn't it 1 They have gone 
 out for the day." 
 
 " Have they done work, sir 1" inquired 
 Oliver. 
 
 " Yes," said the Jew ; " that is, unless 
 they should unexpectedly come across 
 any when they are out ; and they won't 
 neglect it if they do, my dear, depend 
 upon it." 
 
 " Make 'em your models, my dear, 
 make 'em your models," said the Jew, 
 tapping the fire-shovel on the hearth to 
 add force to his words ; " do every thing 
 they bid you, and take their advice in all 
 matters, especially the Dodger's, my dear. 
 He '11 be a great man himself, and make 
 you one too, if you take pattern -by him. Is 
 my handkerchief hanging out of my pock- 
 et, my dear 1" said the Jew, stopping short. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Oliver. 
 
 " See if you can take it out, without 
 my feeling it, as you saw them do when 
 we were at play this morning." 
 
 Oliver held up the bottom of the pocket 
 with one hand as he had seen the Dodger 
 do, and drew the handkerchief lightly out 
 of it with the other. 
 
 " Is it gone 1" cried the Jew. 
 
 " Here it is, sir," said Oliver, showing 
 il in his hand. 
 
 " You 're a clever boy, my dear," said 
 the playful old gentleman, patting Oliver 
 on the head approvingly ; " I never saw a 
 sharper lad. Here 's a shilling for you. 
 If you go on in this way, you '11 be the 
 greatest man of the time. And now come 
 here, and I '11 show you how to take the 
 marks out of the handkerchiefs." 
 
 Oliver wondered what picking the old 
 gentleman's pocket in play had to do with 
 his chances of being a great man ; but 
 thinking that the Jew, being so much his 
 senior, must know best, followed him qui- 
 etly to the table, and was soon deeply in- 
 volved in his new study. 
 
 CHAPTER THE TENTH. 
 
 Oliver becomes better acquainted with the charao 
 ters of his new associates, and purchases expe 
 rience at a high price. Being a short but very 
 important chapter in this history. 
 
 For eight or ten days Oliver remained 
 in the Jew's room, picking the marks out 
 of the pocket-handkerchiefs, (of which a 
 great number were brought home,) and 
 sometimes taking part in the game already 
 described, which the two boys and the Jew 
 played regularly every day. At length 
 he began to languish for the fresh air, and 
 took many occasions of earnestly entreat- 
 ing the old gentleman to allow him to go 
 out to work with his two companions. 
 
 Oliver was rendered the more anxious 
 to be actively employed by what he had 
 seen of the stern morality of tiie old gen- 
 tleman's character. Whenever the Dodger 
 or Charley Bates came ■ home at night 
 empty-handed, he would expatiate with 
 great vehemence on the misery of idle 
 and lazy habits, and enforce upon them 
 the necessity of an active life by sending 
 them supper] ess to bed: upon one occa- 
 sion he even went so far as to knock them 
 both down a flight of stairs ; but this was 
 carrying out his virtuous precepts to an 
 unusual extent. 
 
 At length one morning Oliver obtained 
 the permission he had so eagerly sought. 
 There had been no handkerchiefs to work 
 upon for two or three days, and the dinners 
 had been rather meagre. Perhaps these 
 were reasons for the old gentleman's giv- 
 ing his assent ; but, whether they were 
 or no, he told Oliver he might go, and 
 placed hira under the joint guardianship 
 of Charley Bates and his friend the 
 Dodger. 
 
 The three boys sallied out, the Dodger 
 with his coat-sleeves tucked up, and his 
 hat cocked as usual ; Master Bates saun- 
 tering along with his hands in his pockets, 
 and Oliver between them, wondering 
 where they were going, and what branch 
 of manufacture he would be instructed in 
 first. 
 
 The pace at which they went was such 
 a very lazy, ill-looking saunter, that Olj- 
 
44 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 ver soon began to think his companions 
 were going to deceive the old gentleman, 
 by not going to work at all. The Dodger 
 had a vicious propensity, too, of pulling 
 the caps from the heads of small boys and 
 tossing them down areas ; while Charley 
 Bates exhibited some very loose notions 
 concerning the rights of property, by pil- 
 fering divers apples and onions from the 
 stalls at the kennel sides, and thrusting 
 them into pockets which were so sur- 
 prisingly capacious, that they seemed to 
 undermine his whole suit of clothes in 
 every direction. These things looked so 
 bad, that Oliver was on the point of de- 
 claring his intention of seeking his way 
 back in the best way he could, when his 
 thoughts were suddenly directed into an- 
 other channel by a very mysterious change 
 of behaviour on the part of the Dodger. 
 
 They were just emerging from a nar- 
 row court not far from the open square in 
 Clerkenwell, which is called, by some 
 strange perversion of terms, "The Green," 
 when the Dodger made a sudden stop, and, 
 laying his finger on his lip, drew his com- 
 panions back again with the greatest cau- 
 tion and circumspection. 
 
 " What 's the matter ?" demanded Oli- 
 ver. 
 
 " Hush !" replied the Dodger. " Do 
 you see that old cove at the book-stall ]" 
 
 "The old gentleman over the way]" 
 said Oliver. " Yes, I see him." 
 
 " He '11 do," said the Dodger. 
 
 "A prime plant," observed Charley 
 Bates. 
 
 Oliver looked from one to the other 
 with the greatest surprise, but was not 
 permitted to make any inquiries, for the 
 two boys walked stealthily across the road, 
 and slunk close behind the old gentleman 
 towards whom his attention had been di- 
 rected. Oliver walked a few paces after 
 them, and, not knowing whether to ad- 
 vance or retire, stood looking on in silent 
 amazement. 
 
 The old gentleman was a very respect- 
 able-looking personage, with a powdered 
 head and gold spectacles; dressed in a 
 bottle-green coat with a black velvet col- 
 lar, and white trousers: with a smart 
 bamboo cane under his arm. He had 
 taken up a book from the stall, and there 
 he stood, reading away as hard as if he 
 were in liis elbow-chair in his own study. 
 It was very possible that he fancied him- 
 self there, indeed ; for it was plain, from 
 his utter abstraction, that he saw not the 
 book-stall, nor the street, nor the boys, 
 nor, in short, anything but the book itself, 
 which he was reading straight through, 
 
 turning over the leaves when he got to 
 the bottom of a page, beginning at the top 
 line of the next one, and going regularly 
 on with the greatest interest and eager- 
 ness. 
 
 What was Oliver's horror and alarm 
 as he stood a few paces off, looking on with 
 his eyelids as wide open as they would 
 possibly go, to see the Dodger plunge his 
 hand into this old gentleman's pocket, and 
 draw from thence a handkerchief, which 
 he handed to Charley Bates, and with 
 which they both ran away round the cor- 
 ner at full speed ! 
 
 In one instant the whole mystery of the 
 handkerchiefs, and the watches, and the 
 jewels, and the Jew, rushed upon the 
 boy's mind. He stood for a moment with 
 the blood tingling so through all his veins 
 from terror, that he felt as if he were in 
 a burning fire ; then, confused and fright- 
 ened, he took to his heels, and, not know- 
 ing what he did, made off as fast as he 
 could lay his feet to the ground. 
 
 This was all done in a minute's space, 
 and the very instant that Oliver began to 
 run, the old gentleman, putting his hand 
 to his pocket, and missing his handker- 
 chief, turned sharp round. Seeing the 
 boy scudding away at such a rapid pace, 
 he very naturally concluded him to be the 
 depredator, and, shouting "Stop thief!" 
 with all his might, made off after him, 
 book in hand. 
 
 But the old gentleman was not the only 
 person who raised the hue and cry. The 
 Dodger and Master Bates, unwilling to 
 attract public attention by running down 
 the open street, had merely retired into 
 the very first doorway round the corner. 
 They no sooner heard the cry, and saw 
 Oliver running, than, guessing exactly 
 how the matter stood, they issued forth 
 with great promptitude, and, shouting 
 "Stop thief!" too, joined in the pursuit 
 like good citizens. 
 
 Although Oliver had been brought up 
 'by philosophers, he was not theoretically 
 acquainted with their beautiful axiom that 
 self-preservation is the first law of nature. 
 If he had been, perhaps he would have 
 been prepared for this. Not being pre- 
 pared, however, it alarmed him the more ; 
 so away he went like the wind, with the 
 old gentleman and the two boys roaring 
 and shouting behind him. 
 
 " Stop tliief ! stop thief!" There is a 
 magic in the sound. The tradesman 
 leaves his counter, and the carman his 
 wagon; the butcher throws down his 
 tray, the baker his basket, the milkman 
 his pail, the errand-boy his parcels, the 
 
^o Wqf . OTUM^ fj^^^ 
 
 ' i c/7/^a/c'a a/i ^//(^-I^^p^/c/'c' >:<j 7/?^h a' rV y^MZ/^-d^ 
 
 r^/tyi; 
 
 t.4it 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 45 
 
 schoolboy his marbles, the paviour his 
 pick-axe, the child his battledore : away 
 they run, pell-mell, helter-skelter, slap- 
 dash, tearing, yelling, and screaming, 
 knocking down the passengers as they 
 turn the corners, rousing up the dogs, and 
 astonishing the fowls ; and streets, squares, 
 and courts re-echo with the sound. 
 
 "Stop thief! stop thief!" The cry is 
 taken up by a hundred voices, and the 
 crowd accumulate at every turning. Away 
 they fly, splashing tlirough the mud, and 
 rattling along the pavements ; up go the 
 windows, out run the people, onward bear 
 the mob : a whole audience desert Punch 
 in the very thickest of the plot, and, join- 
 ing the rushing throng, swell the shout, 
 and lend fresh vigour to the cry, " Stop 
 thief! stop thief!" 
 
 "Stop thief! stop thief!" There is a 
 passion ybr hunting something deeply im- 
 planted in the human breast. One wretch- 
 ed, breathless child, panting with exhaus- 
 tion, terror in his looks, agony in his eye, 
 large drops of perspiration streaming 
 down his face, strains every nerve to make 
 head upon his pursuers ; and as they fol- 
 low on his track, and gain upon him every 
 instant, they hail his decreasing strength 
 with still louder shouts, and whoop and 
 scream with joy, " Stop thief!" — Ay, stop 
 him for God's sake, were it only in mercy ! 
 
 Stopped at last. A clever blow that. 
 He 's down upon the pavement, and the 
 crowd eagerly gather round him; each 
 new comer jostling and struggling with 
 the others to catch a glimpse. " Stand 
 aside !" — " Give him a little air !" — " Non- 
 sense ! he don't deserve it." — " Where 's 
 the gentleman!" — "Here he is, coming 
 down the street." — " Make room there 
 for the gentleman!" — "Ij this the boy, 
 sir 1"— "Yes." 
 
 Oliver lay covered with mud and dust, 
 and bleeding from the mouth, looking 
 wildly round upon the heap of faces that 
 surrounded him, when the old gentleman 
 was officiously dragged and pushed into 
 the circle by the foremost of the pursuers, 
 and made this reply to their anxious in- 
 quiries. 
 
 " Yes," said the gentleman in a benevo- 
 lent voice, " I am afraid it is." 
 
 " Afraid !" murmured the crowd. — 
 " That 's a good un." 
 
 •• Poor fellow !" said the gentleman, 
 • he has hurt himself" 
 
 " I did that, sir," said a great lubberly 
 fellow stepping forward ; " and preciously 
 I cut my knuckle agin' his mouth. / 
 Btopped him, sir." 
 
 The fellow touched his hat with a grin, 
 
 expecting something for his pains; but 
 the old gentleman, eyeing him with an 
 expression of disgust, looked anxiously 
 round, as if he contemplated running 
 away himself; which it is very possible 
 he might have attempted to do, and thus 
 afforded another chase, had not a police 
 officer (who is always the last person to 
 arrive in such cases) at that moment made 
 his way through the crowd, and seized 
 Oliver by the collar. " Come, get up," 
 said the man roughly. 
 
 " It wasn't me, indeed, sir. Indeed, in- 
 deed, it was two other boys," clasping his 
 hands passionately, and looking round: 
 " they are here somewhere." 
 
 " Oh no, they ain't," said the officer. 
 He meant this to be ironical ; but it was 
 true besides, for the Dodger and Charley 
 Bates had filed off down the first conve- 
 nient court they came to. "Come, get 
 up." 
 
 " Don't hurt him," said the old gentle- 
 man compassionately. 
 
 ' Oh no, I won't hurt him," replied the 
 officer, tearing his jacket half off his back 
 in proof thereof " Come, I know you ; 
 it won't do. Will you stand upon your 
 legs, you young devil 1" 
 
 Oliver, who could hardly stand, made 
 a shift to raise himself upon his feet, and 
 was at once lugged along the streets by 
 the jacket-collar at a rapid pace. The 
 gentleman walked on with them by the 
 officer's side ; and as many of the crowd 
 as could, got a little a-head, and stared 
 back at Oliver from time to time. The 
 boys shouted in triumph, and on they 
 went. 
 
 CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH 
 
 Treats of Mr. Fang, the police magistrate, and fur- 
 nishes a slight specimen of his mode of adminis- 
 tering justice. 
 
 The offence had been committed within 
 the district, and indeed in the immediate 
 neighbourhood of a very notorious metro- 
 politan police-office. The crowd had only 
 the satisfaction of accompanying Oliver 
 through two or three streets, and down a 
 place called Mutton-hill, when he was led 
 beneath a low archway, and up a dirty 
 court into this dispensary of summary jus- 
 tice by the back way. It was a small 
 paved yard into which they turned ; and 
 here they encountered a stout man witli a 
 bunch of whiskers on his face, and a bunch 
 of keys in his hand. 
 
46 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 "What's the matter now"!" said the 
 man carelessly. 
 
 "A young fogle-hunter," replied the 
 man who had Oliver in charge. 
 
 " Are you the party that 's been robbed, 
 sirl" inquired the man with the keys. 
 
 " Yes, I am," replied the old gentleman; 
 " but I am not sure that this boy actually 
 took the handkerchief. I — I 'd rather not 
 press the case." 
 
 " Must go before the magistrate now, 
 sir," replied the man. " His worship will 
 be disengaged in half a minute. Now, 
 young gallows." 
 
 This was an invitation for Oliver to en- 
 ter through a door which he unlocked as 
 he spoke, and which led into a small stone 
 cell. Here he was searched, and nothing 
 been found upon him, locked up. 
 
 This cell was in shape and size some- 
 thing like an area cellar, only not so light. 
 It was most intolerably dirty, for it was 
 Monday morning, and it had been tenanted 
 since Saturday night by six drunken peo- 
 ple. But this is nothing. In our station- 
 houses, men and women are every night 
 confined on the most trivial charges — the 
 word is worth noting — in dungeons, com- 
 pared with which, those in Newgate, oc- 
 cupied by the most atrocious felons, tried, 
 found guilty, and under sentence of death, 
 are palaces ! Let any man who doubts 
 this, compare the two. 
 
 The old gentleman looked almost as 
 rueful as Oliver, when the key grated in 
 the lock ; and turned with a sigh to the 
 book which had been the innocent cause 
 of all this disturbance. 
 
 " There is something in that boy's face," 
 said the old gentleman to himself, as he 
 walked slowly away, tapping his chin with 
 the cover of the book in a thoughtful 
 manner, " something that touches and in- 
 terests me. Can he be innocent] He 
 looked like — By the bye," exclaimed 
 the old gentleman, halting very abruptly, 
 and staring up into the sky, " God bless 
 my soul! where have I seen something 
 like that look before ■?" 
 
 After musing for some minutes, the old 
 gentleman walked with the same medi- 
 tative face into a back ante-room opening 
 from the yard ; and there, retiring into a 
 corner, called up before his mind's eye a 
 vast amphitheatre of faces over which a 
 dusky curtain had hung for many years. 
 " No," said the old gentleman shakmg his 
 head ; " it must be imagination." 
 
 He wandered over them again. He 
 bad called them into view, and it was not 
 easy to replace the shroud that had so 
 long concealed them. There were the 
 
 faces of friends and foes, and of many that 
 had been almost strangers, peering intru- 
 sively from the crowd; there were the 
 faces of young and blooming girls that 
 were now old women ; there were others 
 that the grave had changed to ghastly 
 trophies of death, but wliich the mind, 
 superior to his power, still dressed in their 
 old freshness and beauty, calling back the 
 lustre of the eyes, the brightness of the 
 smile, the beaming of the soul through 
 its mask of clay, and whispering of beauty 
 beyond the tomb, changed but to be height- 
 ened, and taken from earth only to be set 
 up as a light to shed a sofl and gentle 
 glow upon the path to Heaven. 
 
 But the old gentleman could recall no 
 one countenance of which Oliver's fea- 
 tures bore a trace ; so he heaved a sigh 
 over the recollections he had awakened ; 
 and being, happily for himself, an absent 
 old gentleman, buried them ag'ain in the 
 pages of the musty book. 
 
 He was roused by a touch on the shoul- 
 der, and a request from the man with the 
 keys to follow hira into the office. He 
 closed his book hastily, and was at once 
 ushered into the presence of the renowned 
 Mr. Fang. 
 
 The office was a front parlour, with a 
 panelled wall. Mr. Fang sat behind a 
 bar at the upper end ; and on one side the 
 door was a sort of wooden pen in which 
 poor little Oliver was already deposited, 
 trembling very much at the awfulness of 
 the scene. 
 
 Mr. Fang was a middle-sized man, with 
 no great quantity of hair ; and Vv'hat he 
 had, growing on the back and sides of his 
 head. His face was stern, and much 
 flushed. If he were really not in the 
 habit of drinking rather more than was ex- 
 actly good for him, he might have brought 
 an action against his countenance for libel, 
 and have recovered heavy damages. 
 
 The old gentleman bowed respectfully, 
 and, advancing to the magistrate's desk, 
 said, suiting the action to the word, " That 
 is my name and address, sir." He then 
 withdrew a pace or two ; and, with anoth^ 
 polite and gentlemanly inclination of the 
 head, waited to be questioned. 
 
 Now, it so happened, that Mr. Fang 
 was at that moment perusing a leading 
 article in a newspaper of the morning, 
 adverting to some recent decision of his, 
 and commending him, for the three hun- 
 dred and fiftieth time, to the special and 
 particular notice of the Secretary of State 
 for the Home Department. He was out 
 of temper, and he looked up with on angry 
 scowl. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 47 
 
 «« Wlio are you 1" said Mr. Fang. 
 
 The old gentleman pointed with some 
 surprise to his card. 
 
 " Officer !" said Mr. Fang, tossing the 
 card contemptuously away with the news- 
 paper, " who is this fellow 1" 
 
 " My name, sir," said the old gentle- 
 man, speaking like a gentleman, and con- 
 sequently in strong contrast to Mr. Fang, 
 — " my name, sir, is Brownlow. Permit 
 me to inquire the name of the magistrate 
 who offers a gratuitous and unprovoked 
 insult to a respectable man, under the pro- 
 tection of the bench." Saying this, Mr. 
 Brownlow looked round the office as if in 
 search of some person who could afford 
 him the required information. 
 
 " Officer !" said Mr. Fang, throwing the 
 paper on one side, " what 's this fellow 
 charged with ]" 
 
 " He 's not charged at all, your wor- 
 ship," replied the officer. "He appears 
 against the boy, your worship." 
 
 His worship knew this perfectly well ; 
 but it was a good annoyance, and a safe 
 one. 
 
 " Appears against the boy, does he ■?" 
 said Fang, surveying Mr. Brownlow con- 
 temptuously from head to foot. " Swear 
 him." 
 
 " Before I am sworn I must beg to say 
 one word," said Mr. Brownlow ; " and 
 that is, that I never, without actual expe- 
 rience, could have believed " 
 
 "Hold your tongue, sir!" said Mr. 
 Fang peremptorily. 
 
 " I will not, sir !" replied the spirited 
 old gentleman. 
 
 "Hold year tongue this instant, or I '11 
 have you turned out of the office !" said 
 Mr. Fang. " You 're an insolent imper- 
 tinent fellow. How dare you bully a ma- 
 gistrate !" 
 
 "What!" exclaimed the old gentle- 
 man, reddening. 
 
 " Swear this person !" said Fang to 
 the clerk. " I '11 not hear another word. 
 Swear him !" 
 
 Mr. Brownlow's indignation was great- 
 ly roused ; but, reflecting that he might 
 injure the boy by giving vent to it, he sup- 
 pressed his feelings, and submitted to be 
 Bworn at once. 
 
 " Now," said Fang, " what's the charge 
 against this boy 1 What have you got to 
 Bay, sir ]" 
 
 " I was standmg at a book-stall — " Mr. 
 Brownlow began. 
 
 " Hold your tongue, sir !" said Mr. 
 Fang. " Policeman ! — where 's the po- 
 liceman 1 Here, swear this man. Now, 
 policeman, what is this ]" 
 
 The policeman with becoming humility 
 related how he had taken the charge, how 
 he had searched Oliver and found nothing 
 on his person ; and how that was all he 
 knew about it. 
 
 "Are there any witnesses 1" inquired 
 Mr. Fang. 
 
 " None, your worship," replied the po- 
 liceman. 
 
 Mr. Fang sat silent for some minutes, 
 and then, turning round to the prosecutor, 
 said, in a towering passion, 
 
 " Do you mean to state what your com- 
 plaint against this boy is, fellow, or do you 
 not? You have been sworn. Now, if 
 you stand there, refusing to give evidence, 
 I '11 punish you for disrespect to the bench ; 
 I will, by " 
 
 By what, or by whom, nobody knows, 
 for the clerk and jailer coughed very loud 
 just at the right moment, and the former 
 dropped a heavy book on the floor; thus 
 preventing the word from being heard — 
 accidentally, of course. 
 
 With many interruptions, and repeated 
 insults, Mr. Brownlow contrived to state 
 his case ; observing that, in the surprise 
 of the moment, he had run after the boy 
 because he saw him running away, and 
 expressing his hope that, if the magis- 
 trate should believe him, although not 
 actually the thief, to be connected with 
 thieves, he would deal as leniently with 
 him as justice would allow. 
 
 " He has been hurt already," said the 
 old gentleman in conclusion. "And I 
 fear," he added, with great energy, lock- 
 ing towards the bar, — " I really fear that 
 he is very ill." 
 
 " Oh ! yes ; I dare say !" said Mr. Fang, 
 with a sneer. " Come ; none of your tricks 
 here, you young vagabond ; they won't 
 do. What 's your name 1" 
 
 Oliver tried to reply, but his tongue 
 failed him. He was deadly pale, and the 
 whole place seemed turning round and 
 round. 
 
 "What's your name, you hardened 
 scoundrel ?" thundered Mr. Fang. " Offi- 
 cer, what 's his name 1" 
 
 This was addressed to a bluff old fellow 
 in a striped waistcoat, who was standing 
 by the bar. He bent over Oliver, and re- 
 peated the inquiry; but finding him really 
 incapable of understanding the question, 
 and knowing that his not replying would 
 only infuriate the magistrate the more, 
 and add to the severity of his sentence, 
 he hazarded a guess. 
 
 " He says his name 's Tom White, your 
 worship," said this kind-hearted thie^ 
 taker. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " Oh, he won't speak out, won't he "?" 
 eaid Fang. " Very well, very well. 
 Where does he live .'" 
 
 " Where he can, your worship," replied 
 the officer, again pretending to receive 
 Oliver's answer. 
 
 "Has he any parents?" inquired Mr. 
 Fang. 
 
 " He says they died in his infancy, your 
 worship," replied the officer, hazarding the 
 usual reply. 
 
 At this point of the inquiry Oliver 
 raised his head, and, looking round with 
 imploring eyes, murmured a feeble prayer 
 for a draught of water. 
 
 " Stuff and nonsense !" said Mr. Fang ; 
 " don't try to make a fool of me." 
 
 " I think he really is ill, your worship," 
 remonstrated the officer. 
 
 " I know better," said Mr. Fang. 
 
 " Take care of him, officer," said the 
 old gentleman, raising his hands instinc- 
 tively ; " he '11 fall down." 
 
 " Stand away, officer," cried Fang sav- 
 agely; "let him, if he likes." 
 
 Oliver availed himself of the kind per- 
 mission, and fell heavily to the floor in a 
 fainting fit. The men in the office looked 
 at each other, but no one dared to stir. 
 
 " I knew he was shamming," said Fang, 
 as if this were incontestable proof of the 
 fact. " Let him lie ; he '11 soon be tired 
 of that." 
 
 " How do you propose to deal with the 
 case, sir!" inquired the clerk in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " Summarily," replied Mr. Fang. " He 
 stands committed for three months, — hard 
 labour of course. Clear the office." 
 
 The door was opened for this purpose, 
 and a couple of men were preparing to 
 carry the insensible boy to his cell, when 
 an elderly man of decent but poor appear- 
 ance, clad in an old suit of black, rushed 
 hastily into the office, and advanced to the 
 bench. 
 
 " Stop, stop, — don't take him away, — 
 for Heaven's sake stop a moment," cried 
 the new-comer, breathless with haste. 
 
 Although the presiding geniuses in such 
 an office as this exercise a summary and 
 aibitrary power over the liberties, the 
 good name, the character, almost the lives 
 of his Majesty's subjects, especially of the 
 poorer class, and although within such 
 walls enough fantastic tricks are daily 
 played to make the angels weep thick 
 tears of blood, they are closed to the pub- 
 lic, save through the medium of the daily 
 f>ress. Mr. Fang was consequently not a 
 ittle indignant to see an unbidden guest 
 onter in stt^^ irrevereiit'disorder. 
 
 "What is this? Who is this? Turn 
 this man out. Clear the office," cried 
 Mr. Fang. 
 
 " I will speak," cried the man ; " I will 
 not be turned out, — I saw it all. I keep 
 the book-stall. I demand to be sworn. I 
 will not be put down. Mr. Fang, you must 
 hear me. You dare not refuse, sir." 
 
 The man was right. His manner was 
 bold and determined, and the matter was 
 growing rather too serious to be hushed 
 up. 
 
 " Swear the fellow," growled Fang with 
 a very ill grace. " Now, man, what have 
 you got to say ?" 
 
 "This," said the man: "I saw three 
 boys — two others and the prisoner here — 
 loitering on the opposite side of the way, 
 when this gentleman was reading. The 
 robbery was committed by another boy. I 
 saw it done, and I saw that this boy waa 
 perfectly amazed and stupified by it." 
 Having by this time recovered a little 
 breath, the worthy book-stall keeper pro- 
 ceeded to relate in a more coherent man- 
 ner the exact circumstances of the rob- 
 bery. 
 
 " Why didn't you come here before V* 
 said Fang after a pause. 
 
 " I hadn't a soul to mind the shop," re- 
 plied the man; "everybody that could 
 have helped me had joined in the pursuit. 
 I could get nobody till five minutes ago, 
 and I 've run here all the way." 
 
 " The prosecutor was reading, was he 1" 
 inquired Fang, after another pause. 
 
 " Yes," replied the man, " the very book 
 he has got in his hand." 
 
 » Oh, that book, eh ?" said Fang. " Is it 
 paid for?" 
 
 " No, it is not," replied the man, with 
 a smile. 
 
 " Dear me, I forgot all about it !" ex- 
 claimed the absent old gentleman, inno- 
 cently. 
 
 "A nice person to prefer a charge 
 against a poor boy!" said Fang, with a 
 comical effort to look humane. " I consi- 
 der, sir, that you have obtained possession 
 of that book under very suspicious and 
 disreputable circumstances, and you may 
 think yourself very fortunate that the own- 
 er of the property declines to prosecute. 
 Let this be a lesson to you, my man, or the 
 law will overtake you yet. The boy is 
 discharged. Clear the office !" 
 
 "D — me!" cried the old gentleman, 
 bursting out with the rage he had kept 
 down so long, " D — me ! I '11 " 
 
 "Clear the office!" roared the magis- 
 trate. "Officers, do you hear^ Clear 
 the office !" 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 49 
 
 Tlie mandate was obeyed, and the in- 
 dig-nant Mr. Brownlow was conveyed out, 
 with the book in one hand, and the bam- 
 boo cane in the other, in a perfect phrenzy 
 of rage and defiance. 
 
 He reached the yard, and it vanished in 
 a moment. Little Oliver Twist lay on 
 his back on the pavement, with his shirt 
 unbuttoned, and his temples bathed with 
 water : his face a deadly white, and a cold 
 tremble convulsing his whole frame. 
 
 " Poor boy, poor boy !" said Mr. Brown- 
 low, bending over him. " Call a coach, 
 somebody, pray, directly !" 
 
 A coach was obtained, and Oliver, hav- 
 ing been carefully laid on one seat, the 
 old gentleman got in and eat himself on. 
 the other. 
 
 " May I accompany you V said the book- 
 stall keeper, looking in. 
 
 " Bless me, yes, my dear friend," said 
 Mr. Brownlow, quickly. " I tbrpot you. 
 Dear, dear! I've got this unhappy book 
 still. Jump in. Poor fellow ! there 's no 
 time to lose." 
 
 The book-stall keeper got into the coach, 
 and away they drove. 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWELFTH. 
 
 Al which Oliver is taken better CHre of than he ever 
 was before, with some particulars conceining a 
 certain picture. 
 
 The coach rattled away down Mount 
 Pleasant and up Exmouth-street, — over 
 nearly the same ground as that which 
 Oliver had traversed when he first enter- 
 ed London in company with the Dodger, 
 — and, turning a different way when it 
 reached the Angel at Islington, stopped 
 at length before a neat house in a quiet 
 shady street near Pentonville. Here a 
 bed was procured without loss of time, in 
 which Mr. Brownlow saw his young 
 charge carefully and comfortably deposit- 
 ed ; and here he was attended with a 
 kindness and solicitude which knew no 
 bounds. 
 
 But for many days Oliver remained in- 
 sensible to all the goodness of liis new 
 friends ; the sun rose and sunk, and rose 
 and sunk again, and many times after that, 
 and still the boy lay stretched upon his 
 uneasy bed, dwindling away beneath the 
 dry and wasting heat of fever, — that heat 
 which, like the subtle acid that gnaws 
 into the very heart of hardest iron, bums 
 only to corrode and to destroy. The worm 
 does not his work more surely on the dead 
 5 G 
 
 body, than does this slow, creeping fire 
 upon the living frame. 
 
 Weak, and thin, and pallid, he awoke 
 at last from what seemed to have been a 
 long and troubled dream. Feebly raising 
 himself in the bed, with his head resting 
 on his trembling arm, he looked anxiously 
 round. 
 
 "What room is this? — where have I 
 been brought tol" said Oliver. "This is 
 not the place I went to sleep in." 
 
 He uttered these words in a feeble voice, 
 being very faint and weak ; but they were 
 overheard at once, for the curtain at the 
 bed's head was hastily drawn back, and a 
 motherly old lady, very neatly and pre- 
 cisely dressed, rose as she undrew it, from 
 an arm-chair close by, in which she had 
 been sitting at needle-work. 
 
 " Hush, my dear," said the old lady 
 softly. " You must be very quiet, or you 
 will be ill again, and you have been very 
 bad, — as bad as bad could be, pretty nigh. 
 Lie down again, there's a dear." With 
 these words the old lady very gently 
 placed Oliver's head upon the pillow, and, 
 smoothing back his hair firom his forehead, 
 looked so kindly and lovingly in his face, 
 that lie could not help placing his little 
 withered hand upon hers, and drawing it 
 round his neck. 
 
 " Save us !" said the old lady, with tears 
 in her eyes, " what a grateful little dear 
 it is. Pretty creetur, what would his 
 mother feel if she had sat by him as I 
 have, and could see him now !" 
 
 " Perhaps she does see me," whispered 
 Oliver, folding his hands together ; " per- 
 haps she has sat by me, ma'am, I almost 
 feel as if she had." 
 
 "That was the fever, my dear," said 
 the old lady mildly, 
 
 "I suppose it was," replied Oliver 
 thoughtfully, " because Heaven is a long 
 way ofl^, and they are too happy there, to 
 come down to the bedside of a poor boy. 
 But if she knew I was ill, she must have 
 pitied me even there, for she was very ill 
 herself before she died. She can't know 
 anything about me though," added Oliver 
 after a moment's silence, " for if she had seen 
 me heat, it would have made her sorrow- 
 ful ; and her face has always looked sweet 
 and happy when I have dreamt of her." 
 
 The old lady made no reply to this, but 
 wiping her eyes first, and her spectacles, 
 which lay on the counterpane, afterwards, 
 as if they were part and parcel of those 
 features, brought some cool stuft' for 01 i 
 ver to drink, and then, patting him on the 
 cheek, told him he must lie very quiet, or 
 he would be ill ajrain. 
 
50 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 So Oliver kept very still, partly because 
 he was anxious to obey the kind old lady 
 in all things, and partly, to tell the truth, 
 because he was completely exhausted with 
 what he had already said. He soon fell 
 into a gentle doze, from which he was 
 awakened by the light of a candle, which. 
 Doing brought near the bed, showed him 
 a gentleman, a very large and loud-tick- 
 ing gold watch in his hand, wlio felt his 
 pulse, and said he was a great deal 
 better. 
 
 " You are a great deal better, are you 
 not, my dear ]" said the gentleman. 
 
 " Yes, thank you, sir," replied Oliver. 
 
 " Yes, I know you are," said the gen- 
 tleman: "you're hungry too, an't you?" 
 
 "]No, sir," answered Oliver. 
 
 " Hem !" said the gentleman. " No, I 
 know you 're not. He is not hungry, Mrs. 
 Bedwin," said the gentleman, looking very 
 wise. 
 
 The old lady made a respectful inclina- 
 tion of the head, which seemed to say that 
 she thought the doctor was a very clever 
 man. The doctor appeared very much of 
 the same opinion himself. 
 
 " You feel sleepy, don't you, my dear 7" 
 said the doctor. 
 
 " No, sir," replied Oliver. 
 
 "No," said the doctor with a very 
 shrewd and satisfied look. "You're not 
 sleepy. Nor thirsty, are you 7" 
 
 "Yes, sir, rather thirsty," answered 
 Oliver. 
 
 "Just as I expected, Mrs. Bedwin," said 
 the doctor. "It's very natural that he 
 should be thirsty — perfectly natural. You 
 may give him a little tea, ma'am, and 
 some dry toast without any butter. Don't 
 keep him too warm, ma'am ; but be care- 
 ful that you don't let him be too cold ; 
 will you have the goodness ?" 
 
 The old lady dropped a curtsey; and 
 the doctor, after tasting the cool stuff, and 
 expressing a qualified approval thereof; 
 hurried away: his boots creaking in a 
 very important and wealthy manner as 
 he went down stairs. 
 
 Oliver dozed off again soon after this, 
 and when he awoke it was nearly twelve 
 o'clock. The old lady tenderly bade him 
 good-night shortly afterwards, and left him 
 in charge of a fat old woman who had just 
 come, bringing with her in a little bundle 
 a small Prayer Book and a large nightcap. 
 Putting the latter on her head, and the 
 former on the table, the old woman, after 
 telling Oliver that she had come to sit up 
 with him, drew her chair close to the fire 
 and went off into a series of short naps, 
 chequered at frequent intervals with sun- 
 
 dry tumblings forward and divers moans 
 and chokings, which, however, had no 
 worse effect than causing her to rub her 
 nose very hard, and then fall asleep 
 again. 
 
 And thus the night crept slowly on. 
 Oliver lay awake for some time, counting 
 the little circles of light which the reflec- 
 tion of the rushlight-shade threw upon the 
 ceiling, or tracing with his languid eyes 
 the intricate pattern of the paper on the 
 wall. The darkness and deep stillness 
 of the room were very solemn; and as 
 they brought into the boy's mind the 
 thought that Death had been hovering 
 there for many days and nights, and might 
 yet fill it with the gloom and dread of his 
 awful presence, he turned his face upon 
 the pillow and fervently prayed to Hea- 
 ven. 
 
 Gradually he fell into that deep tranquil 
 sleep which ease from recent suffering 
 alone imparts ; that calm and peaceful rest 
 which it is pain to wake from. Who, if 
 this were death, would be roused again to 
 all the struggles and turmoils of life — to 
 all its cares for the present, its anxieties 
 for the fijture, and, more than all, its 
 weary recollections of the past ! 
 
 It had been bright day for hours when 
 Oliver opened his eyes ; and when he did 
 so, he felt cheerful and happy. The crisis 
 of the disease was safely past, and he be- 
 longed to the world again. 
 
 In three days' time he was able to sit 
 in an easy-chair well propped up with pil- 
 lows; and, as he was still too weak to 
 walk, Mrs. Bedwin had him carried down 
 stairs into the little housekeeper's room, 
 which belonged to her, where, having sat 
 him up by the fireside, the good old lady 
 sat herself down too, and, being in a state 
 of considerable delight at seeing him so 
 much better, forthwith began to cry most 
 violently. 
 
 " Never mind me, my dear," said the 
 old lady; "I'm only having a regular 
 good cry. There, it 's all over now, and 
 I 'm quite comfortable." 
 
 " You 're very kind to me, ma'am," said 
 Oliver. 
 
 " Well, never you mind that, my dear," 
 said the old lady; "tliat's got nothing to 
 do with your broth, and it's full time you 
 had it, for the doctor says Mr. Brownlow 
 may come in to see you this morning, and 
 we must get up our best looks, because 
 the better we look the more he'll be 
 pleased." And with this, the old lady 
 applied herself to warmmg up in a little 
 saucepan a basin full of broth strong 
 enough to furnish an ample dinner when 
 

 ■^^/^iyY'^y yU^m^-?^/?^ Ac-y^l ^i?/?/''^^^<t 
 
 F.52 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 51 
 
 reduced to the regulation strength, for 
 three hundred and fifty paupers, at the 
 very lowest computation. 
 
 " Are you fond of pictures, dear ]" in- 
 quired the old lady, seeing that Oliver had 
 fixed his eyes most intently on a portrait 
 which hung against the wall just opposite 
 his chair. 
 
 " I don't quite know, ma'am," said Oli- 
 ver, without taking his eyes from the 
 canvas; "I have seen so few, that I 
 hardly know. What a beautiful mild face 
 that lady's is !" 
 
 "Ah," said the old lady, "painters al- 
 ways make ladies out prettier than they 
 are, or they wouldn't get any custom, 
 child. The man that invented the ma- 
 chine for taking likenesses might have 
 known that would never succeed ; it 's a 
 deal too honest, — a deal," said the old la- 
 dy, laughing very heartily at her own 
 acuteness. 
 
 " Is — is that a likeness, ma'am V said 
 Oliver. 
 
 " Yes," said the old lady, looking up for 
 a moment from the broth ; " that 's a por- 
 trait." 
 
 " Whose, ma'am "!" asked Oliver ea- 
 gerly. 
 
 " Why, really, my dear, I don't know," 
 answered the old lady in a good-humoured 
 manner. " It 's not a likeness of anybwly 
 that you or I know, I expect. It seems to 
 strike your fancy, dear." 
 
 " It is so very pretty — so very beauti- 
 ful," replied Oliver. 
 
 « Why, sure you're not afraid of if!" 
 said the old lady, observing in great sur- 
 prise the look of awe with which the child 
 regarded the painting. 
 
 " Oh no, no," returned Oliver quickly ; 
 " but the eyes look so sorrowful, and where 
 I sit they seem fixed upon me. " It makes 
 my heart beat," added Oliver in a low 
 voice, "as if it was alive, and wanted to 
 speak to me, but couldn't." 
 
 "Lord, save us!" exclaimed the old 
 lady, starting; "don't talk in that way, 
 child. You 're weak and nervous after 
 your illness. ,Let me wheel your chair 
 round to the other side, and then you won't 
 see it. There," said the old lady, suiting 
 the action to the word ; " you don't see it 
 now, at all events." 
 
 Oliver did see it in his mind's eye as 
 distinctly as if he had not altered his posi- 
 tion, but he thought it better not to worry 
 the kind old lady; so he smiled gently 
 when she looked at him, and Mrs. Bedwin, 
 satisfied that he felt more comfortable, 
 salted and broke bits of toasted bread into 
 the broth with all the bustle befitting so 
 
 solemn a preparation. Oliver got through 
 it with extraordinary expedition, and had 
 scarcely swallowed the last spoonful when 
 there came a soft tap at the door. " Come 
 in," said the old lady ; and in walked Mr. 
 Brownlow. 
 
 Now the old gentleman came in as brisk 
 as need be ; but he had no sooner raised 
 his spectacles on his forehead, and thrust 
 his hands behind the skirts of his dressing- 
 gown to take a good long look at Oliver, 
 than his countenance underwent a very 
 great variety of odd contortions. Oliver 
 looked very worn and shadowy from sick- 
 ness, and made an ineffectual attempt to 
 stand up, out of respect to his benefactor, 
 which terminated in his sinking back into 
 the chair again ; and the fact is, if the 
 truth must be told, that Mr. Brownlow's 
 heart being large enough for any six ordi- 
 nary old gentlemen of humane disposition, 
 forced a supply of tears into his eyes by 
 some hydraulic process which we are not 
 sufficiently philosophical to be in a condi- 
 tion to explain. 
 
 " Poor boy, poor boy !" said Mr. Brown- 
 low clearing his throat. "I'm rather 
 hoarse this morning, Mrs. Bedwin ; I 'm 
 afraid I have caught cold." 
 
 "I hope not, sir," said Mrs. Bedwin. 
 " Everything you have had has been well 
 aired, sir." 
 
 " I dont't know, Bedwin, — I don't know," 
 said Mr. Brownlow ; " I rather think I had 
 a damp napkin at dinner-time yesterday : 
 but never mind that. How do you feel, 
 my dear?" 
 
 " Very happy, sir," replied Oliver, " and 
 very grateful indeed, sir, for your goodness 
 to me." 
 
 " Good boy," said Mr. Brownlow stoutly. 
 " Have you given him any noui isnment, 
 Bedwin 1 — any slops, eh 1" 
 
 " He has just had a basin of beautiful 
 strong broth, sir," replied Mrs. Bedwin, 
 drawing herself up slightly, and laying a 
 strong emphasis on the last word, to inti 
 mate that between slops, and broth well 
 compounded, there existed no affinity or 
 connexion whatsoever. 
 
 " Ugh !" said Mr. Brownlow, with a 
 slight shudder; "a couple of glasses of port 
 wine would have done him a great deal 
 more good, — wouldn't they, Tom White, 
 — ehl" 
 
 " My name is Oliver, sir," replied the 
 little invalid witli a look of great aston 
 ishment. 
 
 " Oliver !" said Mr. Brownlow ; " Oli 
 ver what] Oliver White, — eh? 
 
 " No, sir. Twist,— Oliver Twist." 
 
 " Queer name," said the old gentleman. 
 
52 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " What made you tell the magistrate your 
 name was Tom White I" 
 
 "I never told him so, sir," returned 
 Oliver in amazement. 
 
 This sounded so like a falsehood, that 
 the old gentleman looked somewhat sternly 
 in Oliver's face. It was impossible to 
 doubt him ; there was truth in every one 
 of its thin and sharpened lineaments. 
 
 " Some mistake," said Mr. Brownlow. 
 But, although his motive for looking stea- 
 dily at Oliver no longer existed, the old 
 idea of the resemblance between his fea- 
 tures and some familiar face came upon 
 him so strongly that he could not with- 
 draw his gaze. 
 
 " I hope you are not angry with me, 
 sir," said Oliver, raising his eyes beseech- 
 ingly. 
 
 " No, no," replied the old gentleman. — 
 "Gracious God, what's this! Bed win, 
 look, look, there !" 
 
 As he spoke, he pointed hastily to the 
 picture above Oliver's head, and then to 
 the boy's face. There was its living copy, 
 the eyes, the liead, the mouth ; every fea- 
 ture was the same. The expression was 
 for the instant so precisely alike, that the 
 minutest line seemed copied with an ac- 
 curacy which was perfectly unearthly, 
 
 Oliver knew not the cause of this sud- 
 den exclamation, for he was not strong 
 enough to bear the start it gave him, and 
 he fainted away. 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH 
 
 Reverts to the merry old gentleman and his youth- 
 ful friends, through whom a new acq\iaintance 
 is introduced to the intelligent reader, and con- 
 nected with whom various pleasant matters are 
 related apparlaining to this history. 
 
 When the Dodger and his accomplished 
 friend Master Bates joined in the hue and 
 cry which was raised at Oliver's heels, in 
 consequence of their executing an illegal 
 conveyance of Mr. Brownlow's personal 
 property, as hath been already described 
 with great perspicuity in a foregoing chap- 
 ter, they were actuated, as we therein 
 took occasion to observe, by a very lauda- 
 ble and becoming regard for themselves: 
 and forasmuch as the freedom of the sub- 
 ject and the liberty of the individual are 
 among the first and proudest boasts of a 
 true-hearted Englishman, so I need hardly 
 iteg the reader to observe that this action 
 must tend to exalt them in the opinion of 
 bU public and patriotic men, in almost as 
 
 great a degree as this strong proof of their 
 anxiety for their own preservation and 
 safety goes to corroborate and confirm the 
 little code of laws which certain profound 
 and sound-judging philosophers have laid 
 down as the mainsprings of all Madam 
 Nature's deeds and actions ; the said phi- 
 losophers very wisely reducing the good 
 lady's proceedings to matters of maxim 
 and theory, and, by a very neat and pretty 
 compliment to her exalted wisdom and 
 understanding, putting entirely out of 
 sight any considerations of heart, or gene- 
 rous impulse and feeling, as matters total- 
 ly beneath a female who is acknowledged 
 by universal admission to be so far beyond 
 the numerous little foibles and weaknesses 
 of her sex. 
 
 If I wanted any further proof of tlie 
 strictly philosophical nature of the con- 
 duct of these young gentlemen in their 
 very delicate predicament, I should at 
 once find it in the fact (also recorded in a 
 foregoing part of this narrative) of their 
 quitting the pursuit when the general at- 
 tention was fixed upon Oliver, and making 
 immediately for their home by the short- 
 est possible cut; for although I do not 
 mean to assert that it is the practice of re- 
 nowned and learned sages at all to shorten 
 the road to any great conclusion, their 
 course indeed being rather to lengthen 
 the distance by various circumlocutions 
 and discursive staggerings, like those in 
 which drunken men under the pressure 
 of a too mighty flow of ideas are prone to 
 indulge, still I do mean to say, and do say 
 distinctly, that it is the invariable practice 
 of all mighty philosophers, in carrying out 
 their theories, to evince great wisdom and 
 foresight in providing against every possi- 
 ble contingency which can be supposed at 
 all likely to affect themselves. Thus, to do 
 a great right, you may do a little wrong, 
 and you may take any means which the 
 end to be attained will justify ; the amount 
 of the right or the amount of the wrong, 
 or indeed the distinction between the two, 
 being lefl entirely to the philosopher con- 
 cerned : to be settled and determined by 
 his clear, comprehensive, and impartial 
 view of his own particular case. 
 
 It was not until the two boys had scour 
 ed with great rapidity through a most in- 
 tricate maze of narrow streets and courts, 
 that they ventured to halt by common 
 consent beneath a low and dark arcliway. 
 Having remained silent here, just long 
 enough to recover breath to speak. Master 
 Bates uttered an exclamation of amuse- 
 ment and delight, and, bursting into an un- 
 controllable fit of laughter, flung himself 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 53 
 
 upon a door-step, anu rolled thereon in a 
 transport of mirtn. 
 
 " What 's the matter V inquired the 
 Dodger. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha !" roared Charley Batos. 
 
 "Hold your noise," remonstrated the 
 Dodger, looking cautiously round. " Do 
 you want to be grabbed, stupid 1" 
 
 «' I can't help it," said Charley, " I can't 
 help it. To see him splitting away at 
 that pace, and cutting round the corners, 
 and knocking up against the posts, and 
 starting on again as if he was made of 
 iron as well as them, and me with the 
 wipe in my pocket, singing out arter him 
 — oh, my eye !" The vivid imagination 
 of Master Bates presented the scene be- 
 fore him in too strong colours. As he 
 arrived at this apostrophe, he again rolled 
 upon the door-step and laughed louder 
 than before. 
 
 "What '11 Fagin say 7" inquired the 
 Dodger, taking advantage of the next in- 
 terval of breathlessness on the part of his 
 friend to propound the question. 
 
 " What !" repeated Charley Bates. 
 
 "Ah, what"!" said the Dodger. 
 
 " Why, what should he say ]" inquired 
 Charley, stopping rather suddenly in his 
 merriment, for the Dodger's manner was 
 impressive ; " what should he say I" 
 
 Mr. Dawkins whistled for a couple of 
 minutes, and then, taking off his hat, 
 scratched his head and nodded twice. 
 
 " What do you mean ]" said Charley. 
 
 " Toor rul lul loo, gammon and spin- 
 nage, the frog he wouldn't, and high 
 cockolorum," said the Dodger with a slight 
 sneer on his intellectual countenance. 
 
 This was explanatory, but not satisfac- 
 tory. Mr. Bates felt it so, and again said, 
 " What do you mean 1" 
 
 The Dodger made no reply, but putting 
 his hat on again, and gathering the skirts 
 of his long-tailed coat under his arms, 
 thrust his tongue into his cheek, slapped 
 the bridge of his nose some half-dozen 
 times in a familiar but expressive manner, 
 and then, turning on his heel, slunk down 
 the court. Mr. Bates followed, with a 
 thoughtful countenance. 
 
 The noise of footsteps on the creaking 
 stairs a few minutes after the occurrence 
 of this conversation rousea the merry old 
 gentleman as he sat over the fire with a 
 saveloy and a small loaf in his left hand, 
 a pocket-knife in his right, atiu a pewter 
 pot on the trivet. There was a rascally 
 smile on his white face as he turned 
 round, and, looking sharply out from under 
 his thick red eyebrows, bent his ear 
 towards the door and listened intently. 
 5* 
 
 " Why, how 's this 1" muttered the Jew, 
 changing countenance; "only two of 
 'em! Where's the third] They can't 
 have got into trouble. Hark !" 
 
 The footsteps approached nearer ; they 
 reached the landing, the door was slowly 
 opened, and the Dodger and Charley 
 Bates entered and closed it behind them. 
 
 " Where's Oliver, you young hounds "!" 
 said the furious Jew, rising with a men- 
 acing look : " where 's the boy 1" 
 
 The young thieves eyed their preceptor 
 as if they were alarmed at his violence, 
 and looked uneasily at each other, but 
 made no reply. 
 
 " What's become of the boy 1" said the 
 Jew, seizing the Dodger tightly by the 
 collar, and threatening him with horrid 
 imprecations. " Speak out, or I'll throtUe 
 you !" 
 
 Mr. Fagin looked so very much in 
 earnest, that Charley Bates, who deemed 
 it prudent in all cases to be on the safe 
 side, and conceived it by no means im- 
 probable that it might be his turn to be 
 throttled second, dropped upon his knees, 
 and raised a loud, well-sustained, and 
 continuous roar, something between an 
 insane bull and a speaking-trumpet. 
 
 " Will you speak]" thundered the Jew, 
 shaking the Dodger so much that his 
 keeping in the big coat at all seemed per- 
 fectly miraculous. 
 
 " Why, the traps have got him, and 
 that's all about it,"' said the Dodger sul- 
 lenly. " Come, let go o' me, will yer !" 
 and, swinging himself at one jerk clean 
 out of the big coat, which he left in the 
 Jew's hands, the Dodger snatched up the 
 toasting-fork and made a pass at the merry 
 old gentleman's waistcoat, which if it had 
 taken effect, would have let a little more 
 merriment out than could have been easily 
 replaced in a month or two. 
 
 The Jew stepped back in this emer 
 gency with more agility than could have 
 been anticipated in a man of his apparent 
 decrepitude, and, seizing up the pot, pre- 
 pared to hurl it at his assailant's head. 
 But Charley Bates at this moment calling 
 his attention by a perfectly terrific howl, 
 he suddenly altered its destination, and 
 flung it full at that young gentleman. 
 
 " Why, what the blazes is in the wind 
 now !" growled a deep voice. " Who 
 pitched that 'ere at me ] It 's well it 's 
 the beer and not the pot as hit me, or I 'd 
 have settled somebody. I might have 
 know'd as nobody but an infernal rich, 
 plundering, thundering old Jew could 
 afford to throw away any drink but water, 
 and not that, unless he done the River 
 
54 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 Company every quarter. Wot's it all 
 about, Fagin. D — me if my neckanke- 
 cher an't lined with beer. Come in, you 
 sneaking warmint ; wot are you stopping 
 outside for, as if you was ashamed of your 
 master. Come in !" 
 
 The man who growled out these words 
 was a stoutly-built fellow of about five- 
 and-forty, in a black velveteen coat, very 
 soiled drab breeches, lace-up half-boots, 
 and grey cotton stockings, which enclosed 
 a very bulky pair of legs, with large 
 swelling calves, — the kind of legs which 
 in such costume always look in an un- 
 finished and incomplete state without a 
 set of fetters to garnish them. He had 
 a brown hat on his head, and a dirty 
 belcher handkerchief round his neck, 
 with the long frayed ends of which, he 
 smeared the beer from his face as he 
 spoke; disclosing when he had done so 
 a broad heavy countenance with a beard 
 of three days' growth, and two scowling 
 eyes, one of which displayed various 
 parti-coloured symptoms of having been 
 recently damaged by a blow. 
 
 " Come in, d'ye hear 1" growled this 
 engaging-looking ruffian. A white shaggy 
 dog, with his face scratched and torn in 
 twenty different places, skulked into the 
 room. 
 
 "Why didn't you come in afore?" said 
 the man. " You 're getting too proud to 
 own me afore company, are you? Lie 
 down !" 
 
 This command was accompanied with 
 a kick which sent the animal to the other 
 end of the room. He appeared well used 
 to it, however ; for he coiled himself up 
 in a corner very quietly without uttering 
 a sound, and, winking his very ill-looking 
 eyes about twenty times in a minute, 
 appeared to occupy himself in taking a 
 survey of the apartment. 
 
 "What are you up tol Ill-treating 
 the boys, you covetous, avaricious, in-sa- 
 ti-a-ble old fence 1" said the man, seating 
 himself deliberately. "I wonder they 
 don't murder you ; / would if I was them. 
 If I 'd been your 'prentice I 'd have done 
 it long ago ; and — no, I couldn't have sold 
 you arterwards, though ; for you 're fit 
 for nothing but keeping as a curiosity of 
 ugliness in a glass bottle, and I suppose 
 they don't blow them large enough." 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! Mr. Sikes," said the 
 Jew, trembling ; " don't speak so loud." 
 
 " None of your mistering," replied the 
 ruffian ; " you always mean mischief when 
 you come that. You know my name: 
 out with it. I shan't disgrace it when 
 the time comes." 
 
 "Well, well, then. Bill Sikes," said 
 the Jew with abject humility. "You 
 seem out of humour. Bill." 
 
 " Perhaps I am," replied Sikes. " I 
 should think you were rather out of sorts 
 too, unless you mean as little harm when 
 you throw pewter pots about, as you do 
 when you blab and " 
 
 " Are you mad ]" said the Jew, catch- 
 ing the man by the sleeve, and pointing 
 towards the boys. 
 
 Mr. Sikes contented himself with tying 
 an imaginary knot under his left ear, and 
 jerking his head over on the right shoul- 
 der; a piece of dumb show which the 
 Jew appeared to understand perfectly. 
 He then in cant terms, with which his 
 whole conversation was plentifully be- 
 sprinkled, but which would be quite un- 
 intelligible if they were recorded here, 
 demanded a glass of liquor. 
 
 "And mind you don't poison it," said 
 Mr. Sikes, laying his hat upon the table. 
 
 This was said in jest; but if the speaker 
 could have seen the evil leer with which 
 the Jew bit his pale lip as he turned round 
 to the cupboard, he might have thought 
 the caution not wholly unnecessary, or 
 the wish, at all events, to improve upon 
 the distiller's ingenuity not very far from 
 the old gentleman's merry heart. 
 
 After swallowing two or three glassfuls 
 of spirits, Mr. Sikes condescended to take 
 some notice of the young gentlemen; 
 which gracious act led to a conversation 
 in which the cause and manner of Oliver's 
 capture were circumstantially detailed, 
 with such alterations and improvements 
 on the truth as to the Dodger appear- 
 ed most advisable under the circum- 
 stances. 
 
 "I'm afraid," said the Jew, "that he 
 may say something which will get us 
 into trouble." 
 
 "That's very likely," returned Sikes 
 with a malicious grin. " You 're Mowed 
 upon, Fagin." 
 
 "And I'm afraid, you see," added the 
 Jew, speaking as if he had not noticed 
 the interruption, and regarding the other 
 closely as he did so, — " I 'm afraid that, 
 if the game was up with us, it might be 
 up with a good many more ; and that it 
 would come out rather worse for you than 
 it would for me, my dear." 
 
 The man started, and turned fiercely 
 round upon the Jew ; but the old gentle- 
 man's shoulders were shrugged up to his 
 ears, and his eyes were vacantly staring 
 on the opposite wall. 
 
 There was a long pause. Every mem- 
 ber of the respectable coterie appeared 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 55 
 
 plunged in his own reflections, not ex- 
 cepting the dog, who by a certain mali- 
 cious licking of his lips seemed to be 
 meditating an attack upon the legs of the 
 first gentleman or lady he might encoun- 
 ter in the street when he went out. 
 
 " Somebody must find out what 's been 
 done at the office," said Mr. Sikes in a 
 much lower tone than he had taken since 
 he came in. 
 
 The Jew nodded assent. 
 
 " If he hasn't peached, and is commit- 
 ted, there's no fear till he comes out 
 again," said Mr. Sikes, " and then he must 
 be taken care on. You must get hold of 
 him, somehow." 
 
 Again the Jew nodded. 
 
 The prudence of this line of action, 
 indeed, was obvious; but unfortunately 
 there was one very strong objection to its 
 being adopted; and this was, that the 
 Dodger, and Charley Bates, and Fagin, 
 and Mr. William Sikes, happened one and 
 all to entertain a most violent and deep- 
 rooted antipathy to going near a police- 
 office on any ground or pretext what- 
 ever. 
 
 How long they might have sat and 
 looked at each other in a state of uncer- 
 tainly not the most pleasant of its Itind, it 
 is difficult to say. It is not necessary to 
 make any guesses on the subject, how- 
 ever ; tor the sudden entrance of the two 
 young ladies whom Oliver had seen on a 
 former occasion caused the conversation 
 to flow afresh. 
 
 "The very thing!" said the Jew. 
 •' Bet will go ; won't you, my dear V 
 
 " Wheres 1" inquired the young lady. 
 
 " Only just up to the office, my dear," 
 said the Jew coaxingly. 
 
 It is due to the young leidy to say that 
 she did not positively affirm that she would 
 not, but that she merely expressed an 
 emphatic and earnest desire to be "jig- 
 gered" if she would ; a polite and delicate 
 evasion of the request, which shows the 
 young lady to have been possessed of that 
 natural good-breeding that cannot bear to 
 inflict upon a fellow-creature the pain of 
 a direct and pointed refijsal. 
 
 The Jew's countenance fell, and he 
 turned to the other young lady, who was 
 gaily, not to say gorgeously attired, in a 
 red gown, green boots, and yellow curl- 
 papers. 
 
 " Nancy, my dear," said the Jew in a 
 soothing manner, " what do you say I" 
 
 " That it won't do ; so it 's no use a try- 
 ing it on, Fagin," replied Nancy. 
 
 "What do yon mean by that?" said 
 Mr. Sikes, looking up in a surly manner. 
 
 "What I say. Bill," replied the lady 
 collectedly. 
 
 " Why, you 're just the very person for 
 it," reasoned Mr. Sikes: "nobody about 
 here, knows anything of you." 
 
 " And as I don't want 'em to, neither," 
 replied Miss Nancy in the same composed 
 manner, " it 's ray ther more no than yes 
 with me, Bill." 
 
 " She '11 go, Fagin," said Sikes. 
 
 " No, she won't, Fagin," bawled Nancy. 
 
 " Yes she will, Fagin," said Sikes. 
 
 And Mr. Sikes was right. By dint of 
 alternate threats, promises, and bribes, the 
 engaging female in question was ultimate- 
 ly prevailed upon to undertake the commis- 
 sion. She was not indeed withheld by the 
 same considerations as her agreeable 
 fi*iend, for, having very recently removed 
 into the neighbourhood of Field-lane fi*om 
 the remote but genteel suburb of Ratcliffe, 
 she was not under the same apprehension 
 of being recognised by any of her numer- 
 ous acquaintance. 
 
 Accordingly, with a clean white apron 
 tied over the red gown, and the yellow 
 curl-papers tucked up under a straw 
 bonnet, — both articles of dress being pro- 
 vided from the Jew's inexhaustible stock, 
 — Miss Nancy prepared to issue forth on 
 her errand. 
 
 " Stop a minute, my dear," said the Jew, 
 producing a little covered basket. " Carry 
 that in one hand ; it looks more respect- 
 able, my dear." 
 
 " Give her a door-key to carry in her 
 t'other one, Fagin," said Sikes ; " it looks 
 real and genivine like." 
 
 "Yes, yes, my dear, so it does," said 
 the Jew, hanging the large street-door 
 key on the fore-finger of the young lady's 
 right hand. " There ; very good, — very 
 good indeed, my dear," said the Jew, 
 rubbing his hands. 
 
 " Oh, my brother ! my poor, dear, sweet, 
 innocent little brother !" exclaimed Miss 
 Nancy, bursting into tears, and wringing 
 the little basket and the street door-key 
 in an agony of distress. " What hap 
 become of him ! — where have they taken 
 him to ! Oh, do have pity, and tell me 
 what's been done with the dear boy, gen- 
 tlemen; do, gentlemen, if you j lease, 
 gentlemen." 
 
 Having uttered these words in a most 
 lamentable and heart-broken tone, to the 
 immeasurable delight of her hearers. Miss 
 Nancy paused, winked to the company, 
 nodded smilingly round, and disappeared. 
 
 " Ah ! she 's a clever girl, my dears," 
 eaid the Jew, turning to his young friends, 
 and shaking his head gravely, as if in 
 
R6 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 mute admonition to them to follow the 
 bright example they had just beheld. 
 
 " She 's a honour to her sex," said 
 Mr. Sikes, filling his glass, and smiting 
 the table with his enormous fist. Here 's 
 her health, and wishing they was all like 
 her!" 
 
 While these and many other encomiums 
 were being passed on the accomplished 
 Miss Nancy, that young lady made the 
 best of her way to the police-office; 
 whither, notwithstanding a little natural 
 timidity consequent upon walking through 
 the streets alone and unprotected, she 
 arrived in perfect safety shortly after- 
 wards. 
 
 Entering by the back way, she tapped 
 softly with the key at one of the cell-doors 
 and listened. There was no sound within, 
 so she coughed and listened again. Still 
 there was no reply, so she spoke. 
 
 " Nolly, dear ]" murmured Nancy in a 
 gentle voice ; — " Nolly 1" 
 
 There was nobody inside but a mis- 
 erable shoeless criminal, who had been 
 taken up for playing the flute, and who 
 — the offence against society having 
 been clearly proved — had been very 
 properly committed by Mr. Fang to the 
 House of Correction for one month, with 
 the appropriate and amusing remark that 
 since he had got so much breath to spare, 
 it would be much more wholesomely ex- 
 pended on the treadmill than in a musical 
 instrument. He made no answer, being 
 occupied in mentally bewailing the loss 
 of the flute, which had been confiscated 
 for the use of the county ; so Miss Nancy 
 passed on to the next cell, and knocked 
 there. 
 
 " Well," cried a faint and feeble voice. 
 
 " Is there a little boy here V inquired 
 Miss Nancy with a preliminary sob. 
 
 " No," replied the voice ; " God forbid !" 
 
 This was a vagrant of sixty-five, who 
 was going to prison for not playing the 
 flute, or, in other words, for begging in 
 the streets, and doing nothing for his 
 livelihood. In the next cell was another 
 man, who was going to the same prison 
 for hawking tin saucepans without a li- 
 cence, thereby doing something for his 
 living in defiance of the Stamp-office. 
 
 But as neither of these criminals an- 
 swered to the name of Oliver, or knew 
 anything about him. Miss Nancy made 
 straight up to the bluff" officer in the striped 
 waistcoat, and with the most piteous 
 wailings and lamentations, rendered more 
 piteous by a prompt and efficient use of 
 the street-door key and the little basket, 
 demanded her own dear brother. 
 
 " I haven't got him, my dear," said the 
 old man. 
 
 " Where is he ?" screamed Miss Nancy 
 in a distracted manner. 
 
 " Why, the gentleman 's got him," re- 
 plied the officer. 
 
 " What gentleman 1 Oh, gracious 
 heavins ! what gentleman V exclaimed 
 Miss Nancy. 
 
 In reply to this incoherent questioning 
 the old man informed the deeply affected 
 sister that Oliver had been taken ill in the 
 office, and discharged in consequence of a 
 witness having proved the robbery to have 
 been committed by another boy not in 
 custody ; and that the prosecutor had 
 carried him away in an insensible condi- 
 tion to his own residence, of and concern- 
 ing which all the informant knew was, 
 that it was somewhere at Pentonville, 
 he having heard that word mentioned in 
 the directions to the coachman. 
 
 In a dreadful state of doubt and un- 
 certainty the agonised young woman 
 staggered to the gate, and then, — exchan- 
 ging her faltering gait for a good swift 
 steady run, returned by the most devious 
 and complicated route she could think of 
 to the domicile of the Jew. 
 
 Mr. Bill Sikes no sooner heard the ac- 
 count of the expedition delivered, than 
 he very hastily called up the white dog, 
 and, putting on his hat, expeditiously de- 
 parted, without devoting any time to the 
 formality of wishing the company good- 
 morning. 
 
 " We must know where he is, my dears ; 
 he must be found," said the Jew, greatly 
 excited. " Charley, do nothing but skulk 
 about, till you bring home some news of 
 him. Nancy, my dear, I must have him 
 found ; I trust to you, my dear, — to you 
 and the Artful for every thing. Stay, 
 stay," added the Jew, unlocking a dra,wer 
 with a shaking hand ; " there 's money, 
 my dears. I shall shut up this shop to- 
 night : you '11 know where to find me. 
 Don't stop here a minute, — not an instant, 
 my dears !" 
 
 With these words he pushed them from 
 the room, and carefully double-locking 
 and barring the door behind them, drew 
 fi-om its place of concealment the box 
 which he had unintentionally disclosed to 
 Oliver, and hastily proceeded to dispose 
 the watches and jewellery beneath his 
 clothing. 
 
 A rap at the door startled him in this 
 occupation. " Who 's there 1" he cried 
 in a shrill tone of alarm. 
 
 " Me !" replied the voice of the Dodger 
 through the keyhole. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 57 
 
 " What now 1" cried the Jew impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 "Is he to be kidnapped to the other 
 ken, Nancy says ]" inquired the Dodger 
 cautiously. 
 
 " Yes," replied the Jew, " wherever she 
 lays hands on him. Find him, find him 
 out, that 's all ; and I shall know what to 
 do next, never fear." 
 
 The boy murmured a reply of intelli- 
 gence, and hurried down stairs after his 
 companions. 
 
 " He has not peached so far," said the 
 Jew as he pursued his occupation. " If 
 he means to blab us among his new 
 friends, we may stop his windpipe yet." 
 
 CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH. 
 
 Gomprising further particulars of Oliver's stay at 
 Mr. Brownlow's, with the remarkable prediction 
 which one Mr. Grimwig uttered concerning him, 
 when he went out on an errand. 
 
 Oliver soon recovered from the faint- 
 ing-fit into which Mr. Brownlow's abrupt 
 exclamation had thrown him ; and the 
 subject of the picture was carefully avoid- 
 ed, both by the old gentleman and Mrs. 
 Bedwin, in the conversation that ensued, 
 which indeed bore no reference to Oliver's 
 history or prospects, but was confined to 
 such topics as might amuse without ex- 
 citing him. He was still too weak to get up 
 to breakfast; but, when he came down into 
 the housekeeper's room the next day, his 
 first act was to cast an eager glance at 
 the wall, in the hope of again looking on 
 the face of the beautiful lady. His ex- 
 pectations were disappointed, however, 
 for the picture had been removed. 
 
 " Ah !" said the housekeeper, watching 
 tlie direction of Oliver's eyes. "It is 
 gone, you see." 
 
 "I see it is, ma'am," replied Oliver, 
 ■with a sigh. " Why have they taken it 
 away 1" 
 
 " It has been taken down, child, because 
 Mr. Brownlow said, that, as it seemed to 
 worry you, perhaps it might prevent your 
 getting well, you know," rejoined the old 
 lady. 
 
 "Oh, no, indeed it didn't worry me, 
 ma'am," said Oliver. " I liked to see it ; 
 I quite loved it." 
 
 " Well, well !" said the old lady, good- 
 humouredly ; " you get well as fast as 
 ever you can, dear, and it shall be hung 
 up again. There, I promise you that; 
 now let us talk about something else." 
 H 
 
 This was all the information that Oli- 
 ver could obtain about the picture at that 
 time, and as the old lady had been so kind 
 to him in his illness, he endeavoured to 
 think no more of the subject just then ; so 
 listened attentively to a great many sto- 
 ries she told him about an amiable and 
 handsome daughter of hers, who was mar- 
 ried to an amiable and handsome man, and 
 lived in the country ; and a son, who was 
 clerk to a merchant in the West Indies, 
 and who was also such a good young man, 
 and wrote such dutiful letters home four 
 times a year, that it brought the tears into 
 her eyes to talk about them. When the 
 old lady had expatiated a long time on the 
 excellences of her children, and the me- 
 rits of her kind good husband besides, who 
 had been dead and gone, poor dear soul ! 
 just six-and-twenty years, it was time to 
 have tea ; and after tea she began to teach 
 Oliver cribbage, which he learnt as quick- 
 ly as she could teach, and at which game . 
 they played, with great interest and gra- 
 vity, until it was time for the invalid to 
 have some warm wine and water, with a 
 slice of dry toast, and to go cosily to bed. 
 
 They were happy days those of Olivers 
 recovery. Everything was so quiet, and 
 neat, and orderly, everybody so kind and 
 gentle, that after the noise and turbulence 
 in the midst of which he had always 
 lived, it seemed like heaven itself. He 
 was no sooner strong enough to put his 
 clothes on properly, than Mr. Brownlow 
 caused a complete new suit, and a new 
 cap, and a new pair of shoes, to be pro- 
 vided for him. As Oliver was told that 
 he might do what he liked with the old 
 clothes, he gave them to a servant who 
 had been very kmd to him, and asked her 
 to sell them to a Jew, and keep the money 
 for herself. This she very readily did ; 
 and, as Oliver looked out of the parlour 
 window, and saw the Jew roll them up in 
 his bag and walk away, he felt quite de- 
 lighted to think that they were safely 
 gone, and that there was now no possible 
 danger of his ever being able to wear 
 them again. They were sad rags, to tell 
 the truth ; and Oliver had never had a 
 new suit before. 
 
 One evening, about a week after the 
 aflair of the picture, as Oliver was sitting 
 talking to Mrs. Bedwin, there came a 
 message down from Mr. Brownlow, that 
 if Oliver Twist felt well, he should like 
 to see him in his study, and talk to him a 
 little while. 
 
 "Bless us, and save us! wash your 
 hands, and let me part your hair nicely 
 for you, child," sa'd Mrs. Bedwin. " Dear 
 
58 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 heart alive ! if we had known he would 
 have asked for you, we would have put 
 you a clean collar on, and made you as 
 smart as sixpence." 
 
 Oliver did as the old lady bade him, 
 and, although she lamented grievously 
 meanwhile that there was not even time 
 to crimp the little frill that bordered his 
 shirt-collar, he looked so delicate and hand- 
 some, despite that important personal ad- 
 vantage, that she went so far as to say, 
 looking at him with great complacency 
 from head to foot, that she really didn't 
 think it would have been possible on the 
 longest notice to have made much diifer- 
 ence in him for the better. 
 
 Thus encouraged, Oliver tapped at the 
 study door, and, on Mr. Brownlow calling 
 to him to come in, found himself in a little 
 back room, quite full of bouks, with a win- 
 dow looking into some pleasant little gar- 
 dens. There was a table drawn up be- 
 fore the window, at which Mr. Brownlow 
 was seated reading. When he saw Oli- 
 ver, he pushed the book away from him, 
 and told him to come near the table and 
 sit down. Oliver complied, marvelling 
 where the people could be found to read 
 such a great number of books as seemed 
 to be written to make the world wiser, — 
 which is still a marvel to more expe- 
 rienced people than Oliver Twist every 
 day of their lives. 
 
 " There are a good many books, are 
 there not, my boy f said Mr. Brownlow, 
 observing the curiosity with which Oliver 
 surveyed the shelves that reached from 
 the floor to the ceiling. 
 
 "A great number, sir," replied Oliver; 
 " I never saw so many." 
 
 " You shall read them if you behave 
 well," said the old gentleman kindly ; 
 " and you will like that better than look- 
 ing at the outsides, — that is, in some cases, 
 because there are books of which the 
 backs and covers are by far the best 
 parts." 
 
 " I suppose they are those heavy ones, 
 sir," said Oliver, pointing to some large 
 quartos with a good deal of gilding about 
 the binding. 
 
 "Not those," said the old gentleman, 
 ])atting Oliver on the head, and smiling 
 as he did so ; " but other equally heavy 
 ones, though of a much smaller size. 
 How should you like to grow up a clever 
 man, and write books, eh ]" 
 
 " I think I would rather read them, sir," 
 replied Oliver. 
 
 " What ! wouldn't you like to be a 
 oook-writer!" said the old gentleman. 
 
 Oliver considered a little while, and at 
 
 last said he should think it would be > 
 much better thing to be a bookseller i 
 upon which the old gentleman laughed 
 heartily, and declared he had said a very 
 good thing, which Oliver felt glad to have 
 done, though he by no means knew what 
 it was. 
 
 " Well, well," said the old gentleman, 
 composing his features, " don't be afraid ; 
 we won't make an author of you, while 
 there's an honest trade to be learnt, or 
 brick-making to turn to." . 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said Oliver ; and at 
 the earnest manner of his reply the old 
 gentleman laughed again, and said some- 
 thing about a curious instinct, which Oli- 
 ver, not understanding, paid no very great 
 attention to. 
 
 " Now," said Mr. Brownlow, speaking 
 if possible in a kinder, but at the same 
 time in a much more serious manner than 
 Oliver had ever heard him speak in yet, 
 " I want you to pay great attention, my 
 boy, to what I am going to say. I shall 
 talk to you without any reserve, because 
 I am sure you are as well able to under- 
 stand me as many older persons would be." 
 
 " Oh, don't tell me you are going to 
 send me away, sir, pray !" exclaimed Oli- 
 ver, alarmed by the serious tone of the old 
 gentleman's commencement ; " don't turn 
 me out of doors to wander in the streets 
 again. Let me stay here and be a servant. 
 Don't send me back to the wretched place 
 I came from. Have mercy upon a poor 
 boy, sir ; do !" 
 
 " My dear child," said the old gentle- 
 man, moved by the warmth of Oliver's 
 sudden appeal, "you need not be afraid 
 of my deserting you, unless you give me 
 cause." 
 
 "I never, never will, sir," interposed 
 Oliver. 
 
 " I hope not," rejoined the old gentle- 
 man ; " I do not think you ever will. I 
 have been deceived before, in the ob- 
 jects whom I have endeavoured to bene- 
 fit; but I feel strongly disposed to trust 
 you, nevertheless, and more strongly in 
 terested in your behalf than I can well 
 account for, even to myself The persons 
 on whom I have bestowed my dearest love 
 lie deep in their graves; but, although 
 the happiness and delight of my life lie 
 buried there too, I liave not made a coffin 
 of my heart, and sealed it up for ever on 
 my best affections. Deep afiliction has 
 only made them stronger; it ought, I 
 think, for it should refine our nature." 
 
 As the old gentleman said this in a low 
 voice, more to himself than to his com- 
 panion, and remained silent for a short time 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 59 
 
 afterwards, Oliver sat quite still, almost 
 afraid to breathe. 
 
 " Well, well," said the old gentleman 
 at length in a more cheerful voice, " I on- 
 ly say this because you have a young 
 heart ; and knowing that I have suffered 
 great pain and sorrow, you will be more 
 careful, perhaps, not to wound me again. 
 You say you are an orphan, without a 
 friend in the world ; and all the inquiries 
 I have been able to make confirm the 
 statement. Let me hear your story ; 
 where you came from, who brought you 
 up, and how you got into the company in 
 which I found you. Speak the truth ; and 
 if I find you have committed no crime, 
 you will never be friendless while I live." 
 
 Oliver's sobs quite checked his utter- 
 ance for some minutes; and just when he 
 was on the point of beginning to relate 
 how he had been brought up at the farm, 
 and carried to the workhouse by Mr. Bum- 
 ble, a peculiarly impatient little double- 
 knock was heard at the street-door, and 
 the servant running up stairs, announced 
 Mr. Grimwig. 
 
 "Is he coming upl" inquired Mr. 
 Brownlow. 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied the servant. " He 
 asked if there were any muffins in the 
 house, and, when I told him yes, he said 
 he had come to tea." 
 
 Mr. Brownlow smiled, and, turning to 
 Oliver, said Mr. Grimwig was an old 
 friend of his, and he must not mind his 
 being a little rough in his manners, for he 
 was a worthy creature at bottom, as he 
 had reason to know. 
 
 " Shall I go down stairs, sirl" inquired 
 Oliver. 
 
 " No," replied Mr. Brownlow ; " I would 
 rather you stopped here." 
 
 At this moment there walked into the 
 room, supporting himself by a thick stick, 
 a stout old gentleman, rather lame in one 
 leg, who was dressed in a blue coat, striped 
 waistcoat, nankeen breeches and gaiters, 
 and a broad-brimmed white hat, with the 
 sides turned up with green. A very small- 
 plated shirt-frill stuck out fi-om his waist- 
 coat, and a very long steel watch-chain, 
 with nothing but a key at the end, daitgled 
 loosely below it. The ends of his white 
 neckerchief were twisted into a ball about 
 the size of an orange ; — the variety of 
 shapes into which his countenance was 
 twisted defy description. He had a man- 
 ner of screwing his head round on one 
 side when he spoke, and looking out of the 
 corners of his eyes at the same time, 
 which irresistibly reminded the beholder 
 of a parrot. In this attitude he fixed him- 
 
 self the moment he made his appearance; 
 and, holding out a small piece of orange- 
 peel at arm's length, exclaimed in a growl 
 ing, discontented voice, 
 
 " Look here ! do you see this 1 Isn't 
 it a most wonderful and extraordinary 
 thing that I can't call at a man's house 
 but I find a piece of this cursed poor- 
 surgeon' s-friend on the staircase ] I 've 
 been lamed with orange-peel once, and I 
 know orange-peel will be my death at 
 last. It will, sir ; orange-peel will be my 
 death, or I '11 be content to eat my own 
 head, sir !" This was the handsome offer 
 with which Mr. Grimwig backed and 
 confirmed nearly every assertion that he 
 made ; and it was the more singular in 
 his case, because, even admitting, for the 
 sake of argument, the possibility of sci- 
 entific improvements being ever brought 
 to that pass which will enable a gentle- 
 man to eat his own head in the event of 
 his being so disposed, Mr. Grimwig's head 
 was such a particularly large one, that 
 the most sanguine man alive could hardly 
 entertain a hope of being able to get 
 through it at a sitting, to put entirely out 
 of the question a very thick coating of 
 powder. 
 
 " I '11 eat my head, sir," repeated Mr. 
 Grimwig, striking his stick upon the 
 ground. " Hallo ! what 's that ]" he added 
 looking at Oliver, and retreating a pace 
 or two. 
 
 "This is young Oliver Twist, whom 
 we were speaking about," said Mr. Brown- 
 low. 
 
 Oliver bowed. 
 
 " You don't mean to say that's the boy 
 that had the fever, I hopel" said Mr. 
 Grimwig, recoiling a little further. " Wait 
 a minute, don't speak : stop — " continued 
 Mr. Grimwig abruptly, losing all dread of 
 the fever in his triumph at the discovery . 
 " that 's the boy that had the orange ! If 
 that 's not the boy, sir, that had the orange, 
 and threw this bit of peel upon the stair- 
 case, I '11 eat my head and his too." 
 
 "No, no, he has not had one," said 
 Mr. Brownlow, laughing. "Come, put 
 down your hat, and speak to my young 
 friend." 
 
 "I feel strongly on this subject, sir," 
 said the irritable old gentleman, drawing 
 off his gloves. "There's always more 
 or less orange-peel on the pavement in 
 our street, and I know it 's put there by 
 the surgeon's boy at the corner. A young 
 woman stumbled over a bit last night, and 
 fell against my garden railings ; directly 
 she got up I saw her look towards his 
 infernal red lamp with the pantomime- 
 
60 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 light. 'Don't go to him,' I called out of 
 the window, 'he's an assassin, — a man- 
 trap !' So he is. If he is not " Here 
 
 the irascible old gentleman gave a great 
 knock on the ground with his stick, which 
 was always understood by his friends to im- 
 ply the customary ofter whenever it was not 
 expressed in words. Then, still keeping his 
 stick in his hand, he sat down, and, open- 
 ing a double eye-glass which he wore 
 attached to a broad black riband, took a 
 view of Oliver, who, seeing that he was 
 the object of inspection, coloured, and 
 bowed again. 
 
 " That 's the boy, is it 1" said Mr. Grim- 
 wig at length. 
 
 " That is the boy," replied Mr. Brown- 
 low, nodding good-humou redly to Oliver. 
 
 " How are you, boy 1" said Mr. Grim- 
 wig. 
 
 " A great deal better, thank you, sir," 
 replied Oliver. 
 
 Mr. Brownlow, seeming to apprehend 
 that his singular friend was about to say 
 something disagreeable, asked Oliver to 
 step down stairs, and tell Mrs. Bedwin 
 they were ready for tea, which, as he did 
 not half like the visitor's manner, he was 
 very happy to do. 
 
 " He is a nice-looking boy, is he not ?" 
 inquired Mr. Brownlow. 
 
 " I don't know," replied Grimwig pet- 
 tishly. 
 
 " Don't know 1" 
 
 " No, I don't know. I never see any 
 difference in boys. I only know two 
 sorts of boys, — mealy boys, and beeffaced 
 boys. 
 
 "And which is Oliver]" 
 
 " Mealy. I know a friend who 's got a 
 beef-faced boy ; a fine boy they call him, 
 with a round head, and red cheeks, and 
 glaring eyes ; a horrid boy, with a body and 
 Hmbs that appear to be swelling out of the 
 seams of his blue clothes — with the voice 
 of a pilot, and the appetite of a wolf. I 
 know him, the wretch !" 
 
 " Come," said Mr. Brownlow, " these 
 are not the characteristics of young Oliver 
 Twist ; so he needn't excite your wrath." 
 
 " They are rot," replied Grimwig. " He 
 may have worse." 
 
 Here Mr. Brownlow coughed impa- 
 tiently, which appeared to afford Mr. 
 Grimwig the most exquisite delight. 
 
 " He may have worse, I say," repeated 
 Mr. Grimwig. "Where does he come 
 from ] Who is he "! What is he 1 He 
 has had a fever — w.iat of that 1 Fevers 
 are not peculiar to good people, are they 1 
 Bad people have fevers sometimes, haven't 
 they, eh ] I knew a man that was hung 
 
 in Jamaica for murdering his master ; he 
 had had a fever six times ; he wasn't re- 
 commended to mercy on that account. 
 Pooh ! nonsense !" 
 
 Now, the fact was, that, in the inmost 
 recesses of his own heart, Mr. Grimwig 
 was strongly disposed to admit that Oli- 
 ver's appearance and manner were unu- 
 sually prepossessing, but he had a strong 
 appetite for contradiction, sharpened on 
 this occasion by the finding of the orange 
 peel ; and inwardly determining that no 
 man should dictate to him whether a boy 
 was well looking or not, he had resolved 
 from the first to oppose his friend. When 
 Mr. Brownlow admitted that on no one 
 point of inquiry could he yet return any 
 satisfactory answer, and that he had post- 
 poned any investigation into Oliver's pre- 
 vious history until he thought the boy was 
 strong enough to bear it, Mr. Grimwig 
 chuckled maliciously, and demanded, with 
 a sneer, whether the housekeeper was in 
 the habit of counting the plate at night ; 
 because, if she didn't find a table-spoon 
 or two missing some sunshiny morning, 
 
 why, he would be content to , et 
 
 cetera. 
 
 All this Mr. Brownlow, although him- 
 self somewhat of an impetuous gentleman, 
 knowing his friend's peculiarities, bore 
 with great good humour; and as Mr. 
 Grimwig, at tea, was graciously pleased 
 to express his entire approval of the muf- 
 fins, matters went on very smoothly, and 
 Oliver, who made one of the party, began 
 to feel more at his ease than he had yet 
 done in the fierce old gentleman's pres- 
 ence. 
 
 " And when are you going to hear a 
 full, true, and particular account of the 
 life and adventures of Oliver Twist 1" 
 asked Grimwig of Mr. Brownlow, at the 
 conclusion of the meal : looking sideways 
 at Oliver as he resumed the subject. 
 
 " To-morrow morning," replied Mr. 
 Brownlow. " I would rather he was alone 
 with me at the time. Come up to me to- 
 morrow morning at ten o'clock, my dear." 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied Oliver. He answer- 
 ed with some hesitation, because he was 
 confnsed by Mr. Grim wig's looking so 
 hard at him. 
 
 "I'll tell you what," whispered that 
 gentleman to Mr. Brownlow; "he won't 
 come up to you to-morrow morning. I 
 saw him hesitate. He is deceiving you, 
 my dear friend." 
 
 "I'll swear he is not," replied Mr. 
 Brownlow, warmly. 
 
 "If he is not," said Mr. Grimwig, "I'll 
 " and down went the stick. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 61 
 
 " I '11 answer for that boy's truth with 
 my life," said Mr. Brownlow, knocking 
 the table. 
 
 " And I for his falsehood with my head," 
 rejoined Mr. Grim wig, knocking the table 
 also. 
 
 " We shall see," said Mr. Brownlow, 
 checking his rising passion. 
 
 " We will," replied Mr. Grimwig, with 
 a provoking smile ; " we will." 
 
 As fate would have it, Mrs. Bedwin 
 chanced to bring in at this moment a small 
 parcel of books which Mr. Brownlow had 
 that morning purchased of the identical 
 book-stall keeper who has already figured 
 in this history ; which having laid on the 
 table, she prepared to leave the room. 
 
 " Stop the boy, Mrs. Bedwin," said Mr. 
 Brownlow ; " there is something to go 
 back." 
 
 " He has gone, sir," replied Mrs. Bed- 
 
 W 11. 
 
 '* Call after him," said Mr. Brownlow ; 
 " I's particular. He's a poor man, and 
 tJ ey are not paid for. There are some 
 b oks to be taken back, too." 
 
 The street-door was opened. Oliver 
 1 Ji one way, and the girl another, and 
 1 Irs. Bedwin stood on the step and scream- 
 *d for the boy ; but there was no boy in 
 oight, and both Oliver and the girl return- 
 ed in a breathless state to report that there 
 were no tidings of him. 
 
 " Dear me, I am very sorry for that," 
 exclaimed Mr. Brownlow ; " I particularly 
 wished those books to be returned to- 
 night" 
 
 "Send Oliver with them," said Mr. 
 Grimwig, with an ironical smile; "he 
 will be sure to deliver them safely, you 
 know." 
 
 " Yes ; do let me take them, if you 
 please, sir," said Oliver; "I'll run all the 
 way, sir." 
 
 The old gentleman was just going to 
 say that Oliver should not go out on any 
 account, when a most malicious cough 
 from Mr. Grimwig determined him that 
 he should, and by his prompt discharge of 
 the commission prove to him the injustice 
 of his suspicions, on this head at least, at 
 once. 
 
 " You shall go, my dear," said the old 
 gentleman. "The books are on a chair 
 by my table. Fetch them down." 
 
 Oliver, delighted to be of use, brought 
 down the books under his arm in a great 
 bustle, and waited, cap in hand, to hear 
 what message he was to take. 
 
 " You are to say," said Mr. Brownlow, 
 glancing steadily at Grimwig, — " You are 
 to say that you have brought those books 
 
 back, and that you have come to pay the 
 four pound ten I owe him. This is a five- 
 pound note, so you will have to bring me 
 back ten shillings change." 
 
 " I won't be ten minutes, sir," replied 
 Oliver eagerly ; and, having buttoned up 
 the bank-note in his jacket-pocket, and 
 placed the books carefully under his arm, 
 he made a respectful bow, and left the 
 room. Mrs. Bedwin followed him to the 
 street-door, giving him many directions 
 about the nearest way, and the name of 
 the bookseller, and the name of the street, 
 all of which Oliver said he clearly under- 
 stood; and, having superadded many in- 
 junctions to be sure and not take cold, the 
 careful old lady at length permitted him 
 to depart 
 
 " Bless his sweet face !" said the old 
 lady, looking after him. " I can't bear, 
 somehow, to let him go out of my sight." 
 
 At this moment Oliver looked gaily 
 round, and nodded before he turned the 
 corner. The old lady smilingly returned 
 his salutation, and, closing the door, went 
 back to her own room. 
 
 " Let me see ; he '11 be back in twenty 
 minutes, at the longest," said Mr. Brown- 
 low, pulling out his watch, and placing it 
 on the table. "It will be dark by that 
 time." 
 
 " Oh ! you really expect him to come 
 back, do you ]" inquired Mr. Grimwig. 
 
 " Don't you 1" asked Mr. Brownlow, 
 smiling. 
 
 The spirit of contradiction was strong 
 in Mr. Grimwig's breast at the moment, 
 and it was rendered stronger by hie friend's 
 confident smile. 
 
 " No," he said, smiting the table with 
 his fist, "I do not The boy has got a 
 new suit of clothes on his back, a set of 
 valuable books under his arm, and a five- 
 pound note in his pocket; he'll join hia 
 old friends the thieves, and laugh at you. 
 If ever that boy returns to this house, sir, 
 I '11 eat my head." 
 
 With these words he drew his chaii' 
 closer to the table, and there the two 
 friends sat in silent expectation, with the 
 watch between them. It is worthy of re- 
 mark, as illustrating the importance we 
 attach to our own judgments, and the pride 
 with which we put forth our most rash 
 and hasty conclusions, that, although Mi. 
 Grimwig was not a bad-hearted man, and 
 would hiave been unfeignedly sorry to see 
 his respected friend duped and deceived, 
 he really did most earnestly and strongly 
 hope at that moment that Oliver Twist 
 might not come back. Of such contra- 
 dictions is human nature made up : 
 
62 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 It grew so dark that the figures on the 
 dial were scarcely discernible ; but there 
 the two old gentlemen continued to sit in 
 silence, with the watch between them. 
 
 CHAPTER the: FIFTEENTH. 
 
 Showing how very fond of Oliver Twist, the merry 
 old Jew and Miss Nancy were. 
 
 If it did not come strictly within the 
 scope and bearing of my long-considered 
 intentions and plans regarding this prose 
 epic (for such I mean it to be,) to leave 
 the two old gentlemen sitting with the 
 watch between them long after it grew 
 too dark to see it, and both doubting Oli- 
 ver's return, the one in triumph, and the 
 other in sorrow, I might take occasion to 
 entertain the reader with many wise re- 
 flections on the obvious impolicy of ever 
 attempting to do good to our fellow-crea- 
 tures where there is no hope of earthly 
 reward ; or rather on the strict policy of 
 betraying some slight degree of charity 
 or sympathy in one particularly unpromis- 
 ing case, and then abandoning such weak- 
 nesses for ever. I am aware that, in ad- 
 vising even this slight dereliction from 
 the paths of prudence and worldliness, I 
 lay myself open to the censure of many 
 excellent and respectable persons, who 
 have long walked therein ! but I venture 
 to contend, nevertheless, that the advan- 
 tages of the proceeding are manifold and 
 lasting. As thus : if the object selected 
 should happen most unexpectedly to turn 
 out well, and to thrive and amend upon 
 the assistance you have afforded him, he 
 will, in pure gratitude and fulness of 
 heart, laud your goodness to the skies; 
 your character will be thus established, 
 and you will pass through the world as a 
 most estimable person, who does a vast 
 deal of good in secret, not one-twentieth 
 part of which will ever see the light. If, 
 on the contrary, his bad character become 
 notorious, and his profligacy a by-word, 
 you place yourself in the excellent posi- 
 tion of ha\ ing attempted to bestow relief 
 most disinterestedly ; of having become 
 misanthropical in consequence of the 
 treachery of its object ; and of having 
 made a rash and solemn vow, (which no 
 one regrets more than yourself,) never to 
 nelp or relieve any man, woman, or child, 
 again, lest you should be similarly de- 
 Ctiived. I know a great number of per- 
 sons in both situations at this moment, and 
 I can safely assert that they are the most 
 
 generally respected and esteemed of any 
 in the whole circle of my acquaintance. 
 
 But, as Mr. Brownlow was not one of 
 these : as he obstinately persevered in do- 
 ing good for its own sake, and the grati« 
 fication of heart it yielded him ; as no 
 failure dispirited him, and no ingratitude 
 in individual cases tempted him to wreak 
 his vengeance on the whole human race, 
 I shall not enter into any such digression 
 in this place : and, if this be not a suffi- 
 cient reason for this determination, I have 
 a better, and, indeed, a wholly unanswer- 
 able one, already stated ; which is, that it 
 forms no part of my origmal intention sc 
 to do. 
 
 In the obscure parlour of a low public- 
 house, situate in the filthiest part of Little 
 Saffron-Hill, — a dark and gloomy den, 
 where a flaring gas-light burnt all day in 
 the winter-time, and where no ray of sun 
 ever shone in the summer, — there sat, 
 brooding over a little pewter measure and 
 a small glass, strongly impregnated with 
 the smell of liquor, a man in a velveteen 
 coat, drab shorts, half-boots, and stockings, 
 whom, even by that dim light, no expe- 
 rienced agent of police would have hesi- 
 tated for one instant to recognise as Mr. 
 William Sikes. At his feet sat a white- 
 coated, red-eyed dog, who occupied him- 
 self alternately in winking at his master 
 with both eyes at the same time, and in 
 licking a large, fresh cut on one side of 
 his mouth, which appeared to be the re- 
 sult of some recent conflict. 
 
 " Keep quiet, you warmint ! keep 
 quiet !" said Mr. Sikes, suddenly breaking 
 silence. Whether his meditations were 
 so intense as to be disturbed by the dog's 
 winking, or whether his feelings were so 
 wrought upon by his reflections that they 
 required all the relief derivable from 
 kicking an unoffending animal to allay 
 them, is matter for argument and consid- 
 eration. Whatever was the cause, the 
 effect was a kick and a curse bestowed 
 upon the dog simultaneously. 
 
 Dogs are not generally apt to revenge 
 injuries inflicted upon them by their mas- 
 ters ; but Mr. Sikes's dog, having faults 
 of temper in common with his owner, and 
 labouring perhaps, at this moment, under 
 a povverfiil sense of injury, made no more 
 ado but at once fixed his teeth in one of 
 the half-boots, and, having given it a good 
 hearty shake, retired, growling, under a 
 form : thereby just escaping the pewter 
 measure which Mr. Sikes levelled at his 
 head. 
 
 " You would, would you !" said Sikes, 
 seizing the poker in one hand, and de- 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 63 
 
 liberately opening with tlie other a large 
 clasp-knife, which he drew from his pocket. 
 " Come here, -you bom devil ! Come here ! 
 D'ye hear]" 
 
 The dog no doubt heard, because Mr. 
 Sikes spoke in the very harshest key of a 
 very harsh voice; but, appearing to en- 
 tertain some unaccountable objection to 
 having his throat cut, he remained where 
 he was, and growled more fiercely than 
 before, at the same time grasping the end 
 of the poker between his teeth, and biting 
 at it like a wild beast. 
 
 This resistance only infuriated Mr. 
 Sikes the more; so, dropping upon his 
 knees, he began to assail the animal most 
 furiously. The dog jumped from right 
 to left, and from left to right, snapping, 
 growling, and barking ; the man thrust 
 and swore, and struck and blasphemed; 
 and the struggle was reaching a most 
 critical point for one or other, when, the 
 door suddenly opening, the dog darted out, 
 leaving Bill Sikes with the poker and the 
 clasp-knife in his hands. 
 
 There must always be two parties to a 
 quarrel, says the old adage ; and Mr. 
 Sikes, being disappointed of tlie dog's 
 presence, at once transferred the quarrel 
 to the new-comer. 
 
 " What the devil do you come in be- 
 tween me and my dog fori" said Sikes 
 with a fierce gesture. 
 
 " I didn't know, my dear, I didn't know," 
 replied Fagin humbly — for the Jew was 
 the new-comer. 
 
 " Didn't know, you white-livered thief!" 
 growled Sikes. " Couldn't you hear the 
 noise 1" 
 
 "Not a sound of it, as I'm a living 
 man. Bill," replied the Jew. 
 
 " Oh no, you hear nothing, you don't," 
 retorted Sikes with a fierce sneer, " sneak- 
 ing in and out, so as nobody hears how 
 you come or go. I wish you had been 
 the dog, Fagin, half a minute ago." 
 
 " Why "!" inquired the Jew, with a 
 forced smile. 
 
 " 'Cause the government, as cares for 
 the lives of such men as you, as haven't 
 half the pluck of curs, lets a man kill his 
 dog how he likes," replied Sikes, shutting 
 the knife up with a very expressive look ; 
 " that 's why." 
 
 The Jew rubbed his hands, and, sitting 
 down at the table, affected to laugh at the 
 pleasantry of his friend, — obviously very 
 ill at his ease, however. 
 
 " Grin away," said Sikes, replacing the 
 poker, and surveying him with savage 
 contempt ; " grin away. You '11 never 
 have the laugh at me, though, unless it 's 
 
 behind a night-cap. I 've got the upper 
 hand over you, Fagin ; and, d — me, I '11 
 keep it. There. If I go, you go; so 
 take care of me." 
 
 " Well, well, my dear," said the Jew, 
 I know all that ; we — we — have a mutual 
 interest, Bill, — a mutual interest." 
 
 " Humph !" said Sikes, as if he thought 
 tlie interest lay rather more on the Jew's 
 side than on his. " Well, what have you 
 got to say to me 1" 
 
 " It 's all passed safe through the melt- 
 ing-pot," replied Fagin, " and this is your 
 share. It 's rather more than it ought to 
 be, my dear ; but as I know you '11 do me 
 a good turn another time, and " 
 
 " Stow that gammon," interposed the 
 robber impatiently. "Where is it 1 Hand 
 over !" 
 
 " Yes, yes. Bill ; give me time, give 
 me time," replied the Jew soothingly. 
 " Here it is — all safe." As he spoke, he 
 drew forth an old cotton handkerchief 
 from his breast, and untying a large knot 
 in one corner, produced a small brown- 
 paper packet, wliich Sikes snatching from 
 him, hastily opened, and proceeded to 
 count the sovereigns it contained. 
 
 "This is all, is it 3" inquired Sikes. 
 
 " All," replied the Jew. 
 
 " You haven't opened the parcel and 
 swallowed one or two as you come along, 
 have you"!" inquired Sikes suspiciously. 
 " Don't put on a injured look at the ques- 
 tion ; you 've done it many a time. Jerk 
 the tinkler." 
 
 These words, in plain English, convey- 
 ed an injunction to ring the bell. It was 
 answered by another Jew, younger than 
 Fagin, but nearly as vUe and repulsive in 
 appearance. 
 
 Bill Sikes merely pointed to the empty 
 measure, and the Jew, perfectly under- 
 standing the hint, retired to fill it, pre- 
 viously exchanging a remarkable look 
 with Fagin, who raised his eyes for an 
 instant as if in expectation of it, and shook 
 his head in reply so slightly that the ac- 
 tion would have been almost impercepti- 
 ble to a third person. It was lost upon 
 Sikes, who was stooping at the moment 
 to tie the boot-lace which the dog had 
 torn. Possibly if he had observed the 
 brief interchange of signals, ht, might 
 have thought that it boded no good to him. 
 
 "Is anybody here, Barney]" inquired 
 Fagin, speaking — now that Sikes was 
 looking on — without raising his eyes from 
 the ground. 
 
 " Dot a shoul," replied Barney, whose 
 words, whether they came from the heart 
 or not, made their way through the nose 
 
64 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 "Nobody'?" inquired Fagin in a tone 
 of surprise, which perhaps might mean 
 that Barney was at liberty to tell the 
 truth. 
 
 " Dobody but Biss Dadsy," replied Bar- 
 ney. 
 
 " Miss Nancy !" exclaimed Sikes. 
 "Where"! Strike me blind, if I don't 
 honour that 'ere gurl for her native ta- 
 lents." 
 
 " She 's bid havid a plate of boiled beef 
 id the bar," replied Barney. 
 
 " Send her here," said Sikes, pouring 
 out a glass of liquor ; " send her here." 
 
 Barney looked timidly at Fagin, as if 
 for permission ; the Jew remaining silent, 
 and not lifting his eyes from the ground, 
 he retired, and presently returned usher- 
 ing in Miss Nancy, who was decorated 
 with the bonnet, apron, basket, and street- 
 door key complete. 
 
 " You are on the scent, are you, Nan- 
 cy 1" inquired Sikes, proffering the glass. 
 
 " Yes, I am. Bill," replied the young 
 lady, disposing of its contents ; " and tired 
 enough of it I am, too. The young brat 's 
 been ill and confined to the crib; and " 
 
 " Ah, Nancy, dear !" said Fagin, look- 
 ing up. 
 
 Now, whether a peculiar contraction 
 of the Jew's red eyebrows, and a half- 
 closing of his deeply-set eyes, warned 
 Miss Nancy that she was disposed to be 
 too communicative, is not a matter of 
 much importance. The fact is all we 
 need care for here ; and the fact is, that 
 she suddenly checked herself, and, with 
 several gracious smiles upon Mr. Sikes, 
 turned the conversation to other matters. 
 In about ten mirmtes' time, Mr. Fagin 
 was seized with a fit of coughing, upon 
 which Miss Nancy pulled her shawl over 
 her shoulders, and declared it was time 
 to go. Mr. Sikes, finding that he was 
 walking a short part of her way himself, 
 expressed his intention of accompanying 
 her: and they went away together, fol- 
 lowed at a little distance by the dog, who 
 slunk out of a back-yard as soon as his 
 master was out of sight. 
 
 The Jew thrust his head out of the room 
 door when Sikes had left, looked after him 
 as he walked up the dark passage, shook 
 his clenched fist, muttered a deep curse, 
 and then with a horrible grin reseated 
 Jiimself at the table, where he was soon 
 deeply absorbed in the interesting pages 
 of the Hue and Cry. 
 
 Meanwhile Oliver Twist, little dream- 
 ing that he was witnm so very short a dis- 
 tance of the merry old gentleman, was on 
 his way to the book-stall. When he got into 
 
 Clerkenwell he accidentally turned down 
 a by-street which was not exactly in his 
 way ; but not discovering his mistake till 
 he had got half-way down it, and knowing 
 it must lead in the right direction, he did 
 not think it worth while to turn back, and 
 so marched on as quickly as he could, with 
 the books under his arm. 
 
 He was walking along, thinking how 
 happy and contented he ought to feel, and 
 how much he would give for only one look 
 at poor little Dick, who, starved and beat- 
 en, might be lying dead at that very mo- 
 ment, when he was startled by a young 
 woman screaming out very loud, " Oh, my 
 dear brother !" and he had hardly looked 
 up to see what the matter was, when he 
 was stopped by having a pair of arms 
 thrown tight round his neck. 
 
 " Don't !" cried Oliver, struggling. 
 " Let go of me. Who is it 1 What are 
 you stopping me for ]" 
 
 The only reply to this, was a great 
 number of loud lamentations from the 
 young woman who had embraced him, and 
 who had got a little basket and a street- 
 door key in her hand. 
 
 " Oh my gracious !" said the young wo- 
 man, " I 've found him ! Oh, Oliver ! Oli- 
 ver ! Oh, you naughty boy, to make me 
 suffer such distress on your account ! 
 Come home, dear, come. Oh, I 've found 
 him. Thank gracious goodness heavins, 
 I 've found him !" With these incoherent 
 exclamations the young woman burst into 
 another fit of crying, and got so dreadfully 
 hysterical, that a couple of women who 
 came up at the moment asked a butcher's 
 boy, with a shiny head of hair anointed 
 with suet, who was also looking on, whe- 
 ther he didn't think he had better run for 
 the doctor. To which the butcher's boy, 
 who appeared of a lounging, not to say in- 
 dolent disposition, replied that he thought 
 not, 
 
 "Oh, no, no, never mind," said the 
 young woman, grasping Oliver's hand ; 
 " I 'm better now. Come home directly, 
 you cruel boy, come." 
 
 " What 's the matter, ma'am 1" inqui- 
 red one of the women. 
 
 " Oh, ma'am," replied the young wo- 
 man, " he ran away near a month ago 
 from his parents, who are hard-working 
 and respectable people, and joined a set 
 of thieves and bad characters, and almost 
 broke his mother's heart" 
 
 " Young wretch !" said one woman. 
 
 "Go home, do, you little brute," said 
 the other. 
 
 " I 'm not," replied Oliver, greatly 
 alarmed. " I don't know her. I haven't 
 
/ //y-y (//^////Ur/^ Oj^ //^y ^^'rr://r//y//^^^ 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 65 
 
 fot any sister, or father and mother either. 
 'm an orphan; I live at Pentonville." 
 
 " Oh, only hear him, how he braves it 
 out !" cried the young woman. 
 
 " Why, it 's Nancy !" exclaimed Oli- 
 ver, who now saw her face for the first 
 time, and started back in irrepressible 
 astonishment. 
 
 " You see he knows mc," cried Nancy, 
 appealing to the bystanders. " He can't 
 help himself. Make him come home, 
 there 's good people, or he '11 kill his dear 
 mother and father, and break my heart !" 
 
 " What the devil 's this ]" said a man 
 bursting out of a beer-shop, with a white 
 dog at his heels ; " young Oliver ! Come 
 home to your poor mother, you young 
 dog ! come home directly." 
 . " I don't belong to them. I don't know 
 them. Help ! help !" cried Oliver, strug- 
 gling in the man's powerful grasp. 
 
 "Help!" repeated the man. "Yes; 
 I '11 help you, you young rascal ! What 
 books are these 1 You 've been a steal- 
 ing 'em, have youl Give 'em here!" 
 With these words the man tore the vol- 
 umes from his grasp, and struck him vio- 
 lently on the head. 
 
 " That 's right !" cried a looker-on, from 
 a garret window. " That's the only way 
 of bringing him to his senses !" 
 
 " To be sure," cried a sleepy-faced car- 
 penter, casting an approving look at the 
 garret-window. 
 
 " It 'U do him good !" said the two wo- 
 men. 
 
 " And he shall have it, too !" rejoined 
 the man, administering another blow, and 
 seizing Oliver by the collar. " Come on, 
 you young villain ! Here, Bull's-eye, 
 mind him, boy ! mind him !" 
 
 Weak with recent illness, stupified by 
 the blows and the suddenness of the at- 
 tack, terrified by the fierce growling of 
 the dog and the brutality of the man, and 
 overpowered by the conviction of the by- 
 standers that he was really the hardened 
 little wretch he was described to be, what 
 could one poor child do "? Darkness had 
 set in ; it was a low neighbourhood ; no 
 help was near ; resistance was useless. 
 In another moment he was dragged into 
 a labyrinth of dark, narrow courts, and 
 forced along them at a pace which ren- 
 dered the few cries he dared give utter- 
 ance to, wholly unintelligible. It was of 
 little moment, indeed, whether they were 
 intelligible or not, for there was nobody 
 to care for them had they been ever so 
 plain. 
 
 9» :|c !|c 4: 4t iit 
 
 ITie gas-lamps were lighted ; Mrs. Bed- 
 6* I 
 
 win was waiting anxiously at the open 
 door ; the servant had run up the street 
 twenty times, to see if there were any 
 traces of Oliver ; and still the two old 
 gentlemen sat perseveringly in the dark 
 parlour, with the watch between them. 
 
 CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH 
 
 Relates what became of Oliver Twist, after he had 
 been claimed by Nancy. 
 
 The narrow streets and courts at length 
 terminated in a large open space, scat- 
 tered about which, were pens for beasts, 
 and other indications of a cattle-market. 
 Sikes slackened his pace when they reach- 
 ed this spot, the girl being unable to sup- 
 port any longer the rapid rate at which 
 they had hitherto walked; and, turning 
 to Oliver, commanded him roughly to take 
 hold of Nancy's hand. 
 
 " Do you hear V growled Sikes, as Oli- 
 ver hesitated, and looked round. 
 
 They were in a dark corner, quite out 
 of the track of passengers, and Oliver 
 saw but too plainly that resistance would 
 be of no avail. He held out his hand, 
 which Nancy clasped tight in hers. 
 
 "Give me the other," said Sikes, seiz- 
 ing Oliver's unoccupied hand. "Here, 
 Bull's-eye !" 
 
 The dog looked up, and growled. 
 
 " See here, boy !" said Sikes, putting 
 his other hand to Oliver's throat, and ut- 
 tering a savage oath ; " if he speaks ever 
 so soft a word, hold him ! D'ye mind ■!" 
 
 The dog growled again, and licking his 
 lips, eyed Oliver as if he Avere anxious to 
 attach himself to his windpipe witliout 
 any unnecessary delay. 
 
 " He 's as willing as a Christian, strike 
 me blind if he isn't !" said Sikes, regard- 
 ing the animal with a kind of grim and 
 ferocious approval. " Now you know 
 what you 've got to expect, master, so call 
 away els quick as you like ; the dog will 
 soon stop the game. Get on, young 'un !" 
 
 Bull's-eye wagged his tail in acknow- 
 ledgment of this unusually endearing 
 form of speech, and, giving vent to an- 
 other admonitory growl for the benefit 
 of Oliver, led the way onward. 
 
 It was Smithfield they were crossing, 
 although it might have been Grosvenor 
 Square, for anything Oliver knew to the 
 contrary. The night was dark and foggy, 
 and it was just beginning to rain. The 
 lights in the shops could scarcely struggle 
 
G6 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 through the heavy mist, which thickened 
 every moment, and shrouded the streets 
 and houses in gloom, rendering the 
 strange place still stranger in Oliver's 
 eyes, and making his uncertainty the 
 more dismal and depressing. 
 
 They had hurried on a few paces, when 
 a deep church-bell struck the hour. With 
 its first stroke his two conductors stopped, 
 and turned their heads in the direction 
 whence the sound proceeded. 
 
 " Eight o'clock, Bill," said Nancy, when 
 the bell ceased. 
 
 " What 's the good of telling me that ; 
 I can hear, can't 1 1" replied Sikes. 
 
 " I wonder whether they can hear it," 
 said Nancy. 
 
 " Of course they can," replied Sikes. 
 " It was Bartlemy time when I was shop- 
 ped, and there warn't a penny trumpet in 
 the fair as I couldn't hear the squeaking 
 on. Arter I was locked up for the night, 
 the row and din outside made the thun- 
 dering old jail so silent, that I could almost 
 have beat my brains out against the iron 
 plates of the door." 
 
 " Poor fellows !" said Nancy, who still 
 had her face turned towards the quarter 
 in which the bell had sounded. " Oh, 
 Bill, such fine young chaps as them !" 
 
 " Yes ; that 's all you women think of," 
 answered Sikes. " Fine young chaps ! 
 Well, they 're as good as dead ; so it don't 
 much matter." 
 
 With this consolation Mr. Sikes ap- 
 peared to repress a rising tendency to 
 jealousy, and, clasping Oliver's wrist 
 more firmly, told him to step out again. 
 
 " Wait a minute," said the girl ; " I 
 wouldn't hurry by, if it was you that was 
 coming out to be hung the next time eight 
 o'clock struck, Bill. I 'd walk round and 
 round the place till I dropped, if the snow 
 was on the ground, and I hadn't a shawl 
 to cover me." 
 
 " And what good would that do V in- 
 quired the unsentimental Mr. Sikes. " Un- 
 less you could pitch over a file and twenty 
 yards of good stout rope, you might as 
 well be walking fifty miles off, or not 
 walking at all, for all the good it would 
 do me. Come on, will you, and don't 
 etAnd preaching there." 
 
 The girl burst into a laugh, drew her 
 shawl more closely round her, and they 
 walked away. But Oliver felt her hand 
 tremble ; and, looking up in her face as 
 they passed a gas-lamp, saw that it had 
 turned a deadly white. 
 
 They walked on by little-frequented 
 and dirty ways, for u full half-hour, meet- 
 ing very few people, for it now rained 
 
 heavily, and those they did meet appear- 
 ing from their looks to hold much the 
 same position in society as Mr. Sikes him- 
 self At length they turned into a very 
 filthy narrow street, nearly full of old- 
 clothes shops ; and, the dog running for- 
 ward as if conscious that there was no 
 further occasion of his keeping on guard, 
 stopped before the door of a shop which 
 was closed and apparently untenanted, 
 for the house was in a ruinous condition, 
 and upon the door was nailed a board in 
 timating that it was to let, which looked 
 as if it had hung there for many years. 
 
 "All right," said Sikes, looking cau 
 tiously about. 
 
 Nancy stooped below the shutters, and 
 Oliver heard the sound of a bell. They 
 crossed to the opposite side of the street, 
 and stood for a few moments under a lamp 
 A noise, as if a sash-window were gently 
 raised, was heard, and soon afterwards 
 the door softly opened ; upon which Mr. 
 Sikes seized the terrified boy by the col 
 lar with very little ceremony, and all 
 three were quickly inside the house. 
 
 The passage was perfectly dark, and 
 they waited while the person who had let 
 them in, chained and barred the door. 
 
 " Anybody here V inquired Sikes. 
 
 "No," replied a voice, which Oliver 
 thought he had heard before. 
 
 " Is the old 'un here ]" asked the robber. 
 
 " Yes," replied the voice ; " and pre- 
 cious down in the mouth he has been. 
 Won't he be glad to see you ■? Oh, no." 
 
 The style of this reply, as well as the 
 voice that delivered it, seemed familiar to 
 Oliver's ears ; but it was impossible to 
 distinguish even the form of the speaker 
 in the darkness. 
 
 " Let 's have a glim," said Sikes, " or 
 we shall go breaking our necks, or tread- 
 ing on the dog. Look after your legs if 
 you do, that 's all." 
 
 " Stand still a moment, and I '11 get you 
 one," replied the voice. The receding 
 footsteps of the speaker were heard, and 
 ifi another minute the form of Mr. John 
 Dawkins, otherwise the artful Dodger, ap- 
 peared, bearing in his right hand a tallow 
 candle stuck in the end of a cleft stick. 
 
 The young gentleman did not stop to 
 bestow any other mark of recognition 
 upon Oliver than a humorous grin ; but, 
 turning away, beckoned the visitors to 
 follow him down a flight of stairs. They 
 crossed an empty kitchen, and, opening 
 the door of a low earthy-smelling room, 
 which seemed to have been built in a 
 small back-yard, were received with c 
 shout of laughter. 
 
 f^ 
 
'^^/'f'Yj 'h'-'y^/"^// //// 
 
 y, ^v:^ /A'- /■><■//.. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 67 
 
 «' Oh, my wig, my wig !" cried Master 
 Charles Bates, from whose lungs the 
 laughter had proceeded ; " here he is ! 
 oh, cry, here he is ! Oh, Fagin, look at 
 him ; Fagin, do look at him ! I can't bear 
 it ; it is such a jolly game, I can't bear it. 
 Hold me, somebody, while I laugh it out" 
 
 With this irrepressible ebullition of 
 mirth. Master Bates laid himself flat on 
 the floor, and kicked convulsively for five 
 minutes in an ecstacy of facetious joy. 
 Then jumping to his feet, he snatched the 
 cleft stick from the Dodger, and, advanc- 
 mg to Oliver, viewed him round and 
 round, while the Jew, taking ofl'his night- 
 cap, made a great number of low bows to 
 the bewildered boy ; the Artful mean- 
 time, who was of a rather saturnine dis- 
 position, and seldom gave way to merri- 
 ment when it interfered with business, 
 rifling his pockets with steady assiduity. 
 
 " Look at his togs, Feigin !" said Char- 
 ley, putting the light so close to Oliver's 
 new jacket as nearly to set him on fire. 
 " Look at his togs ! — superfine cloth, and 
 the heavy-swell cut ! Oh, my eye, what 
 a game ! And his books, too ; — nothing 
 but a gentleman, Fagin !" 
 
 " Delighted to see you looking so well, 
 my dear," said the Jew, bowing with 
 mock humility. " The Artful shall give 
 you another suit, my dear, for fear you 
 should spoil that Sunday one. Why didn't 
 you write, my dear, and say you were 
 coming 1 — we 'd have got something warm 
 for supper." 
 
 At this, Master Bates roared again, so 
 loud that Fagin himself relaxed, and even 
 the Dodger smiled ; but as the Artful 
 drew forth the five-pound note at that in- 
 stant, it is doubtful whether the sally or 
 the discovery awakened his merriment. 
 
 " Hallo ! what 's that 1" inquired Sikes, 
 stepping forward as the Jew seized the 
 note. " That 's mine, Fagin." 
 
 " No, no, my dear," said the Jew. 
 " Mine, Bill, mine ; you shall have the 
 books." 
 
 " If that ain't mine !" said Sikes, put- 
 ting on his hat with a determined air, — 
 "mine and Nancy's, that is, — I'll take 
 the boy back again." 
 
 The Jew started, and Oliver started too, 
 though from a very different cause, for he 
 hoped the dispute might really end in his 
 being taken back. 
 
 " Come, hand it over, will you 1" said 
 Sikes. 
 
 " This is hardly fair. Bill ; hardly fair, 
 is it, Nancy 7" inquired the Jew. 
 
 " Fair, or not fair," retorted Sikes, 
 " hand it over, I tell you ! Do you think 
 
 Nancy and me has got nothing else to do 
 with our precious time but to spend it in 
 scouting arter and kidnapping every young 
 boy as gets grabbed through you 1 Give 
 it here, you avaricious old skeleton ; give 
 it here !" 
 
 With this gentle remonstrance, Mr. 
 Sikes plucked the note from between the 
 Jew's finger and thumb ; and looking the 
 old man coolly in the face, folded it up 
 small, and tied it in his neckerchief. 
 
 " That 's for our share of the trouble," 
 said Sikes ; " and not half enough, nei- 
 ther. You may keep the books, if you 're 
 fond of reading ; and if not, you can sell 
 'em." 
 
 "They're very pretty," said Charles 
 Bates, who with certain grimaces had 
 been aflecting to read one of the volumes 
 in question ; " beautiful writing, isn't it, 
 Oliver'!" and at sight of the dismayed 
 look with which Oliver regarded his tor- 
 mentors. Master Bates, who was blessed 
 with a lively sense of the ludicrous, fell 
 into another ecstacy more boisterous than 
 the first. 
 
 " They belong to the old gentleman," 
 said Oliver, wringing his hands, — " to the 
 good, kind old gentleman who took me 
 into his house, and had me nursed when I 
 was near dying of the fever. Oh, pray 
 send them back ; send him back the books 
 and money ! Keep me here all my life 
 long; but pray, pray send them back! 
 He '11 think I stole them ; — the old lady, 
 all of them that were so kind to me, will 
 think I stole them. Oh, do have mercy 
 upon me, and send them back !" 
 
 With these words, which were uttered 
 with all the energy of passionate grief, 
 Oliver fell upon his knees at the Jew's 
 feet, and beat his hands together in per- 
 fect desperation. 
 
 " The boy 's right," remarked Fagin, 
 looking covertly round, and knitting his 
 shaggy eyebrows into a hard knot. " You're 
 right, Oliver, you 're right ; they will 
 think you have stolen 'em. Ha ! ha !" 
 chuckled the Jew, rubbing his hands ; " it 
 couldn't have happened better if we had 
 chosen our time !" 
 
 " Of course it couldn't," replied Sikes ; 
 " I know'd that, directly I see him coming 
 through Clerkenwell with the books un- 
 der his arm. It 's all right enough. 
 They 're sofl-hearted psalm-singers, or 
 they wouldn't have took him in at all, and 
 they '11 ask no questions arter him, fear 
 they should be obliged to prosecute, and 
 so get him lagged. He 's safe enough. ' 
 
 Oliver had looked from one to the other 
 whUe these words were being spoken, as 
 
68 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 if he were bewildered and could scarcely 
 understand what passed; but when Bill 
 Sikes concluded, he jumped suddenly to 
 his feet, and tore wildly from the room, 
 uttering shrieks for help that made the 
 bare old house echo to the roof. 
 
 " Keep back the dog. Bill !" cried Nan- 
 cy, springing before the door, and closing 
 it as the Jew and his two pupils darted out 
 in pursuit ; " keep back the dog ; he '11 
 tear the boy to pieces." 
 
 " Serve him right !" cried Sikes, strug- 
 gling to disengage himself from the girl's 
 grasp. " Stand off from me, or I '11 split 
 your skull against the wall !" 
 
 " I don't care for that. Bill ; I don't care 
 for that," screamed the girl, struggling 
 violently with the man : " the child shan't 
 be torn down by the dog, unless you kill 
 me first." 
 
 " Shan't he !" said Sikes, setting his 
 teeth fiercely. " I '11 soon do that, if you 
 don't keep off." 
 
 The housebreaker flung the girl from 
 him to the further end of the room, just 
 as the Jew and the two boys returned, 
 dragging Oliver among them. 
 
 " What 's the matter here ■?" said the 
 Jew, looking round. 
 
 " The girl 's gone mad, I think," replied 
 Sikes savagely. 
 
 " No, she hasn't," said Nancy, pale and 
 breathless from the scuffle; "no, she 
 hasn't, Fagin : don't think it." 
 
 "Then keep quiet, will you I" said the 
 Jew with a threatening look. 
 
 " No, I won't do that either," replied 
 Nancy, speaking very loud. " Come, 
 what do you think of that 1" 
 
 Mr. Tagin was sufficiently well ac- 
 quainted with the manners and customs 
 of that particular species of humanity to 
 which Miss Nancy belonged, to feel tolera- 
 bly certain that it would be rather unsafe 
 to prolong any conversation with her at 
 present. With the view of diverting the 
 attention of the company, he turned to 
 Oliver. 
 
 " So you wanted to get away, my dear, 
 did you]" said the Jew, taking up a jagged 
 and knotted club which lay in a corner of 
 the fire-place ; " eh ]" 
 
 Oliver made no reply, but he watched 
 the Jew's motions and breathed quickly. 
 
 " Wanted to get assistance, — called for 
 the police, did you?" sneered the Jew, 
 catching the boy by the arm. " We '11 
 cure you of that, my dear." 
 
 The Jew inflicted a smart blow on Oli- 
 ver's shoulders with the club, and was 
 raising it for a second, when the girl, rush- 
 Uig forward, wrested it froni his hand, and 
 
 flung it into the fire with a force that 
 brought some of the glowing coals whirl- 
 ing out into the room. 
 
 " I won't stand by and see it done. Fa- 
 gin," cried the girl. " You 've got the 
 boy, and what more would you have ] Let 
 him be — let him be, or I shall put the 
 mark on some of you that will bring me 
 to the gallows before my time !" 
 
 The girl stamped her foot violently on 
 the floor as she vented this threat ; and 
 with her lips compressed, and her hands 
 clenched, looking alternately at the Jew 
 and the other robber, her face quite co- 
 lourless from the passion of rage into 
 which she had gradually worked herself. 
 
 " Why, Nancy !" said the Jew in a 
 soothing tone, after a pause, during which 
 he and Mr. Sikes had stared at one an- 
 other in a disconcerted manner, " you — 
 you 're more clever than ever to-night. 
 Ha ! ha ! my dear, you are acting beauti- 
 fully." 
 
 " Am I !" said the girl. " Take care 
 I don't overdo it : you will be the worse 
 for it, Fagin, if I do ; and so I tell you in 
 good time to keep clear of me." 
 
 There is something about a roused wo- 
 man, especially if she add to all her other 
 strong passions the fierce impulses of 
 recklessness and despair, which few men 
 like to provoke. The Jew saw that it 
 would be hopeless to affect any further 
 mistake regarding the reality of Miss 
 Nancy's rage ; and, shrinking involunta- 
 rily back, a few paces, cast a glance, half- 
 imploring and half-cowardly, at Sikes, as 
 if to hint that he was the fittest person 
 to pursue the dialogue. 
 
 Mr. Sikes thus mutely appealed to, and 
 possibly feeling his personal pride and in- 
 fluence interested in the immediate re- 
 duction of Miss Nancy to reason, gave 
 utterance to about a couple of score of 
 curses and threats, the rapid delivery of 
 which reflected great credit on the fer- 
 tility of his invention. As they produced 
 no visible effect on the object against 
 whom they were discharged, however, he 
 resorted to more tangible arguments. 
 
 " What do you mean by this 1" said 
 Sikes, backing the inquiry with a very 
 common imprecation concerning the most 
 beautiful of human features, which, if it 
 were heard above, only once out of every 
 fifty thousand times it is uttered below, 
 would render blindness as common a dis- 
 order as measles; "what do you mean 
 by it 1 Burn my body ! do you know who 
 you are, and what you are 1" 
 
 " Oh, yes, I know all about it," replied 
 the girl, laughing hysterically, and shak- 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 ing her head from side to side, with a poor 
 assumption of indifference. 
 
 "Well, then, keep quiet," rejoined 
 Sikes with a growl like that he was ac- 
 customed to use when addressing his dog, 
 " or I '11 quiet you for a good long time to 
 come." 
 
 The girl laughed again, even less com- 
 posedly than before, and, darting a hasty 
 look at Sikes, turned her face aside, and 
 bit her lip till the blood came. 
 
 " You 're a nice one," added Sikes, as 
 he surveyed her with a contemptuous air, 
 " to take up the humane and genteel side ! 
 A pretty subject for the child, as you call 
 him, to make a friend of !" 
 
 " God Almighty help me, I am !" cried 
 the girl passionately ; " and I wish I had 
 been struck dead in the street, or changed 
 places with them we passed so near to- 
 night, before I had lent a hand in bring- 
 ing him here. He 's a thief, a liar, a de- 
 vil, all that 's bad, from this night forth ; 
 isn't that enough for the old wretch with- 
 out blows 1" 
 
 "Come, come, Sikes," said the Jew, 
 appcalmg to him in a remonstratory tone, 
 and motioning towards the boys, who were 
 eagerly attentive to all that passed ; " we 
 must have civil words, — civil words. Bill !" 
 
 "Civil words!" cried the girl, whose 
 passion was frightful to see. "Civil 
 words, you villain ! Yes ; you deserve 'em 
 from me. I thieved for you when I was 
 a child not half as old as this (pointing to 
 Oliver). I have been in the same trade, 
 and the same service, for twelve years 
 since ; don't you know it 1 Speak out ! 
 don't you know it ]" 
 
 " Well, well !" replied the Jew, with 
 an attempt at pacification ; " and if you 
 have, it 's your living !" 
 
 " Ah, it is !" returned the girl, not 
 speaking, but pouring out the words in 
 one continuous and vehement scream. 
 " It is my living, and the cold, wet, dirty 
 streets are my home ; and you 're the 
 wretch that drove me to them long ago, 
 and that '11 keep me there day and night, 
 day and night, till I die !" 
 
 " I shall do you a mischief !" interposed 
 the Jew, goaded by these reproaches ; " a 
 mischief worse than that, if you say much 
 more !" 
 
 The girl said nothing more ; but tear- 
 ing her hair and dress in a transport of 
 phrensy, made such a rush at the Jew as 
 would probably have left signal marks of 
 her revenge upon him, had not her wrists 
 been seized by Sikes at the right moment ; 
 upon which she made a few ineffectual 
 struggles, and fainted. 
 
 "She's all right now," said Sikes, lay- 
 ing her down in a corner. " She 's un- 
 common strong in the anns when she 'a 
 up in this way." 
 
 The Jew wiped his forehead, and smiled, 
 as if it were a relief to have the disturb 
 ance over ; but neither he, nor Sikes, nor 
 the dog, nor the boys, seemed to consider 
 it in any other light than a common occur- 
 rence incidental to business. 
 
 " It 's the worst of having to do with 
 women," said the Jew, replacing the club ; 
 " but they 're clever, and we can't get on 
 in our line without 'em. — Charley, show 
 Oliver to bed." 
 
 " I suppose he 'd better not wear his 
 best clothes to-morrow, Fagin, had he]" 
 inquired Charley Bates. 
 
 " Certainly not," replied the Jew, recip- 
 rocating the grin with which Charley put 
 the question. 
 
 Master Bates, apparently much delight- 
 ed with his commission, took the clefl 
 stick, and led Oliver into an adjacent 
 kitchen, where there were two or three 
 of the beds on which he had slept before ; 
 and here, with many uncontrollable bursts 
 of laughter, he produced the identical old 
 suit of clothes which Oliver had so much 
 congratulated himself upon leaving off at 
 Mr. Brownlow's, and the accidental dis- 
 play of which to Fagin by the Jew who 
 purchased them, had been the very first 
 clue received of his whereabout. 
 
 " Pull off the smart ones," said Charley, 
 " and I '11 give 'em to Fagin to take care 
 of. What fun it is !" 
 
 Poor Oliver unwillingly complied ; and 
 Master Bates, rolling up the new clothes 
 under his arm, departed from tlie room, 
 leaving Oliver in the dark, and locking 
 the door behind him. 
 
 The noise of Charley's laughter, and 
 the voice of Miss Betsy, who opportunely 
 arrived to throw water over her friend, 
 jmd perform other feminine offices for the 
 promotion of her recovery, might have 
 kept many people awake under more hap- 
 py circumstances than those in which 
 Oliver was placed ; but he was sick and 
 weary, and soon fell sound asleep. 
 
 CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH. 
 
 Oliver's destiny continuing unpropitious, brings a 
 great man to London to injure his reputation. 
 
 It is the custom on the stage in all 
 good, murderous melo-dramas, to present 
 the tragic and the comic scenes in as 
 regular alternation as the layers of red 
 
w 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 and white in a side of streaky, well-cured 
 bacon. The hero sinks upon his straw 
 bed, weighed down by fetters and misfor- 
 tunes ; and, in the next scene, his faithful 
 but unconscious squire regales the au- 
 dience with a comic song. We behold 
 with throbbing bosoms the heroine in the 
 grasp of a proud and ruthless baron, her 
 virtue and her life alike in danger, draw- 
 ing forth lier dagger to preserve the one 
 at the cost of the other ; and, just as our 
 expectations are wrought up to the high- 
 est pitch, a whistle is heard, and we are 
 straightway transported to the hall of the 
 castle, where a grey-headed seneschal 
 sings a funny chorus with a funnier body 
 of vassals, who are free of all sorts of 
 places from church vaults to palaces, and 
 roam about in company, carolling perpe- 
 tually. 
 
 Such changes appear absurd ; but they 
 are by no means unnatural. The transi- 
 tions in reul life from well-spread boards 
 to death-beds, and from mourning weeds 
 to holiday garments, are not a whit less 
 startling, only there we are busy actors 
 instead of passive lookers-on, which makes 
 a vast difference ; the actors in the mimic 
 life of the theatre are blind to violent 
 transitions and abrupt impulses of passion 
 or feeling, which, presented before the 
 eyes of mere spectators, are at once con- 
 demned as outrageous and preposterous. 
 
 As sudden shiflings of the scene, and 
 rapid changes of time and place, are not 
 only sanctioned in books by long usage, 
 but are by many considered as the great 
 art of authorship, — an author's skill in 
 his craft being by such critics chiefly esti- 
 mated with relation to the dilemmas in 
 which he leaves his characters at the end 
 of almost every chapter, — this brief intro- 
 duction to the present one may perhaps 
 be deemed unnecessary. But I have set 
 it in this place because I am anxious to 
 disclaim at once the slightest desire to 
 tantalise my readers by leaving young 
 Oliver Twist in situations of doubt and 
 difficulty, and then flying off at a tangent 
 to impertinent matters, which have no- 
 thing to do with him. My sole desire is 
 to proceed straight through this history 
 with all convenient despatch, carrying my 
 reader along with me if I can, and, if not, 
 leaving him to take some more pleasant 
 "oute Tor a chapter or two, and join me 
 again afterwards if he will. Indeed, 
 there is so much to do, that I have no 
 room for digressions, even if I possessed 
 the inclination ; and I merely make this 
 one in order to set myself quite right with 
 ♦he reader, between whom and the histo- 
 
 rian it is essentially necessary that perfec- 
 faith should be kept, and a good under- 
 standing preserved. The advantage of 
 this amicable explanation is, that when I 
 say, as I do now, that I am going back 
 directly to the town in which Oliver 
 Twist was born, the reader will at ones 
 take it for granted that I have good and 
 substEintial reasons for making the jour- 
 ney, or I would not ask him to accompany 
 me on any account. 
 
 Mr. Bumble emerged at early morning 
 from the worlchouse gate, and walked, 
 with portly carriage and commanding 
 steps, up the High-street. He was in 
 the full bloom and pride of beadleism ; 
 his cocked-hat and coat were dazzling in 
 the morning sun, and he clutched his cane 
 with all the vigorous tenacity of health 
 and power. Mr. Bumble always carried 
 his head high, but this morning it was 
 higher than usual ; there was an abstrac- 
 tion in his eye, and an elevation in his 
 air, which might have warned an obser- 
 vant stranger that thoughts were passing 
 in the beadle's mind, too great for utter- 
 ance. 
 
 Mr. Bumble stooped not to converse 
 with the small shopkeepers and others who 
 spoke to him deferentially as he passed 
 along. He merely returned their saluta- 
 tions with a wave of his hand, and relaxed 
 not in his dignified pace until he reached 
 the farm where Mrs. Mann tended the 
 infant paupers with a parish care. 
 
 " Drat tliat beadle !" said Mrs. Mann, 
 hearing the well-known impatient shaking 
 at the garden gate. " If it isn't him at 
 this time in the morning ! — Lauk, Mr, 
 Bumble, only think of its being you ! 
 Well, dear me, it is a pleasure this is ! 
 Come into the parlour. Sir, please." 
 
 The first sentence was addressed to 
 Susan, and the exclamations of delight 
 were spoken to Mr. Bumble as the good 
 lady unlocked the garden gate, and showed 
 him with great attention and respect into 
 the house. 
 
 " Mrs. Mann," said Mr. Bumble, — not 
 sitting upon, or dropping himself into a 
 seat, as any common jackanapes would, 
 but letting himself gradually and slowly 
 down into a chair, — " Mrs. Mann, ma'am, 
 good morning !" 
 
 " Well, and good morning to you, sir," 
 replied Mrs. Mann, with many smiles ; 
 " and hoping you find yourself well, sir?" 
 
 " So-so, Mrs. Mann," replied the bea- 
 dle. " A parochial life is not a bed of 
 roses, Mrs. Mann." 
 
 *'Ah, that it isn't indeed, Mr. Bumble," 
 rejoined the lady. And all the infant 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 71 
 
 paujjers might have chorused the rejoinder 
 with great propriety if they had heard it. 
 
 "A porochial life, ma'am," continued 
 Mr. Bumble, striking the table with his 
 cane, " is a life of worry, and vexation, 
 and hardihood ; but all public characters, 
 as I may say, must suffer prosecution." 
 
 Mrs. Mann, not very well knowing 
 what the beadle meant, raised her hands 
 with a look of sympathy, and sighed. 
 
 " Ah ! You may well sigh, Mrs. Mann !" 
 said the beadle. 
 
 Finding she had done right, Mrs. Mann 
 sighed again, evidently to the satisfaction 
 ef the public character, who, repressing a 
 complacent smile by looking sternly at his 
 cocked hat, said, 
 
 " Mrs. Mann, I am a going to London." 
 
 " Lauk, Mr. Bumble !" said Mrs. Mann, 
 starting back. 
 
 " To London, ma'am," resumed the 
 inflexible beadle, " by coach ; I, and two 
 paupers, Mrs. Mann. A legal action is 
 coming on about a settlement, and the 
 board has appointed me — me, Mrs. Mann 
 — to depose to the matter before the quar- 
 ter-sessions at Cler kin well ; and I very 
 much question," added Mr. Bumble, draw- 
 ing himself up, " whether the Clerkinwell 
 Sessions will not find themselves in the 
 wrong box before they have done with me." 
 
 " Oh ! you mustn't be too hard upon 
 them, sir," said Mrs. Mann coaxingly. 
 
 " The Clerkinwell Sessions have brought 
 it upon themselves, ma'am," replied Mr. 
 Bumble ; " and if the Clerkinwell Sessions 
 find they come off rather worse than they 
 expected, the Clerkinwell Sessions have 
 only themselves to thank." 
 
 There was so much determination and 
 depth of purpose about the menacing 
 manner in which Mr. Bumble delivered 
 himself of these words, that Mrs. Mann 
 appeared quite awed by them. At length 
 she said, 
 
 " You 're going by coach, sir 1 1 thought 
 it was always usual to send them paupers 
 m carts." 
 
 " That's when they 're ill, Mrs. Mann," 
 said the beadle. " We put the sick pau- 
 pers into open carts in the rainy weather, 
 to prevent their taking cold." 
 
 " Oh !" said Mrs. Mann. 
 
 "The opposition coach contracts for 
 these two, and takes them cheap," said 
 Mr. Bumble. " They are both in a very 
 low state, and we find it would come two 
 pound cheaper to move 'em than to bury 
 em, — that is, if we can throw 'em upon 
 another parish, which I think we shall be 
 able to do, if they don't die upon the road 
 to spite us. Ha ! ha ! ha !" 
 
 When Mr. Bumble had laughed a little 
 while, his eyes again encountered the 
 cocked hat, and he became grave. 
 
 " We are forgetting business, ma'am," 
 said the beadle ; — " here is your porochial 
 stipend for the month." 
 
 Wherewith Mr. Bumble produced some 
 silver money, rolled up in paper, from his 
 pocket-book, and requested a receipt, 
 which Mrs. Mann wrote. 
 
 " It's very much blotted, sir," said the 
 farmer of infants ; " but it 's formal enough, 
 I dare say. Thank you, Mr. Bumble, sir ; 
 I am very much obliged to you, I'm 
 sure." 
 
 Mr. Bumble nodded blandly in acknow- 
 ledgment of Mrs. Mann's curtsey, and 
 inquired how the children were. 
 
 " Bless their dear little hearts !" said 
 Mrs. Mann with emotion, " they 're as 
 well as can be, the dears ! Of course, 
 except the two that died last week, and 
 little Dick." 
 
 " Isn't that boy no better ?" inquired 
 Mr. Bumble. Mrs. Mann shook her head. 
 
 " He 's a ill-conditioned, vicious, bad- 
 disposed porochial child that," said Mr. 
 Bumble angrily. " Where is he I" 
 
 " I '11 bring him to you in one minute, 
 sir," replied Mrs. Mann. " Here, you 
 Dick !" 
 
 After some calling, Dick was discov- 
 ered ; and having had his face put under 
 the pump, and dried upon Mrs. Mann's 
 gown, he was led into the awful presence 
 of Mr. Bumble, the beadle. 
 
 The child was pale and thin ; his cheeks 
 were sunken, and his eyes large and 
 bright. The scanty parish dress, the 
 livery of his misery, hung loosely upon 
 his feeble body ; and his young limbs had 
 wasted away like those of an old man. 
 
 Such was the little being that stood 
 trembling beneath Mr. Bumble's glance, 
 not daring to lifl his eyes from the floor 
 and dreading even to hear the beadle's 
 voice. 
 
 " Can't you look at the gentleman, you 
 obstinate Iwy f said Mrs. Mann. 
 
 The child meekly raised his eyes, and 
 encountered those of Mr. Bumble. 
 
 " What 's the matter with you, poro- 
 chial Dick 1" inquired Mr. Bumble with 
 well-timed jocularity. 
 
 " Nothing, sir," replied the child faintly. 
 
 " I should think not," said Mrs. Mann, 
 who had of course laughed very much at 
 Mr. Bumble's exquisite humour. " You 
 want for nothing, I 'm sure." 
 
 » I should like—" faltered the child. ' 
 
 ■^ Hey-day !" interposed Mrs. Mann, 
 <■ f suppose you 're going to say that you 
 
72 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 do want for something, now 1 Why, you 
 little wretch " 
 
 "Stop, Mrs. Mann, stop!" said the 
 beadle, raising his hand with a show of 
 authority. " Like what, sir ; eh ]" 
 
 " I should like," faltered the child, " if 
 somebody that can write, would put a few 
 words down for me on a piece of paper, 
 and fold it up, and seal it, and keep it for 
 me after I am laid in the ground." 
 
 " Why, what does the boy mean V ex- 
 claimed Mr. Bumble, on whom the earn- 
 est manner and wan aspect of the child 
 had made some impression, accustomed 
 as he was to such things. "What do 
 you mean, sir?" 
 
 "I should like," said the child, "to 
 leave my dear love to poor Oliver Twist, 
 and to let him know how often I have sat 
 by myself and cried to think of his wan- 
 dering about in the dark nights with no- 
 body to help him ; and I should like to 
 tell him," said the child, pressing his 
 small hands together, and speaking with 
 great fervour, "that I was glad to die 
 when I was very young ; for, perhaps, if 
 I lived to be a man, and grew old, my 
 little sister, who is in heaven, might for- 
 get me, or be unlike me ; and it would be 
 so much happier if we were both children 
 there together." 
 
 Mr. Bumble surveyed the little speaker 
 from head to foot with indescribable as- 
 tonishment, and, turning to his compan- 
 ion, said, " They 're all in one story, Mrs. 
 Mann. That out-dacious Oliver has de- 
 moralised them all !" 
 
 " I couldn't have believed it, sir !" said 
 Mrs. Mann, holding up her hands, and 
 looking malignantly at Dick. " I never 
 see such a hardened little wretch !" 
 
 " Take him away, ma'am !" said Mr, 
 Bumble imperiously. " This must be 
 stated to the board, Mrs. Mann." 
 
 " I hope the gentlemen will understand 
 that it isn't my fault, sirl" said Mrs. 
 Mann, whimpering pathetically. 
 
 " They shall understand that, ma'am ; 
 they shall be acquainted with the true 
 state of the case," said Mr. Bumble pomp- 
 ously. " There ; take him away. I can't 
 Dear the sight of him." 
 
 Dick was immediately taken away, and 
 locked up in the coal-cellar ; and Mr. 
 Bumble shortly afterwards took himself 
 away to prepare for his journey. 
 
 At six o'clock next morning, Mr. Bum- 
 ble having exchanged his cocked-hat for 
 a round one, and encased his person in a 
 blue great-coat with a cape to it, took his 
 place on the outside of the coach, accom- 
 panied by the criminals whose settlement 
 
 was disputed, with whom, in due course 
 of time, he arrived in London, having 
 experienced no other crosses by the way 
 than those which originated in the per- 
 verse behaviour of the two paupers, who 
 persisted in shivering, and complaining 
 of the cold in a manner which, Mr. Bum- 
 ble declared, caused his teeth to chatter 
 in his head, and made him feel quite un- 
 comfortable, although he had a great- 
 coat on. 
 
 Having disposed of these evil minded 
 persons for the night, Mr. Bumble sat 
 himself down in the house at which the 
 coach stopped, and took a temperate din- 
 ner of steaks, oyster-sauce, and porter; 
 putting a glass of hot gin-and-water on 
 the mantel-piece, he drew his chair to the 
 fire, and, with sundry moral reflections on 
 the too-prevalent sin of discontent and 
 complaining, he then composed himself 
 comfortably to read the paper. 
 
 The very first paragraph upon which 
 Mr. Bumble's eyes rested, was the follow- 
 ing advertisement. 
 
 " FIVE GUINEAS REWARD. 
 
 " Whereas, a young boy, named Oli- 
 ver Twist, absconded, or was enticed, on 
 Thursday evening last, from his home at 
 Pentonville, and has not since been heard 
 of; the above reward will be paid to any 
 person who will give such information aa 
 may lead to the discovery of the said Oli- 
 ver Twist, or tend to throw any light 
 upon his previous history, in which the 
 advertiser is for many reasons warmly 
 interested." 
 
 And then followed a full description of 
 Oliver's dress, person, appearance, and 
 disappearance, with the name and address 
 of Mr. Brownlow at fiill length. 
 
 Mr. Bumble opened his eyes, read the 
 advertisement slowly and carefully three 
 several times, and in something more 
 than five minutes was on his way to Pen- 
 tonville, having actually in his excite- 
 ment left the glass of hot gin-and-water 
 untasted on the mantel-piece. 
 
 " Is Mr. Brownlow at home ]" inquired 
 Mr. Bumble of the girl who opened the 
 door. 
 
 To this inquiry the girl returned the 
 not uncommon, but rather evasive reply 
 of, " I don't know — where do you come 
 from ]" 
 
 Mr. Bumble no sooner uttered Oliver's 
 name in explanation of his errand, than 
 Mrs. Bedwin, who had been listening at 
 the parlour-door, hastened into the pas- 
 sage in a breathless state. 
 
 " Come in — come in," said the old 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 n 
 
 lady : " I knew we should hear of him. 
 JPoor dear ! I knew we should, — I was 
 certain of it. Bless his heart ! I said so 
 all along." 
 
 Having said this, the worthy old lady 
 hurried back into the parlour again, and, 
 seating herself on a sofa, burst into tears. 
 The girl, who was not quite so suscepti- 
 ble, had run up-stairs meanwhile, and 
 now returned with a request that Mr. 
 Bumble would follow her immediately, 
 which he did. 
 
 He was shown into the little back stu- 
 dy, where sat Mr. Brownlow and his friend 
 Mr. Grimwig, witii decanters and glasses 
 before them : the latter gentleman eyed 
 him closely, and at once burst into the ex- 
 clamation, 
 
 " A beadle — a parish beadle, or I '11 eat 
 my head !" 
 
 " Pray don't interrupt just now," said 
 Mr. Brownlow. " Take a seat, will you 1" 
 
 Mr. Bumble sat himself down, quite 
 confounded by the oddity of Mr. Grim- 
 wig's manner. Mr. Brownlow moved the 
 lamp so as to obtain an uninterrupted view 
 of the beadle's countenance, and said with 
 a little impatience, 
 
 " Now, sir, you come in consequence 
 of having seen the advertisement]" 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Mr. Bumble. 
 
 " And you are a beadle, are you not 1" 
 inquired Mr. Grimwig. 
 
 •' I am a porochial beadle, gentlemen," 
 rejoined Mr. Bumble proudly. 
 
 " Of course," observed Mr. Grimwig 
 aside to his friend. " I knew he was. 
 His great-coat is a parochial cut, and he 
 looks a beadle all over." 
 
 Mr. Brownlow gently shook his head 
 to impose silence on his friend, and re- 
 sumed : 
 
 " Do you know where tliis poor boy is 
 now 3" 
 
 " No more than nobody," replied Mr. 
 Bumble. 
 
 " Well, what do you know of him ?" 
 inquired the old gentleman. " Speak out, 
 my friend, if you have anything to say. 
 What do you know of him 1" 
 
 " You don't happen to know any good 
 of him, do you ]" said Mr. Grimwig caus- 
 tically, after an attentive perusal of Mr. 
 Bumble's features. 
 
 Mr. Bumble caught at the inquiry very 
 quickly, and shook his head with porten- 
 tous solemnity. 
 
 " You see this ?" said Mr. Grimwig, 
 looking triumphantly at Mr. Brownlow. 
 
 Mr. Brownlow looked apprehensively 
 at Bumble's pursed-up countenance, and 
 requested him to communicate what he 
 7 K 
 
 knew regarding Oliver, in as few words 
 as possible. 
 
 Mr. Bumble put down his hat, unbut- 
 toned his coat, folded his arms, inclined 
 his head in a retrospective manner, and, 
 after a few moments' reflection, com- 
 menced his story. 
 
 It would be tedious if given in the bea- 
 dle's words, occupying as it did some 
 twenty minutes in the telling ; but the 
 sum and substance of it was, that Oliver 
 was a foundling, born of low and vicious 
 parents, who had from his birth displayed 
 no better qualities than treachery, ingrati- 
 tude, and malice, and who had terminatei 
 liis brief career in the place of his birth, 
 by making a sanguinary and cowardly at- 
 tack on an unoffending lad, and then run- 
 ning away in the night-time from his mas- 
 ter's house. In proof of his really being 
 the person he represented himself, Mr. 
 Bumble laid upon the table the papers he 
 had brought to town, andj folding his arms 
 again, awaited Mr. Brownlow's observa- 
 tions. 
 
 " I fear it is all too true," said the old 
 gentleman sorrowfully, after looking over 
 the papers. " This is not much for your 
 intelligence; but I would gladly have 
 given you treble the money, sir, if it had 
 been favourable to the boy." 
 
 It is not at all improbable that if Mr. 
 Bumble had been possessed with this in- 
 formation at an earlier period of the inter- 
 view, he might have imparted a very dif- 
 ferent colouring to his little history. It 
 was too late to do it now, however ; so he 
 shook his head gravely, and pocketing the 
 five guineas, withdrew. 
 
 Mr. Brownlow paced the room to and 
 fro for some minutes, evidently so much 
 disturbed by the beadle's tale, that even 
 Mr. Grimwig forbore to vex him further. 
 At length he stopped, and rang the bell 
 violently. 
 
 "Mrs. Bedwin," said Mr. Brownlow 
 when the housekeeper appeared, "that 
 boy, Oliver, is an impostor." 
 
 " It can't be, sir ; it cannot be," said the 
 old lady energetically. 
 
 " I tell you he is," retorted the old gen- 
 tleman sharply. " What do you mean by 
 ' can't be' ] Wo have just heard a full 
 account of him from his oirth ; and he has 
 been a thorough-paced little villain all hia 
 life." 
 
 "I never will believe it, sir," replied 
 the old lady, firmly. 
 
 " You old women never believe anv 
 thing but quack-doctors and lying story 
 books," growled Mr. Grimwig. " I knew 
 it all along. Why didn't you take niy 
 
74 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 advice in the beginning ; you would, if he 
 hadn't had a fever, I suppose, — eh ! He 
 was interesting, wasn't he 1 Interesting ! 
 Bah !" and Mr. Grimwig poked the fire 
 witli a flourish. 
 
 " He was a dear, grateful, gentle child, 
 sir,'' retorted Mrs. Bedwin indignantly. 
 " I know what children are, sir, and have 
 done these forty years : and people who 
 can't say the same shouldn't say anything 
 about them — that 's my opinion." 
 
 This was a hard hit at Mr. Grimwig, 
 who was a bachelor ; but as it extorted 
 nothing from that gentleman but a smile, 
 the old lady tossed her head and smoothed 
 down her apron, preparatory to another 
 speech, when she was stopped by Mr. 
 Brownlow. 
 
 " Silence !" said the old gentleman, 
 feigning an anger which he was far from 
 feeling. " Never lot me hear the boy's 
 name again : I rang to tell you that. Ne- 
 ver — never, on any pretence, mind. You 
 may leave the room, Mrs. Bedwin. Re- 
 member ; I am in earnest." 
 
 There were sad hearts at Mr. Brown- 
 low's that night. Oliver's sank within 
 him when he thought of his good, kind 
 friends ; but it was well for him that he 
 could not know what they had heard, or 
 it would have broken outright. 
 
 CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH. 
 
 How Oliver passed his time in the improving 
 society of his rep<itable friends. 
 
 About noon next day, when the Dodger 
 and Master Bates had gone out to pursue 
 their customary avocations, Mr. Fagin 
 took the opportunity of reading Oliver a 
 long lecture on the crying sin of ingrati- 
 tude, of which he clearly demonstrated 
 he had been guilty to no ordinary extent 
 in wilfully absenting himself from the 
 society of his anxious friends, and still 
 more in endeavouring to escape from 
 them after so much trouble and expense 
 had been incurred in his recovery. Mr. 
 Fagin laid great stress on the fact of his 
 having taken Oliver in and cherished 
 him, when without his timely aid he 
 might have perished with hunger ; and 
 related the dismal and affecting history 
 of a young lad whom in his philanthropy 
 he had succoured under parallel circum- 
 stances, but who, proving unworthy of his 
 confidence, and evincing a desire to com- 
 municate with the police, had unfortunate- 
 ly come to be hung at the Old Bailey one 
 
 morning. Mr. Fagin did not seek to con 
 ceal his share in the catastrophe, but 
 lamented with tears in his eyes that the 
 wrong-lieaded and treacherous behaviour 
 of the young person in question had ren- 
 dered it necessary that he should become 
 the victim of certain evidence for the 
 crown, which, if it were not precisely 
 true, was indispensably necessary for the 
 safety of him (Mr. Fagin,) and a few 
 select friends. Mr. Fagin concluded by 
 drawing a rather disagreeable picture of 
 the discomforts of hanging, and, with 
 great friendliness and politeness of man- 
 ner, expressed his anxious hope that he 
 might never be obliged to submit Oliver 
 Twist to that unpleasant operation. 
 
 Little Oliver's blood ran cold as he lis- 
 tened to the Jew's words, and imperfectly 
 comprehended the dark threats conveyed 
 in them : that it was possible even for 
 justice itself to confound the innocent 
 with the guilty when they were in acci- 
 dental companionship, he knew already ; 
 and that deeply-laid plans for the destruc- 
 tion of inconveniently-knowing, or over- 
 communicative persons, had been really 
 devised and carried out by the old Jew on 
 more occasions than one, he thought by 
 no means unlikely when he recollected 
 the general nature of the altercations be- 
 tween that gentleman and Mr. Sikes, 
 which seemed to bear reference to some 
 foregone conspiracy of the kind. As he 
 glanced timidly up, and met the Jew's 
 searching look, he felt that his pale face 
 and trembling limbs were neither un- 
 noticed nor unrelished by the wary vil- 
 lain. 
 
 The Jew smiled hideously, and, patting 
 Oliver on the head, said that if he kept 
 himself quiet, and applied himself to busi- 
 ness, he saw they would be very good 
 friends yet. Then taking his hat, and 
 covering himself up in an old patched 
 great-coat, he went out and locked the 
 room-door behind him. 
 
 And so Oliver remained all that day, 
 and for the greater part of many sub- 
 sequent days, seeing nobody between 
 early morning and midnight, and left 
 during the long hours to commune with 
 his own thoughts ; which, never failing 
 to revert to his kind friends, and the opin- 
 ion they must long ago have formed of 
 him, were sad indeed. After the lapse 
 of a week or so, the Jew left the room- 
 door unlocked, and he was at liberty to 
 wander about the house. 
 
 It was a very dirty place ; but the 
 rooms up stairs had great high wooden 
 mantel-pieces and large doors, with panel- 
 
{hTltJUJuMltCc— 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 75 
 
 ed walls and cornices to the ceilings, 
 which, although they were black with 
 neglect and dust, were ornamented in 
 various ways ; from all of which tokens 
 Oliver concluded that a long time ago, 
 before the old Jew was born, it had be- 
 longed to better people, and had perhaps 
 been quite gay and handsome, dismal and 
 dreary as it looked now. 
 
 Spiders had built their webs in the 
 angles of the walls and ceilings; and 
 sometimes, when Oliver walked softly 
 into a room, the mice would scamper 
 across the floor, and run back terrified to 
 their holes : with these exceptions, there 
 was neither sight nor sound of any living 
 thing ; and often, when it grew dark, and 
 he was tired of wandering from room to 
 room, he would crouch in the corner of 
 the passage by the street-door, to be as 
 near living people as he could, and to re- 
 main there listening and trembling until 
 the Jew or the boys returned. 
 
 In all the rooms the mouldering shut- 
 ters were fast closed, and the bars which 
 held them were screwed tight into the 
 wood ; the only light which was admitted 
 making its way through round holes at 
 the top, which made the rooms more 
 gloomy, and filled them witli strange 
 shadows. There was a back-garret win- 
 dow, with rusty bars outside, which had 
 no shutter, and out of which Oliver often 
 gazed with a melancholy face for hours 
 together ; but nothing was to be descried 
 from it but a confused and crowded mass 
 of house-tops, blackened chimneys, and 
 gable-ends. Sometimes, indeed, a ragged 
 grizzly head might be seen peering over 
 the parapet-wall of a distant house, but it 
 was quickly withdrawn again ; and as the 
 window of Oliver's observatory was nail- 
 ed down, and dimmed with the rain and 
 smoke of years, it was as much as he 
 could do to make out the forms of the 
 different objects beyond, without making 
 any attempt to be seen or heard, — which 
 he had as much chance of being as if he 
 had been inside the ball of St. Paul's 
 Cathedral. 
 
 One afternoon, the Dodger and Master 
 Bates being engaged out that evening, 
 the first-named young gentleman took it 
 into his head to evince some anxiety re- 
 garding the decoration of his person 
 (which, to do him justice, was by no 
 means an habitual weakness with him ;) 
 and, with this end and aim, he conde- 
 scendingly commanded Oliver to assist 
 him in his toilet straightway. 
 
 Oliver was but too glad to make him- 
 self useful, too happy to have some faces, 
 
 however bad, to look upon, and too de- 
 sirous to conciliate those about him when 
 he could honestly do so, to tlirow any 
 objection in the way of this proposal ; so 
 he at once expressed his readiness, and, 
 kneeling on the floor, while the Dodger 
 sat upon the table so that he could take 
 his foot in his lap, he applied himself to 
 a process which Mr. Dawkins designated 
 as "japanning his trotter-cases," and 
 which phrase, rendered into plain Eng- 
 lish, signifieth cleaning his boots. 
 
 Whether it was the sense of freedom 
 and independence which a rational ani- 
 mal may be supposed to feel when he sits 
 on a table in an easy attitude, smoking a 
 pipe, swinging one leg carelessly to and 
 fro, and having his boots cleaned all the 
 time without even the past trouble of 
 having taken them off, or the prospective 
 misery of putting them on, to disturb his 
 reflections; or whether it was the good- 
 ness of the tobacco that soothed the feel- 
 ings of the Dodger, or the mildness of the 
 beer that mollified his thoughts, he was 
 evidently tinctured for the nonce with a 
 spice of romance and enthusiasm foreign 
 to his general nature. He looked down 
 on Oliver with a thoughtful countenance 
 for a brief space, and then, raising his 
 head, and heaving a gentle sigh, said, 
 half in abstraction, and half to Master 
 Bates. 
 
 " What a pity it is he isn't a prig !" 
 
 " Ah !" said Master Charles Bates. 
 " He don't know what 's good for him." 
 
 The Dodger sighed again, and resumed 
 his pipe, as did Charley Bates, and they 
 both smoked for some seconds in silence. 
 
 " I suppose you don't even know what 
 a prig is]" said the Dodger mourn- 
 fully. 
 
 " I think I know that," replied Oliver, 
 hastily looking up. " It 's a tJi — ; you 're 
 one, are you not V inquired Oliver, check- 
 ing himself 
 
 "I am," replied the Dodger. "I'd 
 scorn to be anything else." Mr. Daw- 
 kins gave his hat a ferocious cock after 
 delivering this sentiment, and looked at 
 Master Bates as if to denote that he 
 would feel obliged by his saying anything 
 to the contrary. " I am," repeated the 
 Dodger ; ' «o 's Charley ; so 's Fagin ; 
 so 's Sikes , so 's Nancy ; so 's Bet ; so 
 we all are, down to the dog, and he 's the 
 downiest one of the lot." 
 
 " And the least given to peaching," 
 added Charley Bates. 
 
 " He wouldn't so much as bark in a 
 witness-box, for fear of committing him- 
 self; no, not if you tied hio? "ip ui one, 
 
76 
 
 OLIVER TWIST, 
 
 and left him there without wittles for a 
 fortnig-ht," said the Dodger. 
 
 " That he wouldn't ; not a bit of it," 
 observed Charley. 
 
 " He 's a rum dog. Don't he look 
 fierce at any strange cove that laughs or 
 sings when he's in company!" pursued 
 the Dodger. "Won't he growl at all, 
 when he hears a fiddle playing, and don't 
 he hate other dogs as ain't of his breed ! 
 Winkin! Oh, no!" 
 
 " He 's an out-and-out Christian," said 
 Charley. 
 
 This was merely intended as a tribute 
 to the animal's abilities, but it was an ap- 
 propriate remark in another sense, if Mas- 
 ter Bates had only known it; for there 
 are a great many ladies and gentlemen 
 claiming to be out-and-out Christians, be- 
 tween whom and Mr. Sikes's dog there 
 exist very strong and singular points of 
 resemblance. 
 
 " Well, well !" said the Dodger, recur- 
 ring to the point fi-om which they had 
 strayed, with that mindfulness of his pro- 
 fession which influenced all his proceed- 
 ings. "This hasn't got anything to do 
 with young Green here." 
 
 " No more it has," said Charley. " Why 
 don't you put yourself under Fagin, Oli- 
 ver ?" 
 
 " And make your fortun' out of hand 1" 
 added the Dodger, with a grin. 
 
 " And so be able to retire on your pro- 
 perty, and do the genteel, as I mean to in 
 the very next leap-year but four that ever 
 comes, and the forty-second Tuesday in 
 Trinity-week," said Charley Bates. 
 
 " I don't like it," rejoined Oliver timid- 
 ly ; "I wish they would let me go. I — 
 I — would rather go." 
 
 " And Fagin would rather not !" re- 
 joined Charley. 
 
 Oliver knew this too well ; but, think- 
 ing it might be dangerous to express his 
 feelings more openly, he only sighed, and 
 went on with his boot-cleaning. 
 
 " Go !" exclaimed the Dodger. " Why, 
 where' s your spirit? Don't you take any 
 pride out of yourself? Would you go and 
 be dependent on your friends, eh 1" 
 
 "Oh, blow that!" said Master Bates, 
 drawing two or three silk handkerchiefs 
 from his pocket, and tossing them into a 
 cupboard, "that's too mean, that is!" 
 
 " / couldn't do it," said the Dodger, 
 with an air of haughty disgust. 
 
 " You can leave your friends, though," 
 «aid Oliver, with a half-smile, " and let 
 lliem be punished for what you did." 
 
 "That," rejoined tlie Dodger, with a 
 »v-3ve of his pipe, — " that was all out of 
 
 consideration for Fagin, 'cause the traps 
 know that we work together, and he might 
 have got into trouble if we hadn't made 
 our lucky ; that was the move, wasn't it, 
 Charley?" 
 
 Master Bates nodded assent, and would 
 have spoken, but that the recollection of 
 Oliver's flight came so suddenly upon 
 him, that the smoke he was inhaling got 
 entangled with a laugh, and went up into 
 his head, and down into his throat, and 
 brought on a fit of coughing and stamping 
 about five minutes long. 
 
 " Look here !" said the Dodger, draw- 
 ing forth a handful of shillings and half- 
 pence. " Here 's a jolly life ! what 's the 
 odds where it comes from? Here, catch 
 hold; there's plenty more where they 
 were took from. You won't, won't you ? 
 oh, you precious flat !" 
 
 "It's naughty, ain't it, Oliver?" in- 
 quired Charley Bates. "He'll come to 
 be scragged, won't he ?" 
 
 " I don't know what that means," re- 
 plied Oliver, looking round. 
 
 " Something in this way, old' feller," 
 said Charley. As he said it. Master Bates 
 caught up an end of his neckerchief, and, 
 holding it erect in the air, dropped his 
 head on his shoulders, and jerked a curi- 
 ous sound through his teeth, thereby indi- 
 cating, by a lively pantomimic represen- 
 tation, that scragging and hanging were 
 one and the same thing. 
 
 " That 's what it means," said Charley. 
 " Look how he stares. Jack ; I never did 
 see such prime company as that 'ere boy ; 
 he '11 be the death of me, I know he will." 
 And Master Charles Bates having laugh- 
 ed heartily again, resumed his pipe with 
 tears in his eyes. 
 
 " You 've been brought up bad," said 
 the Dodger, surveying his boots with much 
 satisfaction when Oliver had polished 
 them. "Fagin will make something of 
 you, though ; or you '11 be the first he ever 
 had that turned out unprofitable. You 'd 
 better begin at once, for you '11 come to 
 the trade long before you think of it, and 
 you 're only losing time, Oliver." 
 
 Master Bates backed this advice with 
 sundry moral admonitions of his own, 
 which being exhausted, he and his fi-iend 
 Mr. Dawkins launched into a glowing 
 description of the numerous pleasures in- 
 cidental to the life tliey led, interspersed 
 with a variety of hints to Oliver that the 
 best thing he could do, would be to secure 
 Fagin's favour without more delay by the 
 same means which they had employed to 
 gain it. 
 
 "And always put this in your pipe, 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 77 
 
 Nolly," said the Dodger, as the Jew was I 
 heard unlocking the door above, " if you 
 don't take fogies and tickers " 
 
 " What 's the good of talking in that 
 way 1" interposed Master Bates ; " he 
 don't know what you mean." 
 
 " If you don't take pocket-hankechers 
 and watches," said the Dodger, reducing 
 his conversation to the level of Oliver's 
 capacity, " some other cove will ; so that 
 the coves that lose 'em will be all the 
 worse, and you'll be all the worse too, 
 and nobody half a ha'p'orth the better, 
 except the chaps wot gets them — and 
 you've just as good a right to them as 
 they have." 
 
 " To be sure, — to be sure !" said the 
 Jew, who had entered unseen by Oliver. 
 " It all lies in a nutshell, my dear — in a 
 nutshell, take the Dodger's word for it. 
 Ha ! ha ! he understands the cathechism 
 of his trade." 
 
 The old man rubbed his hands glee- 
 fiilly together as he corroborated the 
 Dodger's reasoning in these terms, and 
 chuckled with delight at his pupil's pro- 
 ficiency. 
 
 The conversation proceeded no farther 
 at this time, for the Jew had returned 
 home accompanied by Miss Betsy, and a 
 gentleman whom Oliver had never seen 
 before, but who was accosted by the 
 Dodger as Tom Chitling, and who, having 
 lingered on the stairs to exchange a few 
 gallantries with the lady, now made his 
 appearance. 
 
 Mr. Chitling was older in years than 
 the Dodger, having perhaps numbered 
 eighteen winters ; but there was a degree 
 of deference in his deportment towards 
 tliat young gentleman which seemed to 
 indicate that he felt himself conscious of 
 a slight inferiority in point of genius and 
 professional acquirements. He had small 
 twinkling eyes, and a pock-marked face ; 
 wore a fur cap, a dark corduroy jacket, 
 greasy fustian trousers, and an apron. His 
 wardrobe was, in truth, rather out of re- 
 pair ; but he excused himself to the com- 
 pany by stating that his " time" was only 
 out an liour before, and that, in conse- 
 quence of having worn the regimentals 
 for six weeks past, he had not been able 
 to bestow any attention on his private 
 clothes. Mr. Chitling added with strong 
 marks of irritation, that the new way of 
 fumigating clothes up yonder was infernal 
 unconstitutional, for it burnt holes in them, 
 and there was no remedy against the 
 county; the same remark he considered 
 to apply to the regulation mode of cutting 
 the liair, which he held to be decidedly 
 7* 
 
 unlawful. Mr. Chitling wound up his ob- 
 servations by stating that he had not 
 touched a drop of anything for forty-two 
 mortal long hard-working days, and that 
 he ' wished he might be busted if he 
 wasn't as dry as a lime-basket !' 
 
 " Where do you think the gentleman * 
 has come from, Oliver 1" inquired the Jew 
 with a grin, as the other boys put a bottle 
 of spirits on the table. 
 
 " I — I — don't know, sir," replied Oli- 
 ver. 
 
 " Who 's that 1" inquired Tom Chitling, 
 casting a contemptuous look at Oliver. 
 
 "A young friend of mine, my dear," 
 replied the Jew. 
 
 " He 's in luck then," said the young 
 man, with a meaning look at Fagin. 
 " Never mind where I came from, young 
 'un; you'll find your way there soon 
 enough, I '11 bet a crown !" 
 
 At this sally the boys laughed, and, af- 
 ter some more jokes on the same subject, 
 exchanged a few short whispers with Fa- 
 gin, and withdrew. 
 
 After some words apart between the 
 last comer and Fagin, they drew their 
 chairs towards the fire ; and the Jew, tell- 
 ing Oliver to come and sit by him, led the 
 conversation to the topics most calculated 
 to interest his hearers. These were, the 
 great advantages of the trade, the profi- 
 ciency of the Dodger, the amiability of 
 Charley Bates, and the liberality of the 
 Jew himself. At length these subjects 
 displayed signs of being thoroughly ex- 
 hausted, and Mr. Chitling did the same 
 (for the house of correction becomes fa- 
 tiguing after a week or two ;) accordingly 
 Miss Betsy withdrew, and left the party 
 to their repose. 
 
 From this day Oliver was seldom left 
 alone, but was placed in almost constant 
 communication with the two boys, who 
 played the old game with the Jew every 
 day, — whether for their own improve- 
 ment, or Oliver's, Mr. Fagin best knew. 
 At other times the old man would tell 
 them stories of robberies he had commit- 
 ted in his younger days, mixed up with 
 so much that was droll and curious, that 
 Oliver could not help laughing heartily, 
 and showing that he was amused in spite 
 of all his better feelings. 
 
 In short, the wily old Jew had the Iwy 
 in his toils ; and, having prepared his 
 mind by solitude and gloom to prefer any 
 society to the companionship of his own 
 sad thoughts in such a dreary place, was 
 now slowly instilling into his soul the poi- 
 son which he hoped would blacken it and 
 change its hue for ever. 
 
78 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH. 
 
 In which a notable plan is discussed and deter- 
 mined on. 
 
 It was a chill, damp, windy night, 
 when the Jew, buttoning his great-coat 
 tight round his shrivelled body, and pull- 
 ing the collar up over his ears so as com- 
 pletely to obscure the lower part of his 
 face, emerged from his den. He paused 
 on the step as the door was locked and 
 chained behind him ; and having listened 
 while the boys made all secure, and until 
 their retreating footsteps were no longer 
 audible, slunk down the street as quickly 
 as he could. 
 
 The house to which Oliver had been 
 conveyed was in the neighbourhood of 
 Whitechapel ; tiie Jew stopped for an 
 instant at the corner of the street, and, 
 glancing suspiciously round, crossed the 
 road, and struck oft' in the direction of 
 Spitalfields. 
 
 The mud lay thick upon the stones, and 
 a black mist hung over the streets ; the 
 rain fell sluggishly down, and everything 
 ffelt cold and clammy to the touch. It 
 seemed just the night when it befitted 
 such a being as the Jew to be abroad. As 
 he glided stealthily along, creeping be- 
 neath the shelter of the walls and door- 
 ways, the hideous old man seemed like 
 some loathsome reptile, engendered in the 
 slime and darkness through which he 
 moved, crawling forth by night in search 
 of some rich offal for a meal. 
 
 He kept on his course through many 
 winding and narrow ways until he reach- 
 ed Bethnal Green ; then turning suddenly 
 off to the left, he soon became involved in 
 a maze of the mean dirty streets which 
 abound in that close and densely-populat- 
 ed quarter. 
 
 The Jew was evidently too familiar 
 with the ground he traversed, however, 
 to be at all bewildered either by the dark- 
 ness of the night or the intricacies of the 
 way. He hurried through several alleys 
 and streets, and at length turned into one 
 lighted only by a single lamp at the far- 
 ther end. At the door of a house in this 
 street he knocked, and, having exchanged 
 a few muttered words with the person who 
 opened the door, walked up stairs. 
 
 A dog growled as he touched the han- 
 dle of a door, and a man's voice demanded 
 who was there. 
 
 " Only me. Bill ; only me, my dear," 
 Bald the Jew, looking in. 
 
 "Bring in your body," said Sikes. 
 " Lie down, you stupid brute ! Don't you 
 
 know the devil when he's got a great- 
 coat on 1" 
 
 Apparently the dog had been somewhat 
 deceived by Mr. Fagin's outer garment ; 
 for as the Jew unbuttoned it, and threw 
 it over the back of a chair, he retired to 
 the corner from which he had risen, wag- 
 ging his tail as he went, to show that he 
 was as well satisfied as it was in his na- 
 ture to be. 
 
 " Well !" said Sikes. 
 
 " Well, my dear," replied the Jew. 
 "Ah! Nancy." 
 
 The latter recognition was uttered with 
 just enough of embarrassment to imply 
 a doubt of its reception ; for Mr. Fagin 
 and his young friend had not met since 
 she had interfered in behalf of Oliver. 
 All doubts upon the subject, if he had any, 
 were, however, speedily removed by the 
 young lady's behaviour. She took her 
 feet off the fender, pushed back her chair, 
 and bade Fagin draw up his without say- 
 ing any more about it, for it was a cold 
 night, and no mistake. Miss Nancy pre- 
 fixed to the word "cold" another adjective, 
 derived from the name of an unpleasant 
 instrument of death, which, as the v/ord 
 is seldom mentioned to ears polite in any 
 other form than as a substantive, I have 
 omitted in this chronicle. 
 
 " It is cold, Nancy dear," said the Jew, 
 as he warmed his skinny hands over the 
 fire. " It seems to go right through one," 
 added the old man, touching his left side. 
 
 " It must be a piercer if it finds its way 
 through your heart," said Mr. Sikes. 
 "Give him something to drink, Nancy. 
 Burn my body, make haste ! It's enough 
 to turn a man ill to see his lean old car- 
 case shivering in that way, like a ugly 
 ghost just rose from the grave." 
 
 Nancy quickly brought a bottle from a 
 cupboard in which there were many, 
 which, to judge from the diversity of their 
 appearance, were filled with several kinds 
 of liquids ; and Sikes, pouring out a glass 
 of brandy, bade the Jew drink it off 
 
 " Quite enough, quite, thankye. Bill," 
 replied the Jew, putting down the glass 
 after just setting his lips to it. 
 
 " What ! you 're afraid of our getting 
 the better of you, are you]" inquired 
 Sikes, fixing his eyes on the Jew ; " ugh !" 
 
 With a hoarse grunt of contempt Mr. 
 Sikes seized the glass and emptied it, as 
 a preparatory ceremony to filling it again 
 for himself, which he did at once. 
 
 The Jew glanced round the room as 
 his companion tossed down the second 
 glassful ; not in curiosity, for he had seen 
 it often before, but in a restless and sus- 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 79 
 
 picious manner which was habitual to 
 him. It was a meanly furnished apart- 
 ment, with nothing but the contents of the 
 closet to induce the belief that its occu- 
 pier was anything but a working man ; 
 and with no more suspicious articles dis- 
 played to view than two or three heavy 
 bludgeons which stood in a corner, and a 
 " life-preserver " that hung over the man- 
 telpiece. 
 
 " There," said Sikes, smacking his lips. 
 " Now I 'm ready." 
 
 "For business — eh?" inquired the Jew. 
 
 " For business," replied Sikes ; " so say 
 what you 've got to say." 
 
 "About the crib at Chertsey, Bill?" 
 said the Jew, drawing his chair forward, 
 and speaking m a very low voice. 
 
 " Yes. What about it ?" inquired Sikes. 
 
 " Ah ! you know what I mean, my dear," 
 said the Jew. " He knows what I mean, 
 Nancy ; don't he l" 
 
 "No, he don't," sneered Mr. Sikes, 
 " or he won't, and that 's the same thing. 
 Speak out, and call things by their right 
 names ; don't sit there winking and blink- 
 uig, and talking to me in hints, as if you 
 warn't the very first that thought about 
 the robbery. D — n your eyes ! wot d'ye 
 mean "!" 
 
 " Hush, Bill, hush !" said the Jew, who 
 had in vain attempted to stop this burst 
 of indignation ; " somebody will hear us, 
 my dear ; somebody will hear us." 
 
 " Let 'em hear !" said Sikes ; " I don't 
 care." But as Mr. Sikes did care, upon 
 reflection he dropped his voice as he said 
 the words, and grew calmer. 
 
 " There, there," said the Jew coaxingly. 
 " It was only my caution — nothing more. 
 Now, my dear, about that crib at Chert- 
 sey; when is it to be done, Bill, ehl — 
 when is it to be done? Such plate, my 
 dears, such plate !" said the Jew, rubbing 
 his hands, and elevating his eyebrows in 
 a rapture of anticipation. 
 
 "Not at all," replied Sikes coldly. 
 
 " Not to be done at all !" echoed the 
 Jew, leaning back in his chair. 
 
 " No, not at all," rejoined Sikes ; " at 
 least it can't be a put-up job, as we ex- 
 pected." 
 
 " Then it hasn't been properly gone 
 about," said the Jew, turning pale with 
 anger. " Don't tell me !" 
 
 " But I will tell you," retorted Sikes. 
 " Who are you, that 's not to be told 1 I 
 tell you that Toby Crackit has been hang- 
 ing about the place for a fortnight, and he 
 can't get one of the servants into a line." 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me. Bill," said 
 the Jew, softening as the other grew 
 
 heated, " that neither of the two men in 
 the house can be got over ?" 
 
 " Yes, I do mean to tell you so," replied 
 Sikes. " The old lady has had 'em these 
 twenty years ; and if you were to give 
 'em five hundred pound, they wouldn't be 
 in it." 
 
 " But do you mean to say, my dear," 
 remonstrated the Jew, " that the women 
 can't be got over ?" 
 
 " Not a bit of it," replied Sikes. 
 
 "Not by flash Toby Crackit?" said the 
 Jew incredulously. " Think what women 
 are. Bill." 
 
 " No ; not even by flash Toby Crackit," 
 replied Sikes. " He says he 's worn sham 
 whiskers and a canary waistcoat the whole 
 blessed time he 's been loitering down 
 there, and it 's all of no use." 
 
 " He should have tried mustachios and 
 a pair of military trousers, my dear," said 
 the Jew afl;er a few moments' reflection. 
 
 " So he did," rejoined Sikes, " and they 
 warn't of no more use than the other 
 plant." 
 
 The Jew looked very blank at this in- 
 formation, and, afl,er ruminating for some 
 minutes with his chin sunk on his breast, 
 raised his head, and said with a deep sigh 
 that, if flash Toby Crackit reported aright, 
 he feared the game was up. 
 
 " And yet," said the old man, dropping 
 his hands on his knees, " it 's a sad thing, 
 my dear, to lose so much when we had 
 set our hearts upon it." ' 
 
 " So it is," said Mr. Sikes ; " worse 
 luck !" 
 
 A long silence ensued, during which 
 the Jew was plunged in deep thought, 
 with his face wrinkled into an expression 
 of villany perfectly demoniacal. Sikes 
 eyed him furtively from time to time ; and 
 Nancy, apparently fearful of irritating the 
 housebreaker, sat with her eyes fixed upon 
 the fire, as if she had been deaf to all 
 that passed. 
 
 " Fagin," said Sikes, abruptly breaking 
 the stillness that prevailed, " is it worth 
 fifty shiners extra if it 's safely done from 
 the outside ?" 
 
 " Yes," said the Jew, suddenly rousing 
 himself as if from a trance. 
 
 " Is it a bargain ?" inquired Sikes. 
 
 " Yes, my dear, yes," rejoined the Jew, 
 grasping the other's hand, his eyes glist- 
 ening, and every muscle in his face work 
 ing with the excitement that the inquiry 
 had awakened. 
 
 " Then," said Sikes, thrusting aside the 
 Jew's hand with some disdain, " let it 
 come off" as soon as you like. Toby and 
 I were over the garden-wall the night 
 
80 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 afore last, sounding the panels of the 
 doors and shutters ; the crib 's barred up 
 at night like a jail, but there 's one part 
 we can crack, safe and softly." 
 
 " Which is that, Bill ]" asked the Jew 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Why," whispered Sikes, " as you 
 cross the lawn " 
 
 " Yes, yes," said the Jew, bending his 
 head forward, with his eyes almost start- 
 ing out of it. 
 
 " Umph !" cried Sikes, stopping short 
 as the girl, scarcely moving her head, 
 looked suddenly round and pointed for an 
 instant to the Jew's face. " Never mind 
 which part it is. You can't do it without 
 me, I know ; but it 's best to be on the 
 safe side when one deals with you." 
 
 " As you like, my dear, as you like," 
 replied the Jew, biting his lip. " Is there 
 no help wanted but yours and Toby's ]" 
 
 " None," said Sikes, " 'cept a centre- 
 bit and a boy ; the first we 've both got ; 
 the second you must find us." 
 
 " A boy !" exclaimed the Jew. " Oh ! 
 then it is a panel, eh ?" 
 
 " Never mind wot it is!" replied Sikes; 
 "I want a boy, and he mustn't be a big 
 'un. Lord !" said Mr. Sikes reflectively, 
 " if I 'd only got that young boy of Ned, 
 the chimbley-sweeper's ! — he kept him 
 small on purpose, and let him out by the 
 job. But the father gets lagged, and then 
 the Juvenile Delinquent Society comes, 
 and takes the boy away from a trade 
 where he was arning money, teaches him 
 to read and write, and in time makes a 
 'prentice of him. And so they go on," 
 said Mr. Sikes, his wrath rising with the 
 recollection of his wrongs, — " so they go 
 on ; and, if they 'd got money enough, 
 (which it 's a Providence they have not,) 
 we shouldn't have a half-a-dozen boys left 
 in the whole trade in a year or two." 
 
 " No more we should," acquiesced the 
 Jew, who had been considering during 
 this speech, and had only caught the last 
 sentence. "Bill!" 
 
 " What now 1" inquired Sikes. 
 
 The Jew nodded his head towards Nan- 
 cy, who was still gazing at the fire ; and 
 intimated by a sign that he would have 
 her to leave the room. Sikes shrugged 
 his shoulders impatiently, as if he thought 
 the precaution unnecessary, but complied, 
 nevertheless, by requesting Miss Nancy 
 to fetch him a jug of beer. 
 
 " You don't want any beer," said Nan- 
 cy, folding her arms, and retaining her 
 Foat very composedly. 
 
 " I tell you I do !" replied Sikes. 
 
 ' Nonsense !" rejoined the girl coolly. 
 
 " Go on, Fagin. I know what he 'r go- 
 ing to say. Bill ; he needn't mind me." 
 
 The Jew still hesitated, and Sikes look- 
 ed from one to the other in some surprise. 
 
 " Why, you don't mind the old girl, 
 do you, Fagin ]" he asked at length. 
 " You 've known her long enough to trust 
 her, or the devil 's in it : she ain't one to 
 blab, are you, Nancy V 
 
 " / should think not !" replied the young 
 lady, drawing her chair up to the table, 
 and putting her elbows upon it. 
 
 "No, no, my dear, — I know you 're not," 
 
 said the Jew ; " but " and again the 
 
 old man paused. 
 
 " But wot 1" inquired Sikes. 
 
 " I didn't know whether she mightn't 
 p'raps be out of sorts, you know, my dear, 
 as she was the other night," replied the 
 Jew. 
 
 At this confession Miss Nancy burst 
 into a loud laugh, and, swallowing a glass 
 of brandy, shook her head with an air of 
 defiance, and burst into sundry exclama- 
 tions of " Keep the game a-going !" " Ne- 
 ver say die !" and the like, which seemed 
 at once to have the eft'ect of re-assuring 
 both gentlemen, for the Jew nodded his 
 head with a satisfied air, and resumed his 
 seat, as did Mr. Sikes likewise. 
 
 " Now, Fagin," said Miss Nancy with 
 a laugh, " tell Bill at once about Oliver !" 
 
 " Ah ! you 're a clever one, my dear ; 
 the sharpest girl I ever saw !" said the 
 Jew, patting her on the neck. " It was 
 about Oliver I was going to speak, sure 
 enough. Ha ! ha ! ha !" 
 
 " What about him 7" demanded Sikes. 
 
 " He 's the boy for you, my dear," replied 
 the Jew in a hoarse whisper, laying his 
 finger on the side of his nose, and grinning 
 frightfully. 
 
 " He !" exclaimed Sikes. 
 
 "Have him. Bill!" said Nancy. "I 
 would if I was in your place. He mayn't 
 be so much up as any of the others ; but 
 that's not what you want if he 's only to 
 open a door for you. Depend upon it he 's 
 a safe one. Bill." 
 
 " I know he is," rejoined Fagin ; " he's 
 been in good training these last few weeks, 
 and it 's time he began to work for his 
 bread ; besides, the others are all too big." 
 
 " Well, he is just the size I want," said 
 Mr. Sikes, ruminating. 
 
 "And will do every thing you want. 
 Bill, my dear," interposed the Jew ; " he 
 can't help himself^ — that is, if you only 
 frighten him enough." 
 
 " Frighten him !" echoed Sikes. " It'll 
 be no sham frightening, mind you. If 
 there 's anything queer about him when 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 81 
 
 we once get into the work, — in for a 
 penny, in for a pound, — you won't see 
 him alive again, Fagin. Think of that 
 before you send him. Mark my words !" 
 said the robber, shaking a heavy crowbar 
 whicli he had drawn from under the bed- 
 stead. 
 
 " I 've thought of it all," said the Jew 
 with energy. " I 've — I 've had my eye 
 upon him, my dears, close : close. Once 
 let him feel that he is one of us ; once fill 
 his mind with the idea that he has been a 
 thief, and he 's ours, — ours for his life ! 
 Oho ! It couldn't have come about better !" 
 The old man crossed his arms upon his 
 breast, and, drawing his head and shoulders 
 into a heap, literally hugged himself for 
 joy. 
 
 "Ours!" said Sikes. "Yours, you 
 mean." 
 
 " Perhaps I do, my dear," said the Jew 
 with a shrill chuckle. " Mine, if you like. 
 Bill." 
 
 " And wot," said Sikes, scowling fierce- 
 ly on his agreeable friend, — " wot makes 
 you take so much pains about one chalk- 
 faced kid, when you know there are fifty 
 boys snoozing about Common Garden 
 every night, as you might pick and choose 
 from ]" 
 
 " Because they 're of no use to me, my 
 dear," replied the Jew with some confu- 
 sion, " not worth the taking ; for their 
 looks convict 'em when they get into 
 trouble, and I lose 'em all. With this boy 
 properly managed, my dears, I could do 
 what I couldn't with twenty of them. 
 Besides," said the Jew, recovering his 
 self possession, " he has us now if he could 
 only give us leg-bail again ; and he must 
 be in the same boat with us ; never mind 
 how he came there, it's quite enough for 
 my power over him that he was in a 
 robbery, that's all I want. Now how much 
 better this is, than being obliged to put 
 the poor leetle boy out of the way, which 
 would be dangerous, — and we should lose 
 by it, besides." 
 
 " When is it to be done l" asked Nancy, 
 stopping some turbulent exclamation on 
 the part of Mr. Sikes, expressive of the 
 disgust with which he received Fagin's 
 affectation of humanity. 
 
 " Ah, to be sure," said the Jew, " when 
 is it to be done, BilH" 
 
 " I planned with Toby the night arter 
 to-morrow," rejoined Sikes in a surly voice, 
 " if he heard nothing from me to the con- 
 trairy." 
 
 "Good," said the Jew; "there's no 
 moon." 
 
 " No," rejoined Sikes. 
 
 " It 's all arranged about bringing off 
 the swag,* is iti" asked the Jew. 
 
 Sikes nodded. 
 
 " And about " 
 
 "Oh ah, it's all planned," rejoined 
 Sikes, interrupting him ; " Never mind 
 particulars. You 'd better bring the boy 
 here to-morrow night ; 1 shall get oft" the 
 stones an hour arter day-break. Then 
 you hold your tongue, and keep the melt- 
 ing-pot ready, and that's all you have 
 to do." 
 
 After some discussion in which all three 
 took an active part, it was decided that 
 Nancy should repair to the Jew's next 
 evening when the night had set in, and 
 bring Oliver away with her : Fagin craftily 
 observing, that, if he evinced any disincli- 
 nation to the task, he would be the more 
 willing to accompany the girl, who had so 
 recently interfered in his behalf, than any- 
 body else. It was solemnly arranged that 
 poor Oliver should, for the purposes of the 
 contemplated expedition, be unreservedly 
 consigned to the care and custody of Mr. 
 William Sikes ; and further, that the said 
 Sikes should deal with him as he thought 
 fit, and should not be held responsible by 
 the Jew for any mischance or evil that 
 might befal the boy, or any punishment 
 with which it might be necessary to visit 
 him, it being understood that, to render 
 the compact in this respect binding, any 
 representations made by Mr. Sikes on his 
 return should be required to be confirmed 
 and corroborated, in all important par- 
 ticulars, by the testimony of flash Toby 
 Crackit. 
 
 These preliminaries adjusted, Mr. Sikes 
 proceeded to drink brandy at a furious 
 rate, and to flourish the crowbar in an 
 alarming manner, yelling forth at the 
 same time most unmusical snatches of 
 song mingled with wild execrations. At 
 length, in a fit of professional enthusiasm, 
 he insisted upon producing his box of 
 housebreaking tools, which he had no 
 sooner stumbled in with, and opened for 
 the purpose of explaining the nature and 
 properties of the various implements it 
 contained, and the peculiar beauties of 
 their construction, than he fell over it 
 upon the floor, and went to sleep where 
 he fell. 
 
 " Good night, Nancy !" said the Jew, 
 muffling himself up as before. 
 
 « Good night !" 
 
 Their eyes met, and the Jew scruti- 
 nised her narrowly. There was no flinch- 
 ing about the girl. She was as true and 
 
 ♦ Booty, 
 
82 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 earnest in the matter as Toby Crackit 
 himself could be. 
 
 The Jew again bade her good night, 
 and, bestowing a sly kick upon the pros- 
 trate form of Mr. Sikes while her back 
 was turned, groped down stairs. 
 
 " Always the way," muttered the Jew 
 to himself as he turned honiewards. " The 
 worst of these women is, that a very lit- 
 tle thing serves to call up some long-for- 
 gotten feeling ; and the best of them is, 
 that it never lasts. Ha ! ha ! The man 
 against the child, for a bag of gold !" 
 
 Beguiling the time with these pleasant 
 reflections, Mr. Fagin wended his way 
 through mud and mire to his gloomy 
 abode, where the Dodger was sitting up, 
 impatiently awaiting his return. 
 
 " Is Oliver a-bed 1 I want to speak to 
 him," was his first remark, as they as- 
 cended the stairs. 
 
 " Hours ago," replied the Dodger, 
 throwing open a door. " Here he is !" 
 
 The boy was lying fast asleep on a 
 rude bed upon the floor, so pale with 
 anxiety, and sadness, and the closeness 
 of his prison, that he looked like death ; 
 not death as it shows in shroud and coflin, 
 but in the guise it wears when life has 
 just departed : when a young and gentle 
 spirit has but an instant fled to heaven, 
 and the gross air of the world has not had 
 time to breathe upon the changing dust 
 it hallowed. 
 
 " Not now," said the Jew turning soft- 
 ly away. " To-morrow. To-morrow." 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH. 
 
 Wherein Oliver is delivered over to Mr. William 
 
 Sikes. 
 
 When Oliver awoke in the morning, 
 he was a good deal surprised to find that 
 a new pair of shoes with strong thick 
 soles had been placed at his bedside, and 
 that his old ones had been removed. At 
 first he was pleased with the discovery, 
 hoping it might be the forerunner of his 
 release ; but such thoughts were quickly 
 dispelled on his sitting down to breakfast 
 alone with the Jew, who told him, in a 
 tone and manner which increased his 
 alarm, that he was to be taken to the 
 residence of Bill Sikes that night. 
 
 " To — to— stop there, sir 7" asked Oli- 
 ver anxiously. 
 
 " No, no, my dear, not to stop there," 
 replied the Jew. " We shouldn't like to 
 lose you. Don't be afraid, Oliver ; you 
 
 shall come back to us again. Ha ! ha ! 
 ha ! We won't be so cruel as to send 
 you away, my dear. Oh no, no !" 
 
 The old man, who was stooping over 
 the fire toasting a piece of bread, looked 
 round as he bantered Oliver thus, and 
 chuckled as if to show that he knew he 
 would still be very glad to get away if he 
 could. 
 
 " I suppose," said the Jew, fixing his 
 eyes on Oliver, " you want to know what 
 you 're going to Bill's for — eh, my dear 1" 
 
 Oliver coloured involuntarily to find 
 that the old thief had been reading his 
 thoughts; but boldly said. Yes, he did 
 want to know. 
 
 " Why, do you think 1" inquired Fagin, 
 parrying the question. 
 
 " Indeed I don't know, sir," replied 
 Oliver. 
 
 " Bah !" said the Jew, turning away 
 with a disappointed countenance from a 
 close perusal of Oliver's face. " Wait 
 till Bill tells you, then." 
 
 The Jew seemed much vexed by Oli- 
 ver's not expressing any greater curiosity 
 on the subject ; but the truth is, that, al- 
 though he felt very anxious, he was too 
 much confused by the earnest cunning of 
 Fagin's looks, and his own speculations, 
 to make any further inquiries just then. 
 He had no other opportunity ; for the Jew 
 remained very surly and silent till night, 
 when he prepared to go abroad. 
 
 " You may burn a candle," said the 
 Jew, putting one upon the table ; " and 
 here 's a book for you to read till they 
 come to fetch you. Good-night !" 
 
 " Good-night, sir !" replied Oliver soft- 
 ly 
 
 The Jew walked to the door, looking 
 
 over his shoulder at the boy as he went, 
 and, suddenly stopping, called him by hia 
 name. 
 
 Oliver looked up ; the Jew, pointing to 
 the candle, motioned to him to light it. 
 He did so ; and, as he placed the candle- 
 stick upon the table, saw that the Jew 
 was gazing fixedly at him with lowering 
 and contracted brows from the dark end 
 of the room. 
 
 " Take heed, Oliver ! take heed !" said 
 the old man, shaking his right hand be- 
 fore him in a warning manner. " He 's 
 a rough man, and thinks nothing of blood 
 when his own is up. Whatever falls out, 
 say nothing; and do what he bids you. 
 Mind !" Placing a strong emphasis on 
 the last word, he suffered his features 
 gradually to resolve themselves into a 
 ghastly grin ; and, nodding his head, left 
 the room. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 Oliver leant his head upon his hand 
 when the old man disappeared, and pon- 
 dered with a trembling heart on the 
 words he had just heard. The more he 
 thought of the Jew's admonition, the 
 more ho was at a loss to divine its real 
 purpose and meaning. He could think 
 of no bad object to be attained by sending 
 him to Sikes which would not be equally 
 well answered by his remaining with 
 Fagin ; and, after meditating for a long 
 time, concluded that he had been selected 
 to perform some ordinary menial offices 
 for the housebreaker, until another boy, 
 better suited for his purpose, could be en- 
 gaged. He was too well accustomed to 
 suffering, and had suffered too much 
 where he was, to bewail the prospect of 
 a change very severely. He remained 
 lost in thought for some minutes, and 
 then, with a heavy sigh, snuffbd the can- 
 dle, and, taking up the book which the 
 Jew had left with him, began to read. 
 
 He turned over the leaves carelessly at 
 first, but, lighting on a passage which at- 
 tracted his attention, soon became intent 
 upon the volume. It was a history of the 
 lives and trials of great criminals, and 
 the pages were soiled and thumbed with 
 use. Here, he read of dreadful crimes 
 that make the blood run cold ; of secret 
 murders that had been committed by the 
 lonely wayside, and bodies hidden from 
 the eye of man in deep pits and wells, 
 which would not keep them down, deep 
 as they were, but had yielded them up at 
 last, after many years, and so maddened 
 the murderers with the sight, that in their 
 horror they had confessed their guilt, and 
 yelled for the gibbet to end their agony. 
 Here, too, he read of men who, lying in 
 their beds at dead of night, liad been 
 tempted and led on by their own bad 
 tlioughts to such dreadful bloodshed as it 
 made the flesh creep and the limbs quail 
 to think of. The terrible descriptions 
 were so vivid and real, that the sallow 
 pages seemed to turn red with gore, and 
 the words upon them to bo sounded in his 
 ears as if they were whispered in hollow 
 murmurs by the spirits of the dead. 
 
 In a paroxysm of fear the boy closed 
 the book and thrust it from him. Then, 
 falling upon his knees, he prayed Heaven 
 to spare him from such deeds, and rather 
 to will that he sliould die at once, than be 
 reserved for crimes so fearful and appal- 
 ling. By degrees he grew more calm, 
 and besought, in a low and broken voice, 
 that he might bo rescued from his present 
 dangers: and that if any aid were to be 
 raised up for a poor outcast boy, who had 
 
 never known the love of friends or kin- 
 dred, it might come to him now, when, 
 desolate and deserted, he stood alone in 
 the midst of wickedness and guilt. 
 
 He had concluded his prayer, but still 
 remained with his head buried in his 
 hands, when a rustling noise aroused hun, 
 
 " What 's that I" he cried, starting up, 
 and catching sight of a figure standing 
 by the door. " Who 's there T" 
 
 "Me — only me," replied a tremulous 
 voice. 
 
 Oliver raised the candle above his head, 
 and looked towards the door. It was 
 Nancy. 
 
 " Put down the light," said the girl, 
 turning away her head : " it hurts my 
 eyes." 
 
 Oliver saw that she was very pale, and 
 gently inquired if she were ill. The girl 
 threw herself into a chair, with her back 
 towards him, and wrung her hands ; but 
 made no reply. 
 
 "God forgive me!" she cried after a 
 while, " I never thought of all this." 
 
 " Has anything happened '!" asked Oli- 
 ver. " Can I help you 1 I will if I can ; 
 I will indeed." 
 
 She rocked herself to and fi"o, and then, 
 wringing her hands violently, caught her 
 throat, and, uttering a gurgling sound, 
 struggled and gasped for breath. 
 
 " Nancy !" cried Oliver, greatly alarm- 
 ed. " What is it 1" 
 
 The girl burst into a fit of loud laugh- 
 ter, beating her hands upon her knees, 
 and her feet upon the ground, meanwhile ; 
 and, suddenly stopping, drew her shawl 
 close round her, and shivered with cold. 
 
 Oliver stirred the fire. Drawing her 
 chair close to it, she sat there for a little 
 time without speaking, but at length she 
 raised her head and looked round. 
 
 " I don't know what comes over me 
 sometimes," said the girl, affecting to 
 busy herself in arranging her dress ; " it 's 
 this damp, dirty room, I think. Now, 
 Nolly, dear, are you ready 1" 
 
 " Am I to go with you !" asked Oliver. 
 
 " Yes ; I have come from Bill," replied 
 the girl, " You are to go with me." 
 
 " What fori" said Oliver recoiling. 
 
 " What for 1" echoed the girl, raising 
 her eyes, and averting them again the 
 moment they encountered the boy's face. 
 " Oh ! no harm." 
 
 " I don't believe it," said Oliver, who 
 had watched her closely. 
 
 " Have it your own way," rejoined the 
 girl, affecting to laugh. " For no good, 
 then." 
 
 Oliver could see that he had sornn 
 
84 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 power over the girl's better feelings, and 
 for an instant thought of appealing to her 
 compassion for his helpless state. But 
 then the thought darted across his mind 
 that it was barely eleven o'clock, and that 
 many people were still in the street, of 
 whom surely some might be found to give 
 credence to his fale. As the reflection 
 occurred to him, he stepped forward, and 
 said somewhat hastily that he was ready. 
 
 Neither his brief consideration nor its 
 purport were lost upon his companion. 
 She eyed him narrowly while he spoke, 
 and cast upon him a look of intelligence 
 which sufficiently showed that she guess- 
 ed what had been passing in his thoughts. 
 
 " Hush !" said the girl, stooping over 
 him, and pointing to the door as she looked 
 cautiously round. " You can't help your- 
 self I have tried hard for you, but all to 
 no purpose. You are hedged round and 
 round ; and, if you are to get loose from 
 here, this is not the time." 
 
 Struck by the energy of her manner, 
 Oliver looked up in her face with great 
 surprise. She seemed to speak the 
 truth; her countenance was white and 
 agitated, and she trembled with very 
 earnestness. 
 
 " I have saved you from being ill-used 
 once, and I will again, and I do now," 
 continued the girl aloud ; " for those who 
 would have fetched you, if I had not, 
 would have been far more rough than me. 
 I have promised for your being quiet and 
 silent ; if you are not, you will only do 
 harm to yourself and me too, and perhaps 
 be my death. See here ! I have borne 
 all this for you already, as true as God 
 sees me show it." 
 
 She pointed hastily to some livid bruises 
 upon her neck and arms, and continued 
 with great rapidity. 
 
 " Remember this, and don't let me su& 
 fer more for you just now. If I could 
 help you I would, but I have not the 
 power ; they don't mean to harm you ; 
 and whatever they make you do, is no 
 fault of yours. Hush ! every word from 
 you is a blow for me : give me your hand 
 — make haste, your hand !" 
 
 She caught the hand which Oliver in- 
 Rtinctivoly placed in hers, and, blowing 
 out the light, drew him after her up the 
 stairs. The door was opened quickly by 
 some one shrouded in the darkness, and 
 as quickly closed when they had passed 
 out. A hackney cabriolet was in waiting; 
 and, with the same vehemence which she 
 had exhibited in addressing Oliver, the 
 girl pulled him in with her, and drew the 
 
 curtains close. The driver wanted no di- 
 rections, but lashed his horse into full 
 speed without the delay of an instant. 
 
 The girl still held Oliver fast by the 
 hand, and continued to pour into his ear 
 the warnings and assurances she had al- 
 ready imparted. All was so quick and 
 hurried, that he had scarcely time to re- 
 collect where he was, or how he came 
 there, when the carriage stopped at the 
 same house to which the Jew's steps had 
 been directed on the previous evening. 
 
 -For one brief moment Oliver cast a 
 hurried glance along the empty street, 
 and a cry for help hung upon his lips. 
 But the girl's voice was in his ear, be- 
 seeching him in such tones of agony to 
 remember her, that he had not the heart 
 to utter it ; and while he hesitated, the 
 opportunity was gone, for he was already 
 in the house, and the door was shut. 
 
 " This way," said the girl, releasing 
 her hold for the first time. " Bill !" 
 
 " Hallo !" replied Sikes, appearing at 
 the head of the stairs with a candle. 
 " Oh ! that 's the time of day. Come 
 on !" 
 
 This was a very strong expression of 
 approbation, and an uncommonly hearty 
 welcome, from a person of Mr. Sikes's 
 temperament ; Nancy, appearing much 
 gratified thereby, saluted him cordially. 
 
 " Bullseye 's gone home with Tom," 
 observed Sikes as he lighted them up. 
 " He'd have been in the way." 
 
 " That 'e right," rejoined Nancy. 
 
 " So you 've got the kid," said Sikes, 
 when they had all reached the room : 
 closing the door as he spoke. 
 
 " Yes, here he is," replied Nancy. 
 
 " Did he come quiet ?" inquired Sikes. 
 
 " Like a lamb," rejoined Nancy. 
 
 " I 'm glad to hear it," said Sikes, look- 
 ing grimly at Oliver, " for the sake of his 
 young carcase, as would otherways have 
 suffered for it. Come here, young 'un, 
 and let me read you a lectur', which is 
 as well got over at once." 
 
 Thus addressing his new protege, Mr. 
 Sikes pulled off his cap and threw it into 
 a corner; and then, taking him by the 
 shoulder, sat himself down by the table, 
 and stood Oliver in front of him. 
 
 " Now first, do you know wot this is ?" 
 inquired Sikes, taking up a pocket-pistol 
 which lay on the table. 
 
 Oliver replied in the affirmative. 
 
 " Well then, look here," continued 
 Sikes. " This is powder, that 'ere 's a 
 bullet, and this is a little bit of a old hat 
 for waddin'." 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 85 
 
 Oliver murmured his comprehension 
 ■ of tlie different bodies referred ta, and 
 Mr. Sikes proceeded to load the pistol 
 with great nicety and deliberation. 
 
 " Now it 's loaded," said Mr. Sikes 
 when he had finished. 
 
 " Yes, I see it is, sir," replied Oliver, 
 trembling. 
 
 " Well," said the robber, grasping Oli- 
 ver's wrist tightly, and putting the barrel 
 so close to his temple that they touched, 
 at which moment the boy could not re- 
 press a shriek ; " if you speak a word 
 when you 're out o' doors with me, ex- 
 cept when I speak to you, that load- 
 ing will be in your head without notice 
 — so, if you do make up your mind to 
 speak without leave, say your prayers 
 first." 
 
 Having bestowed a scowl upon the ob- 
 ject of this warning, to increase its ef- 
 fect, Mr. Sikes continued. 
 
 " As near as I know, there isn't any- 
 body as would be asking very partickler 
 arter you, if you was disposed of; so I 
 needn't take this devil-and-all of trouble 
 to explain matters to you if it warn't for 
 your own good. D'ye hear 1" 
 
 " The short and the long of what you 
 mean," said Nancy, speaking very em- 
 phatically, and slightly frowning at Oli- 
 ver, as if to bespeak his serious attention 
 to her words, " is, that if you 're crossed 
 by him in this job you have on hand, 
 you '11 prevent his ever telling tales after- 
 wards, by shooting him through the head, 
 and take your chance of swinging for it 
 as you do for a great many other things 
 in the way of business every month of 
 your life." 
 
 " That 's it !" observed Mr. Sikes ap- 
 provingly ; " women can always put 
 things in fewest words, except when it 's 
 blowing-up, and then they lengthens it 
 out. And now that he 's thoroughly up 
 to it, let 's have some supper, and get a 
 snooze afore starting." 
 
 In pursuance of this request, Nancy 
 quickly laid the cloth, and, disappearing 
 for a few minutes, presently returned 
 with a pot of porter and a dish of sheeps' 
 deads, which gave occasion to several 
 pleasant witticisms on the part of Mr. 
 Sikes, founded upon the singular coinci- 
 dence of "jemmies" being a cant name 
 common to them and an ingenious imple- 
 ment much used in his profession. In- 
 deed, the worthy gentleman, stimulated 
 perhaps by the immediate prospect of be- 
 ing in active service, was in great spirits 
 8 
 
 and good-humour ; in proof whereof it 
 may be here remarked, that he humorous- 
 ly drank all the beer at a draught, and 
 did not utter, on a rough calculation, more 
 than fourscore oaths during the whole 
 progress of the meal. 
 
 Supper being ended, — it may be easily 
 conceived that Oliver had no great appe- 
 tite for it, — Mr. Sikes disposed of a couple 
 of glasses of spirits and water, and threw 
 himself upon the bed, ordering Nancy, 
 with many imprecations in case of failure, 
 to call him at five precisely. Oliver 
 stretched himself, in his clothes, by com- 
 mand of the same authority, on a mat- 
 tress upon the floor ; and the girl, mend- 
 ing the fire, sat before it, in readiness to 
 rouse tliem at the appointed time. 
 
 For a long time Oliver lay awake, 
 thinking it not impossible that Nancy 
 might seek that opportunity of whisper- 
 ing some further advice, but the girl sat 
 brooding over the fire without moving, 
 save now and then to trim the light : 
 weary with watching and anxiety, he at 
 length fell asleep. 
 
 When he awoke, the table was covered 
 with tea things, and Sikes was thrusting 
 various articles into the pockets of his 
 great-coat which hung over the back of a 
 chair, while Nancy was busily engaged 
 in preparing breakfast. It was not yet 
 daylight, for the candle was still burning, 
 and it was quite dark outside. A sharp 
 rain, too, was beating against the window- 
 panes, and the sky looked black and 
 cloudy. 
 
 " Now, then !" growled Sikes, as Oliver 
 started up ; " half past five ! Look sharp, 
 or you '11 get no breakfast, for it 's late as 
 it is." 
 
 Oliver was not long in making his toi- 
 let; and, having taken some breakfast, 
 replied to a surly inquiry from Sikes, by 
 saying that he was quite ready. 
 
 Nancy, scarcely looking at the ooy, 
 threw him a handkerchief to tie round his 
 throat, and Sikes gave him a large rough 
 cape to button over his shoulders. Thus 
 attired, he gave his hand to the robber, 
 who, merely pausing to show him, with a 
 menacing gesture, that he had the pistol 
 in a side-pocket of his great-coat, clasped 
 it firmly in his, and, exchanging a fare- 
 well with Nancy, led him away. 
 
 Oliver turned round for an instant 
 when they reached the door, in the hope 
 of meeting a look from the girl : but she 
 had resumed her old seat in front of the 
 fire, and sat perfectly motionless before it. 
 
86 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST. 
 
 The expedition. 
 
 It was a cheerless morning when they 
 got into the street, blowing and raining 
 hard, and the clouds looking dull and 
 stormy. The night had been very wet, 
 for large pools of water had collected in 
 the road, and the kennels were overflow- 
 ing. There was a faint glimmering of 
 the coming day in the sky, but it rather 
 aggravated than relieved the gloom of the 
 scene, the sombre light only serving to 
 pale that which the street-lamps afforded, 
 without shedding any warmer or brighter 
 tints upon the wet housetops and dreary 
 streets. There appeared to be nobody 
 stirring in that quarter of the town, for 
 the windows of the houses were all close- 
 ly shut, and the streets through which 
 they passed 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 wag- 
 gons were slowly toiling on towards Lon- 
 don, and now and then a stage-coach, 
 covered with mud, rattled briskly by, the 
 driver bestowing, as he passed, an admo- 
 nitory 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 burn- 
 ing inside, were already open. By de- 
 grees other shops began to be unclosed, 
 and a few scattered people were met with. 
 Then came straggling groups of labourers 
 going to their work ; then men and wo- 
 men with fish-baskets on their heads, 
 donkey-carts laden with vegetables, chaise- 
 carts filled with live-stock or whole car- 
 cases of meat, milk-women with pails, 
 and 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 ; and, wlien they 
 threaded the streets between Shoreditch 
 and Smithfield, it had swelled into a roar 
 of sound and bustle. It was as light as it 
 was likely to be till night set in again, 
 and the busy morning of half the London 
 population had begun. 
 
 Turning down Sun-street and Crown- 
 street, and crossing Finsbury-square, Mr. 
 Sikes struck, by way of Chiswell-street, 
 into Barbican, thence into Long-lane, and 
 eo into Smithfield, from which latter place 
 arose a tumult of discordant sounds that 
 hlled Oliver Twist with surprise and 
 amazement. 
 
 It was market-morning. The ground 
 was covered nearly ankle-deep with filth 
 and mire ; and a thick steam perpetually 
 rising from the reeking bodies of the cat- 
 tle, and mingling with the fog, which 
 seemed to rest upon the chimney-tops, 
 hung heavily above. All the pens in the 
 centre of the large area, and as many 
 temporary ones as could be crowded into 
 the vacant space, were filled with sheep; 
 and, tied up to posts by the gutter side, 
 were 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 dense mass; the 
 whistling of drovers, the barking of dogs, 
 the bellowing and plunging of beasts, the 
 bleating of sheep, and grunting and 
 squeaking of pigs ; the cries of hawkers, 
 the shouts, oaths, and quarrelling 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 din that resounded from every 
 corner of the market ; and the unwashed, 
 unshaven, squalid, and dirty figures con- 
 stantly 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. Sikes, dragging Oliver after him, 
 elbowed his way through the thickest of 
 the crowd, and bestowed very little atten- 
 tion upon 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 Holborn, 
 
 " Now, young 'un !" said Sikes, surlily, 
 looking up at the clock of St. Andrew's 
 church, " hard upon seven ! you must 
 step out. Come, don't lag behind already, 
 Lazy-legs !" 
 
 Mr. Sikes accompanied this speech with 
 a fierce jerk at his little companion's 
 wrist; and Oliver, quickening his pace 
 into a kind of trot, between a fast walk 
 and a run, kept up with the rapid strides 
 of the housebreaker as well as he could. 
 
 They kept on their course at this rate 
 until they had passed Hyde-Park corner, 
 and were on their way to Kensington, 
 when Sikes relaxed his pace until an 
 empty cart, which was at some little dis- 
 tance behind, came up : when, seeing 
 " Hounslow" written upon it, he askea 
 the driver, with as much civility as he 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 87 
 
 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 Sikes, 
 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 1" inquired the 
 driver, seeing that Oliver was out of 
 breath. 
 
 " Not a bit of it," replied Sikes, inter- 
 posing. "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, pointing 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. Ken- 
 sington, Hammersmith, Chiswick, Kew 
 Bridge, Brentford, were all passed ; and 
 yet they kept on as steadily as if they had 
 only begun their journey. At length they 
 came to a public-house called the Coach 
 and Horses, a little way beyond which, 
 another road appeared to turn off. And 
 here the cart stopped. 
 
 Sikes dismounted with great precipita- 
 tion, holding Oliver by the hand all the 
 while ; and, lifting him down directly, be- 
 stowed a furious look upon him, and rap- 
 ped the side-pocket with his fist in a very 
 significant manner. 
 
 " Good-bye, boy !" said the man. 
 
 " He 's sulky," replied Sikes, 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. 
 
 Sikes waited till he had fairly gone, and 
 then, telling Oliver he might look about 
 him if he wanted, once again led him for- 
 ward on his journey. 
 
 They turned round to the left a short 
 way past the public-house, and then tak- 
 ing 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 at length crossing a little 
 bridge which led them into Twickenham ; 
 from which town they still walked on 
 without stopping for anything but some 
 beer, until they reached another town, in 
 which, against the wall of a house, Oliver 
 saw written up in pretty large letters 
 " Hampton." Turning round by a public- 
 house which bore the sign of the Red 
 Lion, they kept on by the river side for a 
 
 short distance, and then Sikes, striking 
 off into a narrow street, walked straight 
 to an old public-house with a defaced sign- 
 board, and ordered some dinner by the 
 kitchen-fire. 
 
 The kitchen was an old low-roofed 
 room, with a great beam across the mid- 
 dle 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 Sikes ; 
 and, as Sikes took very little notice of 
 them, he and his young comrade sat in a 
 comer by themselves, without being much 
 troubled by the company. 
 
 They had some cold meat for dinner, 
 and sat here so long after it, while Mr. 
 Sikes indulged himself with three or four 
 pipes, that Oliver began to feel quite cer- 
 tain they were not going any further. 
 Being much tired with the walk and get- 
 ting up so early, he dozed a little at first ; 
 and then, quite overpowered by fatigue 
 and the fumes of the tobacco, fell fast 
 asleep. 
 
 It was quite dark when he was awak- 
 ened by a push from Sikes. Rousing 
 himself sufficiently to sit up and look 
 about him, he found that worthy in close 
 fellowship and communication with a la- 
 bouring man, over a pint of ale. 
 
 " So, you 're going on to Lower Halli- 
 ford, are youl" inquired Sikes. 
 
 " Yes, I am," replied the man, who 
 seemed a little the worse— or better, as 
 the case might be — for drinking ; " and 
 not slow about it either. My horse hasn't 
 got a load behind him going back, as he 
 had coming up in the mornin', and he 
 won't be long a-doing of it. Here 's luck 
 to him ! Ecod, he 's a good 'un !" 
 
 " Could you give my boy and me a lift 
 as far as there "?" demanded Sikes, push- 
 ing the ale towards his new friend. 
 
 " If you 're going directly, I can," re- 
 plied the man, looking out of the pot. " Are 
 you going to Halliford I" 
 
 " Going on to Shepperton," replied 
 Sikes. 
 
 " I 'm your man as far as I go," replied 
 the other. " Is all paid, Becky ■?" 
 
 " Yes, the other gentleman 's paid," re- 
 plied the girl. 
 
 " I say !" said the man with tipsy gra- 
 vity ; " that won't do, you know." 
 
 " Why not]" rejoined Sikes. "You're 
 a-going to accommodate us, and wot's to 
 prevent my standmg treat for a pint or 
 so, in return 1" 
 
 The stranger reflected upon this argu- 
 ment with a very profound face, and, ha"- 
 
8d 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 ing done so, seized Sikesby the hand, and 
 declared he was a real good fellow. To 
 which Mr. Sikes 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 bade 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 
 harnessed to the cart. Oliver and Sikes 
 got in without any further ceremony, and 
 the man to whom he belonged, having 
 lingered 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 parlour windows over the 
 way ; after performing which feats, and 
 supporting himself for a short time on his 
 hind-legs, he started ofl'at great speed, and 
 rattled out of the town right gallantly. 
 
 The night was very dark ; and 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 Sikes 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 Sunbury church, the 
 clock struck seven. There was a light 
 in the ferry-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 tree stirred gently in 
 the night wind. It seemed like solemn 
 qu'et music for the repose of the dead. 
 
 Sunbury was passed through, and they 
 came again into the lonely road. Two 
 or three miles more, and the cart stopped. 
 Sikes alighted, and, taking Oliver by the 
 hand, they once again walked on. 
 
 They turned into no house t,t Shipper- 
 ton, as the weary boy had expected, but 
 istill 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. 
 
 Sikes kept straight on till they were 
 close upon the bridge, and 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 ruinous and 
 decayed. There was a window on each 
 side of the dilapidated entrance, and one 
 story above ; but no light was visible. It 
 was dark, dismantled, and to all appear- 
 ance uninhabited. 
 
 Sikes, with Oliver's hand still in his, 
 softly approached the low porch, and 
 raised the latch. The door yielded to his 
 pressure, and they passed in together. 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND. 
 The Burglary. 
 
 " Hallo !" cried a loud, hoarse voice, 
 directly they had set foot in the passage. 
 
 " Don't make such a row," said Sikes, 
 bolting the door. " Show a glim, Toby." 
 
 " Aha ! my pal," cried the same voice ; 
 " a glim, Barney, a glim ! Show the 
 gentleman in, Barney ; and 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 slum- 
 bers; for the noise of a wooden body 
 falling violently was heard, and then an 
 indistinct muttering as of a man between 
 asleep and awake. 
 
 " Do you hear 3" cried the same voice. 
 " There 's Bill Sikes 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 tho- 
 roughly ]" 
 
 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 has been heretofore de- 
 scribed as labouring under the infirmity 
 of speaking through his nose, and ollicia- 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 89 
 
 ting as waiter at the public-house on 
 Saffron Hill. 
 
 " Bister Sikes !" exclaimed Barney, 
 with real or counterfeit joy ; " cub id, sir ; 
 cub id." 
 
 " Here ! you get on first," said Sikes, 
 putting Oliver in front of him. " Quicker ! 
 or I shall tread upon your heels." 
 
 Muttering a curse upon his tardiness, 
 Sikes 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, witli 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 snuffcoloured coat with large 
 brass buttons, an orange neckerchief, a 
 coarse, staring, shawl-pattern waistcoat, 
 and drab breeches. Mr. Crackit (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 tor- 
 tured into long, corkscrew curls, through 
 which he occasionally thrust some very 
 dirty fingers ornamented with large com- 
 mon 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 
 satisfkction. 
 
 " Bill, my boy !" said this figure, turn- 
 ing 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 wentur'. Hallo !" 
 
 Uttering this exclamation in a tone of 
 great surprise as his eyes rested on Oli- 
 ver, Mr. Toby Crackit brought himself 
 into a sitting posture, and demanded who 
 that was. 
 
 " The boy — only the boy !" replied 
 Sikes, drawing a chair towards the fire. 
 
 "Wud of Bister Fagid's lads," ex- 
 claimed Barney, with a grin. 
 
 " Fagin's, eh !" exclaimed Toby, look- 
 ing at Oliver. " Wot an inwalable boy 
 that '11 make for the old ladies' pockets in 
 chapels. His mug is a fortun' to him." 
 
 " There — there 's enough of that !'' 
 interposed Sikes impatiently ; and, stoop- 
 ing over his recumbent friend, he whis- 
 pered a few words in his ear, at which 
 Mr. Crackit laughed immensely, and hon- 
 oured Oliver with a long stare of aston- 
 ishment. 
 
 " Now," said Sikes, as he resumed his 
 
 seat, " if you 'II give us something to eat 
 
 and drink while we 're waiting, you '11 
 
 put some heart in us, — or in me, at all 
 
 8* M 
 
 events. Sit down by the fire, younker, 
 and rest yourself ; for you'll have to go 
 out with us again to-night, though not 
 very far oflf." 
 
 Oliver looked at Sikes in mute and 
 timid 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 bot- 
 tle 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 con- 
 tents. Mr. Sikes did the same. 
 
 " A drain for the boy," said Toby, half 
 filling a wine-glass. " Down with it, 
 innocence !" 
 
 " Indeed," said Oliver, looking pite- 
 ously up into the man's face; "indeed 
 I " 
 
 " Down with it !" echoed Toby. " Do 
 you think I don't know what 's good for 
 you 1 Tell him to drink it. Bill." 
 
 " He had better," said Sikes, clapping 
 his hand upon his pocket. " Burn my 
 body ! if he isn't more trouble than a 
 whole family of Dodgers. Drink it, you 
 perwerse imp ; drink it !" 
 
 Frightened by the menacing gestures 
 of the two men, Oliver hastily swallowed 
 the contents of the glass, and immediate- 
 ly fell into a violent fit of coughing, 
 which delighted Toby Crackit and Bar- 
 ney, and even drew a smile from the sur- 
 ly Mr. Sikes. 
 
 This done, and Sikes 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 e'jort 
 nap. Oliver retained his stool by the 
 fire ; and Barney, wrapped in a blanket, 
 stretched himself on the floor, close out- 
 side the fender. 
 
 They slept, or appeared to sleep, for 
 some time ; nobody stirrmg but Barney, 
 who rose once or twice to throw coals 
 upon the fire. Oliver fell into a heavy 
 doze, imagining himself straying alone 
 through the gloomy lanes, or wandering 
 about the dark churchyard, or retracing 
 some one or other of the scenes of the 
 past day, when he was roused by Toby 
 Crackit's 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. Sikes and his com- 
 panion enveloped their necks and chins 
 
&d 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 in large dark shawls, and drew on their 
 great-coats ; while Barney, opening a 
 cupboard, brought forth several articles, 
 which he hastily crammed into the pock- 
 ets. 
 
 " Barkers for me, Barney 1" said Toby 
 Crackit. 
 
 " Here they are," replied Barney, pro- 
 ducing a pair of pistols. " You loaded 
 them yourself" 
 
 " All right !" replied Toby, stowing 
 them away. " The persuaders 1" 
 
 " I 've got 'em," replied Sikes. 
 
 " Crape, keys, centre-bit, darkies — 
 nothing forgotten 1" inquired Toby, fast- 
 ening a small crowbar 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 de- 
 livered another to Toby, busied himself 
 in fastening on Oliver's cape. 
 
 " Now then !" said Sikes, holding out 
 his hand. 
 
 Oliver, who was completely stupified 
 by the unwonted exercise, and the air, 
 and the drink that had been forced upon 
 him, put his hand mechanically into that 
 which Sikes extended for the purpose. 
 
 " Take his other hand, Toby," said 
 Sikes. " Look out, Barney !" 
 
 The man went to the door, and return- 
 ed to announce that all was quiet. The 
 two robbers issued forth with Oliver be- 
 tween them; and 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 atmos- 
 phere 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 ar- 
 rived at Chertsey. 
 
 •' Slap through the town," whispered 
 Sikes : " there 'II 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 de- 
 serted. A dim light shone at intervals 
 from some bed-room window, and the 
 lioarse barking of dogs occasionally broke 
 ihe silence of the night ; but there was 
 
 nobody abroad, and they had cleared the 
 town as the church-bell struck two. 
 
 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 Crackit, 
 scarcely pausing to take breath, climbed 
 in a twinkling. 
 
 » The boy next," said Toby. " Hoist 
 him up : I '11 catch hold of him." 
 
 Before Oliver had time to look round, 
 Sikes had caught him under the arms, 
 and in three or four seconds he and Toby 
 were lying on the grass on the other side. 
 Sikes 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 
 housebreaking and robbery, if not murder, 
 were the objects of the expedition. He 
 clasped his hands together, and involun- 
 tarily 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 sunk upon his 
 knees. 
 
 " Get up !" murmured Sikes, trembling 
 with rage, and drawing the pistol from 
 his pocket ; " get up, or I '11 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 
 upon 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 cock- 
 ed the pistol, when Toby, striking it from 
 his grasp, placed his hand upon the boy's 
 mouth and dragged him to the house. 
 
 " Hush !" cried the man ; " it won't an- 
 swer here. Say another word, and I '11 
 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 '11 engage. I 've seen 
 older hands of his age took the same way 
 for a minute or two on a cold night." 
 
 Sikes, invoking terrific imprecations 
 upon Fagin's head for sending Oliver on 
 such an errand, plied the crowbar vigor- 
 ously, but with little noise; and, after 
 some delay and some assistance from To- 
 by, 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, belonging to a 
 
cy/^d .(/ji/y^ay/^i-M: 
 
 f.'i/ 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 91 
 
 scullery or small brewing-place at the end 
 of the passage : the aperture was so small 
 that the inmates had probably not thought 
 it worth while 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. Sikes's art sufficed to 
 overcome the fastening of the lattice, and 
 it soon stood wide open also. 
 
 " Now listen, you young limb !" whis- 
 pered Sikes, drawing a dark lantern from 
 his pocket, and throwing the glare full on 
 Oliver's face ; " I 'm a-going to put you 
 through there. Take this light, go softly 
 up the steps straight afore you, and along 
 the little hall to the street-door. Unfas- 
 ten it, and let us in." 
 
 " There 's a bolt at the top you won't be 
 able to reach," interposed Toby. " Stand 
 upon one of tlie hall chairs ; there are 
 three there. Bill, with a jolly large blue 
 unicorn and a gold pitchfork on 'em, 
 which is the old lady's arms." 
 
 " Keep quiet, can't you !" replied Sikes 
 with a savage 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 him away to-night, so neat." 
 
 Although Mr. Crackit spoke in a scarce- 
 ly audible whisper, and laughed without 
 noise, Sikes imperiously commanded him 
 to be silent, and to get to work. Toby 
 complied by first producing his lantern, 
 and placing it on the ground ; and then 
 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 Sikes, 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 Sikes look- 
 ing into the room. " You see the stairs 
 afore you 1" 
 
 Oliver, more dead than alive, gasped 
 
 out, " Yes ;" and Sikes, 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 Sikes in 
 the same low whisper. " Directly I leave 
 go of you, do your work. Hark !" 
 
 " What 's that ]" whispered the other 
 man. 
 
 Tliey listened intently. 
 
 "Nothing," said Sikes, 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 up 
 stairs from the hall and alarm the family. 
 Filled with this idea, he advanced at once, 
 but stealthily. 
 
 " Come back !" suddenly cried Sikes 
 aloud. " Back ! back !" 
 
 Scared by the sudden breaking of the 
 dead stillness of the place, and a loud 
 cry which followed it, Oliver let his lan- 
 tern fall, and knew not whether to ad- 
 vance or fly. The cry was repeated — a 
 light appeared — a vision of two terrified 
 half-dressed men at the top of the staira 
 swam before his eyes — a flash — a loud 
 noise — a smoke — a crash somewhere, but 
 where he knew not, — and he staggered 
 back. 
 
 Sikes had disappeared for an instant; 
 but he was up again, and had him by the 
 collar 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 Sikes 
 as he drew him through the window. 
 " Give me a shawl here. They 've hit 
 him. Quick ! Damnation, how the boy 
 bleeds !" 
 
 Then came the loud ringing of a bell, 
 mingled with the noise of fire-arms and 
 the shouts of men, and the sensation of be 
 ing carried over uneven ground at a rapid 
 pace. And then the noises grew confused 
 in tiie distance, and a cold deadly feeling 
 crept over the boy's heart, and he saw or 
 heard no more. 
 
Q2 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 BOOK THE SECOND. 
 
 CHAPTER THE FIRST, 
 
 Which contains the substance of a pleasant con- 
 Versation between Mr. Bumble and a lady ; and 
 shows that even a beadle may be susceptible on 
 some points. 
 
 The night was bitter cold ; the snow 
 lay upon the ground frozen into a hard 
 thick crust, so that only the heaps that 
 had drifted into by-ways and corners were 
 affected by the sharp wind that howled 
 abroad, which, as if expending increased 
 fury on such preys 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 tire, and thank 
 God they were at home ; and for the 
 homeless starving wretch to lay him dovni 
 and die. Many hunger-worn outcasts 
 close their eyes in our bare streets at such 
 times, who, let their crimes have been 
 what they may, can hardly open them in 
 a more bitter world. 
 
 Such was the aspect of out-of-door 
 afiairs when Mrs. Corney, the matron of 
 the workhouse to which our readers have 
 been already introduced as the birth-place 
 of Oliver Twist, set herself down before 
 a cheerful fire in her own little room, and 
 glanced with no small degree of compla- 
 cency at a small round table, on which 
 stood a tray of corresponding size, fur- 
 nished with all necessary materials for the 
 most grateful meal that matrons enjoy. 
 In fact, Mrs. Corney was about to solace 
 herself with a cup of tea : and as she 
 glanced from the table to the fireplace, 
 where the smallest of all possible kettles 
 was singing a small song in a small voice, 
 her inward satisfaction evidently increased 
 — so much so, indeed, that Mrs. Corney 
 smiled. 
 
 " Well," said the matron, leaning her 
 «lbow on the table, and looking reflective- 
 ly at the fire, " I 'm sure we have all on 
 lis fi great deal to be grateful for — a great 
 deal, if we did but know it. Ah !" 
 
 Mrs. Corney shook her head mournfully, 
 as if deploring the mental blindness of 
 paupers who did not know it, and, thrust- 
 ing 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 i^il minds ! The 
 black teapot, being very small and easily 
 filled, ran over while Mrs. Corney was 
 moralizing, and the water slightly scalded 
 Mrs. Comey'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 ! Wha^ use is it of to 
 anybody 1 — except," said Mrs. Corney, 
 pausing, — " except to a poor desolate crea- 
 ture 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 recol- 
 lections of Mr. Corney, (who had not 
 been dead more than five-and-twenty 
 years,) and she was overpowered. 
 
 " I shall never get another !" said Mrs. 
 Corney pettishly, " I shall never get an- 
 other — like him !" 
 
 Whether this remark bore reference to 
 the husband or the teapot is uncertain. 
 It might have been the latter ; for Mrs. 
 Corney looked at it as she spoke, and took 
 it up afterwards. She had just tasted her 
 first cup, when she was disturbed by a 
 soft tap at the room door. 
 
 "Oh, come in with yoij!" said Mrs. 
 Corney sharply. " Some of the old wo- 
 men dying, I suppose ; — they always die 
 when I 'm at meals. Don't stand there, 
 letting the cold air in, don't! What's 
 amiss now, eh 1" 
 
 " Nothing, ma'am, nothing," replied a 
 man's voice. 
 
 " Dear me !" exclaimed the matron in 
 a much sweeter tone, " is that Mr. Bum- 
 ble T" 
 
 "At your service, ma'am," said Mr. 
 Bumble, who had been stopping outside 
 to rub his shoes clean, and shake the snow 
 off his coat, and who now made his appear- 
 ance, bearing the cocked-hat in one hand 
 and a bundle in the other. " Shall I shut 
 tlie 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 farther 
 permission. 
 
 " Hard weather, Mr. Bumble," said the 
 matron. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 93 
 
 "Hard, indeed, ma'am," replied the 
 beadle. " Anti-porochial weather this, 
 ma'am. We have given away, Mrs. Cor- 
 ney, — we have given away a matter of 
 twenty quartern loaves, and a cheese and 
 a half, this very blessed afternoon; and 
 yet them paupers are not contented." 
 
 "Of course not. When would they 
 be, Mr. Bumble ]" said the matron, sipping 
 her tea. 
 
 " When, indeed, ma'am !" rejoined Mr. 
 Bumble. " Why, here 's one man that, 
 in consideration of his wife and large 
 family, has a quartern loaf and a good 
 pound of cheese, full weight. Is he 
 grateful, 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-handkerchief full, he 
 says! Coals! — what would he do with 
 coals] — Toast his cheese with 'em, and 
 then come back for more. That's the 
 way with these people, ma'am ; — give 'em 
 a apron full of coals to-day, and they '11 
 come back for another the day after to- 
 morrow, as brazen as alabaster !" 
 
 The matron expressed her entire con- 
 currence in this intelligible simile, and 
 the beadle went on. 
 
 " I never," said Mr. Bumble, " see any- 
 thing like the pitch it 's got to. The day 
 afore yesterday, a man — you have been a 
 married woman, ma'am, and I may men- 
 tion 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 din- 
 ner, and says he must be relieved, Mrs. 
 Corney. As he wouldn't go away, and 
 shocked the company very much, our 
 overseer sent him out a pound of potatoes 
 and half a pint of oatmeal. ' My God !' 
 Bays the ungrateful villain, ' what 's the 
 use of this to me ? You might as well 
 give me a pair of iron spectacles.' — ' Very 
 good,' says our overseer, taking 'em away 
 again, ' you won't get anything else here.' 
 — ' Then I '11 die in the streets !' says the 
 vagrant. — ' Oh no, you wo'nt,' says our 
 overseer." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! — that was very good ! — so 
 like Mr. Grannet, wasn't it ]" interposed 
 the matron. " Well, Mr. Bumble 1" 
 
 " Well, ma'am," rejoined the beadle, 
 " he went away, and did die in the streets. 
 There 's a obstinate pauper for you !" 
 
 " It beats anything I coirid have be- 
 lieved !" observed the matron emphatical- 
 ly. " But don't you think out-of-door re- 
 lief a very bad thing any way, Mr. Bum- 
 ble 1 You 're a gentleman of experience, 
 and ought to know. Come." 
 
 " Mrs. Corney," said the beadle, smil- 
 ing as men smile who are conscious of 
 superior information, " out-of-door relief, 
 properly managed, — properly managed, 
 ma'am, — is the porochial safe-guard. The 
 great principle of out-of-door relief is to 
 give the paupers exactly what they don't 
 want, and then they get tired of coming." 
 
 " Dear me !" exclaimed Mrs. Corney. 
 " Well, that is a good one, too !" 
 
 " Yes. Betwixt you and me, ma'am," 
 returned Mr. Bumble, " that 's the great 
 principle ; and that 's the reason why, if 
 you look at any cases that get into them 
 owdacious newspapers, you '11 always ob- 
 serve that sick families have been reliev- 
 ed with slices of cheese. That 's the 
 rule now, Mrs. Corney, all over the coun- 
 try. — But, however," said the beadle, 
 stooping to unpack his bundle, " these are 
 official secrets, ma'am ; not to be spoken 
 of except, as I may say, among the poro- 
 chial officers such as ourselves. This is 
 the port wine, ma'am, that the board or- 
 dered for the infirmary, — real fresh, gen- 
 uine port wine, only out of the cask this 
 afternoon, — clear as a bell, and no sedi- 
 ment." 
 
 Having held the first bottle up to the 
 light, and shaken it well to test its excel- 
 lence, Mr. Bumble placed them both on 
 the 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 '11 have a very cold walk, Mr. 
 Bumble," said the matron. 
 
 " It blows, ma'am," replied Mr. Bum- 
 ble, turning up his coat-collar, " enough 
 to cut one's ears oflT." 
 
 The matron looked from the little ketp- 
 tie to the beadle, who was moving to- 
 wards the door ; and as the beadle cough- 
 ed, preparatory to bidding her good-night, 
 bashfully inquired whether — whether he 
 wouldn't take a cup of tea J 
 
 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 seat- 
 ed himself, he looked at the lady: she 
 fixed her eyes upon the little teapot. 
 Mr. Bumble coughed again, and slightly 
 smiled. 
 
 Mrs. Corney rose to get another cup 
 and saucer from the closet. As she sat 
 down, her eyes once again encountered 
 those of the gallant beadle ; she coloured, 
 and applied herself to the task of making 
 his tea. Again Mr. Bumble coughed, — 
 louder this time than he had couglied 
 yet 
 
04 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 •' Sweet, Mr. Bumble 1" inquired the 
 matron, taking up the sugar-basin. 
 
 " Very sweet, indeed, ma'am," replied 
 Mr. Bumble. He fixed his eyes on Mrs. 
 Corney as he said this ; and, if ever a 
 beadle looked tender, Mr. Bumble was 
 that beadle at that moment. 
 
 The tea was made, and handed in 
 silence. Mr. Bumble, having spread a 
 handkerchief over his knees to prevent 
 the crums from sullying the splendour 
 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 them, 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 do- 
 mestic." 
 
 " Oh, yes !" rejoined the matron with 
 enthusiasm ; " so fond of their home too, 
 that it 's quite a pleasure, I 'm sure." 
 
 " Mrs. Corney, ma'am," said Mr. Bum- 
 ble slowly, and marking the time with 
 his teaspoon, " I mean to say this, ma'am, 
 that any cat or kitten that could live with 
 you, ma'am, and not be fond of its home, 
 must be an ass, ma'am." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Bumble !" remonstrated Mrs. 
 Corney. 
 
 " It 's no use disguising facts, ma'am," 
 said Mr. Bumble, slowly flourishing the 
 teaspoon with a kind of amorous dignity, 
 that made him doubly impressive ; " I 
 would drown it myself with pleasure." 
 
 " Then you 're a cruel man," said the 
 matron vivaciously, as she held out her 
 hand for the beadle's cup, " and a very 
 hard-hearted man besides." 
 
 " Hard-hearted, ma'am !" said Mr. Bum- 
 ble, " hard !" Mr. Bumble resigned his 
 cup without another word, squeezed Mrs. 
 Corney's little finger as . she took it, and 
 mflicted two open-handed slaps upon his 
 laced waistcoat, gave a mighty sigh, and 
 hitched his chair a very little morsel far- 
 ther from the fire. 
 
 It was a round table ; and as Mrs. Cor- 
 ney and Mr. Bumble had been sitting op- 
 P«")SJte each other, with eo great space be- 
 
 tween them, and fronting the fire, it wiU 
 be seen that Mr. Bumble, in receding 
 from the fire, and still keeping at the ta- 
 ble, increased the distance between him- 
 self and Mrs. Corney ; which proceeding 
 some prudent readers will doubtless be 
 disposed to admire, and to consider as an 
 act of great heroism on Mr. Bumble's part, 
 he being in some sort tempted by time, 
 place, and opportunity to give utterance 
 to certain soft nothings, which, however 
 well they may become the lips of the light 
 and thoughtless, do seem immeasurably 
 beneath the dignity of the judges of the 
 land, members of parliament, ministers of 
 state, lord-mayors, and other great public 
 functionaries, but more particularly be- 
 neath the stateliness and gravity of a bea- 
 dle, who (as is well known) should be the 
 sternest and most inflexible among them 
 all. 
 
 Whatever were Mr. Bumble's inten- 
 tions, however, — and no doubt they were 
 of the best, — whatever they were, it un- 
 fortunately happened, as has twice before 
 been remarked, that the table was a round 
 one; consequently Mr. Bumble, moving 
 his chair by little and little, soon began to 
 diminish the distance between himself 
 and the matron, and, continuing to travel 
 round the outer edge of the circle, brought 
 his chair in time close to that in which 
 the matron was seated. Indeed, the two 
 chairs touched ; and, when they did so, 
 Mr. Bumble stopped. 
 
 Now, if the matron had moved her chair 
 to the right, she would have been scorch- 
 ed 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 1" 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 sin- 
 gle man ! What can you want to know 
 for, Mr. Bumble 1" 
 
 The beadle drank his tea to the last 
 drop, finished a piece of toast, whisked 
 the crums 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 quite lost her voice, " Mr. Bum- 
 ble, I shall scream !" Mr. Bumble made 
 no reply, but in a slow and dignified man- 
 ner put his arm round the matron's waist. 
 
(iWrlLi/ brtXJ'ksJiyxvJt?.©-^ 
 
 -^ 
 
 V //^^ oy/z^ry^'^^i/z^^/aAw^ ^^ 
 
 '''.V,/. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 95 
 
 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 unneces- 
 sary 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 sur- 
 prise in counteracting the effects of fear, 
 that her voice had quite recovered all its 
 official asperity. 
 
 " If you please, mistress," said a with- 
 ered old female pauper, hideously 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 wo- 
 man, raising her hand, " 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 death 's 
 a-coming well enough. But she's trou- 
 bled in her mind ; and when the fits are 
 not on her, and that 's not often, for she is 
 dying very hard, — she says she has got 
 something to tell which you must hear. 
 She '11 never die quiet till you come, mis- 
 tress." 
 
 At this intelligence the worthy Mrs. 
 Corney 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 re- 
 quested Mr. Bumble to stop till she came 
 back, lest anything particular should oc- 
 cur, and bidding the messenger walk fast, 
 and not be all night hobbling up the stairs, 
 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, counted the teaspoons, 
 weighed the sugar-tongs, closely inspect- 
 ed a silver milk-pot to ascertain that it 
 was of the genuine metal ; and, having 
 satisfied his curiosity upon 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 e.xtraordinary perform- 
 ance, 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 in- 
 ventory of the furniture. 
 
 CHAPTER THE SECOND. 
 
 Treats of a very poor subject, but is a short one, 
 and may be found of importance in this history. 
 
 It was no unfit messenger of death that 
 had disturbed the quiet of the matron's 
 room. Her body was bent by age, her 
 limbs trembled with palsy, and 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 there 
 are to gladden us with their beauty ! The 
 cares, and sorrows, and hungerings of the 
 world change them as they change hearts, 
 and it is only when those passions sleep, 
 and have lost their hold for ever, that the 
 troubled clouds pass off, and leave hea- 
 ven's surface clear. It is a common 
 thing for the countenances of the dead, 
 even in that fixed and rigid slate, to sub- 
 side 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's side in awe, and see the angel 
 even upon earth. 
 
 The old crone tottered along the pas- 
 sages and up the stairs, muttering some 
 indistinct answers to the chidings of her 
 companion ; and, being at length compel- 
 led to pause for breath, gave the light 
 into her hand, and remained behind to 
 follow as she might, while the more nim- 
 ble superior made her way to the room 
 where the hick 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, and the parish apothecary's appren- 
 tice 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 curtsey as she spoke. 
 
 " You should get better coals out of 
 your contractors," said the apothecary's 
 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." 
 
 " They 're the board's 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 man, turning 
 his face towards the bed, as if he had 
 
d6 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 previously quite forgotten the patient, 
 »' it 's all U. P. there, Mrs. Corney." 
 
 " It is, is it, sir 1" asked the matron. 
 
 " If she lasts a couple of hours, I shall 
 be surprised," said the apothecary's ap- 
 prentice, intent upon the toothpick's point. 
 " It 's a break-up of the system altogether. 
 Is she dozing, old lady V 
 
 The attendant stooped over the bed to 
 ascertain, and nodded in the affirmative. 
 
 " Then perhaps she '11 go oft" 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 bidden, 
 shaking her head meanwhile to intimate 
 that the woman would not die so easily ; 
 and, having done so, 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 apothecary's apprentice, having 
 completed the manufacture of the tooth- 
 pick, 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 shrivelled faces, and made their 
 ugliness appear perfectly terrible, as in 
 this position they began to converse in a 
 low voice. 
 
 " Did she say any more, Anny dear, 
 while I was gone 1" inquired the mes- 
 senger. 
 
 " 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 parish allowance ; — no, no." 
 
 " Did she drink the hot wine the doc- 
 tor said she was to have I" 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 / 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 mind the time," said the first 
 
 speaker, " when she would have done the 
 same, and made rare fun of it afterwards." 
 
 " Ay, that she would," rejoined the 
 other ; " she had a merry heart. A many, 
 many beautiful corpses she laid out, as 
 nice and neat as wax-work. My old eyes 
 have seen them, — ay, and these old hands 
 touched them too ; for I have helped hei 
 scores of times." 
 
 Stretching forth her trembling fingers 
 as she spoke, the old creature shook them 
 exultingly before her face ; and then, 
 fumbling in her pocket, brought out an 
 old time-discoloured tin snuft-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 until the dy- 
 ing woman should awaken from her stu- 
 por, joined them by the fire, and sharply 
 asked how long she was to wait. 
 
 " Not long, mistress," replied the se- 
 cond woman, looking up into her face. 
 " We have none of us long to wait for 
 Death. Patience, patience ! he '11 be 
 here soon enough for us all." 
 
 " Hold your tongue, you doting idiot !" 
 said the matron sternly. " You, Martha, 
 tell me; has she been in this way be- 
 fore ?" 
 
 " Often," answered the first woman, 
 
 " But will never be again," added the 
 second one ; " that is, she '11 never wake 
 again but once, — and mind, mistress, that 
 won't be for long." 
 
 " Long or short," said the matron snap- 
 pishly, " she won't find me here when she 
 does, and take care, both of you, how you 
 worry me again for nothing. It 's no part 
 of my duty to see all the old women in 
 the house die, and I won't, — that's more. 
 Mind that, you impudent old harridans ! 
 If you make a fool of me again, I '11 soon 
 cure you, I warrant you !" 
 
 She was bouncing away, when a cry 
 from the two won)en, who had turned to- 
 wards the bed, caused her to look round. 
 The sick woman had raised herself up- 
 right, and was stretching her arms to- 
 wards 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 '11 never lie down again alive !" said 
 the woman struggling. " I will tell her ! 
 Come herer:— nearer. Let me whisper in 
 your ear." 
 
 She clutched the matron by the arm, 
 and forcing her into a chair by the bed- 
 side was about to speak, when, looking 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 07 
 
 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 togeth- 
 er, began pouring out many piteous la- 
 mentations that the poor dear was too far 
 gone to know her best friends, and utter- 
 ing 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 ex- 
 cluded, the old ladies changed their tone, 
 and cried through the keyhole that old 
 Sally was dnmk ; which, indeed, was not 
 unlikely, since, in addition to a moderate 
 dose of opium prescribed by the apothe- 
 cary, she was labouring under the effects 
 of a final taste of gin and water, which 
 had been privily administered in the open- 
 ness of their hearts by the worthy old la- 
 dies 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 creetur', that was 
 brought into the house with her feet cut 
 and bruised with walking, and all soiled 
 with dust and biood. She gave birth to a 
 boy, and died. Let me think — What was 
 the year again V 
 
 " Never mind the year," said the impa- 
 tient auditor ; " what about her I" 
 
 " Ay," murmured the sick woman, re- 
 lapsing into her former drowsy state, 
 "what about herl — 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. 
 
 "// .'" — 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 1 Who 
 was the mother ? — when was it ]" 
 
 " She charged me to keep it safe," re- 
 plied the woman with a groan, " and trust- 
 ed 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 
 9 N 
 
 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 1 3" 
 
 " No, no," replied the matron, inclining 
 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, mak- 
 ing 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 
 tlirived, the day might come when it 
 would not feel disgraced to hear its poor 
 young mother named. ' And oh, my God !' 
 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 V demanded the ma- 
 tron. 
 
 " They called him Oliver," replied the 
 woman feebly. " The gold I stole 
 was " 
 
 " Yes, yes — what 1" cried the other. 
 
 She was bending eagerly over the wo- 
 man to hear her reply, but drew back 
 instinctively as she once again rose slowly 
 and stiffly into a sitting posture, and, 
 clutching the coverlet with both hands, 
 muttered some indistinct sounds in her 
 throat, and fell lifeless on the bed. 
 ****** 
 
 " Stone dead !" said one of the old wc»- 
 men, hurrying in as soon as the door was 
 opened. 
 
 " And nothing to tell, after all," rejoin- 
 ed the matron, walking carelessly away. 
 
 The two crones were to all appearance 
 too busily occupied in the preparations for 
 their dreadful duties to make any reph, 
 and were left alone hovering about the 
 body. 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRD, 
 
 Wherein tliis history reverts to Mr. Fagin aiiO 
 company. 
 
 While these things were passing in 
 the country workhouse, Mr. Fagin sat in 
 the old den, — the same from which Oliver 
 
98 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 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 upon them, and his chin resting on 
 his thumbs, fixed his eyes abstractedly on 
 the rusty bars. 
 
 At a table behind him sat the Artfiil 
 Dodger, Master Charles Bates, and Mr. 
 Chitling, all intent upon a game of whist ; 
 the Artful taking dummy against Master 
 Bates and Mr. Chitling. The counte- 
 nance of the first-named gentleman, pecu- 
 liarly 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 quart-pot upon the table, 
 which stood ready filled with gin and 
 water for the accommodation of the com- 
 pany. 
 
 Master Bates was also attentive to the 
 play ; but, being of a more excitable na- 
 ture than his accomplished friend, it was 
 observable that he more fi-equently applied 
 himself to the gin and water, and more- 
 ever indulged in many jests and irrelevant 
 remarks, all highly unbecoming a scien- 
 tific rubber. Indeed, the Artful, presum- 
 ing upon their close attachment, more 
 than once took occasion to reason gravely 
 with his companion upon these improprie- 
 ties : all of which remonstrances Master 
 Bates took in extremely pood part, merely 
 requesting his friend to be " blowed," or 
 to insert his hand 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 re- 
 markable that the latter gentleman and 
 liis partner invariably lost ; and that the 
 •;ircurastance, so far from angering Mas- 
 ter Bates, appeared to afford him the high- 
 est amusement, inasmuch as he laughed 
 most uproariously at the end of every 
 deal, and protested that he had never seen 
 tsuch a jolly game in all his bom days. 
 
 " That 's two doubles and the rub," said 
 Mi Chitimg with a very long fece, as 
 
 he drew half-a-crown from his waistcoat 
 pocket. "I never see such a feller as 
 you, Jack ; you win everything. Even 
 when we've good cards, Charley and I 
 can't make nothing of 'em." 
 
 Either the matter or manner of this 
 remark, which was made very ruefully, 
 delighted Charley Bates so much, that 
 his consequent shout of laughter roused 
 the Jew from his reverie, and induced 
 him to inquire what was the matter. 
 
 "Matter, Fagin!" cried Charley. "I 
 wish you had watched the play. Tommy 
 Chitling hasn't won a point, and I went 
 partners with him against the Artful and 
 dum." 
 
 " Ay, ay !" said the Jew with a grin, 
 which sufficiently demonstrated that he 
 was at no loss to understand the reason. 
 " Try 'em again, Tom ; try 'em again." 
 
 *' No more of it for me, thankee. Fa- 
 gin," replied Mr. Chitling ; " I 've had 
 enough. That 'ere Dodger has such a 
 run of luck, that there's no standing 
 again' him." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! my dear," replied the Jew, 
 " you must get up very early in the morn- 
 ing to win against the Dodger." 
 
 " Morning !" said Charles Bates ; " you 
 must put your boots on over night, and 
 have a telescope at each eye, and a 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 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 Newgate on 
 the table with the piece of chalk which 
 had served him in lieu of counters, whist- 
 ling meantime with peculiar shrillness. 
 
 " How precious dull you are, Tommy !" 
 said the Dodger, stopping short when 
 there had been a long silence, and ad- 
 dressing Mr. Chitling. "What do you 
 think he's thinking of, Fagin 1" 
 
 "How should I know, my dear?" re- 
 plied 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?— Ha! ha! 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, Charley ]" 
 
 " / should say," replied Master Bates 
 with a grin, " that he was uncommon 
 sweet upon Betsy. See how he *s 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 Of 
 
 a-blushing ! Oh, my eye ! here 's a merry- 
 go-rounder ! — Tommy Chilling' 's in love ! 
 — Oh, Fagin, Fagin ! what a spree !" 
 
 Thoroughly overpowered with the 
 notion of Mr. Chilling being the victim 
 of the tender passion. Master Bates threw 
 himself back in his chair with such vio- 
 lence, that he lost his balance, and pitch- 
 ed over upon the floor, where (the acci- 
 dent abating nothing of his merriment) 
 he lay at full length till his laugh was 
 over, when he resumed his former position 
 and began another. 
 
 " Never mind him, mjr dear," said the 
 Jew, winking at Mister Dawkins, and 
 giving Master Bates a reproving tap with 
 the nozzle of the bellows. " Betsy 's a 
 fine girl. Stick up to her, Tom ; stick 
 up to her." 
 
 " What I mean to say, Fagin," replied 
 Mr. Chilling, very red in the face, " is, 
 that that isn't anything to anybody 
 here." 
 
 " No more it is," replied the Jew : 
 "Charley 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 '11 make your fortune." 
 
 " So I do do as she bids me," replied 
 Mr. Chilling; "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, Fagin? And what's six weeks 
 of it 1 It must come some time or an- 
 other, — and why not in the winter time, 
 when you don't want to go out a-walking 
 so much ; eh, Fagin 1" 
 
 " Ah, to be sure, my dear," replied the 
 Jew. 
 
 "You wouldn't mind it again, Tom, 
 would you," asked the Dodger, winking 
 upon Charley and the Jew, " if Bet was 
 all right!" 
 
 " I mean to say that I shouldn't," re- 
 plied Tom angrily ; " there, now ! Ah ! 
 Who '11 say as much £is that, I should like 
 to know ; eh, Fagin 1" 
 
 " Nobody, my dear," replied the Jew ; 
 " not a soul, Tom. I don't know one of 
 'em that would do it besides you ; not one 
 of 'em, my dear." 
 
 " I might have got clear off if I 'd split 
 upon her; mightn't I, Fagin'!" angrily 
 pursued the poor half-wilted dupe. " A 
 word from me would have done it; 
 wouldn't it, Fagin V 
 
 " To be sure it would, my dear," re- 
 plied the Jew. 
 
 "But I didn't blab it; did I, Fagin 1" 
 demanded Tom, pouring question upon 
 question with great volubility. 
 
 " No, no, to be sure," replied the Jew ; 
 
 " you were too stout-hearted for that,-rr« 
 deal too stout, my dear." 
 
 " Perhaps I was," rejoined Tom, look- 
 ing round; "and if I was, what's to 
 laugh at in that ; eh, Fagin 1" 
 
 The Jew, perceiving that Mr. Chilling 
 was considerably roused, hastened to as- 
 sure him that nobody was laughmg, and, 
 to prove the gravity of the company, ap- 
 pealed to Master Bates, the principal of- 
 fender; but unfortunately Charley, in 
 opening his mouth to reply that he was 
 never more serious in his life, was un- 
 able to prevent the escape of such a. vio- 
 lent roar, that the abused Mr. Chilling, 
 without any preliminary ceremonies, rush- 
 ed across the room and aimed a blow at 
 the offender, who, being skilful in evad- 
 ing 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. 
 Chilling looked on in intense dismay. 
 
 " Hark !" cried the Dodger at this mo- 
 ment, "I heard the tinkler." Catching 
 up the light, he crept softly up stairs. 
 
 The bell rang again with some im- 
 patience while the party were in dark- 
 ness. After a short pause, the Dodger 
 re-appeared, and whispered Fagin mys- 
 teriously. 
 
 " What !" cried the Jew, " alone 1" 
 
 The Dodger nodded in the affirmative, 
 and, shading the flame of the candle with 
 his hand, gave Charley Bales a private 
 intimation in dumb show that he had bet- 
 ter not be funny just then. Having per- 
 formed 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 length he 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 th« 
 mule inquiry ; " bring him down. Hush ! 
 — Quiet, Charley ! — gently, Tom ! Scarce, 
 scarce !" 
 
 This brief direction to Charley Bates 
 and his recent antagonist to retire, 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 hurried glance round the room, 
 
100 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 pulled off a large shawl which had con- 
 cealed the lower portion of his face, and 
 disclosed — all haggard, unwashed, and 
 unshaven, — the features of flash Toby 
 Crackit. 
 
 "How are you, Fagey?" said the 
 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 cracksman afore the old file 
 BOW !" 
 
 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, Fagey," he said, pointing 
 disconsolately to his top-boots ; " not a drop 
 of Day and Martin since you know when ; 
 
 not a bubble of blacking, by ! but 
 
 don't look at me in that way, man. All 
 in good time ; I can't talk about business 
 till I 've eat and drank ; so produce the 
 sustainance, 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 
 housebreaker, waited his leisure. 
 
 To judge from appearances, Toby was 
 by no means in a hurry to open the con- 
 versation. At first the Jew contented 
 himself with patiently watching his coun- 
 tenance, as if to gain fi*om its expression 
 some clue to the intelligence he brought ; 
 but in vain. He looked tired and worn, 
 but there was the same complacent re- 
 pose upon his features that they always 
 wore, and through dirt, and beard, and 
 whisker, there still shone unimpaired the 
 self satisfied smirk of flash Toby Crackit. 
 •Then the Jew in an agony of impatience 
 watched every morsel he put into his 
 mouth, pacing up and down the room 
 meanwhile with irrepressible excitement. 
 It was all of no use. Toby continued to 
 eat with the utmost outward indifference 
 until he could eat no more ; and then, or- 
 dering the Dodger out, closed the door, 
 mixed a glass of spirits and water, and 
 composed himself for talking. 
 
 " P'irst and foremost, Fagey," said To- 
 by. 
 
 " Yes, yes '" interposed the Jew, draw- 
 ing up his chaii. 
 
 Mr. Crackit stopped to take a draught 
 of spirits and water, and to declare that 
 the gin was excellent ; and then placing 
 his feet against the low mantelpiece, so 
 fts to bring his boots to about the level of 
 Jus eye, quietly resumed. 
 
 " First and foremost, Fagey," said the 
 housebreaker, " how 's Bill 1" 
 
 " What !" screamed the Jew, starting 
 from his seat. 
 
 " Why, you don't mean to say " 
 
 began Toby, turning pale. 
 
 " Mean !" cried the Jew, stamping fu- 
 riously on the ground. " Where are they ? 
 — Sikes and the boy — where are they 1 — 
 where have they been 1 — where are they 
 hiding ] — why have they not been here "!" 
 
 " The crack failed," said Toby faintly. 
 
 " I know it," replied the Jew, tearing a 
 newspaper from his pocket and pointing 
 to it. " What more f' 
 
 " They fired and hit the boy. We cut 
 over the fields at the back with him be- 
 tween us — straight as the crow flies — 
 through hedge and ditch. They gave 
 chase. D — me ! the whole country was 
 awake, and the dogs upon us !" 
 
 " The boy !" gasped the Jew. 
 
 " Bill had him on his back, and scudded 
 like the wind. We stopped to take him 
 again 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 parted com- 
 pany, and left the youngster lying in a 
 ditch. Alive or dead, that 's all I know 
 of him." 
 
 The Jew stopped to hear no more ; but 
 uttering a loud yell, and twining his hands 
 in his hair, rushed from the room and from 
 the house. 
 
 CHAPTER THE FOURTH. 
 
 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 cor- 
 ner before he began to recover the effect 
 of Toby Crackit's intelligence. He had 
 relaxed nothing of his unusual speed, but 
 was still pressing onward in the same 
 wild and disordered manner, when the 
 sudden dashing past of a carriage, and a 
 boisterous cry from the foot-passengers 
 who saw his danger, drove him back upon 
 the pavement. Jjooking hastily round, as 
 if uncertain whither he had been hurry- 
 ing, he paused for a few moments, and 
 turned away in quite an opposite direction 
 to that in which he had before proceeded. 
 Avoiding as much as possible all the main 
 streets, and skulking only through tba by- 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 101 
 
 ways and alleys, he at length emerged 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 pro- 
 per element, he fell into his usual shuf- 
 fling pace, and seemed to breathe more 
 freely. 
 
 Near to the spot on which Snow Hill 
 and Holborn Hill meet, there 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 ex- 
 posed for sale huge bunches of second- 
 hand silk handkerchiefs of all sizes and 
 patterns, — for here reside the traders who 
 purchase them from pickpockets. Hun- 
 dreds of these handkerchiefs hang dan- 
 gling from pegs outside the windows, or 
 flaunting from the door-posts; and the 
 shelves within are piled with them. Con- 
 fined 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 of dusk by silent merchants, 
 who traffic in dark back-parlours, and go 
 as strangely as they came. Here the 
 clothesman, the shoe-vamper, and the rag- 
 merchant display their goods as sign- 
 boards to the petty thief; and stores of 
 old iron and bones, and heaps of mildewy 
 fragments of woollen stuff and linen, rust 
 and rot in the grimy cellars. 
 
 It was into this place that the Jew turn- 
 ed. He was well known to the sallow 
 denizens of the lane, for such of them as 
 were on the look-out to buy or sell, nod- 
 ded 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 sales- 
 man of small stature, who had squeezed 
 as much of his person into a child's chair 
 as the chair would hold, and was smoking 
 a pipe at his warehouse-door. 
 
 " Why, the sight of you. Mister Fagin, 
 would cure the hoptalmy !" said this re- 
 spectable trader, in acknowledgment of 
 the Jew's inquiry after his health. 
 
 " The neighbourhood was a little too 
 hot. Lively!" said Fagin, elevating his 
 eyebrows, and crossing his hands upon his 
 shoulders. 
 
 " Well ! I 've heerd that complaint of 
 it once or twice before," replied the tra- 
 der, " but it soon cools down again ; don't 
 you find it so ?" 
 
 Fagin nodded in the affirmative, and, 
 9* 
 
 pointing in the direction of Saffron Hill, 
 inquired whether any one was up yonder 
 to-night. 
 
 " At the Cripples 1" inquired the man. 
 
 The Jew nodded. 
 
 " I^et me see !" pursued the merchant, 
 reflecting. " Yes ; there 's some half^ 
 dozen of 'em gone in, that I knows on. 
 I don't think your friend 's there." 
 
 " Sikes is not, I suppose ?" inquired the 
 Jew with a disappointed countenance. 
 
 " Non istwentus, as the lawyers say," 
 replied the little man, shaking his head, 
 and looking amazing sly. "Have you 
 got anything in my line to-night 1" 
 
 " Nothing to-night," said the Jew, turn- 
 ing away. 
 
 " Are you going up to the Cripples, Fa- 
 gin?" cried the little man, calling after 
 him. " Stop ! I don't mind if I have a 
 drain there with you !" 
 
 But as the Jew, looking back, waved 
 his hand to intimate that he preferred be- 
 ing alone; and, moreover, as the little 
 man could not very easily disengage him- 
 self from the chair, the sign of the Crip- 
 pies was, for a time, bereft of the advan- 
 tage of Mr. Lively's presence. By tlie 
 time he had got upon his legs the Jew 
 had disappeared ; so Mr. Lively, after in- 
 effectually standing on tip-toe, in the hope 
 of catching sight of him, again forced 
 himself into the little chair, and, exchang- 
 ing a shake of the head with a lady in 
 the opposite shop, in which doubt and 
 mistrust were plainly mingled, resumed 
 his pipe with grave demeanour. 
 
 The Three Cripples, or rather the 
 Cripples, which was the sign by which 
 the establishment was familiarly known 
 to its patrons, was the same public-house in 
 which Mr. Sikes and his dog have already 
 figured. Merely making a sign to a man 
 in the bar, Fagin walked straight up 
 stairs, 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 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 further. By degrees, however, 
 as some of it cleared away through the 
 open door, an assemblage of heads, as 
 
 k 
 
102 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 confused as the noises that greeted the 
 ear, 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 tooth-ache, presided at a jingling 
 piano in a remote corner. 
 
 As Fagin stepped softly in, the profes- 
 fiional 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 en- 
 tertain the company with a ballad in four 
 verses, between each of which the ac- 
 companyist played the melody all through 
 as loud as he could. When this was 
 over, the chairman gave a sentiment ; 
 after which, the professional gentlemen 
 on the chairman's right and left volun- 
 teered a duet, and sang it with great ap- 
 plause. 
 
 It was curious to observe some faces 
 which stood out prominently from among 
 the group. There was the chairman him- 
 self, the landlord of the house : a coarse, 
 rough, heavy-built fellow, who, while the 
 songs were proceeding, rolled his eyes 
 hither and thither, 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 ap- 
 plying themselves in turn to a dozen prof- 
 fered glasses of spirits and water tender- 
 ed by their more boisterous admirers, 
 whose countenances, expressive of almost 
 every vice in almost every grade, irre- 
 sistibly attracted the attention by their 
 very repulsiveness. Cunning, ferocity, 
 and drunkenness in all its stages, were 
 there in their strongest aspects; and 
 women — some with the last lingering 
 tinge of their early freshness almost fa- 
 ding as you looked, and others with every 
 mark and stamp of their sex utterly 
 beaten out, and presenting but one loath- 
 some blank of profligacy and crime ; some 
 mere girls, others but young women, and 
 none past the prime of life, — formed the 
 darkest and saddest portion of this dreary 
 picture. 
 
 Fagin, 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 occu- 
 pied the chair, he beckoned to him slight- 
 ly, and left the room as quietly as he had 
 entered it. 
 
 " What can I do for you, Mr. Fagin ]" 
 softly inquired the man as he followed 
 him out to the landing. "Won't you 
 join us 1 They '11 be delighted, every 
 one of 'em." 
 
 The Jew shook his head impatiently, 
 and said in a whisper, " Is he here?" 
 
 " No," replied the man. 
 
 " And no news of Barney V inquired 
 Fagin. 
 
 "None," replied the landlord of the 
 Cripples, for it was he. " He won't stir 
 till it 's all safe. Depend on it that 
 they 're on the scent down there, and that 
 if he moved he 'd blow upon the thing at 
 once. He 's all right enough, Barney is ; 
 else I should have heard of him. I '11 
 pound it that Barney 's managing proper- 
 ly. Let him alone for that" 
 
 " Will he be here to-night f asked the 
 Jew, laying the same emphasis on the 
 pronoun as before. 
 
 " Monks do you mean V 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 '11 wait ten 
 minutes, he '11 be " 
 
 "No, no," said the Jew hastily, as 
 though, however desirous he might be to 
 see the person in question, he was never- 
 theless relieved by his absence. " Tell 
 him I came here to see him, and that he 
 must come to me to-night; no, say to- 
 morrow. As he is not here, to-morrow 
 will be time enough." 
 
 "Good!" said the man. "Nothing 
 more 1" 
 
 " Not a word now," said the Jew, de- 
 scending the stairs. 
 
 " I say," said the other, looking over 
 the rails, and speakinj;- in a hoarse whis- 
 per; "what a time this would be for a 
 sell ! I 've got Phil Barker here, so drunk, 
 that a boy might take him." 
 
 "Aha! But it's not Phil Barker's 
 time," said the Jew, looking up. " Phil 
 has something more to do before we can 
 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 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 103 
 
 Jew was no sooner alone than his counte- 
 nance resumed its former expression of 
 anxiety and thought After a brief re- 
 flection, he called a hack-cabriolet, and 
 bade the man drive towards Bethnal 
 Green. He dismissed him within some 
 quarter of a mile of Mr. Sikes's residence, 
 and performed the short remainder of the 
 distance on foot. 
 
 " Now," muttered the Jew as he knock- 
 ed 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 ; 
 80 Fagin crept softly up-stairs, 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 mise- 
 rable." 
 
 The old man turned to close the door 
 as he made this reflection, and the noise 
 thus occasioned roused the girl. She 
 eyed his crafty face narrowly as she in- 
 quired whether there was any news, and 
 listened to his recital of Toby Crackit's 
 story. When it was concluded, she sunk 
 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 this silence, the Jew looked 
 restlessly about the roon), as if to assure 
 himself that there were no appearances 
 of Sikes having covertly returned. Ap- 
 parently satisfied with his inspection, he 
 coughed twice or thrice, and made as 
 many eflTorts to open a conversation ; but 
 the girl heeded him no more than if he 
 had been made of stone. At length he 
 made another attempt, and, rubbing his 
 hands together, said, in his most concilia- 
 tory tone, 
 
 " And where should you think Bill was 
 now, my dear ; eh l" 
 
 The girl moaned out some scarcely in- 
 telligible reply, that she could not tell ; 
 and seemed, from the half-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 leetle child ! — left in a ditch, 
 Nance ; only think !" 
 
 " The 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 
 
 " Ay, I do," relumed 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." 
 
 " Pooh !" said the Jew scornfully. 
 " You 're drunk, girl." 
 
 « Am I ]" cried the girl bitterly. " It 's 
 no fault of yours if I am not ; you 'd ne- 
 ver have me anything else if you had 
 your will, except now ! — the humour 
 doesn't suit you, doesn't it l" 
 
 " No !" rejoined the Jew furiously. " It 
 does not !" 
 
 " Change it, then !" responded the girl 
 with a laugh. 
 
 " Change it !" exclaimed the Jew, ex- 
 asperated beyond all bounds by his com- 
 panion's unexpected obstinacy and the 
 vexation of the night, " I 'U change it ! 
 Listen to me, you drab ! listen to me, who 
 with six words can strangle Sikes as sure- 
 ly as if I had his bull's throat between my 
 fingers now. If he comes back, and 
 leaves that boy behind him, — if he gets 
 off 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 in- 
 voluntarily. 
 
 " What is it !" pursued Fagin, mad with 
 rage. " This ! When the boy 's worth 
 hundreds of pounds to me, am I to lose 
 what chance threw 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, too, to a bom 
 devil that only wants the will, and has 
 got the power to, to——" 
 
 Panting for breath, the old man stam- 
 mered for a word, and in that one instant 
 checked the torrent of his wrath, and 
 changed the whole of his demeanour. A 
 moment before, his clenched hands had 
 grasped the air, his eyes had dilated, and 
 his face had grown livid with passion ; but 
 now he shrunk into a chair, and, cower- 
 ing together, trembled with the apprehen- 
 sion of having himself disclosed some 
 hidden villany. After a short silence he 
 ventured to look round at his companion, 
 and appeared somewhat reassured on be- 
 holding her in the same listless attitude 
 from which he had first roused her. 
 
 " Nancy dear !" croaked the Jew in his 
 usual voice. "Did you mind me, dear?" 
 
 " Don't worry me now, Fagin !" replied 
 the girl, raising her head languidly. " If 
 
104 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 Bill has 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, and so no 
 more about that" 
 
 " Regarding thia 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 got clear ofl^ he 's pretty 
 8nre to, for be 's worth two of him any 
 time." 
 
 "And about what I was saying, my 
 dear V observed the Jew, keeping his 
 glistening eye steadily upon her. 
 
 " You must say it all over again if it 's 
 any thing you want me to do," rejoined 
 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." 
 
 Fagin put several other questions, all 
 with the same drift of ascertaining whe- 
 ther the girl had profited by his unguard- 
 ed hints ; but she answered them so 
 readily, and was withal so utterly un- 
 moved by his searching looks, that his 
 original impression of her being more 
 than a trifle in liquor was fully confirmed. 
 Miss 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 thev were rather en- 
 couraged than checked. Her disordered 
 appearance, and a wholesome perfume of 
 Geneva which pervaded the apartment, 
 afibrding 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 dullneas, and after- 
 wards 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 divers calculations as to what might 
 be the amount of the odds so long as a 
 lady or gentleman were happy, Mr. Fa- 
 gin, who had had considerable experience 
 of such matters in his time, saw with 
 great satisfaction that she was very far 
 gone indeed. 
 
 Having eased his mind by this discovery, 
 and accomplished his two-fold object of 
 imparting to the girl what he had that 
 night heard, and ascertaining with his 
 own eyes that Sikfas had not returned, 
 Mr. Fagin again turned his face home- 
 
 ward, leaving his young friend asleep 
 with her head upon the table. 
 
 It was within an hour of midnight, and 
 the weather being dark and piercing cold, 
 he had no great temptation to loiter. 
 The sharp wind that scoured the streets 
 seemed to have cleared them of passen- 
 gers as of dust and mud, for few people 
 were abroad, and they were to all appear- 
 ance 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 comer of his own 
 street, and was already fumbling in his 
 pocket for the door-key, when a dark 
 figure emerged from a projecting entrance 
 which lay m deep shadow, and, crossing 
 the road, glided up to him unperceived. 
 
 "Fagin!" whispered a voice close to 
 his ear. 
 
 "Ah!" said the Jew, turning quickly 
 round. " Is that " 
 
 " Yes !" interrupted the stranger harsh- 
 ly, "I have been lingering here these 
 two hours. Where the devil have you 
 been 1" 
 
 " On your business, my dear," replied 
 the Jew, glancing uneasily at his com- 
 panion, and slackening his pace as he 
 spoke. " On your busmess all night" 
 
 "Oh, of course!" said the stranger, 
 with a sneer. " Well ; and what 'a come 
 of itl" 
 
 " Nothing good," said the Jew. 
 
 "Nothing bad, I hope!" said the 
 stranger, stopping short, and turning a 
 startled look upon his companion. 
 
 The Jew shook his head, and was aboot 
 to reply, when the stranger, interrupting 
 him, motioned to the house, before which 
 they had by this time arrived, and remark- 
 ed that he had better say what he had 
 got to say, under cover, for his blood was 
 chilled with standing about so long, and 
 the wind blew through hirn. 
 
 Fagin looked as if he could have will- 
 ingly excused himself from taking home 
 a visitor at that unseasonable hour, and 
 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 ; I hate this !" 
 
 " Shut the door," whispered Fagin from 
 the end of the passage. As he spoke, it 
 ckned with a load noise. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 105 
 
 " That wasn't my doing," said the other 
 man, feeling his way. " The wind blew 
 it to, or it shut of its own accord ; one or 
 the other. Look sharp with the light, or 
 I shall knock my brains out against some- 
 thing in this confounded hole." 
 
 Fagin stealthily descended the kitchen 
 stairs, and, after a short absence, return- 
 ed with a lighted candle, and the intelli- 
 gence that Toby Crackit was asleep in 
 the back-room below, and the boys in the 
 front one. Beckoning the other man to 
 follow him, he led the way up stairs. 
 
 " We can say the few words we 've 
 
 fot to say, in here, my dear," said the 
 ew, throwing open a door on the first 
 floor ; " and as there are holes in the shut- 
 ters, and we never show lights to our 
 neighbours, we '11 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 the room 
 door, and led the way into the apartment, 
 which was destitute of all movables save 
 a broken arm-chair, and an old couch or 
 sofa, without covering, which stood be- 
 hind the dofjr. Upon this piece of furni- 
 ture the stranger flung himself with the 
 air of a weary man ; and, the Jew draw- 
 ing up the arm-chair opposite, they sat 
 face to face. It was not quite dark, for 
 the door was partially open, and the can- 
 dle outside threw a feeble reflection on 
 the opposite wall. 
 
 They conversed for some time in whis- 
 pers; and, although nothing of the con- 
 versation was distinguishable beyond a 
 few disjointed words here and there, a 
 listener might easily have perceived that 
 Fagin appeared to be defending himself 
 against some remarks of the stranger, 
 and that the latter was in a state of con- 
 siderable initation. They might have 
 been talking thus for a quarter of an hour 
 or more, when Monks — by which name 
 the Jew had designated the strange man 
 several times in the course of their collo- 
 quy — said, raising his voice a little, 
 
 "I tell you again it was badly planned. 
 Why not have kept him here among the 
 rest, and made a sneaking, snivelling 
 pickpocket of him at oncel 
 
 " Only hear him !" exclaimed the Jew, 
 shrugging his shoulders. 
 
 " Why ; do you mean to say you 
 couldn't have done it if you had chosen 1" 
 demanded Monks sternly. " Haven't you 
 done it with other boys scores of times 1 
 If you had had patience for a twelve- 
 month at moot, couldn't you have got him 
 O 
 
 convicted and sent safely out of the king- 
 dom, perhaps for life 1" 
 
 " Whose turn would that have served, 
 my dear 1" inquired the Jew humbly. 
 
 "Mine," replied Monks. 
 
 " But not mine," said the Jew submis- 
 sively. " When there are two parties to 
 a bargain, it is only reasonable that the 
 interest of both should be consulted ; is 
 it not, my good friend 1" 
 
 " What then 1" demanded Monks sulk- 
 
 " I saw it was not easy to train him to 
 the business," replied the Jew ; " he was 
 not like other boys in the same circum- 
 stances." 
 
 "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 watch- 
 ing the countenance of his companion; 
 "ins hand was not in; I had nothing to 
 frighten him with; which we always 
 must have in the beginning, or we labour 
 in vain. What could I do] Send him 
 out with the Dodger and Charley 1 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; be- 
 cause, if it had never happened, you 
 might never have clapped eyes upon the 
 boy to notice him, and so led to the dis- 
 covery that it was him you were looking 
 for. Well ; I got him back for you by 
 means of the girl, and then she begins to 
 favour him." 
 
 "Throttle the girl!" said Monks im. 
 patiently. 
 
 " Why, we can't afl'brd 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 harden, she '11 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, — out 
 if the worst comes to the worst, and he 
 is dead " 
 
 " It 's no fault of mine if he is !" inter- 
 posed the other man with a look of terror, 
 and clasping the Jew's arm with trem- 
 bling hands. " Mind that, Fagin ! I had 
 no hand in it. Anything but his death, I 
 
106 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 told you from the first. I won't shed 
 blood ; it 's always tbund out, and haunts 
 a man besides ! If they shot him dead, I 
 was not the cause ; do you hear me 7 
 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 f 
 
 " Yonder !" replied the man, glaring at 
 tlie opposite wall. " The shadow — I saw 
 the shadow of a woman in a cloak and 
 bonnet pass along the wainscot like a 
 breath !" 
 
 The Jew released his hold, and they 
 rushed tumultuously from the room. The 
 candle, wasted by the draught, was stand- 
 ing where it had been placed, and show- 
 ed them the empty stair-cases, and their 
 own white faces. They listened intently, 
 but a profound silence reigned through- 
 out the house. 
 
 " It 's your fancy," said the Jew, taking 
 up the light, and turning to his com- 
 panion. 
 
 " I '11 swear I saw it !" replied Monks, 
 trembling violently. " 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, ascend- 
 ed the stairs. They looked into all the 
 rooms ; they were cold, bare, and empty. 
 They descended to the passage, and 
 thence into the cellars below. The green 
 damp hung upon the low walls, and the 
 tracks of the snail and slug glistened in 
 the light, but all was still as death. 
 
 " What do you think now, my dear 1" 
 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 I" 
 
 As a proof of the fact, the Jew drew 
 forth two keys from his pocket ; and ex- 
 plained that when he first went down 
 btairs he had locked them in, to prevent 
 any intrusion on the conference. 
 
 This accumulated testimony effectually 
 etaggered Mr. Monks. His protestations 
 liad gradually become less and less vehe- 
 ment 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 i)ast one o'clock ; and so the amiable 
 couple parted. 
 
 CHAPTER THE FIFTH 
 
 Atones for the unpoliteness of a former chapter, 
 which deserted a Lady most unceremoniously. 
 
 As it would be by no means seemly in 
 a humble author to keep so mighty a per- 
 sonage as a beadle waiting with his back 
 to a fire, and the skirts of his coat gather- 
 ed 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 that beadle 
 had looked with an eye of tenderness and 
 affection, and in whose ear he had whis- 
 pered sweet words, which, coming from 
 such a quarter, might well thrill the 
 bosom of maid or matron of whatsoever 
 degree ; the faithful historian whose pen 
 traces these words, trusting that he knows 
 his place, and entertains a becoming re- 
 verence 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 duteous ceremony which 
 their exalted rank and (by consequence) 
 great virtues imperatively claim at his 
 hands. Towards this end, indeed, he had 
 purposed to introduce in this place a dis- 
 sertation touching the divine right of 
 beadles, and elucidative of the position 
 that a beadle can do no wrong, which 
 could not fail to have been both pleasur- 
 able 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 beadle properly constituted — that is to 
 say, a parochial beadle attached to the 
 parochial workhouse, and attending in 
 his official capacity the parochial church, 
 — is, in right and virtue of his office, pos- 
 sessed of all the excellencies and best 
 qualities of humanity ; and that to none 
 of those excellencies can mere com- 
 panies' beadles, or court-of-law beadles, 
 or even chapel-of-ease beadles (save the 
 last in a very lowly and inferior degree,) 
 lay the remotest sustainable claim. 
 
 Mr. Bumble had re-counted the tea- 
 spoons, re-weighed the sugar-tongs, made 
 a closer inspection of the milk-pot, and 
 ascertained to a nicety the exact condi- 
 tion of the furniture down to the very 
 horse-hair seals of the chairs, and had 
 repeated each process full halfa-dozen 
 times, before he began to think that it 
 was time for Mrs. Corney to return, 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 107 
 
 Thinking begets thinking ; and, as there 
 were no sounds of Mrs. Corney's approach, 
 it occurred to Mr. Bumble that it would 
 be an innocent and virtuous way of spend- 
 ing the time, if he were further to allay 
 his curiosity by a cursory glance at the 
 interior of Mrs. Corney's chest of draw- 
 ers. 
 
 Having listened at the key-hole to as- 
 sure 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 tex- 
 ture, carefully preserved between two 
 layers of old newspaper sprinkled with 
 dried lavender, seemed to yield him ex- 
 ceeding 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 fire- 
 place, and, resuming his old attitude, said, 
 with a grave and determined air, " I '11 
 do it !" He followed up this remarkable 
 declaration by shaking his head in a wag- 
 gish manner for ten minutes, as though 
 he were remonstrating with himself for 
 being such a pleasant dog ; and then 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. Corney, hurry- 
 ing into the room, threw herself in a 
 breathless state on a chair by the fire-side, 
 and covering her eyes with one hand, 
 placed the other over her heart, and 
 gasped for breath. 
 
 " Mrs. Corney," said Mr. Bumble, stoop- 
 ing over the matron, " what is this, ma'am "! 
 has anything happened ma'am 1 Pray an- 
 swer 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 — 1 I know !" 
 said Mr. Bumble, checking himself with 
 native majesty, " this is them wicious 
 paupers !" 
 
 "It's dreadful to think of I" said the 
 lady, shuddering. 
 
 " Then don't think of it, ma'am," re- 
 joined 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. Cor 
 ney. " I couldn't — oh ! The top shelf in 
 the right-hand comer — oh !" Uttering 
 these words, the good lady pointed dis- 
 tractedly to the cupboard, and underwent 
 a convulsion from internal spasms. Mr. 
 Bumble rushed to the closet, and, snatch- 
 ing a pint green-glass bottle from the 
 shelf thus incoherently indicated, filled a 
 tea-cup with its contents, and held it to 
 the lady's lips. 
 
 " I 'm better now," said Mrs. Corney, 
 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," explained Mrs. Corney 
 in a faint voice, smiling gently on the 
 beadle 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 an- 
 other taste, and put the cup down empty. 
 
 " It 's very comforting," said Atrs. Cor- 
 ney. 
 
 " Very much so indeed, ma'am " said 
 the beadle. As he spoke, he drew a chair 
 beside the matron, and tenderly inquired 
 what had happened to distress her. 
 
 " Nothing," replied Mrs. Corney. " i 
 am a foolish, excitable, weak creetur." 
 
 " Not weak, ma'am," retorted Mr. Bum 
 ble, drawing his chair a little closer. 
 " Are you a weak creetur, Mrs. Corney V* 
 
 " We are all weak creeturs," said Mrs. 
 Corney, laying down a general principle. 
 
 " So we are," said the beadle. 
 
 Nothing was said on either side for a 
 minute or two afterwards ; and by the ex- 
 piration of that time Mr. Bumble had 
 illustrated the position by removing his 
 left arm from the back of Mrs. Corney's 
 chair, where it had previously rested, to 
 Mrs. Corney's apron-string, round which 
 it gradually became entwined. 
 
 " We are all weak creeturs," said Mr. 
 Bumble. 
 
 Mrs. Corney sighed. 
 
 " Don't sigh, Mrs. Corney," said Mr. 
 Bumble. 
 
 " I can't help it," said Mrs. Corney; 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," mur- 
 mured the lady. 
 
108 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " But not for two, ma'am," rejoined Mr. 
 Bumble in soft accents. " Eh, Mrs. Cor- 
 neyr 
 
 Mrs. Comey drooped her head when the 
 beadle said this, and the beadle drooped 
 his 10 get a view of Mrs. Corney's face. 
 Mrs. Comey with great propriety turned 
 her head away, and released her hand to 
 get at her pocket-handkerchief, but insen- 
 sibly replaced it in that of Mr. Bumble. 
 
 " The board allow you coals, don't they, 
 Mrs. Corney ]" affectionately inquired the 
 beadle, pressing her hand. 
 
 " And candles," replied Mrs. Corney, 
 slightly returning the pressure. 
 
 " Coals, candles, and house-rent free," 
 said Mr. Bumble. " Oh, Mrs. Corney, 
 what a angel you are !" 
 
 The lady was not proof against this 
 burst of feeling. She sunk into Mr. Bum- 
 ble's arms; and that gentleman, in his 
 agitation, imprinted a passionate kiss upon 
 her chaste nose. 
 
 " Such porochial perfection !" exclaim- 
 ed Mr. Bumble rapturously. " You know 
 that Mr. Slout is worse to-night, my fas- 
 cinator ]" 
 
 " Yes," replied Mrs. Comey 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 wacancy ; that wacancy must be filled 
 up. Oh, Mrs. Comey, what a prospect 
 this opens ! What a opportunity for a 
 joining of hearts and housekeeping !" 
 
 Mrs. Comey sobbed. 
 
 " The little word 1" said Mr. Bumble, 
 bending over the bashful beauty. " The 
 one little, little, little word, my blessed 
 Corney 1" 
 
 " Ye — ye — yes !" sighed out the ma- 
 tron. 
 
 " One more," pursued the beadle ; 
 " compose your darling feelings for only 
 one more. When is it to come off]" 
 
 Mrs. Corney twice essayed to speak, 
 and twice failed. At length, summoning 
 up courage, she threw her arms round Mr. 
 Bumble's neck, and said it might be as 
 soon as ever he pleased, and that he was 
 " a irresistible duck." 
 
 Matters being thus amicably and satis- 
 factorily arranged, the contract was sol- 
 emnly ratified in another tea-cup-full of 
 the peppermint mixture, which was ren- 
 dered the more necessary by the flutter 
 and agitation of the lady's spirits. While 
 it was being disposed of, she acquainted 
 Sir. Bumble with the old woman's de- 
 cease. 
 
 " Very good," said that gentleman, sip- 
 
 ping his peppermint. " I '11 call at Sow- 
 erberry'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 evasively. 
 
 " It must have been something, love," 
 urged Mr. Bumble. " Won't you tell 
 your own B. 1" 
 
 " 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 them male paupers as " 
 
 " No, no, love !" interposed the lady 
 hastily. 
 
 " If I thought it was," continued Mr. 
 Bumble, — " if I thought any one of 'em 
 had dared to lift his wulgar eyes to that 
 lovely countenance " 
 
 " They wouldn't have dared to do it, 
 love," responded the lady. 
 
 " They had better not !" said Mr. Bum- 
 ble, clenching his fist. " Let me see any 
 man, porochial or extra-porochial, 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 ges- 
 ticulation, this might have sounded as no 
 no very high compliment to the lady's 
 charms ; but, as Mr. Bumble accompanied 
 the threat with many warlike gestures, 
 she was much touched with this proof of 
 his devotion, and protested with great ad- 
 miration that he was indeed a dove. 
 
 The dove then turned up his coat-col- 
 lar, and put on his cocked-hat, and, hav- 
 ing exchanged a long and affectionate 
 embrace with his future partner, once 
 again braved the cold wind of the night; 
 merely pausing for a few minutes in the 
 male paupers' ward to abuse them a little, 
 with the view of satisfying himself that 
 he could fill the office of workhouse-mas- 
 ter with needful acerbity, x^ssured of 
 his qualifications, Mr. Bumble left the 
 building with a light heart, and bright vi- 
 sions of his future promotion, which served 
 to occupy his mind until he reached the 
 shop of the undertaker. 
 
 Now, Mr. and Mrs. Sowerberry 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 than is necessary to a 
 convenient performance of the two func- 
 tions 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 coimter se- 
 veral times ; but, attracting no attention. 
 
r//y/fY/yr</' 
 
 .'.7, '. '. 
 
4i4. 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 109 
 
 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 ; and, 
 wlien he saw what was going forward, he 
 was not a little surprised. 
 
 The cloth was laid for supper, and the 
 table was strewed with bread and butter, 
 plates and glasses, a pewter-pot, and a 
 wine-bottle. At the upper end of the 
 table Mr. Noah Claypole lolled 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 ether ; 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 ; and 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 ac- 
 counted. 
 
 " Here 's a delicious fat one, Noah dear!" 
 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 'em should ever make you feel un- 
 comfortable, isn't it, Charlotte ]" 
 
 " It 's quite a cruelty," said Charlotte. 
 
 "So It is," acquiesced Mr. Claypole. 
 " Ain't yer fond of oysters 1" 
 
 "Not over-much," replied Charlotte. 
 " I like to see you eat 'em, Noah dear, 
 better than eating them myself" 
 
 " Lor' !" said Noah reflectively ; " how 
 queer !" 
 
 " Have another 1" said Charlotte. 
 "Here's one with such a beautiful, deli- 
 cate beard !" 
 
 " I can't manage any more," said Noah. 
 " I 'm very sorry. Come here, Charlotte, 
 and I '11 kiss yer." 
 10 
 
 " What !" exclaimed Mr. Bumble, 
 bursting into the room. " Say that again, 
 sir." 
 
 Charlotte uttered a scream, and hid her 
 face in her apron; while Mr. Claypole, 
 without making any further change in his 
 position than suffering his legs to reach 
 the ground, gazed at the beadle in drunk- 
 en terror. 
 
 " Say it again, you vile, owdacious 
 fellow !" said Mr. Bumble. " How dare 
 you mention such a thing, sir 1 and how 
 dare you encourage him, you insolent 
 minx 7 Kiss hei: !" exclaimed Mr. Bumble 
 in strong indignation. " Faugh !" 
 
 " I didn't mean to do it !" said Noah, 
 blubbering. " She 's always a-kissing of 
 me, whether I like it or not." 
 
 " Oh, Noah !" cried Charlotte reproach- 
 fully. 
 
 " Yer are, yer know yer are !" retorted 
 Noah. " She 's always a-doing of it, Mr. 
 Bumble, sir; she chucks me under the 
 chin, please sir, and makes all manner of 
 love !" 
 
 " Silence !" cried. Mr. Bumble sternly. 
 " Take yourself down stairs, ma'am ! 
 Noah, you shut up the shop, and say an- 
 other 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 1 Kissing !" cried Mr. Bumble, 
 holding up his hands. " The sin and 
 wickedness of the lower orders in this 
 porochial district is frightful ; if parlia- 
 ment don't take their abominable courses 
 under consideration, this country 's ruined, 
 and the character of the peasantry gone 
 for ever !" With these words the beadle 
 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 Crackit left him. ■ 
 
no 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 CHAPTER THE SIXTH. 
 
 Looks after Oliver, and proceeds with bis ad- 
 ventures. 
 
 " Wolves, tear your throats !" mutter- 
 ed Sikes, grinding his teeth ; " I wish I 
 was among some of you ; you 'd howl the 
 hoarser for it." 
 
 As Sikes growled forth this impreca- 
 tion with the most desperate ferocity that 
 his desperate nature was capable of, he 
 rested the borly of the wounded boy 
 across his bended knee, and turned his 
 head for an instant to look back at his 
 pursuers. 
 
 There was little to be made out in the 
 mist and darkness; but the loud shouting 
 of men vibrated through the air, and the 
 barking of the neighbouring dogs, roused 
 by the sound of the alarm bell, resounded 
 in every direction. 
 
 " Stop, you white-livered hound !" cried 
 the robber, shouting after Toby Crackit, 
 who, making the best use of his long 
 legs, was already ahead, — " stop !" 
 
 The repetition of the word brought 
 Toby to a dead stand-still, for he was not 
 quite satisfied that he was beyond the 
 range of pistol-shot, and Sikes was in no 
 mood to be played with. 
 
 " Bear a hand with the boy," roared 
 Sikes, beckoning furiously to his confede- 
 rate. " Come back !" 
 
 Toby made a show. of returning, but 
 ventured in a low voice, broken for want 
 of breath, to intimate considerable reluc- 
 tance as he came slowly along. 
 
 " Quicker !". cried Sikes, laying the 
 boy in a dry ditch at his feet, and draw- 
 ing a pistol from his pocket. " Don't play 
 the booby with me." 
 
 At this moment the noise grew louder, 
 and Sikes again looking round, could dis- 
 cern that the men who had given cliase 
 were already climbing the gate of the 
 field in which he stood, and that a couple 
 of dogs were some paces in advance of 
 them. 
 
 " It 'ri all up, Bill," cried Toby, " drop 
 the kid and show 'em your heels." With 
 this parting advice, Mr. Crackit, pre- 
 ferring the chance of being shot by his 
 friend to the certainty of being taken by 
 his enemies, fairly turned tail, and darted 
 off at full speed. Sikes clenched his 
 teeth, took one look round, threw over 
 the prostrate form of Oliver the cape in 
 which he had been hurriedly muffled, ran 
 along the front of the hedge as if to dis- 
 tract the attention of those behind, from 
 the spot where the boy lay, paused for a 
 second before another hedge which met 
 
 it at right angles, and whirling hia pistol 
 high into tlie air, cleared it at a bound 
 and was gone. 
 
 " Ho, ho, there !" cried a tremulous 
 voice in the rear. " Pincher, Neptune, 
 come here, come here !" 
 
 The dogs, which, in -common with their 
 masters, seemed to have no particular 
 relish for tlie sport in which they were 
 engaged, readily answered to this com- 
 mand : and three men, who had by this 
 time advanced some distcance into the 
 field, stopped to take counsel together. 
 
 " My advice, or leastways I should say, 
 my orders is," said the fattest man of tiie 
 party, " that we 'mediately go home 
 again." 
 
 " I am agreeable to anything which is 
 agreeable to Mr. Giles," said a shorter 
 man, who was by no means of a slim 
 figure, and who was very pale in the 
 face, and very polite, as frightened men 
 frequently are. 
 
 " I shouldn't wish to appear ill-man- 
 nered, gentlemen," said the third, who 
 had called the dogs back, " Mr. Giles 
 ought to know." 
 
 " Certainly," replied the shorter man ; 
 "and whatever Mr. Giles says, it isn't 
 our place to contradict him. No, no, I 
 know my sitiwation, — thank my stars I 
 know my sitiwation." To tell the truth, 
 the little man did seem to know his situa- 
 tion, and to know perfectly well that it 
 was by no means a desirable one, for hia 
 teeth chattered in his head as he spoke. 
 
 " You are afraid, Brittles," said Mr. 
 Giles. 
 
 " I ain't," said Brittles. 
 
 " You are," said Giles. 
 
 " You 're a falsehood, Mr. Giles," said 
 Brittles. 
 
 " You 're a lie, Brittles," said Mr. 
 Giles. 
 
 Now, these four retorts arose from Mr. 
 Giles's taunt, and Mr. Giles's taunt had 
 arisen from his indignation at having the 
 responsibility of going home again im- 
 posed upon himself under cover of a com- 
 pliment. The third man brought the 
 dispute to a close most philosophically. 
 
 " I '11 tell you what it is, gentlemen,* 
 said he, " we 're all afraid." 
 
 " Speak for yourself, sir." said Mr 
 Giles, who was the palest of the party. 
 
 "So I do," replied the man. "It's 
 natural and proper to be afraid, under 
 such circumstances : / am." 
 
 " So am I," said Brittles, " only there 'a 
 no call to tell a man he is, so bounce- 
 ably." 
 
 These frank admissions softened Mr 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Giles, who at once owned that he was 
 afraid ; ypon which they all three faced 
 about and ran back again with the com- 
 pletest unanimity, till Mr. Giles (who 
 had the shortest wind of the party, and 
 was encumbered with a pitchfork) most 
 handsomely insisted upon stopping to 
 make an apology for his hastiness of 
 speech. 
 
 " But it 's wonderful," said Mr. Giles, 
 when he had explained, " what a man 
 will do when his blood is up. I should 
 have committed murder, I know I should, 
 if we 'd caught one of the rascals." 
 
 As the other two were impressed with 
 a similar presentiment, and their blood, 
 like his, had all gone down again, some 
 speculation ensued upon the cause of this 
 sudden change in their temperament. 
 
 " I know what it was," said Mr. Giles ; 
 " it was the gate." 
 
 " I should n't wonder if it was," ex- 
 claimed Brittles, catching at the idea. 
 
 " You may depend upon it," said Giles, 
 " that that gate stopped the flow of the 
 excitement I felt all mine suddenly 
 going away as I was climbing over it" 
 
 By a remarkable coincidence the other 
 two had been visited with the same un- 
 pleasant sensation at that precise mo- 
 ment; BO that it was quite conclusive 
 that it was the gate, especially as there 
 was no doubt regarding the time at which 
 the change had taken place, because all 
 three remembered that they had come in 
 sight of the robbers at the very instant 
 of its occurrence. 
 
 This dialogue was held between the 
 two men who had surprised the burglars, 
 and a travelling tinker, who had been 
 Bleeping in an outhouse, and who had 
 been roused, together with his two mon- 
 grel curs, to join in the pursuit Mr. 
 Giles acted in the double capacity of 
 butler and steward to the old lady of the 
 mansion, and Brittles was a lad of all 
 work, who having entered her service a 
 mere child, was treated as a promising 
 young boy still, though he was something 
 past thirty. 
 
 Encouraging each other with such con- 
 verse as this, but keeping very close 
 together notwithstanding, and looking 
 apprehensively round whenever a fresh 
 gust rattled through the boughs, the 
 three men hurried back to a tree, behind 
 which they had left their lantern, lest its 
 light should inform the thieves in what 
 direction to fire. Catching up the light, 
 they made the best of their way home at 
 a good round trot ; and long after their 
 dusky forms had ceased to be discernible, 
 
 it might have been seen twinkling and 
 dancing in the distance, like some exha- 
 lation of the damp and gloomy atmo- 
 sphere through which it was swiftly 
 borne. 
 
 The air grew colder as day came 
 slowly on, and the mist rolled along the 
 ground like a dense cloud of smoke ; the 
 grass was wet, the pathways and low 
 places were all mire and water, and the 
 damp breath of an unwholesome wind 
 went languidly by with a hollow moan- 
 ing. Still Oliver lay motionless and in- 
 sensible on tlie spot where Sikes had left 
 him. 
 
 Morning drew on apace ; the air be- 
 came more sharp and piercing as its first 
 dull hue — the death of night rather than 
 the birth of day — glimmered faintly in 
 the sky. The objects which had looked 
 dim and terrible in the darkness grew 
 more and more defined, and gradually re- 
 solved into their familiar shapes. The 
 rain came down thick and fast, and patr 
 tered noisily among the leafless bushes. 
 But Oliver felt it not, as it beat against 
 him, for he still lay stretched, helpleas 
 and unconscious, on his bed of clay. 
 
 At length a low cry of pain broke the 
 stillness that prevailed, and uttering it, 
 the boy awoke. His left arm, rudely 
 bandaged in a shawl, hung heavy and 
 useless at his side, and the bandage was 
 saturated with blood. He was so weak 
 that he could scarcely raise himself into 
 a sitting posture, and when he had done 
 so, he looked feebly round for help, and 
 groaned with pain. Trembling in every 
 joint from cold and exhaustion, he made 
 an efibrt to stand upright, but shuddering 
 from head to foot, fell prostrate on the 
 ground. 
 
 After a short return of the stupor in 
 which he had been so long plunged, Oli- 
 ver, urged by a creeping sickness at his 
 heart, which seemed to warn him that if 
 he lay there he must surely die, got upon 
 his feet and essayed to walk. His head 
 was dizzy, and he staggered to and fro 
 like a drunken man ; but he kept up 
 nevertheless, and, with his head drooping 
 languidly on his breast, went stumbling 
 onward he knew not whither. 
 
 And now, hosts of bewildermg and 
 confused ideas came crowding on his 
 mind. He seemed to be still walking 
 between Sikes and Crackit, who were 
 angrily disputing, for the very words they 
 said sounded in his ears : and when he 
 caught his own attention, as it were, by 
 making some violent effort to save Jiinn- 
 self from falling, he found that he was 
 
112 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 talking to them. Then he was alolie 
 with Sikes plodding on as they had done 
 the previous day, and as shadowy people 
 passed them by, he felt the robber's 
 grasp upon his wrist. Suddenly he start- 
 ed back at the report of fire-arms, and 
 there rose into the air loud cries and 
 shouts; lights gleamed befbre his eyes, 
 and all was noise and tumult as some un- 
 seen hand bore him hurriedly away. 
 Through all these rapid visions there ran 
 ap undefined, uneasy, consciousness of 
 pain which wearied and tormented him 
 incessantly. 
 
 Thus he staggered on, creeping almost 
 mechanically between the bars of gates, 
 or through hedge-gaps as they came in 
 his way, until he reached a road ; and 
 here the rain began to fall so heavily that 
 it roused him. 
 
 He looked about, and saw that at no 
 great distance there was a house, which 
 perhaps he could reach. Seeing his con- 
 dition they might have compassion on 
 him, and if they did not, it would be bet- 
 ter, he thought, to die near human beings 
 than in the lonely open fields. He sum- 
 moned up all his strength for one last 
 trial, and bent his faltering steps to- 
 wards it. 
 
 As he drew nearer to this house, a 
 feeling came over him that he had seen 
 it before. He remembered nothing of its 
 details, but the shape and aspect of the 
 building seemed familiar to him. That 
 garden wall ! On the grass inside he had 
 fallen on his knees last night, and prayed 
 the two men's mercy. It was the very 
 same house they had attempted to rob. 
 
 Oliver felt such fear come over him 
 when he recognised the place, that for 
 the instant he forgot the agony of his 
 wound, and thought only of flight. 
 Flight ! He could scarcely stand ; and 
 if he were in full possession of all the 
 best powers of his slight and youthful 
 frame, where could he fly to 1 He push- 
 ed against the garden gate; it was un- 
 locked and swung open on its hinges. 
 He tottered across the lawn, climbed the 
 steps, knocked faintly at the door, and his 
 whole strength failing "him, sunk down 
 against one of the pillars of the little 
 portico. 
 
 It happened that about this time Mr. 
 Giles, Brittles, and the tinker were re- 
 cruiting themselves after the fatigues 
 and terrors of the night, with tea and 
 sundries in the kitchen. Not that it was 
 Mr. Giles's habit to admit to too great 
 familiarity the humbler servants, towards 
 whom it was rather his wont to deport 
 
 himself with a lofty affability, which, 
 while it gratified, could not fail to remind 
 them of his superior position in society. 
 But death, fires, and burglary make all 
 men equals ; and Mr. Giles sat with his 
 legs stretched out before the kitchen 
 fender, leaning his left arm on the table, 
 while with his right he illustrated a cir- 
 cumstantial and minute account of the 
 robbery, to which his hearers (but espe- 
 cially the cook and housemaid, who were 
 of the party) listened with breathless in- 
 terest. 
 
 " It was about half-past two," said Mr. 
 Giles, " or I would n't swear that it 
 might n't have been a little nearer three, 
 when I woke up, and turning round in 
 my bed, as it might be so, (here Mr. Giles 
 turned round in his chair, and pulled the 
 corner of the table-cloth over him to imi- 
 tate bed-clothes,) I fancied I heerd a 
 noise." 
 
 At this point of the narrative the cook 
 turned pale, and asked the housemaid to 
 shut the door, who asked Brittles, who 
 asked the tinker, who pretended not to 
 hear. 
 
 " I heerd a noise," continued Mr. Giles. 
 " I says at first, ' this is illusion ;' and 
 was composing myself off to sleep, when 
 I heerd the noise again, distinct." 
 
 " What sort of a noise 1" asked the 
 cook. 
 
 " A kind of busting noise," replied Mr. 
 Giles, looking round him. 
 
 " More like the noise of powdering a 
 iron bar on a nutmeg-grater," suggested 
 Brittles. 
 
 " It was, when you heerd it, sir," re- 
 joined Mr. Giles ; " but at this time it 
 had a busting sound. I turned down the 
 clothes," continued Giles, rolling back 
 the table-cloth, " sat up in bed, and lis- 
 tened." 
 
 The cook and housemaid simultane- 
 ously ejaculated " Lor !" and drew their 
 chairs closer together. 
 
 " I heerd it now, quite apparent," re- 
 sumed Mr. Giles. ' Somebody,' I says, 
 ' is forcing of a door or window, what 's 
 to be done ! I '11 call up that poor lad, 
 Brittles, and save him from being mur- 
 dered in his bed ; or his throat,' I says, 
 may be cut from his right ear to his left, 
 without his ever knowing it' " 
 
 Here all eyes were turned upon Brit- 
 tles, who fixed his upon the speaker, and 
 stared at him with his mouth wide open, 
 and his face expressive of the most un- 
 mitigated horror. 
 
 " I tossed off the clothes," said Giles, 
 throwing away the table-cloth, and look- 
 
■y///'(^}: 'y //'/■'/ ^// 
 
 FJ13. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 118 
 
 ing hard at the cook and housemaid, 
 " got softly out of bed, drew on a pair 
 of—" 
 
 " Ladies present, Mr, Giles," murmur- 
 ed the tinker. 
 
 " — Of shoes, sir," said Giles, turning 
 upon him, and laying great emphasis on 
 the word, " seized the loaded pistol that 
 always goes up stairs with the plate- 
 basket, and walked on tip-toes to his 
 room. ♦ Brittles,' I says, when I had 
 woke him, ' don't be frightened !' " 
 
 " So you did," observed Brittles, in a 
 low voice. 
 
 " ♦ We 're dead men, I think, Brittles, 
 I says,' continued Giles, " ' but don't be 
 under any alarm.' " 
 
 ♦' Was he frightened V asked the cook. 
 
 " Not a bit of it," replied Mr. Giles. 
 "He was as firm — ah! pretty near as 
 firm as I was." 
 
 " I should have died at once, I 'm sure, 
 if it had been me," observed the house- 
 maid. 
 
 " You 're a woman," retorted Brittles, 
 plucking up a little. 
 
 " Brittles is right," said Mr. Giles, 
 nodding his head approvingly ; " from a 
 woman nothing else was to be expected. 
 But we, being men, took a dark lantern 
 that was standing on Brittlc's hob, and 
 groped our way down stairs in the pitch 
 dark, — as it might be so." 
 
 Mr. Giles had risen from his seat and 
 taken two steps with his eyes shut to ac- 
 company his description with appropriate 
 action, when he started violently in com- 
 mon with the rest of the company, and 
 hurried back to his chair. The cook and 
 housemaid screamed. 
 
 " It was a knock," said Mr. Giles, as- 
 suming perfect serenity ; " open the door, 
 somebody." 
 
 Nobody moved. 
 
 " It seems a strange sort of thing, a 
 knock coming at such a time in ihe morn- 
 ing," said Mr. Giles, surveying the pale 
 faces which surrounded him, and looking 
 very blank himself; " but the door must 
 be opened. Do you hear, somebody 1" 
 
 Mr. Giles, as he spoke, looked at Brit- 
 tles ; but that young man being naturally 
 modest, probably considered himself no- 
 body, and so held that the inquiry could 
 not have any application to him. At all 
 events, he tendered no reply. Mr. Giles 
 directed an appealing glance at the 
 tinker, but he had suddenly fallen 
 asleep. The women were out of the 
 question. 
 
 " If Brittles would rather open the 
 door in the presence of witneeses," said 
 P 10* 
 
 Mr. Giles, after a short silence, ««I am 
 ready to make one." 
 
 " So am I," said the tinker, waking up 
 as suddenly as he had fallen asleep. 
 
 Brittles capitulated on these terms; 
 and the party being somewhat re-assured 
 by the discovery (made on throwing open 
 the shutters) that it was now broad day, 
 took their way up stairs with the dogs in 
 front, and tlie two women, who were 
 afraid to stop below, bringing up tlie 
 rear. By the advice of Mr. Giles they 
 all talked very loud, to warn any evil- 
 disposed person outside that they were 
 strong in numbers ; and by a masterstroke 
 of policy, originating in tlie brain of the 
 same ingenious gentleman, the dogs' tails 
 were well pinched in the hall to make 
 them bark savagely. 
 
 These precautions having been taken, 
 Mr. Giles held on fast by the tinker's 
 arm, (to prevent his running away, as he 
 pleasantly said,) and gave the word of 
 command to open the door. Brittles 
 obeyed, and the group peeping timorously 
 over each other's shoulder, beheld no 
 more formidable object than poor little 
 Oliver Twist, speechless and exhausted, 
 who raised his heavy eyes, and mutely 
 solicited their compassion. 
 
 " A boy !" exclaimed Mr. Giles, va- 
 liantly pushing the tinker into the back 
 ground. " What 's the matter v/ith the 
 — eh? — Why — Brittles — look here — 
 don't you know V 
 
 Brittles, who had got behind the door 
 to open it, no sooner saw Oliver, than he 
 uttered a loud cry of recognition. Mr. 
 Giles seizing the boy by one leg and one 
 arm — fortunately not the broken limb — 
 lugged him straight into the hall, and de- 
 posited him at full length on the floor 
 thereof " Here he is !" bawled Giles, 
 calling in a great state of excitement up 
 the staircase ; " here 's one of the 
 thieves, ma'am ! Here 's a thief, miss — 
 wounded, miss! I shot him, miss, and 
 Brittles held the light." 
 
 " In a lantern, miss," cried Brittles, ap- 
 plying one hand to the side of his mouth, 
 so that his voice might travel the better. 
 
 The two women servants ran up stairs 
 to carry the intelligence that Mr. Giles 
 had captured a robber ; and the tinker 
 busied himself in endeavouring to restore 
 Oliver, lest he should die before he could 
 be hung. In the midst of all this noise 
 and commotion there was heard a sweet 
 female voice which quelled it in an io* 
 stant. 
 
 " Giles ! ' whispered the voice from the 
 stairhead. 
 
114 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 "I'm here, miss," replied Mr. Giles. 
 " Don't be frightened, miss ; I ain't much 
 injured. He did n't make a very despe- 
 rate resistance, miss; I was soon too 
 many for him." 
 
 " Hush !" replied the young lady ; 
 " you frighten my aunt almost as much 
 as the thieves did. Is the poor creature 
 severely hurf?" 
 
 '• Wounded desperate, miss," replied 
 Giles, with indescribable complacency. . 
 
 " He looks as if he was a-going, miss," 
 bawled Brittles, in the same manner as 
 before. " Would n't you like to come and 
 look at him, miss, in case he should — ]" 
 
 " Hush, pray, there 's a good man !" 
 rejoined the yoimg lady. " Wait quietly 
 one instant while I speak to aunt." 
 
 With a footstep as soft and gentle as 
 the voice, the speaker tripped away, and 
 soon returned with the direction that the 
 wounded person was to be carried care- 
 fully up stairs to Mr. Giles's room, and 
 that Brittles was to saddle the pony and 
 betake himself instantly to Chertsey, 
 from which place he was to despatch 
 with all speed a constable and doctor. 
 
 " But won't you take one look at him 
 first, missl" said Giles, with as much 
 pride as if Oliver were some bird of rare 
 plumage that he had skilfully brought 
 down. " Not one little peep, miss." 
 
 " Not now for the world," replied the 
 young lady. " Poor fellow ! oh ! treat 
 him kindly Giles, if it is only for my 
 sake !" 
 
 The old servant looked up at the 
 speaker, as she turned away, with a 
 glance as proud and admiring as if she 
 had been his own child. Then bending 
 over Oliver, he helped to carry him up 
 stairs with the care and solicitude of a 
 
 CHAPTER THE SEVENTH 
 
 Has an introductory account of the inmates of 
 the house to which Oliver resorted, and relates 
 what they thought of him. 
 
 In a handsome room — though its fumi- 
 ture had rather the air of old-fashioned 
 comfort, than of modern elegance — there 
 sat two ladies at a well-spread breakfast- 
 table. Mr. Giles, dressed with scrupu- 
 lous care in a full suit of black, was in 
 attendance upon them. He had taken 
 his station some half-way between the 
 sideboard and the breakfast-table, and 
 \vith his body drawn up to its full height, 
 his head thrown back and inclined the 
 
 merest trifle on one side, his left leg ad- 
 vanced, and his right hand thrust into his 
 waistcoat, while his left hung down by 
 his side grasping a waiter, looked like 
 one who laboured under a very agreeable 
 sense of his own merits and importance. 
 
 Of the two ladies, one was well ad- 
 vanced in years, but the high-backed 
 oaken chair in which she sat was not 
 more upright than she. Dressed with the 
 utmost nicety and precision in a quaint 
 mixture of bygone costume, with some 
 slight concessions to the prevailing taste, 
 which rather served to point the old style 
 pleasantly than to impair its effect, she 
 sat in a stately manner with her hands 
 folded on the table before her, and her 
 eyes, of which age had dimmed but little 
 of their brightness, attentively fixed upon 
 her young companion. 
 
 The younger lady was in the lovely 
 bloom and spring-time of womanhood ; at 
 that age when, if ever angels be for 
 God's good purposes enthroned in mortal 
 forms, they may be without impiety sup- 
 posed to abide in such as hers. 
 
 She was not past seventeen. Cast in 
 so slight and exquisite a mould, so mild 
 and gentle, so pure and beautiful, that 
 earth seemed not her element, nor its 
 rough creatures her fit companions. The 
 very intelligence that shone in her deep 
 blue eye and was stamped upon her noble 
 head, seemed scarcely of her age or of 
 the world, and yet the changing expres- 
 sion of sweetness and good humour, the 
 thousand lights that played about the face 
 and left no shadow there ; above all, the 
 smile — the cheerful happy smile — were 
 entwined with the best sympathies and 
 affections of our nature. 
 
 She was busily engaged in the little 
 offices of the table, and chancing to raise 
 her eyes as the elder lady was regarding 
 her, playfully put back her hair, which 
 was simply braided on her forehead, and 
 threw into one beaming look such a gush 
 of affection and artless loveliness, that 
 blessed spirits might have smiled to look 
 upon her. 
 
 The elder lady smiled ; but her heart 
 was full, and she brushed away a tear as 
 she did so. 
 
 " And Brittles has been gone upwards 
 of an hour, has he ■?" asked the old lady 
 after a pause. 
 
 " An hour and twelve minutes, ma'am ;" 
 replied Mr. Giles, referring to a silver 
 watch which he drew forth by a black 
 ribbon. 
 
 "He is always slow," remarked the 
 old lady. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 115 
 
 " Brittles always was a slow boy, 
 ma'am," replied the attendant. And see- 
 ing, by-the-by, that Brittles had been a 
 slow boy for upwards of thirty years, 
 there appeared no great probability of his 
 ever being a fast one. 
 
 " He gets worse instead of better, I 
 think," said the elder lady. 
 
 " It is very inexcusable in him if he 
 stops to play with any other boys," said 
 the young lady, smiling. 
 
 Mr. Giles was apparently considering 
 the propriety of indulging in a respectful 
 smile himself^ when a gig drove up to 
 the garden-gate, out of which there jump- 
 ed a fat gentleman, who ran straight up 
 to the door, and getting quickly into the 
 house by some mysterious process, burst 
 into the room, and nearly overturned Mr. 
 Giles and the breakfast-table together. 
 
 " I never heard of such a thing !" ex- 
 claimed the fat gentleman. " My dear 
 Mrs. Maylie — bless my soul — in the 
 silence of night too — I never heard of 
 such a thing!" 
 
 With these expressions of condolence, 
 the fat gentleman shook hands with both 
 ladies, and drawing up a chair, inquired 
 how they found themselves. 
 
 " You ought to be dead — positively 
 dead with the fright," said the fat gentle- 
 man. " Why did n't you send ] Bless 
 me, my man should have come in a min- 
 ute, or I myself and my assistant would 
 have been delighted, or anybody: I'm 
 sure, under such circumstances; dear, 
 dear — so unexpected — in the silence of 
 night too !" 
 
 The doctor seemed especially troubled 
 by the fact of the robbery having been 
 unexpected, and attempted in the night 
 time, as if it were the established custom 
 of gentlemen in the house-breaking way 
 to transact business at noon, and to make 
 an appointment by the twopenny post a 
 day or two previous. 
 
 " And you, Miss Rose," said the doc- 
 tor, turning to the young lady, " I " 
 
 " Oh ! very much so, indeed," said 
 Rose, interrupting him ; " but there is a 
 poor creature up stairs whom aunt wishes 
 you to see." 
 
 " Ah ! to be sure," replied the doctor, 
 " so there is. That was your handy- 
 work, Giles, I understand." 
 
 Mr. Giles, who had been feverishly 
 putting the tea-cups to rights, blushed 
 very red, and said that he had had that 
 honour. 
 
 " Honour, eh 1" said the doctor ; " well, 
 I don't know, perhaps it's as honourable 
 to hit a thief in a back kitchen, as to hit 
 
 your man at twelve paces. Fancy that 
 he fired in the air, and you 've fought a 
 duel, Giles." 
 
 Mr. Giles, who thought this light treat- 
 ment of the matter an unjust attempt at 
 diminishing his glory, answered respect- 
 fully, that it was not for the like of him 
 to judge about that, but he rather though i 
 it was no joke to the opposite party. 
 
 " 'Gad, that 's true !" said the doctor. 
 " Where is he 1 Show me the way. I '11 
 look in again as I come down, Mrs. May- 
 lie. That 's the little window that he got 
 in at, ehl Well, I couldn't have be- 
 lieved it." Talking all the way, he fol- 
 lowed Mr. Giles up stairs ; and while he 
 is going up stairs the reader may be in- 
 formed, that Mr. Losberne, a surgeon, in 
 the neighbourhood, known through a cir- 
 cuit of ten miles round as " the doctor," 
 had grown fat more from good humour 
 than from good living, and was as kind 
 and hearty, and withal as eccentric an 
 old bachelor as will bfe found in five limes 
 that space by any explorer alive. 
 
 The doctor was absent much longer 
 than either he or the ladies had antici- 
 pated. A large flat box was fetched out 
 of the gig, and a bed-room bell was rung 
 very often, and the servants ran up and 
 down stairs perpetually, from which to- 
 kens it was justly concluded that some- 
 thing important was going on above. At 
 length he returned; and in reply to an 
 anxious inquiry after his patient, looked 
 very mysterious, and closed the door care- 
 fully. 
 
 "This is a very extraordinary thing, 
 Mrs. Maylie," said the doctor, standing 
 with his back to the door as if to keep it 
 shut. 
 
 " He is not in danger, I hope 1" said 
 the old lady.- 
 
 " Why, that would not be an extraor- 
 dinary thing, under the circumstances," 
 replied the doctor, " though I do n't think 
 he is. Have you seen this thief 1" 
 
 " No," rejoined the old lady. 
 
 " Nor heard anything about him 1" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, ma'am," inter- 
 posed Mr. Giles ; " but I was going to 
 tell you about him when Doctor Losberne 
 came in." 
 
 The fact was, that Mr. Giles had not 
 at first been able to bring his mind to the 
 avowal that he had only shot a boy. 
 Such commendations had been bestowed 
 upon his bravery, that he could not for 
 the life of him help postponing the ex- 
 planation for a few delicious minutes, 
 during which he had flourished in the 
 
IW 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 very zenith of a brief reputation for un- 
 daunted courage. 
 
 " Rose wished to see the man," said 
 Mrs. Maylie, " but I would n't hear of 
 it" 
 
 " Humph !" rejoined the doctor. — 
 " There 's nothing very alarming in his 
 appearance. Have you any objection to 
 see him in my presence 1" 
 
 " If it be necessary," replied the old 
 lady, " certainly not." 
 
 " Then I think it is necessary," said 
 the doctor; "at all events I am quite 
 sure that you would deeply regret not 
 having done so, if you postponed it. He 
 is perfectly quiet and comfortable now. 
 Allow me — Miss Rose, will you permit 
 me ] not the slightest fear, I pledge you 
 my honour." 
 
 With many more loquacious assuran- 
 ces that they would be agreeably sur- 
 prised in the aspect of the criminal, the 
 doctor drew the young lady's arm through 
 one of his, and offering his disengaged 
 hand to Mrs. Maylie, led them with much 
 ceremony and stateliness up stairs. 
 
 " Now," said the doctor in a whisper 
 as he softly turned the handle of a bed- 
 room door, " let us hear what you think 
 of him. He has not been shaved very 
 recently, but he doesn't look at all fero- 
 cious notwithstanding. Stop, though: 
 let me see that he is in visiting order 
 first." 
 
 Stepping before them, he looked into 
 the room, and motioning them to advance, 
 closed the door when they had entered, 
 and gently drew back the curtains of the 
 bed. Upon it, in lieu of the dogged, 
 Wack-visaged rufBan they had expected 
 to behold, there lay a mere child, worn 
 with pain and exhaustion and sunk into 
 a deep sleep. His wounded arm, bound 
 and splintered up, was crossed upon his 
 breast, and his head reclined upon the 
 ether, which was half hidden by his long 
 hair as it streamed over the pillow. 
 
 The honest gentleman held the curtain 
 in his hand, and looked on for a minute 
 or so, in silence. Whilst he was watch- 
 ing the patient thus, the younger lady 
 glided softly past, and seating herself in 
 a chair by the bedside gathered Oliver's 
 hair from his face, and as she stooped 
 over him, her tears fell upon his fore- 
 liead. 
 
 The boy stirrefl and smiled in his 
 deep, as though tnese marks of pity and 
 compassion had awakened some pleasant 
 dream of a love and affection he had 
 never known; as a strain of gentle 
 nuuic. or the rippling of water in a silent 
 
 place, or the odour of a flower, or even 
 the mention of a familiar word, wUl 
 sometimes call up sudden dim remem- 
 brances of scenes that never were, in 
 this life, which vanish like a breath, and 
 which some brief memory of a happier 
 existence long gone by, would seem to 
 have awakened, for no power of the 
 human mind can ever recal them. 
 
 "What can this mean!" exclaimed 
 the elder lady. " This poor child can 
 never have been the pupil of robbers." 
 
 " Vice," sighed the surgeon, replacing 
 the curtain, " takes up her abode in many 
 temples, and who can say that a fair out- 
 side shall not enshrine her f 
 
 " But at so early an age," urged Rose. 
 
 "My dear young l.dy," rejoined the 
 surgeon, mournfully shaking his head, 
 " crime, like death, is not confined to the 
 old and withered alone. The youngest 
 and fairest are too often its chosen vic- 
 tims." 
 
 " But, can you — oh, sir ! can you, real- 
 ly believe that this delicate boy has been 
 the voluntary associate of the worst out- 
 casts of society 1" said Rose anxiously. 
 
 The surgeon shook his head in a man- 
 ner which intimated that he feared it was 
 very possible ; and observing that they 
 might disturb the patient, led the way 
 into an adjoining apartment. 
 
 "But even if he has been wicked,"^ 
 pursued Rose, " think how young he is ; 
 think that he may never have known a 
 mother's love, or even the comfort of a 
 home, and that ill-usage and blows, or 
 the want of bread, may have driven him 
 to herd with the men who have forced 
 him to guilt Aunt, dear aunt, for mercy's 
 sake think of this before you let them 
 drag this sick child to a prison, which in 
 any case must be the grave of all his 
 chances of amendment Oh ! as you 
 love me, and know that I have never felt 
 the want of parents in your goodness and 
 affection, but that I might have done so, 
 and might have been equally helpless 
 and unprotected with this poor child, 
 have pity upon him before it is too 
 late." 
 
 " My dear love !" said the elder lady, 
 as she folded the weeping girl to her 
 bosom ; " do you think I would harm a 
 hair of his head ?" 
 
 " Oh, no !" replied Rose, eagerly, " not 
 you, aunt, not you !" 
 
 " No ;" said the old lady with a trem- 
 bling lip, " my days are drawing to their 
 close, and may mercy be shown to me as 
 I show it to others. What can I do to 
 save him, sir ]" 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 117 
 
 " Let me think, ma'am," said the doc- 
 tor, " let me think." 
 
 Mr. Losberne thrust his hands into his 
 pockets and took several turns up and 
 down the room, often stopping and balan- 
 cing himself on his toes and frowning 
 frightfully. After various exclamations 
 of " I 've got it now," and " no, I havn't," 
 and as many renewals of the walking 
 and frowning, he at length made a dead 
 halt, and spoke as follows : — 
 
 " I think if you give me a full and un- 
 limited commission to bully Giles and 
 that little boy, Brittles, I can manage it. 
 He is a faithful fellow and an old servant, 
 I know ; but you can make it up to him 
 in a thousand ways, and reward him for 
 being such a good shot besides. You 
 do n't object to that ]" 
 
 " Unless there is some other way of 
 preserving the child," replied Mrs. May- 
 
 " There is no other," said the doctor, 
 " No other, take my word for it." 
 
 " Then aiint invests you with full pow- 
 er," said Rose, smiling through her tears ; 
 " but pray do n't be harder upon the poor 
 fellows than is indispensably necessary." 
 
 " You seem to think," retorted the doc- 
 tor, " that everybody is disposed to be 
 hard-hearted to-day except yourself. I 
 only hope, for the sake of the rising male 
 sex generally, that you may be found in 
 as vulnerable and soft-hearted a mood by 
 the very first eligible young fellow who 
 appeals to your compassion ; and I wish 
 / were a young fellow that I might avail 
 myself on the spot of such a favourable 
 opportunity for doing so, as the present." 
 
 " You are as great a boy as poor Brit- 
 tles himself," returned Rose, blushing. 
 
 " Well," said the doctor, laughing 
 heartily, " that is no very difficult matter. 
 But to return to this boy : the great point 
 of our agreement is yet to come. He 
 will wake in an hour or so, I dare say; 
 and although I have told that thick-head- 
 ed constable fellow down stairs that he 
 musn't be moved or spoken to, on peril 
 of his life, I think we may converse with 
 him without danger. Now, I make this 
 stipulation — that I shall examine him in 
 your presence, and that if from what he 
 says, we judge, and I can show to the 
 satisfaction of your cool reason, that he is 
 a real and thorough bad one, (which is 
 more than possible,) he shall be left to his 
 fate, without any further interference, on 
 my part, at all events." 
 
 " Oh, no, aunt !" entreated Rose. 
 
 " Oh, yes, aunt," said the doctor. " Is 
 it a bargain ]" 
 
 " He cannot be hardened in vice," said 
 Rose ; " it is impossible." 
 
 " Very good," retorted the doctor ; 
 " then so much the more reason for ac- 
 ceding to my proposition." 
 
 Finally the treaty was entered into, 
 and the parties thereto sat down to wait 
 with some impatience until Oliver should 
 wake. 
 
 The patience of the two ladies was 
 destined to undergo a longer trial than 
 Mr. Losberne had led them to expect, for 
 hour after hour passed on, and still Oliver 
 slumbered heavily. It was evening, in- 
 deed, before the kind-hearted doctor 
 brought them the intelligence that he had 
 at length roused sufficiently to be spoken 
 to. The boy was very ill, he said, and 
 weak from the loss of blood ; but his 
 mind was so troubled with anxiety to dis- 
 close something, that he deemed it better 
 to give him the opportunity than to insist 
 upon his remaining quiet until next morn- 
 ing, which he should otherwise have 
 done. 
 
 The conference was a long one, for 
 Oliver told them all his simple history, 
 and was often compelled to stop by pain 
 and want of strength. It was a solemn 
 thing to hear, in the darkened room, the 
 feeble voice of the sick child recounting 
 a weary catalogue of evils and calamities 
 which hard men had brought upon him. 
 Oh ! if, when we oppress and grind our 
 fellow-creatures, we bestowed but one 
 thought on the dark evidences of human 
 error, which, like dense and heavy clouds 
 are rising slowly, it is true, but not less 
 surely, to heaven, to pour their after-ven- 
 geance on our heads — if we heard but 
 one instant in imagination the deep testi- 
 mony of dead men's voices, which no 
 power can stifle and no pride shut out, 
 where would be the injury and injustice, 
 the suffering, misery, cruelty, and wrong, 
 that each day's life brings with it ! 
 
 Oliver's pillow was smoothed by wo- 
 man's hands that night, and loveliness 
 and virtue watched him as he slept. He 
 felt calm and happy, and could have died 
 without a murmur. 
 
 The momentous interview was no 
 sooner concluded, and Oliver composed 
 to rest again, than the doctor, after wiping 
 his eyes and condemning them in the 
 usual phrase for being weak all at once, 
 betook himself down stairs to open upon 
 Mr. Giles. And finding nobody about the 
 parlours, it occurred to him that he could 
 perhaps originate the proceedings with 
 better effect in the kitchen ; so into tho 
 kitchen he went. 
 
118 
 
 OLIVER TWIST, 
 
 There were assembleu ir that lower 
 house of the domestic parliament, the 
 women servants, Mr. Brittles, Mr. Giles, 
 the tinker, (who had received a special 
 invitation to regale himself for the re- 
 mainder of the day in consideration of 
 his services,) and the constable. The 
 latter gentleman had a large staff, a 
 large head, large features, and large 
 half-boots, and looked as if he had been 
 taking a proportionate allowance of ale, 
 as indeed he had. 
 
 The adventures of the previous night 
 were still under discussion, for Mr. Giles 
 was expatiating upon his presence of 
 mind when the doctor entered ; and Mr. 
 Brittle?, with a mug of ale in his iiand, 
 was corroborating every thing before his 
 superior said it. 
 
 " Sit still," said the doctor, waving his 
 hand. 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said Mr. Giles. 
 " Misses wishes some ale to be given out, 
 sir, and as I felt noways inclined for my 
 own little room, sir, and disposed for 
 company, I am taking mine among 'em 
 here." 
 
 Brittles headed a low murmur by 
 which the ladies and gentlemen gene- 
 rally, were understood to express the 
 gratification they derived from Mr. Giles's 
 condescension; and Mr. Giles looked 
 round with a patronising air, as much as 
 to say, that so long as they behaved pro- 
 perly, he would never desert them. 
 
 " How is the patient to-night, sir 1" 
 asked Giles. 
 
 " So-so ;" returned the doctor. " I am 
 afraid you have got yourself into a scrape 
 there, Mr. Giles. 
 
 " I hope you do n't mean to say, sir," 
 said Mr. Giles, trembling, " that he 's 
 going to die. If I thought it, I should 
 never be happy again. I would n't cut a 
 boy off, no, not even Brittles here, not for 
 all the plate in the country, sir." 
 
 " That 's not the point," said the doc- 
 tor mysteriously. " Mr. Giles, are you a 
 Protestant ]" 
 
 " Yes, sir, I hope so ;" faltered Mr. 
 Giles, who had turned very pale. 
 
 "And what are you, boy"?" said the 
 doctor, turning sharply upon Brittles. 
 
 " Lord bless me, sir!" replied Brittles, 
 starting violently ; " I 'm the same as 
 Mr. Giles, sir." 
 
 " Then tell me this," said the doctor 
 fiercely, " both of you — both of you : are 
 you going to take upon yourselves to 
 swear that that boy up stairs is the boy 
 that was put through the little window 
 last night ! Out with it ! Come ; we are 
 prepared for you. 
 
 The doctor, who was universally con- 
 sidered one of the best-tempered crea- 
 tures on earth, made this demand in such 
 a dreadful tone of anger, that Giles and 
 Brittles, who were considerably muddled 
 by ale and excitement, stared at each 
 other in a state of stupefaction. 
 
 " Pay attention to the reply, constable, 
 will you," said the doctor, shaking his 
 forefinger with great solemnity of man- 
 ner, and tapping the bridge of his nose 
 with it, to bespeak the exercise of that 
 worthy's utmost acuteness. " Something 
 may come of this before long." 
 
 The constable looked as wise as he 
 could, and took up his staff of office 
 which had been reclining indolently in 
 the chimney-corner. 
 
 " It 's a simple question of identity, 
 you will observe," said the doctor. 
 
 « That 's what it is, sir," replied the 
 constable, coughing with great violence ; 
 for he had finished his ale in a hurry, and 
 some of it had gone the wrong way. 
 
 " Here 's a house broken into," said 
 the doctor, " and a couple of men catch 
 one moment's glimpse of a boy in the 
 midst of gunpowder smoke, and in all the 
 distraction of alarm and darkness. Here 's 
 a boy comes to that very same house 
 next morning, and because he happens to 
 have his arm tied up, those men lay vio- 
 lent hands upon him — by doing which, 
 they place his life in great danger — and 
 swear he is the thief. Now, the question 
 is, whether those men are justified by the 
 fact, and if not, what situation do they 
 place themselves in f 
 
 The constable nodded profoundly, and 
 said that if that was n't law, he should be 
 glad to know what was. 
 
 " I ask you again," thundered the doc- 
 tor, " are you on your solemn oaths able 
 to identify that boy 1" 
 
 Brittles looked doubtfully at Mr. Giles, 
 Mr. Giles looked doubtfully at Brittles j 
 the constable put his hind behind his ear 
 to catch the reply ; the two women and 
 the tinker leant forward to listen; and 
 the doctor glanced keenly round, when a 
 ring was heard at the gate, and at the 
 same moment the sound of wheels. 
 
 " It 's the runners !" cried Brittles, to 
 all appearance much relieved. 
 
 "The what!" exclaimed the doctor, 
 aghast in his turn. 
 
 " The Bow-street officers, sir," replied 
 Brittles, taking up a candle, " me and 
 Mr. Giles sent for 'em this morning." 
 
 " What !" cried the doctor. 
 
 " Yes," replied Brittles, "I sent a mes- 
 sage up by the coachman, and I only 
 wonder they were n't here before, sir." 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 119 
 
 " You did, did you. Then confound 
 
 and damn your slow coaches down 
 
 here ; that 's all," said the doctor, walk- 
 ing away. 
 
 CHAPTER THE EIGHTH 
 Invtrives a critical position. 
 
 "Who's that!" inquired Brittles, open- 
 ing the door a little way with the chain 
 up, and peeping out, shading the candle 
 with his hand. 
 
 " Open the door," replied a man out- 
 side: "it's the officers from Bow-street 
 that was sent to, to-day." 
 
 Much comforted by this assurance, 
 Brittles opened the door to its full width, 
 and confronted a portly man in a great- 
 coat, who walked in without saying any- 
 'Jiing more, and wiped his shoes on the 
 mat as coolly as if he lived there. 
 
 " Just send somebody out to relieve my 
 mate, will you, young man, ■!" said the 
 officer : " he 's in the gig minding the 
 prad. Have you got a coach'us here that 
 you could put it up in for five or ten min- 
 utes 1" 
 
 Brittles, replying in the affirmative, 
 and pointing out the building, the portly 
 man stepped back to the garden gate, and 
 helped his companion to put up the gig, 
 while Brittles lighted them in a state of 
 great admiration. This done, they re- 
 turned to the house, and, being shown 
 into a parlour, took off their great-coats 
 and hats, and showed like what they 
 were. The man who had knocked at the 
 door was a stout personage of middle 
 height, aged about fifty, with shiny black 
 hair, cropped pretty close, half whiskers, 
 a round face, and sharp eyes. The other 
 was a red-headed bony man, in top-boots, 
 with a rather ill-favoured countenance, 
 and a tumed-up sinister-looking nose. 
 
 " Tell your governor that Blathers and 
 Duff is here, will you 1" said the stouter 
 man, smoothing down his hair, and laying 
 a pair of handcuffs on the table. " Oh ! 
 gcJod evening, master. Can I have a word 
 or two with you in private, if you 
 please ?" 
 
 This was addressed to Mr. Losbeme, 
 who now made his appearance ; and that 
 gentleman, motioning Brittles to re- 
 tire, brought in the two ladies and shut 
 the door. 
 
 " This is the lady of the house," said 
 Mr. Losbeme, motioning towards Mrs. 
 Maylie. 
 
 Mr. Blathers made a bow, and, being 
 desired to sit down, put his hat upon the 
 floor, and, taking a chair, motioned Duff 
 to do the same. The latter gentleman, 
 who did not appear quite so much accus- 
 tomed to good society, or quite so much 
 at his ease in it, one of the two, seated 
 himself, after undergoing several muscu- 
 lar affections of the limbs, and forced the 
 head of his stick into his mouth with 
 some embarrassment. 
 
 " Now, with regard to this here rob- 
 bery, master," said Blathers. " What are 
 the circumstances'?" 
 
 Mr. Losbeme, who appeared desirous 
 of gaining time, recounted them at great 
 length and with much circumlocution: 
 Messrs. Blathers and Duff looking very 
 knowing meanwhile, and occasionally ex- 
 changing a nod. 
 
 " I can 't say for certain till I see the 
 place, of course," said Blathers ; " but my 
 opinion at once is, — I do n't mind commit- 
 ting myself to that extent, — that this 
 was n't done by a yokel — eh. Duff 1" 
 
 " Certainly not," replied Duff. 
 
 " And, translating the word yokel for 
 the benefit of the ladies, I apprehend 
 your meaning to be that this attempt was 
 not made by a courtrymani" said Mr. 
 Losbeme with a smile. 
 
 " That 's it, master," replied Blathers. 
 " This is all about the robbery, is it ]" 
 
 " All," replied the doctor. 
 
 " Now, what is this about this here boy 
 that the servants are talking of]" said 
 Blathers. 
 
 " Nothing at all," replied the doctor. 
 " One of the frightened servants chose to 
 take it into his head that he had some- 
 thing to do with this attempt to break 
 into the house ; but it 's nonsense — sheer 
 absurdity." 
 
 " Wery easy disposed of it is," re- 
 marked Duff. 
 
 " What he says is quite correct," ob- 
 served Blathers, nodding his head in a 
 confirmatory way, and playing carelessly 
 with the handcuffs, as if they were a pair 
 of castanets. " Who is the boy 1 What 
 account does he give of himself 7 Where 
 did he come from ] He did n't drop out 
 of the clouds, did he, master 1" 
 
 "Of course not," replied the doctOT 
 with a nervous glance at the two ladies-. 
 " I know his whole history ; — but we can 
 talk about that presently. You would 
 like to see the place where the thieve* 
 made their attempt, first, I suppose 1" 
 
 " Certainly," rejoined Mr. Blathers. 
 " We had better inspect the premise*" 
 first, and examine the servants arte^ 
 
120 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 wards. That 's the usual way of doing 
 business." 
 
 Lights were then procured, and Messrs. 
 Blathers and Duff, attended by the native 
 constable, Brittles, Giles, and everybody 
 else in short, went into the little room at 
 the end of the passage, and looked out at 
 the window, and afterwards went round 
 by way of the lawn, and looked in at the 
 window, and after that had a candle 
 handed out to inspect the shutter witl), 
 and after that a lantern to trace the foot- 
 steps with, and after that a pitchfork to 
 poke the bushes with. This done amidst 
 the breathless interest of all beholders, 
 they came in again, and Mr. Giles and 
 Brittles were put through a melo-dra- 
 matic representation of their share in the 
 previous night's adventures, which they 
 performed some six times over, contra- 
 dicting each other in not more than one 
 important respect the first time, and in 
 not more than a dozen the last. This 
 consummation being arrived at, Blathers 
 and Duff cleared the room, and held a 
 long council together, compared with 
 which, for secrecy and solemnity, a con- 
 sultation of great doctors on the knottiest 
 point in medicine would be mere child's 
 play. 
 
 Meanwhile the doctor walked up and 
 down the next room in a very uneasy 
 state, and Mrs. Maylie and Rose looked 
 on with anxious faces. 
 
 " Upon my word," he said, making a 
 halt after a great number of very rapid 
 turns, " I hardly know what to do." 
 
 " Surely," said Rose, " the poor child's 
 story, faithfully repeated to these men, 
 will be sufficient to exonerate him." 
 
 " I doubt it, my dear young lady," said 
 the doctor, shaking his head. " I do n't 
 think it would exonerate him, either with 
 them or with legal functionaries of a 
 higher grade. What is he, after all, they 
 would say — a runatWay. Judged by mere 
 worldly considerations and probabilities, 
 his story is a very doubtful one." 
 
 " You credit it, surely 1" interrupted 
 Rose in haste. 
 
 " I believe it, strange as it is, and per- 
 haps may be an old fool for doing so," re- 
 joined the doctor ; " but I do n't think it 
 18 exactly the tale for a practised police 
 officer, nevertheless." 
 
 " Why not ]" demanded Rose. 
 
 " Because, my pretty cross-examiner," 
 replied the doctor, "because, viewed with 
 their eyes, there are so many ugly points 
 about it ; he can only prove the parts that 
 look bad, and none of those that look 
 well. Confound the fellows, they will 
 
 have the why and the wherefore, and 
 take nothing for granted. On his own 
 showing, you see, he has been the com- 
 panion of thieves for some time past ; he 
 has been carried to a police-office on a 
 charge of picking a gentleman's pocket, 
 and is taken away forcibly from that gen- 
 tleman's house to a place which he can- 
 not describe or point out, and of the situa- 
 tion of which he has not the remotest 
 idea. He is brought down to Chertsey 
 by men who seem to have taken a violent 
 fancy to him, whether he will or no, and 
 put through a window to rob a house, and 
 then, just at the very moment when he is 
 going to alarm the inmates, and so do the 
 very thing that would set him all to 
 rights, there rushes into the way that 
 blundering dog of a half-bred butler and 
 shoots him, as if on purpose to prevent 
 his doing any good for himself. Do n't 
 you see all this V 
 
 "I see it, of course," replied Rose, 
 smiling at the doctor s impetuosity ; " but 
 still I do not see anything in it to crimi- 
 nate the poor child." 
 
 " No," replied the doctor ; " of course 
 not ! Bless the bright eyes of your sex ! 
 They never see, whether for good or bad, 
 more than one side of any question ; and 
 that is, invariably, the one which first 
 presents itself to them." 
 
 Having givea vent to this result of ex- 
 perience, the doctor put his. hands- into 
 his pockets, and walked up and down the 
 room with even greater rapidity than be- 
 fore. 
 
 " The more I think of it," said the doc- 
 tor, " the more I see that it will occasion 
 endless trouble and difficulty to put these 
 men into possession of the boy's real 
 story. I am certain it will not be be- 
 lieved ; and, even if they can do nothing 
 to him in the end, still the dragging it 
 forward, and giving publicity to all the 
 doubts that will be cast upon it, must 
 interfere materially with your benevolent 
 plan of rescuing him from misery." 
 
 " Oh ! what is to be done V cried Rose. 
 " Dear, dear ! why did they send for these 
 people V 
 
 " Why, indeed !" exclaimed Mrs. May- 
 lie. " I would not have had them here 
 for the world !" 
 
 " All I know is," said Mr. Losbeme at 
 last, sitting dow^ with a kind of desper- 
 ate calmness, "that we must try and 
 carry it off with a bold face, that 's all ! 
 The object is a good one, and that must 
 be the excuse. The boy has strong 
 symptoms of fever upon him, and is in no 
 condition to be talked to any more ; that 's 
 
OLIVER TWIST 
 
 121 
 
 one comfort. We must make the best 
 of it we can ; and, if bad 's the best, it 's 
 no fault of ours. Come in." 
 
 " Well, master," said Blathers, enter- 
 ing the room, followed by his colleague, 
 and making the door fast before he said 
 any more. " This warn't a put-up 
 thing." 
 
 " And what the devil 's a put-up thing !" 
 demanded the doctor impatiently. 
 
 " We call it a put-up robbery, ladies," 
 said Blathers, turning to them, as if he 
 compassioned their ignorance, but had a 
 contempt for the doctor's " when the ser- 
 vants is in it." 
 
 " Nobody suspected them in this case," 
 said Mrs. Maylie. 
 
 "Wery likely not, ma'am," replied 
 Blathers, " but they might have been in 
 it, for all that." 
 
 " More likely on that wery account," 
 said Duff. 
 
 " We find it was a town hand," said 
 Blathers, continuing his report ; " for the 
 style of work is first-rate." 
 
 " Wery pretty indeed, it is," remarked 
 Duff in an under tone. 
 
 " There was two of 'em in it," con- 
 tinued Blathers, "and they had a boy 
 with 'em ; that 's plain, from the size of 
 the window. That 's all to be said at 
 present. We '11 see this lad that you 've 
 got up stairs at once, if you please." 
 
 " Perhaps they will take something to 
 drink first, Mrs. Maylie ]" said the doc- 
 tor, his face brightening up as if some 
 new thought had occurred to him. 
 
 "Oh! to be sure!" exclaimed Rose, 
 eagerly. " You shall have it immediate- 
 ly, if you will." 
 
 " Why, thank you. Miss !" said Blathers, 
 drawing his coat-sleeve across his mouth : 
 " it's dry work this sort of duty. Any- 
 thing that 's handy, Miss ; do n't put 
 yourself out of the way on our accounts." 
 
 " What shall it be?" asked the doctor, 
 following the young lady to the side- 
 board. 
 
 " A little drop of spirits, master, if it 's 
 all the same," replied Blathers. " It 's a 
 cold ride from London, ma'am, and I al- 
 ways find that spirits comes home warmer 
 to the feelings." 
 
 This interesting communication was 
 addressed to Mrs. Maylie, who received 
 it very graciously. While it was being 
 conveyed to her, the doctor slipped out 
 of the room. 
 
 " Ah !" said Mr. Blathers, not holding 
 his wine-glass by the stem, but grasping 
 the bottom between the thumb and fore- 
 finger of his left hand, and placing it in 
 11 Q 
 
 front of his chest. " I have seen a good 
 many pieces of business like this in my 
 time, ladies." 
 
 " That crack down in the back lane at 
 Edmonton, Blathers," said Mr. DufF, as- 
 sisting his colleague's memory. 
 
 " That was something in this way, 
 warn't it ?" rejoined Mr. Blathers ; " that 
 was done by Conkey Chickweed, that 
 was." 
 
 " You always gave that to him," re- 
 plied DufE " It was the Family Pet, I 
 tell you, and Conkey had n't any more to 
 do with it than I had." 
 
 " Get out !" retorted Mr. Blathers : " I 
 know better. Do you mind that time 
 Conkey was robbed of his money, though? 
 What a start that was ! better than any 
 novel-book I ever see !" 
 
 " What was that ?" inquired Rose, 
 anxious to encourage any symptoms of 
 good humour in the unwelcome visitors. 
 
 " It was a robbery, Miss, that hardly 
 any body would have been down upon," 
 said Blathers. " This here Conkey Chick 
 weed " 
 
 " Conkey means Nosey, ma'am," inter- 
 posed DufE 
 
 " Of course the lady knows that, do n't 
 she?" demanded Mr. Blathers. "Always 
 interrupting you are, partner. This here 
 Conkey Chickweed, Miss, kept a public- 
 house over Battle-bridge way, and had a 
 cellar where a good many young lords 
 went to see cockfighting, and badger- 
 drawing, and that ; and a wery intellec- 
 tual manner the sports was conducted in, 
 for I 've seen 'em off 'en. He warn't one 
 of the family at that time ; and one night 
 he was robbed of three hundred and 
 twenty-seven guineas in a canvas-bag, 
 that was stole out of his bedroom in the 
 dead of night by a tall man with a black 
 patch over his eye, who had concealed 
 himself under the bed, and, after com- 
 mitting the robbery, jumped slap out of 
 window, which was only a story high. 
 He was wery quick about it. But Con- 
 key was quick, too, for he was woke by 
 the noise, and, darting out of bed, fired a 
 blunderbuss arter him, and roused the 
 neighbourhood. They set up a hue-and- 
 cry directly, and, when they came to 
 look about 'em, found that Conkey had 
 hit the robber , for there was traces of 
 blood all the way to some palings a good 
 distance of!^ and there they lost 'em. 
 However he had made off with the blunt, 
 and, consequently, the name of Mr. 
 Chickweed, licensed witler, appeared in 
 the Gazette among the other bankrupts ; 
 and all manner of benefits and subscrip- 
 
123 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " tions, and I do n't know what all, was got 
 up for the poor man, who was in a wery 
 low state of mind about his loss, and 
 went up and down the streets for three 
 or four days, pulling his hair off in such 
 a desperate manner that many people 
 was afraid he might be going to make 
 away with himself One day he come up 
 to the office all in a hurry, and had a pri- 
 vate interview with the magistrate, who, 
 after a good deal of talk, rings the bell, 
 and orders Jem Spyers in, (Jem was a 
 active officer,) and tells him to go and as- 
 sist Mr. Chickweed in apprehending the 
 man that robbed his house. ' I see him, 
 Spyers,' said Chickweed, ' pass my house 
 yesterday morning.' — ' Why did n't you 
 up and collar him V says Spyers — ' I was 
 so struck all of a heap that you might 
 have fractured my skull with a toothpick,' 
 Bays the poor man; 'but we're sure to 
 have him, for between ten and eleven 
 o'clock at night he passed again.' Spyers 
 no sooner heard this, than he put some 
 clean linen and a comb in his pocket, in 
 case he should have to stop for a day or 
 two ; and away he goes, and sets himself 
 down at one of the public-house windows 
 behind a little red curtain, with his hat 
 on, all ready to bolt at a moment's notice. 
 He was smoking his pipe here late at 
 night, when all of a sudden Chickweed 
 roars out — 'Here he is! Stop thief! 
 Murder!' Jem Spyers dashed out; and 
 there he sees Chickweed tearing down 
 the street full-cry. Away goes Spyers ; 
 on keeps Chickweed ; round turn the 
 people ; every body roars out ' Thieves !' 
 and Chickweed himself keeps on shout- 
 ing all the time like mad. Spyers loses 
 sight of him a minute as he turns a cor- 
 ner, — shoots round — sees a little crowd — 
 dives in. ' Which is the man V — 
 ' D — me !' says Chickweed, ' I 've lost 
 him again !' 
 
 " It was a remarkable occurrence, but 
 he war n't to be seen nowhere, so they 
 went back to the public-house, and next 
 morning Spyers took his old place, and 
 looked out from behind the curtain for a 
 tall man with a black patch over his eye, 
 till his own two eyes ached again. At last 
 he could n't help shutting 'em to ease 'em 
 a minute, and the wery moment he did so, 
 lie hears Chickweed roaring out, 'Here 
 he is !' Off he starts once more, with 
 Chickweed halfway down the street 
 ahead of him ; and, after twice as long a 
 run as the yesterday's one, the man's lost 
 again ! This was done once or twice 
 more, till one-half the neighbours gave 
 out that Mr. Chickweed liad been robbed 
 S»y the devil who was playing tricks with 
 
 him arterwards, and the other half that 
 poor Mr. Chickweed had gone mad with 
 grief" 
 
 " What did Jem Spyers say 1" inquired 
 the doctor, who had returned to the room 
 shortly after the commencement of the 
 story. 
 
 "Jem Spyers," resumed the officer, 
 " for a long time said nothing at all, and 
 listened to everything without seeming 
 to, which showed he understood his busi- 
 ness. But one morning he walked into 
 the bar, and, taking out his snuff-box, 
 said, 'Chickweed, I've found out who's 
 done this here robbery.' — 'Have you f 
 said Chickweed. ' Oh, my dear Spyers, 
 only let me have wengeance, and I shall 
 die contented! Oh, my dear Spyers, 
 where is the villain V — ' Come !' said 
 Spyers, offering him a pinch of snuff, 
 ' none of that gammon ! You did it your- 
 self So he had, and a good bit of money 
 he had made by it, too ; and nobody would 
 ever have found it out if he had n't been 
 so precious anxious to keep up appear- 
 ances, that 's more !" said Mr. Blathers, 
 putting down his wine-glass, and clinking 
 the handcuffs together. 
 
 " Very curious, indeed," observed the 
 doctor. "Now, if you please, you can 
 walk up stairs." 
 
 " If you please, sir," returned Mr. 
 Blathers. And, closely following Mr. 
 Losberne, the two officers ascended to 
 Oliver's bedroom, Mr. Giles preceding 
 the party with a lighted candle. 
 
 Oliver had been dozing, but looked 
 worse, and was more feverish than he 
 had appeared yet. Being assisted by the 
 doctor, he managed to sit up in bed for a 
 minute or so, and looked at the strangers 
 without at all understanding what was 
 going forward, and, in fact, without seem- 
 ing to recollect where he was, or what 
 had been passing. 
 
 " This," said Mr. Losberne, speaking 
 softly, but with great vehemence notwith- 
 standing, " this is the lad, who, being ac- 
 cidentally wounded by a spring-gun in 
 some boyish trespass on Mr. What-d'ye- 
 cail-him's grounds at the back here, 
 comes to the house for assistance thia 
 morning, and is immediately laid hold of, 
 and maltreated by that ingenious gentle- 
 man with the candle in his hand, who has 
 placed his life in considerable danger, as 
 I can professionally certify." 
 
 Messrs. Blathers and JDuff looked at 
 Mr. Giles as he was thus recommended 
 to their notice, and the bewildered butler 
 gazed from them towards Oliver, and from 
 Oliver towards Mr. Losberne, with a most 
 ludicrous mixture of fear and perplexity. 
 
^-^/V^/zV'- //y//^^/W- A/ //r , 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 123 
 
 "You don't mean to deny that, I sup- 
 pose 1" said the doctor, laying Oliver 
 gently down again. 
 
 " It was all done for the — for the best, 
 sir !" answered Giles. " I am sure I 
 thought it was the boy, or I wouldn't 
 have meddled with him. I am not of an 
 inliuman disposition, sir." 
 
 " Thought it was what boy 1" inquired 
 the senior officer. 
 
 " The housebreaker's boy, sir !" replied 
 Giles. " They — they certainly had a boy." 
 
 "Well, do you think so now'!" in- 
 quired Blathers. 
 
 "Think what, nowl" replied Giles, 
 looking vacantly at his questioner. 
 
 "Think it's the same boy, stupid- 
 head 1" rejoined Mr. Blathers impatiently. 
 
 "I don't know; I really do n't know," 
 said Giles, with a rueful countenance. 
 " I could n't swear to him." 
 
 " What do you tliink]" asked Mr. Bla- 
 thera 
 
 " I don't know what to think," replied 
 poor Giles. " I do n't think it is the boy ; 
 indeed I'm almost certain that it isn't. 
 You know it can't be." 
 
 "Has this man been a-drinking, sir?" 
 inquired Blathers, turning to the doctor. 
 
 " What a precious muddle-headed chap 
 you are !" said DuffJ addressing Mr. Giles 
 with supreme contempt, 
 
 Mr. Losberne had been feeling the 
 patient's pulse during this short dialogue ; 
 but he now rose from the chair by the 
 bedside, and remarked, that if the officers 
 had any doubts upon the subject they 
 would perhaps like to step into the next 
 room, and have Brittles before them. 
 
 Acting upon this suggestion, they ac- 
 cordingly adjourned to a neighbouring 
 apartment, where Mr. Brittles being call- 
 ed in, involved himself and his respected 
 superior in such a wonderful maze of 
 fresh contradictions and impossibilities as 
 tended to throw no particular light upon 
 anything save the fact of his own strong 
 mystification; except, indeed, his decla- 
 rations that he should n't know the real 
 boy if he were put before him that in- 
 stant; that he had only taken Oliver to 
 be he because Mr. Giles had said he was, 
 and that Mr. Giles had five minutes pre- 
 viously admitted in the kitchen that he 
 began to be very much afraid he had been 
 a little too hasty. 
 
 Among other ingenious surmises, the 
 question was then raised whether Mr. 
 Giles had really hit anybody, and upon 
 examination of the fellow pistol to that 
 which he had fired, it turned out to have 
 no more destructive loading than gun- 
 powder and brown paper: — a discovery 
 
 which made a considerable impression on 
 everybody but the doctor, who had drawn 
 the ball about ten minutes before. Upon 
 no one, however, did it make a greater 
 impression than on Mr. Giles himself, 
 who, after labouring for some hours under 
 the fear of having mortally wounded a 
 fellow-creature, eagerly caught at this 
 new idea, and favoured it to the utmost. 
 Finally, the officers, without troubling 
 themselves very much about Oliver, left 
 the Chertsey constable in the house, and 
 took up their rest for that night in the 
 town, promising to return next morning. 
 
 With the next morning there came a 
 rumour that two men and a boy were in 
 the cage at Kingston, who had been ap- 
 prehended over-night under suspicious 
 circumstances ; and to Kingston Messrs. 
 Blathers and Duff journeyed accordingly. 
 The suspicious circumstances, however, 
 resolving themselves, on investigation, 
 into the one fact that they had been dis- 
 covered sleeping under a haystack, which, 
 although a great crime, is only punish- 
 able by imprisonment, and is, in the 
 merciful eye of the English law, and its 
 comprehensive love of all the King's 
 subjects, held to be no satisfactory proof 
 in the absence of all other evidence, that 
 the sleeper or sleepers have committed 
 burglary accompanied with violence, and 
 have therefore rendered themselves liable 
 to the punishment of death, — Messrs. 
 Blathers and Duff came back again as 
 wise as they went. 
 
 In short, after some more examination, 
 and a great deal more conversation, a 
 neighbouring magistrate was readily in- 
 duced to take the joint bail of Mrs. May- 
 lie and Mr. Losberne for Oliver's appear- 
 ance if he should ever be called upon ; 
 and Blathers and Duff, being rewarded 
 with a couple of guineas, returned to 
 town with divided opinions on the subject 
 of their expedition : the latter gentleman, 
 on a mature consideration of all the cir-; 
 cumstances, inclining to the belief that 
 the burglarious attempt had originated 
 with the Family Pet, and the former be- 
 ing equally disposed to concede the full 
 merit of it to the great Mr. Conkey 
 Chickweed. 
 
 Meanwhile Oliver gradually throve 
 and prospered under the united care of 
 Mrs. Maylie, Rose, and the kind-hearted 
 Mr. Losberne. If fervent prayers gush- 
 ing from hearts overcharged with grati- 
 tude be heard in heaven, — and if they be 
 not, what prayers arel — the blessings 
 which the orphan child called down upon 
 them, sunk into their souls, diffusing 
 peace and happiness. 
 
184 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 CHAPTER THE NINTH. 
 
 Of the happy life Oliver began to lead with his 
 kind friends. 
 
 Oliver's ailings were neither slight 
 nor few. In addition to the pain and de- 
 lay attendant upon a broken limb, his ex- 
 posure to the wet and cold had brouglit 
 on fever and ague, which hung about him 
 for many weeks, and reduced him sadly. 
 Bat at length he began by slow degrees 
 to get better, and to be able to say some- 
 times, in a few tearful words, how deeply 
 he felt the goodness of the two sweet 
 ladies, and how ardently he hoped that 
 when he grew strong and well again he 
 could do something to show his gratitude ; 
 only something which would let them see 
 the love and duty with which his breast 
 was full ; something, however slight, 
 which would prove to them that their 
 gentle kindness had not been cast away, 
 but that the poor boy, whom their charity 
 had rescued from misery or death, was 
 eager and anxious to serve them with all 
 his heart and soul. 
 
 " Poor fellow !" said Rose, when Oliver 
 had been one day feebly endeavouring to 
 utter the words of thankfulness that rose 
 to his pale lips. " You shall have many 
 opportunities of serving us if you will. 
 We are going into the country, and my 
 aunt intends that you shall accompany 
 us. The quiet place, the pure air, and 
 all the pleasures and beauties of spring, 
 will restore you in a few days, and we 
 will employ you in a hundred ways when 
 you can bear the trouble." 
 
 "The trouble!" cried Oliver. "Oh! 
 dear lady, if I could but work for you, — 
 if I could only give you pleasure by wa- 
 tering your flowers, or watching your 
 birds, or running up and down the whole 
 day long to make you happy, what would 
 I give to do it !" 
 
 " You shall give nothing at all," said 
 Miss Maylie smiling ; " for, as I told you 
 before, we shall employ you in a hundred 
 ways; and if you only take half the trou- 
 ble to please us that you promise now, 
 you will make me very happy indeed." 
 
 " Happy, ma'am !" cried Oliver : " oh, 
 how kind of you to say so !" 
 
 " You will make me happier than I can 
 tell you," replied the young lady. " To 
 think that my dear good aunt should have 
 been the means of rescuing any one from 
 such sad misery as you have described to 
 us, would be an unspeakable pleasure to 
 me ; but to know that the object of her 
 goodness and compassion was sincerely 
 grateful and attached in consequence, 
 would delight me more than vou can well 
 
 imagine. Do you understand me ]" she 
 inquired, watching Oliver's thoughtful 
 face. 
 
 " Oh, yes, ma'am, yes !" replied Oliver 
 eagerly ; " but I was thinking that I am 
 ungrateful now." 
 
 " To whom ]" inquired the young lady. 
 
 " To the kind gentleman and the dear 
 old nurse who took so much care of me 
 before," rejoined Oliver. " If they knew 
 how happy I am, they would be pleased, 
 I am sure." 
 
 " I am sure they would," rejoined Oli- 
 ver's benefactress; "and Mr. Losberne 
 has already been kind enough to promise 
 that when you are well enough to bear the 
 journey he will carry you to see them." 
 
 " Has he, ma'am !" cried Oliver, his 
 face brightening with pleasure. " I do n't 
 know what I shall do for joy when I see 
 their kind faces once again !" 
 
 In a short time Oliver was sufficiently 
 recovered to undergo the fatigue of this 
 expedition ; and one morning he and Mr. 
 Losberne set out accordingly in a little 
 carriage which belonged to Mrs. Maylie. 
 When they came to Chertsey Bridge, 
 Oliver turned very pale, and uttered a 
 loud exclamation. 
 
 " What 's the matter with the boy 1" 
 cried the doctor, as usual all in a bustle. 
 " Do you see anything — hear anything — 
 feel anything — eh]" 
 
 " That, sir," cried Oliver, pointing out 
 of the carriage window. " That house !" 
 
 " Yes ; well, what of it 1 Stop, coach- 
 man. Pull up here," cried the doctor. 
 " What of the house, my man — eh 1" 
 
 " The thieves — the house they took me 
 to," whispered Oliver. 
 
 "The devil it is!" cried the doctor. 
 " Halloa, there ! let me out !" But before 
 the coachman could dismount from his 
 box he had tumbled out of the coach by 
 some means or other, and, running down 
 to the deserted tenement, began kicking 
 at the door like a madman. 
 
 "Halloa!" said a little ugly hump- 
 backed man, opening the door so suddenly 
 that the doctor, from the very impetus of 
 his last kick, nearly fell forward into the 
 passage. " What 's the matter here V 
 
 " Matter !" exclaimed the other, collar- 
 ing him without a moment's reflection. 
 " A good deal. Robbery is the matter." 
 
 " There '11 be murder too," replied the 
 hump-backed man coolly, " if you do n't 
 take your hands off. Do you hear me 1" 
 
 " I hear you," said the doctor, giving 
 his captive a hearty shake. " Where 's 
 — confound the fellow, what's his ras- 
 cally name — Sikes — that 's it. Where 'a 
 Sikes, you thief?" 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 125 
 
 The hump-backed man stared as if in 
 excess of amazement and indignation; 
 and, twisting himself dexterously from 
 the doctor's grasp, growled forth a volley 
 of horrid oaths, and retired into the liouse. 
 Before he could shut tlie door, however, 
 the doctor had passed into the parlour 
 without a word of parley. He looked 
 anxiously round : not an article of furni- 
 ture, not a vestige of anything, animate 
 or inanimate, not even the position of the 
 cupboards, answered Oliver's description ! 
 
 "Now," said the hump-backed man, 
 who had watched him keenly, " what do 
 you mean by coming into my house in 
 this violent way 1 Do you want to rob 
 me, or to murder me? — which is iti" 
 
 " Did you ever know a man come out to 
 do either in a chariot and pair, you ridicu- 
 lous old vampire ?" said the irritable doctor. 
 
 " What do you wJint then 1" demanded 
 the hunchback fiercely. " Will you take 
 yourself off before I do you a mischief ? 
 curse you !" 
 
 " As soon as I think proper," said Mr. 
 Losberne, looking into the other parlour, 
 which, like the first, bore no resemblance 
 whatever to Oliver's account of it. " I 
 shall find you out some day, my friend." 
 
 " Will you ?" sneered the ill-favoured 
 cripple. " If you ever want me, I 'm 
 here. I have n't lived here mad, and all 
 alone, for five-and-twenty years, to be 
 scared by you. You shall pay for this ; 
 you shall pay for this." And so saying, 
 the misshapen little demon set up a hide- 
 ous yell, and danced upon the ground as 
 if frantic with rage. 
 
 "Stupid enough, this," muttered the 
 doctor to himself: "the boy must have 
 made a mistake. There ; put that in your 
 pocket, and shut yourself up again." 
 With these words he flung the hunchback 
 a piece of money, and returned to the 
 carriage. 
 
 The man followed to the chariot door, 
 uttering the wildest imprecations and 
 curses all the way ; but as Mr. Losberne 
 turned to speak to tlie driver, he looked 
 into the carriage, and eyed Oliver for an 
 instant with a glance so sharp and fierce, 
 and at the same time so furious and vin- 
 dictive, that, waking or sleeping, he could 
 not forget it for months afterwards. He 
 continued to utter the most fearful impre- 
 cations until the driver had resumed his 
 seat, and when they were once more on 
 their way, they could see him some dis- 
 tance behind, beating his feet upon the 
 ground, and tearing his hair in transports 
 of frenzied rage. 
 
 " I am an ass !" said the doctor after a 
 11* 
 
 long silence. "Did you know that be- 
 fore, Oliver r' 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Then do n't forget it another time." ' 
 
 " An ass," said the doctor again after a 
 further silence of some minutes. " Even 
 if it had been the right place, and the 
 right fellows had been there, what could 
 I have done single-handed 1 And if I had 
 had assistance, I see no good that I should 
 have done except leading to my own ex- 
 posure, and an unavoidable statement of 
 the manner in which I have hushed up 
 this business. That would have served 
 me right, though. I am always involving 
 myself in some scrape or other by acting 
 upon these impulses, and it might have 
 done me good." 
 
 Now the fiict was, that the excellent 
 doctor had never acted upon anytliing 
 else but impulse all through his life ; and 
 it was no bad compliment to the nature 
 of the impulses which governed him, that 
 so far from being involved in any peculiar 
 troubles or misfortunes, he had the warm- 
 est respect and esteem of all who knew 
 him. If the truth must be told, he was a 
 little out of temper for a minute or two 
 at being disappointed in procuring corro- 
 borative evidence of Oliver's story on the 
 very first occasion on which he had a 
 chance of obtaining any. He soon came 
 round again, however, and finding that 
 Oliver's replies to his questions were still 
 as straight-forward and consistent, and 
 still delivered with as much apparent sin- 
 cerity and truth, as they had ever been, 
 he made up his mind to attach full cre- 
 dence to them from that time forth. 
 
 As Oliver knew the name of the street 
 in which Mr. Brownlow resided, they 
 were enabled to drive straight thither. 
 When the coach turned into it, his heart 
 beat so violently that he could scarcely 
 draw his breath. 
 
 " Now, my boy, which house is iti" in- 
 quired Mr. Losberne. 
 
 " That, that !" replied Oliver, pointing 
 eagerly out of the window. " The white 
 house. Oh ! make haste ! Pray make 
 haste ! I feel as if I should die : it makes 
 me tremble so." 
 
 " Come, come !" said the good doctor, 
 patting him on the shoulder. " You will 
 see them directly, and they will be over- 
 joyed to find you safe and well." 
 
 " Oh ! I hope so !" cried Oliver. " They 
 were so good to me ; so very, very good 
 to me, sir." 
 
 The coach rolled on. It stopped. No, 
 that was the wrong house. The next 
 door. It went on a few paces, and stopped 
 
126 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 again. Oliver looked up at the windows 
 with tears of happy expectation coursing 
 down his face. 
 
 Alas ! the white house was empty, and 
 there was a bill in the window — " To Let." 
 
 " Knock at the next door," cried Mr. 
 Losberne, taking Oliver's arm in his. 
 " What has become of Mr. Brownlow, 
 who used to live in the adjoining house, 
 do you know 1" 
 
 The servant did not know ; but would 
 go and enquire. She presently returned, 
 and said that Mr. Brownlow had sold off 
 his goods, and gone to the West Indies 
 six weeks before. Oliver clasped his 
 hands, and sank feebly backwards. 
 
 " Has his housekeeper gone too?" in- 
 quired Mr. Losberne, after a moment's 
 pause. 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied the servant " The 
 old gentleman, the housekeeper, and a 
 gentleman, a friend of Mr. Brownlow's, 
 all went together." 
 
 " Then turn towards home again," said 
 Losberne to the driver, " and do n't stop 
 to bait the horse till you get out of this 
 confounded London !" 
 
 " The book-stall keeper, sir ]" said 
 Oliver. "I know the way there. See 
 him, pray sir ! Do see him !" 
 
 " My poor boy, this is disappointment 
 enough for one day," said the doctor. 
 «' Quite enough for both of us. If we go 
 to the book-stall keeper's we shall cer- 
 tainly find that he is dead, or has set his 
 house on fire, or run away. No; home 
 again straight !" And, in obedience to 
 the doctor's first impulse, home they went. 
 
 This bitter disappointment caused Oli- 
 ver much sorrow and grief even in the 
 midst of his happiness ; for he had 
 pleased himself many times during his 
 illness with thinking of all that Mr. 
 Brownlow and Mrs. Bed win would say to 
 him, and what delight it would be to tell 
 them how many long days and nights he 
 had passed in reflecting upon what they 
 had done for him, and bewailing their 
 «ruel separation. The hope of eventually 
 clearing himself with them, too, and ex- 
 plaining how he had been forced away, 
 had buoyed him up and sustained him 
 under many of his recent trials ; and 
 now the idea that they should have gone 
 eo far, and carried with them the belief 
 that he was an impostor and robber, — a 
 Irelief which might remain uncontradict- 
 ed to his dying day, — was almost more 
 than he could bear. 
 
 The circumstance occasioned no altera- 
 tion, however, in the behaviour of his 
 benefactors. After another fortnight, 
 when the fine warm weather had fairly 
 
 begun, and every tree and flower was 
 putting forth its young leaves and rich 
 blossoms, they made preparations for 
 quitting the house at Chertsey for some 
 months. Sending the plate which had 
 so excited the Jew's cupidity to the 
 banker's, and leaving Giles and another 
 servant in care of the house, they depart- 
 ed for a cottage some distance in the 
 country, and took Oliver with them. 
 
 Who can describe the pleasure and de- 
 light, the peace of mind and soft tran- 
 quillity, which the sickly boy felt in the 
 balmy air, and among the green hills and 
 rich woods of an inland village ! Who 
 can tell how scenes of peace and quie- 
 tude sink into the minds of pain-worn 
 dwellers in close and noisy places, and 
 carry tlieir own freshness deep into their 
 jaded hearts? Men who have lived in 
 crowded pent-up streets, through whole 
 lives of toil, and never wished for change; 
 men to whom custom has indeed been 
 second nature, and who have come almost 
 to love each brick and stone that formed 
 the narrow boundaries of their daily 
 walks — even they with the hand of death 
 upon them, have been known to yearn at 
 least for one short glimpse of Nature's 
 face, and carried far from the scenes of 
 their old pains and pleasures, have seem- 
 ed to pass at once into a new state of 
 being, and crawling forth fi"om day to day 
 to some green sunny spot, have had such 
 memories wakened up within them by 
 the mere sight of sky, and hill, and plain, 
 and glistening water, that a foretaste of 
 Heaven itself has soothed their quick de- 
 cline, and they have sunk into their 
 tombs as peacefully as the sun, whose 
 setting they watched from their lonely 
 chamber window but a few hours before, 
 faded fi^om their dim and feeble sight ! 
 The memories which peaceful country 
 scenes call up, are not of this world, or 
 of its thoughts or hopes. Their gentle 
 influence may teach us to weave fresh 
 garlands for the graves of those we loved, 
 may purify our thoughts, and bear down 
 before it old enmity and hatred ; but, be- 
 neath all this there lingers in the least 
 reflective mind a vague and half-formed 
 consciousness of having held such feel- 
 ings long before in some remote and dis- 
 tant time, which calls up solemn thoughts 
 of distant times to come, and bends down 
 pride and worldliness beneath it. 
 
 It was a lovely spot to which they re- 
 paired, and Oliver, whose days had been 
 spent among squalid crowds, and in the 
 midst of noise and brawling, seemed to 
 enter upon a new existence there. The 
 rose and honey-suckle clung to tho 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 127 
 
 cottage-walls, the ivy crept round the 
 trunks of the trees, and the garden flowers 
 perfumed the air with delicious odours. 
 Hard by, was a little churchyard: not 
 crowded with tall, unsightly gravestones, 
 but full of humble mounds covered with 
 fresh turf and moss, beneath which the 
 old people of the village lay at rest. 
 Oliver often wandered here, and, thinking 
 of the wretched grave in which his mo- 
 ther lay, would sometimes sit him down 
 and sob unseen ; but, as he raised his eyes 
 to the deep sky overhead, he would cease 
 to think of her as lying in the ground, 
 and weep for her sadly, but without 
 pain. 
 
 It was a happy time. The days were 
 peaceful and serene, and the nights 
 brought with them no ffear or care, no 
 languishing in a wretched prison, or as- 
 sociating with wretched men: nothing 
 but pleasant and happy thoughts. Every 
 morning he went to a white-headed old 
 gentleman, who lived near the little 
 church, who taught him to read better 
 and to write, and spoke so kindly, and 
 took such pains, that Oliver could never 
 try enough to please him. Then he 
 would walk with Mrs. Maylie and Rose, 
 and hear them talk of books, or perhaps 
 sit near them in some shady place, and 
 listen whilst the young lady read, which 
 he could have done till it grew too dark 
 to see the letters. Then he had his own 
 lesson for the next day to prepare, and at 
 this he would work hard in a little room 
 which looked into the garden, till even- 
 ing came slowly on, when the ladies 
 would walk out again, and he with them : 
 listening with such pleasure to all they 
 said, and so happy if they wanted a 
 flower that he could climb to reach, or 
 had forgotten anything he could run to 
 fetch, that he could never be quick 
 enough about it. When it became quite 
 dark, and they returned home, the young 
 lady would sit down to the piano, and 
 play some melancholy air, or sing in a 
 low and gentle voice some old song 
 which it pleased her aunt to hear. There 
 would be no candles at such times as 
 these, and Oliver would sit by one of the 
 windows, listening to the sweet music, 
 while tears of tranquil joy stole down 
 his face. 
 
 And, when Sunday came, how differ- 
 ently the day was spent from any manner 
 in which he had ever spent it yet ! and 
 how happily, too, like all the other days 
 in that most happy time ! There was the 
 little church in the morning, with the 
 green leaves fluttering at the windows, 
 
 the birds singing without, and the sweet- 
 smelling air stealing in at the low porch, 
 and filling the homely building with its 
 fragrance. The poor people were so neat 
 and clean, and knelt so reverently in 
 prayer, that it seemed a pleasure, not a 
 tedious duty, their assembling there to- 
 gether; and, though the singing might 
 be rude, it was real, and sounded more 
 musical (to Oliver's ears at least) than 
 any he had ever heard in church before. 
 Then there were the walks as usual, and 
 many calls at the clean houses of the 
 labouring men ; and at night Oliver read 
 a chapter or two from the Bible, which 
 he had been studying all the week, and 
 in the performance of which duty he felt 
 more proud and pleased than if he had 
 been the clergyman himself. 
 
 In the morning Oliver would be a-foot 
 by six o'clock, roaming the fields and 
 surveying the hedges far and wide, for 
 nosegays of wild flowers, with which he 
 would return laden home, and which it 
 took great care and consideration to ar- 
 range to the best advantage for the em- 
 bellishment of the breakfast-table. There 
 was fresh groundsel, too, for Miss May- 
 lie's birds, with which Oliver, — who had 
 been studying the subject under the able 
 tuition of the village clerk, — would deco- 
 rate the cages in the most approved taste. 
 When the birds were made all spruce 
 and smart for the day, there was usually 
 some little commission of charity to exe- 
 cute in the village, or failing that, there 
 was always something to do in the gar- 
 den, or about the plants, to which Oliver 
 — who had studied this science also under 
 the same master, who was a gardener by 
 trade, — applied himself with hearty good- 
 will till Miss Rose made her appearance, 
 when there were a thousand commenda- 
 tions to be bestowed upon all he had done, 
 for which one of those light-hearted beauti- 
 ful smiles was an ample recompense. 
 
 So three months glided away; three 
 months which, in the life of the most 
 blessed and favoured of mortals, would 
 have been unmixed happiness; but which, 
 in Oliver's troubled and clouded dawn, 
 were felicity indeed. With the purest 
 and most amiable generosity on one side, 
 and the truest, and warmest, and most 
 soul-felt gratitude on the other, it is no 
 wonder that, by the end of that short 
 time, Oliver Twist had become complete- 
 ly domesticated with the old lady and hef 
 niece, and that the fervent attachment of 
 his young and sensitive heart was repaid 
 by their pride in, and attachment to, hiia- 
 self. 
 
120 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 CHAPTER THE TENTH. 
 
 Wherein the happiness of Oliver and his friends 
 experiences a sudden check. 
 
 Spring flew swiftly by, and summer 
 came ; and if the village had been beau- 
 tiful at first, it was now in the full glow 
 and luxuriance of its richness. The great 
 trees, which had looked shrunken and 
 bare in the earlier months, had now burst 
 into strong life and health, and, stretching 
 forth their green arms over the thirsty 
 ground, converted open and naked spots 
 into choice nooks, where was a deep and 
 pleasant shade from which to look upon 
 the wide prospect, steeped in sunshine, 
 which lay stretched out beyond. The 
 earth had donned her mantle of brightest 
 green, and shed her richest perfumes 
 abroad. It was the prime and vigour of 
 the year, and all things were glad and 
 flourishing. 
 
 Still the same quiet life went on at the 
 little cottage, and the same cheerful se- 
 renity prevailed among its inmates. Oli- 
 ver had long since grown stout and 
 healthy ; but health or sickness made no 
 difference in his warm feelings to those 
 about him, (though they do in the feelings 
 of a great many people,) and he was still 
 the same gentle, attached, affectionate 
 creature, that he had been when pain and 
 suffering had wasted his strength, and he 
 was dependent for every slight attention 
 and comfort on those who tended him. 
 
 One beautiful night they had taken a 
 longer walk than was customary with 
 them, for the day had been unusually 
 warm, and there was a brilliant moon, 
 and a light wind had sprung up, which 
 was unusually refreshing. Rose had been 
 in high spirits too, and they had walked 
 on in merry conversation until they had 
 far exceeded their ordinary bounds. Mrs. 
 Maylie was fatigued, and they returned 
 more slowly home. The young lady, 
 merely throwing off her simple bonnet, 
 sat down to the piano as usual ; after run- 
 ning abstractedly over the keys for a few 
 minutes, she fell into a low and very 
 solemn air, and as she played it they 
 heard her sob as if she were weeping. 
 
 " Rose, my dear ?" said the elder lady. 
 
 Rose made no reply, but played a little 
 quicker, as though the sound had roused 
 her from some painful thoughts. 
 
 "Rose, my love!" cried Mrs. Maylie, 
 rising hastily, and bending over her. 
 " What is this 1 Your face is bathed in 
 tears. My dear child, what distresses 
 you 1" 
 
 "Nothing, aunt, — nothing," replied the 
 
 young lady. " I don't know what it is ; I 
 can't describe it; but I feel so low to- 
 night, and " 
 
 "Not ill, my love?" interposed Mrs. 
 Maylie. 
 
 " No, no ! Oh, not ill !" replied Rose, 
 shuddering as though some deadly chill- 
 ness were passing over her while she 
 spoke; "at least, I shall be better pre- 
 sently. Close the window, pray." 
 
 Oliver hastened to comply with the re- 
 quest; and the young lady, making an 
 effort to recover her cheerfulness, strove 
 to play some livelier tune. But her fin- 
 gers dropped powerless on the keys, and, 
 covering her face with her hands, she 
 sank upon a sofa, and gave vent to the 
 tears which she was now unable to re- 
 press. 
 
 " My child !" said the elder lady, fold- 
 ing her arms about her, " I never saw you 
 'thus before." 
 
 " I would not alarm you if I could avoid 
 it," rejoined Rose; "but indeed I have 
 tried very hard, and cannot help this. I 
 fear I am ill, aunt." 
 
 She was, indeed; for, when candles 
 were brought, they saw that in the very 
 short time which had elapsed since their 
 return home, the hue of her countenance 
 had changed to a marble whiteness. Its 
 expression had lost nothing of its beauty, 
 but yet it was changed, and there was an 
 anxious haggard look about that gentle 
 face which it had never worn before. 
 Another minute, and it was suffused with 
 a crimson flush, and a heavy wildness 
 came over the soft blue eye ; again this 
 disappeared like the shadow thrown by a 
 passing cloud, and she was once more 
 deadly pale. 
 
 Oliver, who watched the old lady anx- 
 iously, observed that she was alarmed by 
 these appearances, and so, in truth, was 
 he ; but, seeing that she affected to make 
 light of them, he endeavoured to do the 
 same, and they so for succeeded that when 
 Rose was persuaded by her aunt to retire 
 for the night, she was in better spirits, 
 and appeared even in better health, and 
 assured them that she felt certain she 
 would wake in the morning quite well. 
 
 "I hope, ma'am," said Oliver, when 
 Mrs. Maylie returned, " that nothing se- 
 rious is the matter. Miss Maylie doesn't 
 
 look well to-night, but " 
 
 The old lady motioned him not to speak, 
 and, sitting herself down in a dark comer 
 of the room, remained silent for some 
 time. At length she said, in a trembling 
 voice, — 
 
 " I hope not, Oliver. I have been verr 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 129 
 
 nappy with her for some years — too 
 happy, perhaps, and it may be time that 
 I should meet with some misfortune ; but 
 I hope it is not this." 
 
 " What misfortune, ma'am 1" inquired 
 Oliver. 
 
 " The heavy blow," said the old lady, 
 almost inarticulately, " of losing the dear 
 girl who has so long been my comfort and 
 happiness." 
 
 " Oh ! God forbid !" exclaimed Oliver 
 hastily. 
 
 "Amen to that, my child!" said the 
 old lady, wringing her hands. 
 
 "Surely there is no danger of anything 
 so dreadful !" said Oliver. " Two hours 
 ago she was quite well." 
 
 " She is very ill now," rejoined Mrs. 
 Maylie, "and will be worse, I am sure. 
 My dear, dear Rose ! Oh, what should I 
 do without her !" 
 
 The lady sank beneath her desponding 
 thoughts, and gave way to such great 
 grief that Oliver, suppressing his own 
 emotion, ventured to remonstrate with 
 her, and to beg earnestly that for the sake 
 of the dear young lady herself she would 
 be more calm. 
 
 " And consider, ma'am," said Oliver, 
 as the tears forced themselves into his 
 eyes despite his efforts to the contrary ; 
 " oh ! consider how young and good she 
 is, and what pleasure and comfort she 
 gives to all about her. I am sure — cer- 
 tain — quite certain — that for your sake, 
 who are so good yourself, and for her 
 own, and for the sake of all she makes so 
 happy, she will not die. God will never 
 let her die yet." 
 
 " Hush !" said Mrs. Maylie, laying her 
 hand on Oliver's head. " You think like 
 a child, poor boy ; and although what you 
 Bay may be natural, it is wrong. But 
 you teach me my duty notwithstanding. 
 I had forgotten it for a moment, Oliver, 
 and I hope I may be pardoned, for I am 
 old, and have seen enough of illness and 
 death to know the pain they leave to 
 those behind. I have seen enough, too, 
 to know that it is not always the youngest 
 and best wlio are spared to those that 
 love them ; but this should give us com- 
 fort rather than sorrow, for Heaven is 
 just, and such things teach us impres- 
 sively that there is a far brighter world 
 than this, and that the passage to it is 
 speedy. God's will be done ! but I love 
 her, and He alone knows how well !" 
 
 Oliver was surprised to see that as 
 Mrs. Maylie said these words she check- 
 ed her lamentations as though by one 
 struggle, and, drawing herself up as she 
 R 
 
 spoke, became quite composed and firm. 
 He was still more astonished to find that 
 this firmness lasted, and that under all 
 the care and watching which ensued, 
 Mrs. Maylie was ever ready and collect- 
 ed, performing all the duties which de- 
 volved upon her steadily, and, to all ex- 
 ternal appearance, even cheerfully. But 
 he was young, and did not know what 
 strong minds are capable of under trying 
 circumstances. How should he, indeed, 
 when their possessors so seldom know 
 themselves ] 
 
 An anxious night ensued, and when 
 morning came Mrs. Maylie's predictions 
 were but too well verified. Rose was in 
 the first stage of a high and dangerous 
 fever. 
 
 " We must he active, Oliver, and not 
 give way to useless grief," said Mrs. 
 Maylie, laying her finger on her lip as 
 she looked steadily into his face; "this 
 letter must be sent with all possible ex- 
 pedition to Mr. Losberne. It must be 
 carried to the market-town, which is not 
 more than four miles off by the foot-path 
 across the fields, and thence despatched 
 by an express on horseback straight to 
 Chertsey. The people at the inn will 
 undertake to do this, and I can trust you 
 to see it done, I know." 
 
 Oliver could make no reply, but looked 
 his anxiety to be gone at once. 
 
 " Here is another letter," said Mrs. 
 Maylie, pausing to reflect; "but whether 
 to send it now, or wait until I see how 
 Rose goes on, I scarcely know. I would 
 not forward it unless I feared the worst." 
 
 " Is it for Chertsey, too, ma'am 1" in- 
 quired Oliver, impatient to execute his 
 commission, and holding out his trembling 
 hand for the letter. 
 
 " No," replied the old lady, giving it 
 him mechanically. Oliver glanced at it, 
 and saw that it was directed to Harry 
 Maylie, Esquire, at some lord's house in 
 the country ; where, he could not make 
 out. 
 
 " Shall it go, ma'am V asked Oliver, 
 looking up impatiently. 
 
 " I think not," replied Mrs. Maylie, 
 taking it back. " I will wait till to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 With these words she gave Oliver her 
 purse, and he started off without more 
 delay at the greatest speed he could 
 muster. 
 
 Swiflly he ran across the fields, and 
 down the little lanes which sometimetj 
 divided them, now almost hidden by the 
 high corn on either side, and now em- 
 erging into an open field where the 
 
130 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 mowers and haymakers were busy at 
 their work; nor did he stop once, save 
 now and then for a few seconds to reco- 
 ver breath, until he emerged in a great 
 heat, and covered with dust, on the little 
 market-place of the market-town. 
 
 Here he paused, and looked about for 
 the inn. There was a white bank, and a 
 red brewery, and a yellow town-hall ; and 
 in one corner a large house with all the 
 wood about it painted green, before which 
 was the sign of " The George," to which 
 he hastened directly it caught his eye. 
 
 Oliver spoke to a postboy who was 
 dozing under the gateway, and who, af- 
 ter hearing what he wanted, referred him 
 to the hostler ; who, after hearing all he 
 had to say again, referred him to the 
 landlord, who was a tall gentleman in a 
 blue neckcloth, a white hat, drab breeches, 
 and boots with tops to match, and was 
 leaning against a pump by the stable- 
 door, picking his teeth with a silver tooth- 
 pick. 
 
 This gentleman walked with much de- 
 liberation to the bar to make out the bill, 
 which took a long time making out, and 
 after it was ready, and paid, a horse had 
 to be saddled, and a man to be dressed, 
 which took up ten good minutes more ; 
 meanwhile Oliver was in such a despe- 
 rate state of impatience and anxiety that 
 he felt as if he could have jumped upon 
 the horse himself, and galloped away full 
 tear to the next stage. At length all was 
 ready, and the little parcel having been 
 handed up, with many injunctions and 
 entreaties for its speedy delivery, the 
 man set spurs to his horse, and, rattling 
 over the uneven paving of the market- 
 place, was out of the town, and galloping 
 along the turnpike-road in a couple of 
 minutes. 
 
 It was something to feel certain that 
 assistance was sent for, and that no time 
 had been lost. Oliver hurried up the inn- 
 yard with a somewhat lighter heart, and 
 was turning out of the gateway when he 
 accidentally stumbled against a tall man 
 wrapped in a cloak, who was at that mo- 
 ment coming out at the inn-door. 
 
 " Hah !" cried the man, fixing his eyes 
 on Oliver, and suddenly recoiling. " What 
 the devil 's this ]" 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," said Oliver ; 
 " I was in a great hurry to get home, and 
 did n't see you were coming." 
 
 " Death !" muttei d the man to him- 
 self, glaring at the boy with his large 
 dark eyes. " Who d have thought it ! 
 Grind him to ashes ! he 'd start up from a 
 marble coffin to c ihe in my way !" 
 
 " I am sorry, sir," stammered Oliver, 
 confused by the strange man's wild look. 
 " I hope I have not hurt you "!" 
 
 " Rot his bones !" murmured the man 
 in a horrible passion between his clenched 
 teeth, " If I had only had the courage to 
 say the word, I might have been free of 
 him in a night. Curses light upon your 
 head, and black death upon your heart, 
 you imp ! What are you doing here ]" 
 
 The man shook his fist, and gnashed 
 his teeth, as he uttered these words inco- 
 herently, and advancing towards Oliver 
 as if with the intention of aiming a blow 
 at him, fell violently on the ground, 
 writhing and foaming, in a fit. 
 
 Oliver gazed for a moment at the fear- 
 ful struggles of the madman, (for such he 
 supposed him to be,) and then darted into 
 the house for help. Having seen him 
 safely carried into the hotel, he turned 
 his face homewards, running as fast as he 
 could to make up for lost time, and recall- 
 ing, with a great deal of astonishment 
 and some fear, the extraordinary be- 
 haviour of the person from whom he had 
 just parted. 
 
 The circumstance did not dwell in his 
 recollection long, however ; for when he 
 reached the cottage there was enough to 
 occupy his mind, and to drive all conside- 
 rations of self completely from his me- 
 mory. 
 
 Rose Maylie had rapidly grown worse, 
 and before midnight was delirious. A 
 medical practitioner, who resided on the 
 spot, ■ was in constant attendance upon 
 her, and, after first seeing the patient, ho 
 had taken Mrs. Maylie aside, and pro- 
 nounced her disorder to be one of a most 
 alarming nature. " In fact," he said, " it 
 would be little short of a miracle if she 
 recovered." 
 
 How often did Oliver start from his bed 
 that night, and, stealing out with noise- 
 less footstep to the staircase, listen for 
 the slightest sound from the sick cham- 
 ber ! How often did a tremble shake his 
 frame, and cold drops of terror start upon 
 his brow, when a sudden trampling of 
 feet caused him to fear that something 
 too dreadful to think of had even then 
 occurred. And what had been the fer- 
 vency of all the prayers he had ever ut 
 tered, compared with those he poured 
 forth now, in the agony and passion of his 
 supplication, for the life and health of the 
 gentle creature who was tottering on the 
 deep grave's verge ! 
 
 The suspense, the fearful acute sus- 
 pense, of standing idly by while the life 
 of one we dearlv love is trembling in the 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 131 
 
 Dalance — the racking thoughts that crowd 
 upon tlie mind, and make the heart beat 
 violently, and the breath come thick, by 
 the force of the images they conjure up 
 before it — the desperate anxiety to be do- 
 ing something to relieve the pain, or 
 lessen the danger which we have no 
 power to alleviate; and the sinking of 
 soul and spirit which the sad remem- 
 brance of our helplessness produces, — 
 what tortures can equal these, and what 
 reflections or efforts can, in the full tide 
 and fever of the time, allay them ! 
 
 Morning came ; and the little cottage 
 was lonely and still. People spoke in 
 whispers ; anxious faces appeared at the 
 gate from time to time, and women and 
 children went away in tears. All the 
 livelong day, and for hours after it had 
 grown dark, Oliver paced softly up and 
 down the garden, raising his eyes every 
 instant to the sick-chamber, and shudder- 
 ing to see the darkened window looking 
 as if death lay stretched inside. Late at 
 night Mr. Losberne arrived. " It is 
 hard," said the good doctor, turning away 
 as he spoke, " so young — so much beloved 
 — but there is very little hope." 
 
 Another morning the sun shone bright- 
 ly, — as brightly as if it looked upon no 
 misery or care ; and, with every leaf and 
 flower in full bloom about her, — with life, 
 and health, and sounds and sights of joy 
 surrounding her on every side, the fair 
 young creature lay wasting fast. Oliver 
 crept away to the old church-yard, and, 
 sitting down on one of the green mounds, 
 wept for her in silence. 
 
 There was such peace and beauty in 
 the scene, so much of brightness and 
 mirth in the sunny landscape, such blithe- 
 some music in the songs of the summer 
 birds, such freedom in the rapid flight of 
 the rook careering overhead, so much of 
 life and joyousness in all, that when the 
 boy raised his aching eyes, and looked 
 about, the thought instinctively occurred 
 to him that this was not a time for death ; 
 that Rose could surely never die when 
 humbler things were all so glad and gay ; 
 that graves were for cold and cheerless 
 winter, not for sunlight and fragrance. 
 He almost thought that shrouds were for 
 the old and shrunken, and never wrapped 
 the young and graceful form within their 
 ghastly folds. 
 
 A knell from the church-bell broke 
 harshly on these youthful thoughts^. An- 
 other — again ! It was tolling for the fu- 
 neral service. A group of humble mourn- 
 ers entered the gate, and they wore white 
 favours, for the corpse was young. They 
 
 stood, uncovered, by a grave ; and there 
 was a mother — a mother once — among 
 the weeping train. But the sun shone 
 brightly, and the birds sang on. 
 
 Oliver turned homewards, thinking on 
 the many kindnesses he had received from 
 the young lady, and wishing that the time 
 could come over again, that he might 
 never cease showing her how grateful 
 and attached he was. He had no cause 
 for self-reproach on the score of neglect 
 or want of thought, for he had been de- 
 voted to her service ; and yet a hundred 
 little occasions rose up before him on 
 which he fancied he might have been 
 more zealous and more earnest, and wish- 
 ed he had been. We need be careful how 
 we deal with those about us, for every 
 death carries with it to some small circle 
 of survivors thoughts of so much omitted, 
 and so little done ; of so many things for- 
 gotten, and so many more which might 
 have been repaired, that such recollec- 
 tions are among the bitterest we can have. 
 There is no remorse so deep as that which 
 is unavailing ; if we would be spared its 
 tortures, let us remember this in time. 
 
 When he reached home, Mrs. Maylie 
 was sitting in the little parlour. Oliver's 
 heart sank at sight of her, for she had 
 never left the bedside of her niece, and 
 he trembled to think what change could 
 have driven her away. He learnt that 
 she had fallen into a deep sleep, from 
 which she would waken again either to 
 recovery and life, or to bid them farewell, 
 and die. 
 
 They sat, listening, and afraid to speak, 
 for hours. The untasted meal was re- 
 moved; and, with looks which showed 
 that their thoughts were elsewhere, they 
 watched the sun as he sank lower and 
 lower, and at length cast over sky and 
 earth those brilliant hues which herald 
 his departure. Their quick ears caught 
 the sound of an approaching footstep, and 
 they both involuntarily darted towards the 
 door as Mr. Losberne entered. 
 
 " What of Rose 1" cried the old lady. 
 " Tell me at once. I can bear it ; any- 
 thing but suspense. Oh, tell me ! in the 
 name of Heaven !" 
 
 " You must compose yourself," said the 
 doctor, supporting her. "Be calm, my 
 dear ma'am, pray." 
 
 " Let me go, in God's name !" gasped 
 Mrs. Maylie. " My dear child '. She is 
 dead ! She is dying !" 
 
 " No !" cried the doctor, passionately. 
 " As He is good and mercifnl, she will 
 live to bless us all for years to come." 
 
 The lady fell upon her knees, and triea 
 
132 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 to fold her hands together ; but the energy 
 which had supported her so long fled to 
 Heaven with her first thanksgiving, and 
 she sunk back into the friendly arms 
 which were extended to receive her. 
 
 CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH, 
 
 Contains some introductory particulars relative to 
 a young gentleman who now arrives upon the 
 scene, and a new adventure which happened to 
 Oliver. 
 
 It was almost too much happiness to 
 bear. Oliver felt stunned and stupified 
 by the unexpected intelligence ; he could 
 not weep, or speak, or rest. He had 
 scarcely the power of understanding any- 
 thing that had passed, until after a long 
 ramble in the quiet evening air a burst of 
 tears came to his relief, and he seemed to 
 awaken all at once to a full sense of tho 
 joyful change that had occurred, and the 
 almost insupportable load of anguish 
 which had been taken from his breast. 
 
 The night was fast closing in when he 
 returned homewards, laden with flowers 
 which he had culled with peculiar care 
 for the adornment of the sick chamber. 
 As he walked briskly along the road, he 
 heard behind him the noise of some ve- 
 hicle approaching at a furious pace. Look- 
 ing round, he saw that it was a post- 
 chaise driven at great speed ; and as the 
 horses were galloping, and the road was 
 narrow, he stood leaning against a gate 
 until it should have passed him by. 
 
 As it dashed on, Oliver caught a 
 glimpse of a man in a white night-cap, 
 whose face seemed familiar to him, al- 
 though his view was so brief that he could 
 not identify the person. In another second 
 or two the nightcap was thrust out of the 
 chaise window, and a stentorian voice bel- 
 lowed to the driver to stop, which he did 
 as soon |is he could pull up his horses, 
 when the nightcap once again appeared, 
 and the same voice called Oliver by his 
 name. 
 
 " Here !" cried the voice. " Master 
 Oliver, what's the news] Miss Rose — 
 Master O-li-ver." 
 
 "Is it you, Giles]" cried Oliver, run- 
 ing up to the chaise door. 
 
 Giles popped out his nightcap again, 
 preparatory to making some reply, when 
 he was suddenly pulled back by a young 
 gentleman who occupied the other corner 
 of the chaise, and who eagerly demanded 
 what was the news. 
 
 "In a word," cried the gentleman, 
 " better or worse ]" 
 
 " Better — much better," repxlcd Oliver 
 hastily. 
 
 " Thank Heaven !" exclaimed tlie gci> 
 tleman. " You are sure V 
 
 "Quite, sir," replied Oliver; "th^* 
 change took place only a few hours ag* 
 and Mr. Losberne says that all danger re 
 at an end." 
 
 The gentleman said not another word, 
 but opening the chaise-door leaped out; 
 and, taking Oliver hurriedly by the arm, 
 led him aside. 
 
 "This is quite certain? — there is no 
 possib^ity of any mistake on your part, 
 my boy, is there 1" demanded the gentle- 
 man in a tremulous voice. " Pray do not 
 deceive me by awakening any hopes that 
 are not to be fulfilled." 
 
 " I would not for the world, sir," re- 
 plied Oliver. "Indeed you may believe 
 me. Mr. Losberne's words were, that she 
 would live to bless us all for many years 
 to come. I heard him say so." 
 
 The tears stood in Oliver's eyes as he 
 recalled the scene which was the begin- 
 ning of so much happiness, and the gen 
 tleman turned his face away, and re- 
 mained silent for some minutes. Olivei 
 thought he heard him sob more than once, 
 but he feared to interrupt him by any 
 farther remark, — tor he could well guess 
 what his feelings were, — and so stood 
 apart, feigning to be occupied with his 
 nosegay. 
 
 All this time Mr. Giles, with the white 
 night-cap on, had been sitting upon the 
 steps of the chaise, supporting an elbow 
 on each knee, and wiping his eyes with a 
 blue cotton pocket-handkerchief dotted 
 with white spots. That the honest fellow 
 had not been feigning emotion was abun- 
 dantly demonstrated by the very red eyes 
 with which he reararded the young gen- 
 tleman, when he Turned round and ad- 
 dressed him. 
 
 " I think you had better go on to my 
 mother's in the chaise, Giles," said he. 
 " I would rather walk slowly on, so as to 
 gain a little time before I see her. You 
 can say I am coming." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Mr. Harry," said 
 Giles, giving a final polish to his ruffled 
 countenance with the handkerchief, " but 
 if you would leave the postboy to say that, 
 I should be very much obliged to you. It 
 wouldn't be proper for the maids to see 
 me in this state, sir ; I should never have 
 any more authority with them if they did." 
 
 " Well," rejoined Harry Maylie, smil- 
 ing, " you can do as you like. Let him 
 go on with the portmanteaus, if you wish 
 it, and do you follow with us. Only firs*. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 133 
 
 exchange that night-cap for some more 
 appropriate covering, or we shall be taken 
 for madmen." 
 
 Mr. Giles, reminded of his unbecoming 
 costume, snatched off and pocketed his 
 night-cap, and substituted a hat of grave 
 and sober shape which he took out of the 
 chaise. This done, the postboy drove off, 
 and Giles, Mr. Maylie, and Oliver followed 
 at their leisure. 
 
 As they walked along, Oliver glanced 
 from time to time with much interest and 
 curiosity at the new-comer. lie seemed 
 about five-and-twenty years of age, and 
 was of the middle height ; his countenance 
 was frank and handsome, and his de- 
 meanour singularly easy and prepossess- 
 ing. Notwithstanding the differences be- 
 tween youth and age, he bore so strong a 
 likeness to the old lady, that Oliver would 
 have had no great difficulty in imagining 
 their relationship, even if he had not 
 already spoken of her as his mother. 
 
 Mrs. Maylie was anxiously waiting to 
 receive her son when he reached the cot- 
 tage, and the meeting did not take place 
 without great emotion on both sides. 
 
 "Oh, mother," whispered the young 
 man, " why did you not write before 1" 
 
 " I did write," replied Mrs. Maylie ; 
 " but, on reflection, I determined to keep 
 back the letter until I had heard Mr. Los- 
 berne's opinion." 
 
 " But why," said the young man, " why 
 run the chance of that occurring \Yhich 
 80 nearly happened ] If Rose had — I can- 
 not utter that word now — if this illness 
 had terminated differently, how could you 
 ever have forgiven yourself, or I been 
 happy again 1" 
 
 " If that had been the case, Harry," 
 said Mrs. Maylie, " I fear your happiness 
 would have been effectually blighted, and 
 that your arrival here a day sooner or a 
 day later would have been of very, very 
 little import." 
 
 " And who can wonder if it be so, mo- 
 ther V rejoined the young man ; " or why 
 should I say if? — It is — it is — you know 
 it, mother — you must know it." 
 
 " I know that she well deserves the 
 best and purest love that the heart of man 
 can offer," said Mrs. Maylie ; " I know 
 that the devotion and affection of her na- 
 ture require no ordinary return, but one 
 that shall be deep and lasting. If I did 
 aot feel this, and know, besides, that a 
 ihanged behaviour in one she loved would 
 ireak her heart, I should not feel my task 
 «o difficult of performance, or have to en- 
 counter so many struggles in my own bo- 
 
 som, when I take what seems to me to be 
 the strict line of duty." 
 
 " This is imkind, mother," said Harry. 
 •' Do you still suppose that T am so much 
 a boy as not to know my own mind, or to 
 mistake the impulses of my own soul '.'" 
 
 "I think, my dear fellow," returned 
 Mrs. Maylie, laying her hand upon his 
 shoulder, " that youth has many generous 
 impulses which do not last, and that 
 among them are some which, being gra- 
 tified, become only the more fleeting. 
 Above all, I think," said the lady, fixing 
 her eyes on her son's face, " that if an 
 enthusiastic, ardent, ambitious young man 
 has a wife on whose name is a stain, 
 which, though it originate in no fault of 
 hers, may be visited by cold and sordid 
 people upon her, and upon his children 
 also, and, in exact proportion to his suc- 
 cess in the world, be cast in his teeth, and 
 made the subject of sneers against him, 
 he may — no matter how generous and 
 good his nature — one day repent of the 
 connection he formed in early life, and 
 she may have the pain and torture of 
 knowing that he does so." 
 
 "Mother," said the young man impa- 
 tiently, " he would be a mere selfish brute, 
 unworthy alike of the name of man and of 
 the woman you describe, who acted thus." 
 
 " You think so now, Harry," replied 
 his mother. 
 
 " And ever will," said the young man. 
 " The mental agony I have suffered during 
 the last two days wrings from me the 
 undisguised avowal to you of a passion 
 which, as you well know, is not one of 
 yesterday, nor one I have lightly formed. 
 On Rose, sweet gentle girl, my heart is 
 set as firmly as ever heart of man was 
 set on woman. I have no thought, or 
 view, or hope in life beyond her ; and if 
 you oppose me in this great stake, you 
 take my peace and happiness in your 
 hands and cast them to the wind. Mo 
 ther, think better of this, and of me, and 
 do not disregard the warm feelings of 
 which you seem to think so little." 
 
 " Harry," said Mrs. Maylie, " it is be- 
 cause I think so much of warm and sensi- 
 tive hearts that I would spare them from 
 being wounded. But we have said 
 enough, and more than enough, on this 
 matter just now." 
 
 "Let it rest with Rose, then," inter- 
 posed Harry. " You will not press these 
 overstrained opinions of yours so far as to 
 throw any obstacle in my way ?" 
 
 "I will not," rejoined Mrs. Maylie, 
 " but I would have you consider " 
 
134 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " I have considered," was the impatient 
 reply, — "I have considered for years, — 
 considered almost since I have been capa- 
 ble of serious reflection. My feelings re- 
 main unchanged, as they ever will ; and 
 why should I suffer the pain of a delay in 
 giving them vent, which can be produc- 
 tive of no earthly good 1 No. Before I 
 leave this place. Rose shall hear me." 
 
 » She shall," said Mrs. Maylie. 
 
 "There is something in your manner 
 which would almost imply that she will 
 hear me coldly, mother," said the young 
 man anxiously. 
 
 " Not coldly," rejoined the old lady ; 
 " far from it." 
 
 " How then ]" urged the young man. 
 " She has formed no other attachment 1" 
 
 "No, indeed," replied his mother. 
 "You have, or I mistake, too strong a 
 hold on her affections already." 
 
 " What I would say," resumed the old 
 lady, stopping her son as he was about to 
 speak, " is this. Before you stake your all 
 on this chance, — before you suffer your- 
 self to be carried to the highest point of 
 hope, reflect for a few moments, my dear 
 child, on Rose's history, and consider what 
 effect the knowledge of her doubtful birth 
 may have on her decision, — devoted as 
 she is to us with all the intensity of her 
 noble mind, and that perfect sacrifice of 
 self which in all matters, great or trifling, 
 has always been her characteristic." 
 
 " What do you mean 1" 
 
 " That I leave you to discover," replied 
 Mrs. Maylie. " I must go back to Rose. 
 God bless you !" 
 
 " I shall see you again to-night 1" said 
 tlie young man eagerly. 
 
 " By and by," replied the lady, " when 
 I leave Rose." 
 
 " You will tell her I am here "!" said 
 Harry. 
 
 " Of course," replied Mrs. Maylie. 
 
 " And say how anxious I have been, 
 and how much I have suffered, and how I 
 long to see her — you will not refuse to do 
 this, mother 1" 
 
 " No," said the old lady, " I will tell 
 her that ;" and, pressing her son's hand 
 affectionately, she hastened from the room. 
 
 Mr. Losberne and Oliver had remained 
 at another end of the apartment while 
 this hurried conversation was proceeding. 
 The former now held out his hand to 
 Harry Maylie, and hearty salutations 
 were exchanged between them. The doc- 
 tor then communicated, in reply to multi- 
 farious questions from his young friend, a 
 precise account of his patient's situation, 
 which was quite as consolatory and full 
 
 of promise as Oliver's statement had en 
 couraged him to hope, and to the whole 
 of which Mr. Giles, who affected to be 
 busy about the luggage, listened with 
 greedy ears. 
 
 "Have you shot anything particular 
 lately, Giles !" inquired the doctor, when 
 he had concluded. 
 
 " Nothing particular, sir," replied Mr. 
 Giles, colouring up to the eyes. 
 
 " Nor catching any thieves, nor identi- 
 fying any house-breakers 1" said the doc- 
 tor maliciously. 
 
 " None at all, sir," replied Mr. Giles 
 with much gravity. 
 
 " Well," said the doctor, " I am sorry 
 to hear it, because you do that sort of 
 tiling so well. Pray, how is Brittles 1" 
 
 " The boy is very well, sir," said Mr. 
 Giles, recovering his usual tone of patron- 
 age, " and sends his respectful duty, sir.'' 
 
 " That's well," said the doctor. " See- 
 ing you here, reminds me, Mr. Giles, that 
 on tlie day before that on which I was 
 called away so hurriedly, I executed, at 
 the request of your good mistress, a small 
 commission in your favour. Just step into 
 this corner a moment, will youl" 
 
 Mr. Giles walked into the corner with 
 much importance and some wonder, and 
 was honoured with a short whispering 
 conference with the doctor, on the termi- 
 nation of which he made a great many 
 bows, and retired with steps of unusual 
 stateliness. The subject matter of this 
 conference was not disclosed in the par- 
 lour, but the kitchen was speedily en- 
 lightened concerning it ; for Mr. Giles 
 walked straight thither, and having called 
 for a mug of ale, announced, with an air 
 of majestic mystery which was highly 
 effective, that it had pleased his mistress, 
 in consideration of his gallant behaviour 
 on the occasion of that attempted robbery, 
 to deposit in the local savings bank the 
 sum of twenty-five pounds for his sole use 
 and benefit. At this the two women ser- 
 vants lifted up their hands and eyes, and 
 supposed that Mr. Giles would begin to be 
 quite proud now ; whereunto Mr. Giles, 
 pulling out his shirt-frill, replied, "No, 
 no" — and that if they observed at any 
 time that he was at all haughty to his in- 
 feriors, he would thank them to tell him 
 so. And then he made a great many 
 other remarks, no less illustrative of his 
 humility, which were received with equal 
 favour and applause, and were withal as 
 original and as much to the purpose as 
 the remarks of great men commonly are. 
 
 Above stairs, the remainder of the even- 
 ing passed cheerfully away, for the doctor 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 135 
 
 was in high spirits, and however fatigued 
 or thoughtful Harry Maylie might have 
 been at first, he was not proof against the 
 worthy gentleman's good humour, which 
 displayed itself in a great variety of sal- 
 lies and professional recollections, and an 
 abundance of small jokes, which struck 
 Oliver as being the drollest things he had 
 ever heard, and caused him to laugh pro- 
 portionately, to the evident satisfaction of 
 the doctor, who laughed immoderately at 
 himself, and made Harry laugh almost as 
 heartily by the very force of sympathy. 
 So they were as pleasant a party as, un- 
 der the circumstances, they could well 
 have been, and it was late before they re- 
 tired, with light and thankful hearts, to 
 take that rest of which, after the doubt 
 and suspense they had recently under- 
 gone, they stood so much in need. 
 
 Oliver rose next morning in better 
 heart, and went about his usual early oc- 
 cupations with more hope and pleasure 
 than he had known for many days. The 
 birds were once more hung out to sing in 
 their old places, and the sweetest wild 
 flowers that could be found were once 
 more gathered to gladden Rose with their 
 beauty and fragrance. The melancholy 
 which had seemed to the sad eyes of the 
 anxious boy to hang for days past over 
 every object, beautiful as they all were, 
 was dispelled as though by magic. The 
 dew seemed to sparkle more brightly on 
 the green leaves, the air to rustle among 
 them with a sweeter music, and the sky 
 itself to look more blue and bright. Such 
 is the influence which the condition of our 
 own thoughts exercises even over the ap- 
 pearance of external objects. Men who 
 look on nature and their fellow men, and 
 cry that all is dark and gloomy, are in the 
 right; but the sombre colours are reflected 
 from their own jaundiced eyes and hearts. 
 The real hues are delicate, and require a 
 clearer vision. 
 
 It is worthy of remark, and Oliver did 
 not fail to note at the time, that his morn- 
 ing expeditions were no longer made 
 alone. Harry Maylie, after the very first 
 morning when he met Oliver coming 
 laden home, was seized with such a pas- 
 eion for flowers, and displayed such a taste 
 in their arrangement, as left his young 
 companion far behind. If Oliver were be- 
 hindhand in these respects, however, he 
 knew where the best were to be found, 
 and morning after morning they scoured 
 the country together, and brought home 
 the fairest that blossomed. The window 
 of the young lady's chamber was opened 
 now, for she loved to feel the rich sum- 
 
 mer air stream in and revive her with its 
 freshness ; but there always stood in wa- 
 ter, just inside the lattice, one particular 
 little bunch which was made up with 
 great care every morning. Oliver could 
 not help noticing that the withered flow- 
 ers were never thrown away, although 
 the little vase was regularly replenished ; 
 nor could he help observing that when- 
 ever the doctor came into the garden he 
 invariably cast his eyes up to that particu- 
 lar corner, and nodded his head most ex- 
 pressively as he set forth on his morning's 
 walk. Pending these observations, the 
 days were flying by, and Rose was rapidly 
 and surely recovering. 
 
 Nor did Oliver's time hang heavy upon 
 his hands, although the young lady had 
 not yet left her chamber, and there were 
 no evening walks, save now and then for 
 a short distance with Mrs. Maylie. He 
 applied himself with redoubled assiduity 
 to the instructions of the white-headed 
 old gentleman, and laboured so hard that 
 his quick progress ^rprised even himself 
 It was while he was engaged in this pur- 
 suit that he was greatly startled and dis- 
 tressed by a most unexpected occurrence. 
 
 The little room in which he was accus- 
 tomed to sit when busy at his books was 
 on the ground-floor, at the back of the 
 house. It was quite a cottage-room, with 
 a lattice- window, around which were clus- 
 ters of jessamine and honey-suckle, that 
 crept over the casement, and filled the 
 place with their delicious perfume. It 
 looked into a garden, whence a wicket- 
 gate opened into a small paddock ; all be- 
 yond was fine meadow-land and wood. 
 There was no other dwelling near, in that 
 direction, and the prospect it commanded 
 was very extensive. 
 
 One beautiful evening, when the first 
 shades of twilight were beginning to set- 
 tle upon the earth, Oliver sat at this win- 
 dow intent upon his books. He had been 
 poring over them for some time ; and as 
 the day had been uncommonly sultry and 
 he had exerted himself a great deal, it is 
 no disparagement to the authors, whoever 
 they may have been, to say that gradu- 
 ally and by slow degrees he fell asleep. 
 
 There is a kind of sleep that steals 
 upon us sometimes which, while it holds 
 the body prisoner, does not fi-ee the mind 
 from a sense of things about it, and enable 
 it to ramble as it pleases. So far as an 
 overpowering heaviness, a prostration of 
 strength, and an utter inability to control 
 our thoughts or power of motion, can bo 
 called sleep, this is it; and yet we have 
 a consciousness of all that is going on 
 
136 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 about us, and even if we dream, words 
 which are really spoken, or sounds which 
 really exist at the moment, accommodate 
 themselves with surprising readiness to 
 our visions, until reality and imagination 
 Decome so strangely blended that it is 
 afterwards almost a matter of impossibility 
 to separate the two. Nor is this the most 
 striking phenomenon incidental to such a 
 state. It is an ascertained fact, that 
 although our senses of touch and sight 
 be for the time dead, yet our sleeping 
 thoughts, and the visionary scenes that 
 pass before us, will be influenced, and 
 materially influenced, by the mere silent 
 presence of some external object which 
 may not have been near us when we 
 closed our eyes, and of whose vicinity we 
 have had no waking consciousness. 
 
 Oliver knew perfectly well that he was 
 in his own little room, that his books were 
 lying on the table before him, and that the 
 sweet air was stirring among the creeping 
 plants outside, — and yet he was asleep. 
 Suddenly the scene changed, the air be- 
 came close and confined, and he thought 
 with a glow of terror that he was in the 
 Jew's house again. There sat the hideous 
 old man in his accustomed corner pointing 
 at him, and whispering to another man 
 with his face averted, who sat beside him. 
 
 " Hush, my dear !" he thought he heard 
 the Jew say; "it is him, sure enough. 
 Come away." 
 
 " He !" the other man seemed to an- 
 swer ; " could I mistake him, think you 1 
 If a crowd of devils were to put themselves 
 into his exact shape, and he stood amongst 
 them, there is something that would tell 
 me how to point him out. If you buried 
 him fifty feet deep, and took me across his 
 grave, I should know, if there wasn't a 
 mark above it, that he lay buried there. 
 Wither his flesh, I should !" 
 
 The man seemed to say this with such 
 dreadful hatred, that Oliver awoke with 
 the fear and started up. 
 
 Good God ! what was that which sent 
 the blood tingling to his heart, and de- 
 prived him of voice or power to move ! 
 There — there — at the window — close be- 
 fore him — so close, that he could have al- 
 most touched him before he started back — 
 with his eyes peering into the room, and 
 meeting his — there stood the Jew ! — and 
 beside him, white with rage, or fear, or 
 both, were the scowling features of the 
 very man who had accosted him at the 
 inn yard ! 
 
 It was but an instant, a glance, a flash 
 before his eyes, and they were gone. But 
 they had recognised him, and he them, and 
 
 their look was as firmly impressed upon 
 his memory as if it had been deeply carved 
 in stone, and set before him from his birth. 
 He stood transfixed for a moment, and 
 then, leaping from the window into the 
 garden, called loudly for help. 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWELFTH, 
 
 Containing the unsatisfactory result of Oliver'! 
 adventure, and a conversation of some import- 
 ance between Harry Maylie and Rose. 
 
 When the inmates of the house, attract- 
 ed by Oliver's cries, hurried to the spot 
 from which they proceeded, they found 
 him, pale and agitated, pointing in the 
 direction of the meadows behind the house, 
 and scarcely able to articulate the words 
 " The Jew ! the Jew !" 
 
 Mr. Giles was at a loss to comprehend 
 what this outcry meant ; but Harry May- 
 lie, whose perceptions were something 
 quicker, and who had heard Oliver's his- 
 tory from his mother, understood it at once. 
 
 " What direction did he take ]" he 
 asked, catching up a heavy stick which 
 was standing in a corner. 
 
 "That," replied Oliver, pointing out 
 the course the men had taken. " I missed 
 them all in an instant." 
 
 " Then they are in the ditch !" said 
 Harry. " Follow, and keep as near me as 
 you can." So saying he sprang over the 
 hedge, and darted off" with a speed which 
 rendered it matter of exceeding difficulty 
 for the others to keep near him. 
 
 Giles followed as well as he could, and 
 Oliver followed too, and in the course of a 
 minute or two, Mr. Losberne, who had 
 been out walking, and just then returned, 
 tumbled over the hedge after them, and 
 picking himself up with more agility than 
 he could have been supposed to possess, 
 struck into the same course at no con- 
 temptible speed, shouting all the while 
 most prodigiously to know what was the 
 matter. 
 
 On they all went; nor stopped they 
 once to breathe until the leader, striking 
 off" into an angle of the field indicated by 
 Oliver, began to search narrowly the ditch 
 and hedge adjoining, which afforded time 
 for the remainder of the party to come up, 
 and for Oliver to communicate to Mr. 
 Losberne the circumstances that had led 
 to so vigorous a pursuit. 
 
 The search was all in vain. There 
 were not even the traces of recent foot- 
 steps to be seen. They stood now on the 
 summit of a little hill, commanding the 
 
. y a^a^ ^^^^'A-'v,: 
 
^ 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 137 
 
 open fields in every direction for three or 
 four miles. There was the village in the 
 hollow on the left; but, in order to gain 
 that, after pursuing the track Oliver had 
 pointed out, the men must have made a 
 circuit of open ground which it was im- 
 possible they could have accomplished in 
 so short a time. A thick wood skirted 
 the meadowland in another direction ; but 
 they could not have gained that covert for 
 the same reason. 
 
 " It must have been a dream, Oliver 1" 
 aaid Harry Maylie, taking him aside. 
 
 "Oh no, indeed, sir," replied Oliver, 
 shuddering at the very recollection of the 
 old wretch's countenance ; " I saw him 
 too plainly for that I saw them both as 
 plainly as I see you now." 
 
 " Who was the other ]" inquired Harry 
 and Mr. Losberne together. 
 
 " The very same man that I told you 
 of, that came upon me so suddenly at the 
 inn," said Oliver. " We had our eyes 
 fixed full upon each other, and I could 
 Bwear to him." 
 
 " They took this way 1" demanded Har- 
 ry ; " are you certain of that ]" 
 
 "As I am that the men were at the 
 window," replied Oliver, pointing down 
 as he spoke to the hedge which divided 
 the cottage-garden from the meadow. 
 " The tall man leaped over just there ; 
 and the Jew, running a few paces to the 
 right, crept through that gap." 
 
 The two gentlemen watched Oliver's 
 earnest face as he spoke, and looking from 
 him to each other, seemed to feel satisfied 
 of the accuracy of what he said. Still, in 
 no direction were there any appearances 
 of the trampling of men in hurried flight. 
 The grass was long, but it was trodden 
 down nowhere save where their own feet 
 had crushed it. The sides and brinks of 
 the ditches were of damp clay, but in no 
 one place could they discern the prints of 
 men's shoes, or jthe slightest mark which 
 would indicate that any feet had pressed 
 the ground for hours before. 
 
 " This is strange 1" said Harry. 
 
 " Strange 1" echoed the doctor. " Blath- 
 ers and Duff" themselves could make no- 
 thing of it." 
 
 Notwithstanding the evidently ineffi- 
 cacious nature of their search, however, 
 they did not desist until the coming on of 
 night rendered its further prosecution 
 hopeless, and even then they gave it up 
 with reluctance. Giles was despatched 
 to the diflferent alehouses in the village, 
 furnished with the best description Oliver 
 could give of the appearance and dress of 
 the strangers; of whom the Jew was at 
 12* S 
 
 all events sufficiently remarkable to be 
 remembered, supposing he had been seen 
 drinking, or loitering about; but he re- 
 turned without any intelligence calculated 
 to dispel or lessen the mystery. 
 
 On the next day further search was 
 made, and the inquiries renewed, but with 
 no better success. On the day following, 
 Oliver and Mr. Maylie repaired to the 
 market-town, in the hope of seeing or 
 hearing something of the men there ; but 
 this effort was equally fruitless ; and, after 
 a few days, the affair began to be forgot- 
 ten, as most affairs are, when wonder, 
 having no fresh food to support it, dies 
 away of itself. 
 
 Meanwhile Rose was rapidly recover- 
 ing. She had left her room, was able to 
 go out, and, mixing once more with the 
 family, carried joy into the hearts of all. 
 
 But although this happy change had a 
 visible effect on the little circle, and al- 
 though cheerful voices and merry laugh- 
 ter were once more heard in the cottage, 
 there was at times an unwonted restraint 
 upon some there — even upon Rose her- 
 self — which Oliver could not fail to re- 
 mark. Mrs. Maylie and her son were 
 often closeted together for a long time, 
 and more than once Rose appeared with 
 traces of tears upon her face. After Mr. 
 Losberne had fixed a day for his depar- 
 ture to Chertsey, these symptoms increas- 
 ed, and it became evident that something 
 was in progress which affected the peace 
 of the young lady and of somebody else 
 besides. 
 
 At length one morning, when Rose was 
 alone in the breakfast parlour, Harry 
 Maylie entered, and with some hesitation 
 begged permission to speak with her for 
 a few moments. 
 
 "A few — a very few — will suffice, 
 Rose," said the young man, drawing his 
 chair towards her. " What I shall have 
 to say has already presented itself to your 
 mind ; the most cherished hopes of my 
 heart are not unknown to you, though 
 from my lips you have not yet heard them 
 stated." 
 
 Rose had been very pale from the mo- 
 ment of his entrance, although that might 
 have been the eflfect of her recent illness. 
 She merely bowed, and bending over 
 some plants that stood near, waited ia 
 silence for him to proceed. 
 
 " I — I — ought to have left here before," 
 said Harry. 
 
 " You should indeed," replied Rose. 
 " Forgive me for saying so, but I wish 
 you had." 
 
 " I was brought here by the most dread 
 
y< 
 
 .38 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 fill and agonizing of all apprehensions," 
 Baid the young man, " the fear of losing 
 the one dear being on whom my every 
 wish and hope are centered. You had 
 been dying — trembling between earth 
 and heaven. We know that when the 
 young, the beautiful, and good, are visit- 
 ed with sickness, their pure spirits in- 
 sensibly turn towards their bright home 
 of lasting rest, and hence it is that the 
 best and fairest of our kind so often fade 
 in blooming." 
 
 There were tears in the eyes of the 
 gentle girl as these words were spoken, 
 and when one fell upon the flower over 
 which she bent, and glistened brightly in 
 its cup, making it more beautiful, it seem- 
 ed as though the outpourings of a fresh 
 young heart claimed common kindred 
 with the loveliest things in nature. 
 
 " An angel," continued the young man 
 passionately, " a creature as fair and in- 
 nocent of guile as one of God's own 
 angels, fluttered between life and death. 
 Oh ! who could hope, when the distant 
 world to which she was akin half opened 
 to her view, that she would return to the 
 sorrow and calamity of this! Rose, 
 Rose, to know that you were passing 
 away like some soft shadow, which a light 
 from above casts upon the earth — to have 
 no hope that you would be spared to those 
 who linger here, and to know no reason 
 why you should — to feel that you belong- 
 ed to that bright sphere whither so many 
 gifted creatures in infancy and youth have 
 winged their early flight — and yet to pray, 
 amid all these consolations, that you 
 might be restored to those who loved you 
 — these are distractions almost too great 
 to bear. They were mine by day and 
 night, and with them came such a rush- 
 ing torrent of fears and apprehensions, 
 and selfish regrets lest you should die and 
 never know how devotedly I loved you, 
 as almost bore down sense and reason in 
 its course. You recovered — day by day, 
 and almost hour by hour, some drop of 
 health came back, and mingling with the 
 spent and feeble stream of life which 
 circulated languidly within you, swelled 
 it again to a high and rushing tide. I 
 have watched you change almost from 
 death to life, with eyes that moistened 
 with their own eagerness and deep aftec- 
 tion. Do not tell me that you wish I had 
 lost this; for it has softened my heart to 
 all mankind." 
 
 " I did not mean that," said Rose, weep- 
 ing ; " I only wished you had left here, 
 that you might have turned to high and 
 
 noble pursuits agam — to pursuits well 
 worthy of you." 
 
 " There is no pursuit more worthy ot 
 me — more worthy of the highest nature 
 that exists — than the struggle to win such 
 a heart as yours," said the young man, 
 taking her hand. " Rose, my own dear 
 Rose, for years — for years I have loved 
 you, hoping to win my way to fame, and 
 then come proudly home ; in my day- 
 dreams how I would remind you in that 
 happy moment and tell you it had been 
 sought, only for you to share ; thinking 
 of the many silent tokens I had given of 
 a boy's attachment and rally you who had 
 blushed to mark them, and then claim 
 your hand, as if in redemption of some 
 old mute contract that had been sealed 
 between us. That time has not arrived ; 
 but here, with no fame won and no young 
 vision realized, I give to you the heart so 
 long your own, and stake my all upon the 
 words with which you greet the offer." 
 
 " Your behaviour has ever been kind 
 and noble," said Rose, mastering the emo- 
 tions by which she was agitated. " As 
 you believe that I am not insensible or 
 ungrateful, so hear my answer." 
 
 " It is that I may endeavour to deserve 
 you — is it, dear Rose 1" 
 
 " It is," replied Rose, " that you must 
 endeavour to forget me — not as your old 
 and dearly-attached companion, for that 
 would wound me deeply, but as the object 
 of your love. Look into the world ; think 
 how many hearts you would be equally 
 proud to gain are there. Confide some 
 other passion to me if you will, and I will 
 be the truest, warmest, most faithful friend 
 you have." 
 
 There was a pause, during which Rose, 
 who had covered her face with one hand, 
 gave free vent to her tears. Harry still 
 retained the other. 
 
 " And your reasons. Rose," he said, at 
 length, in a low voice, " your reasons for 
 this decision — may I ask them ?" 
 
 " You have a right to know them," re- 
 joined Rose. " You can say nothing to 
 alter my resolution. It is a duty that I 
 must perform. I owe it alike to others;, 
 and to myself" 
 
 » To yourself]" 
 
 " Yes, Harry, I owe it to myself that 
 I, a friendless, portionless girl, with a 
 blight upon my name, should not give the 
 world reason to suspect that I had sor- 
 didly yielded to your first passion, and 
 fastened myself a clog, upon all your 
 hopes and projects. I owe it to you and 
 yours to prevent you from opposing, iu 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 189 
 
 the warmth of your generous nature, this 
 great obstacle to your progress in the 
 world." 
 
 " If your inclinations chime with your 
 sense of duty " Harry began. 
 
 " They do not," replied Rose, colouring 
 deeply. 
 
 "Then you return my love?" said 
 Harry. " Say but that, Rose ; say but 
 that, and soften the bitterness of this hard 
 disappointment." 
 
 '♦ If I could have done so without doing 
 heavy wrong to him I loved," rejoined 
 Rose, " I could have " 
 
 " Have received this declaration very 
 differently?" said Harry, with great ea- 
 gerness. " Do not conceal that from me, 
 at least. Rose." 
 
 "I could," said Rose. "Stay," she 
 added, disengaging her hand, " Why 
 should we prolong this painful interview ; 
 most painful to me, and yet productive 
 of lasting happiness, notwithstanding ; 
 for it will be happiness to know that I 
 once held the high place in your regard 
 which I now occupy, and every triumph 
 which you achieve in life will animate 
 me with new fortitude and firmness. 
 Farewell, Harry ! for as we have met to- 
 day, we meet no more : but in other rela- 
 tions than those in which this conversa- 
 tion would have placed us, may we be 
 long and happily entwined ; and may 
 every blessing that the prayers of a true 
 and earnest heart can call down from 
 where all is truth and sincerity, cheer 
 and prosper you." 
 
 " Another word, Rose," said Harry. 
 " Your reason in your own words. From 
 your own lips let me hear it." 
 
 " The prospect before you," answered 
 Rose firmly, " is a brilliant one ; all the 
 honours to which great talents and pow- 
 erful connections can help men in public 
 life are in store for you. But those con- 
 nections are proud, and I will neither 
 mingle with such as hold in scorn the 
 mother who gave me life, nor bring dis- 
 grace or failure upon the son of her who 
 has so well supplied that mother's place. 
 In a word," said the young lady, turning 
 away as her temporary firmness forsook 
 her, " there is a stain upon my name 
 which the world visits upon innocent 
 heads ; I will carry it into no blood but 
 my own, and the reproach shall rest alone 
 on mei" 
 
 " One word more. Rose — dear Rose, 
 one more," cried Harry, throwing him- 
 self before her. " If I had been less, less 
 fortunate, as the world would call it, — if 
 some obscure and peaceful life had been 
 
 my destiny, — if I had been poor, sick, 
 helpless, — would you have turned from 
 me then? or has my probable advance- 
 ment to riches and honour given this 
 scruple birth?" 
 
 " Do not press me to reply," answered 
 Rose. " The question does not arise, and 
 never will. It is unfair, unkind, to urge 
 it." 
 
 "If your answer be what I almost dare 
 to hope it is," retorted Harry, " it will 
 shed a gleam of happiness upon my lonely 
 way, and light the dreary path before me. 
 It is not an idle thing to do so much, by 
 the utterance of a few brief words, for 
 one who loves us beyond all else. Oh, 
 Rose, in the name of my ardent and en- 
 during attachment, — in the name of all I 
 have suffered for you, and all you doom 
 me to undergo, — answer me that one 
 question." 
 
 " Then if your lot had been differently 
 cast," rejoined Rose ; " if you had been 
 even a little, but not so far above me ; if 
 I could have been a help and comfort to 
 you in some humble scene of peace and 
 retirement, and not a blot and drawback 
 in ambitious and distinguished crowds ; I 
 should have been spared this trial. I 
 have every reason to be happy, very 
 happy, now; but then, Harry, I own I 
 should have been happier." 
 
 Busy recollections of old hopes, cherish- 
 ed as a girl long ago, crowded into the 
 mind of Rose while making this avowal ; 
 but they brought tears with them, as old 
 hopes will when they come back with- 
 ered, and they relieved her. 
 
 " I cannot help this weakness, and it 
 makes my purpose stronger," said Rose, 
 extending her hand. " I must leave you 
 now, indeed." 
 
 " I ask one promise," said Harry. 
 " Once, and only once more, — say within 
 a year, but it may be much sooner, — let 
 me speak to you again on this subject for 
 the last time." 
 
 " Not to press me to alter my right de- 
 termination," replied Rose, with a melan- 
 choly smile : " it will be useless." 
 
 " No," said Harry ; " to hear you repeat 
 it, if you will ; finally repeat it. I will 
 lay at your feet whatever of station or 
 fortune I may possess, and if you still ad- 
 here to your present resolution, will not 
 seek by word or act to change it." 
 
 "Then let it be so," rejoined Rose, 
 " It is but one pang the more, and by 
 that time I may be enabled to bear it 
 better." 
 
 She extended her hand again, but the 
 young man caught her to his bosom, and, 
 
140 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 imprinting one kiss upon her beautiful 
 forehead, hurried from the room. 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH 
 
 Is a short one, and may appear of no great im- 
 portance in its place, but it should be read not- 
 withstanding, as a sequel to the last, and a key 
 to one that will follow when its time arrives. 
 
 "And so you are resolved to be my 
 travelling-companion this morning — eh ]" 
 said the doctor, as Harry Maylie joined 
 him and Oliver at the breakfast table. 
 " Why, you are not in the same mind or 
 intention two half hours together." 
 
 " You will tell me a different tale one 
 of these days," said Harry, colouring 
 without any perceptible reason. 
 
 " I hope I may have good cause to do 
 so," replied Mr. Losberne ; " though I con- 
 fess I do n't think I shall. But yesterday 
 morning you had made up your mind in a 
 great hurry to stay here, and accompany 
 your mother, like a dutiful son, to the 
 sea-side ; before noon you announce that 
 you are going to do me the honour of ac- 
 companying me as far as I go on your 
 road to London ; and at night you urge 
 me with great mystery to start before the 
 ladies are stirring, the consequence of 
 which is, that young Oliver here is 
 pinned down to his breakfast when he 
 ought to be ranging the meadows after 
 botanical phenomena of all kinds. Too 
 bad, isn't it, Oliver?" 
 
 " I should have been very sorry not to 
 have been at home when you and Mr. 
 Maylie went away, sir," rejoined Oliver. 
 
 " That 's a fine fellow," said the doc- 
 tor ; " you shall come and see me when 
 you return. But, to speak seriously, 
 Harry, has any communication from the 
 great nobs produced this sudden anxiety 
 on your part to be gone'!" 
 
 " The great nobs," replied Harry, " un- 
 der which designation, I presume, you 
 include my most stately uncle, have not 
 communicated with me at all since I have 
 been here, nor, at this time of the year, 
 is it likely that anything would occur to 
 render necessary my immediate attend- 
 ance among them." 
 
 " Well," said the doctor, " you are a 
 queer fellow. But of course they will 
 get you into Parliament at the election 
 before Christmas, and these sudden shift- 
 iflgs and changes are no bad preparation 
 
 for political life. There 's something in 
 that ; good training is always desirable, 
 whether the race be for place, cup, or 
 sweepstakes." 
 
 Harry Maylie looked as if he could 
 have followed up this short dialogue by 
 one or two remarks that would have stag- 
 gered the doctor not a little, but he con- 
 tented himself with saying, "We shall 
 see," and pursued the subject no further. 
 The post-chaise drove up to the door 
 shortly afterwards, and Giles coming in 
 for the luggage, the good doctor bustled 
 out to see it packed away. 
 
 " Oliver," said Harry Maylie, in a low 
 voice, " let me speak a word with you." 
 
 Oliver walked into the window recess 
 to which Mr. Maylie beckoned him ; 
 much surprised at the mixture of sadness 
 and boisterous spirits, which his whole 
 behaviour displayed. 
 
 " You can write well now," said Harry, 
 laying his hand upon his arm. 
 
 " I hope so, sir," replied Oliver. 
 
 " I shall not be at home again, perhaps 
 for some time ; I wish you would write 
 to me — say once a fortnight, every alter- 
 nate Monday, to the General Post OfEco 
 in London: will you"?" said Mr. Maylie. 
 
 " Oh ! certainly, sir ; I shall be prouil 
 to do it," exclaimed Oliver, greatly de- 
 lighted with the commission. 
 
 " I should like to know how — how my 
 mother and Miss Maylie are," said the 
 young man ; " and you can fill up a sheet 
 by telling me what walks you take, and 
 what you talk about, and whether she — 
 they, I mean, seem happy and quite well. 
 You understand me ]" 
 
 " Oh ! quite, sir, quite," replied Oliver. 
 
 " I would rather you did not mention it 
 to them," said Harry, hurrying over his 
 words ; " because it might make my mo- 
 ther anxious to write to me oftener, and 
 it is a trouble and worry to her. Let it 
 be a secret between you and me, and 
 mind you tell me everything ; I depend 
 upon you." 
 
 Oliver, quite elated and honoured by a 
 sense of his importance, faithfully pro- 
 mised to be secret and explicit in big 
 communications, and Mr. Maylie took 
 leave of him with many warm assurstnces 
 of his regard and protection. 
 
 The doctor was in the chaise ; Giles 
 (who, it had been arranged, should be left 
 behind,) held the door open in his hand ; 
 and the women servants were in the gar- 
 den looking on. Harry cast one slight 
 glance at the latticed window, and jump- 
 ed into the carriage. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 141 
 
 " Drive on !" he cried, " hard, fast, full 
 eallop. Nothing short of flying will 
 keep pace with me to-day." 
 
 " Holloa !" cried the doctor, letting 
 down the front glass in a great hurry, 
 and shouting to the postilion, " something 
 very far short of flying will keep pace 
 with me. Do you hearl" 
 
 Jingling and clattering till distance 
 rendered its noise inaudible, and its rapid 
 progress only perceptible to the eye, the 
 vehicle wound its way along the road 
 almost hidden in a cloud of dust, now 
 wholly disappearing, and now becoming 
 visible again, as intervening objects or 
 the intricacies of the way permitted. It 
 was not until even the dusty cloud was 
 no longer to be seen, that the gazers dis- 
 persed. 
 
 And there was one looker-on, who re- 
 mained with eyes fixed upon the spot 
 where the carriage had disappeared, long 
 after it was many miles away ; for beiiind 
 the white curtain which had shrouded her 
 from view, when Harry raised his eyes 
 towards the window, sat Rose herself. 
 
 " He seems in high spirits and happy," 
 she said at length. " I feared for a time 
 he might be otherwise. I was mistaken. 
 I am very, very glad." 
 
 Tears are signs of gladness as well as 
 grief, but those which coursed down Rose's 
 face as she sat pensively at the window, 
 still gazing in the same direction, seemed 
 to tell more of sorrow, than of joy. 
 
 CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH, 
 
 In which the reader, if he or she resort to the fifth 
 chapter of this second book, will perceive a con- 
 trast not uncommon in matrimonial cases. 
 
 Mr. Bumble sat in the workhouse par- 
 lour, with his eyes moodily fixed on the 
 cheerless grate, whence, as it was sum- 
 mer time, no brighter gleam proceeded 
 than the reflection of certain sickly rays 
 of the sun, which were sent back from its 
 cold and shining surface. A paper fly- 
 cage dangled from the ceiling, to which 
 he occasionally raised his eyes in gloomy 
 thought ; and, as the heedless insects ho- 
 vered round the gaudy net-work, Mr. 
 Bumble would heave a deep sigh, while a 
 more gloomy shadow overspread his coun- 
 tenance. Mr. Bumble was meditating, 
 and it might be that the insects brought 
 to mind some painful passage in his own 
 ptist life. 
 
 Nor was Mr. Bumble's gloom the only 
 thing calculated to awaken a pleasing 
 melancholy in the bosom of a spectator. 
 There were not wanting other appear- 
 ances, and those closely connected with 
 his own person, which announced that a 
 great change had taken place in the posi- 
 tion of his affairs. The laced coat and the 
 cocked hat, where were they 1 He still 
 wore knee-breeches and dark cotton stock- 
 ings on his nether limbs, but they were 
 not the breeches. The coat was wide- 
 skirted, and in that respect like the coat, 
 but, oh, how different ! The mighty cocked 
 hat was replaced by a modest round one. 
 Mr. Bumble was no longer a beadle. 
 
 There are some promotions in life which, 
 independent of the more substantial re- 
 wards they offer, acquire peculiar value 
 and dignity from the coats and waistcoats 
 connected with them. A field-marshal 
 has his uniform, a bishop his silk apron, 
 a counsellor his silk gown, a beadle his 
 cocked hat. Strip the bishop of his apron, 
 or the beadle of his cocked hat and gold 
 lace, what are theyl Men, — mere men. 
 Dignity, and even holiness too, sometimes, 
 are more questions of coat and waistcoat 
 than some people imagine. 
 
 Mr. Bumble had married Mrs. Corney, 
 and was master of the workhouse. An- 
 other beadle had come into power, and on 
 him the cocked hat, gold-laced coat, and 
 stafl^, had all three descended. 
 
 "And to-morrow two months it was 
 done !" said Mr. Bumble, with a sigh. 
 " It seems a age." 
 
 Mr. Bumble might have meant that he 
 had concentrated a whole existence of 
 happiness into the short space of eight 
 weeks ; but the sigh — there was a vast 
 deal of meaning in the sigh. 
 
 " I sold myself," said Mr. Bumble, pur- 
 suing the same train of reflection, " for six 
 tea-spoons, a pair of sugar-tongs, and a 
 milk-pot, with a small quantity of second- 
 hand furniter, and twenty pound in mo- 
 ney. I went very reasonable — cheap, dirt 
 cheap." 
 
 "Cheap!" cried a shrill voice in Mr. 
 Bumble's ear: "You would have been 
 dear at any price ; and dear enough I paid 
 for you. Lord above knows that." 
 
 Mr. Bumble turned and encountered 
 the face of his interesting companion, 
 who, imperfectly comprehending the few 
 words she had overheard of his complaint, 
 had hazarded the foregoing remark at a 
 venture. 
 
 " Mrs. Bumble, ma'am !" said Mr. Bmn* 
 ble, with sentimental sternness. 
 
142 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " Well," cried the lady. 
 
 " Have the goodness to look at me," 
 said Mr. Bumble, fixing his eyes upon her. 
 
 " If she stands such a eye as that," said 
 Mr. Bumble to himself, "she can stand 
 anything. It is a eye I never knew to 
 fail with paupers, and if it fails with her 
 my power is gone." 
 
 Whether an exceedingly small expan- 
 sion of eye is sufficient to quell paupers, 
 who, being lightly fed, are in no very high 
 condition, or whether the late Mrs. Cor- 
 ney was particularly proof against eagle 
 glances, are matters of opinion. The mat- 
 ter of fact is, that the matron was in no 
 way overpowered by Mr. Bumble's scowl, 
 but, on the contrary, treated it with great 
 disdain, and even raised a laugh thereat, 
 which sounded as though it were genuine. 
 
 On hearing this most unexpected sound, 
 Mr. Bumble looked first incredulous, and 
 afterwards amazed. He then relapsed 
 into his former state; nor did he rouse 
 himself until his attention was again 
 awakened by the voice of his partner. 
 
 "Are you agoing to sit snoring there 
 all day 1" inquired Mrs. Bumble. 
 
 " I am going to sit here as long as I 
 think proper, ma'am," rejoined Mr. Bum- 
 ble ; " and although I was not snoring, I 
 shall snore, gape, sneeze, laugh, or cry, as 
 the humour strikes me, such being my 
 prerogative." 
 
 " Your prerogative !" sneered Mrs. Bum- 
 ble, with ineffable contempt. 
 
 " I said the word, ma'am," observed Mr. 
 Bumble. " The prerogative of a man is 
 to command." 
 
 " And what 's the prerogative of a wo- 
 man, in the name of goodness?" cried the 
 relict of Mr. Corney deceased. 
 
 " To obey, ma'am," thundered Mr. Bum- 
 ble. " Your late unfort'nate husband 
 should have taught it you, and then, per- 
 haps, he might have been alive now. I 
 wish he was, poor man !" 
 
 Mrs. Bumble, seeing at a glance that 
 the decisive moment had now arrived, and 
 that a blow struck for the mastership on 
 one side or other must necessarily be final 
 and conclusive, no sooner heard this allu- 
 sion to tlie dead and gone, than she dropped 
 into a chair, and, with a loud scream that 
 Mr. Bumble was a hard-hearted brute, fell 
 into a paroxysm of tears. 
 
 But tears were not the things to find 
 their way to Mr. Bumble's soul ; his heart 
 was water-proof. Like washable beaver 
 hats, that improve with rain, his nerves 
 were rendered stouter and more vigorous 
 by showers of tears, which, being tokens 
 
 of weakness, and so far tacit admissions 
 of his own power, pleased and exalted him. 
 He eyed his good lady with looks of great 
 satisfaction, and begged in an encouraging 
 manner that she would cry her hardest, the 
 exercise bemg looked upon by the faculty 
 as strongly conducive to health. 
 
 " It opens the lungs, washes tlie coun- 
 tenance, exercises the eyes, and softens 
 down the temper," said Mr. Bumble ; " so 
 cry away." 
 
 As he discharged himself of this plea- 
 santry, Mr. Bumble took his hat from a 
 peg, and putting it on rather rakishly on 
 one side, as a man might do who felt he 
 had asserted his superiority in a becoming 
 manner, thrust his hands into his pockets, 
 and sauntered towards the door with much 
 ease and waggishness depicted in his 
 whole appearance. 
 
 Now Mrs. Corney that was, had tried 
 the tears, because they were less trouble- 
 some tlian a manual assault ; but she was 
 quite prepared to make trial of the latter 
 mode of proceeding, as Mr. Bumble was 
 not long in discovering. 
 
 The first proof he experienced of the 
 fact was conveyed in a hollow sound, im- 
 mediately succeeded by the sudden flying 
 off" of his hat to the opposite end of the 
 room. This preliminary proceeding lay- 
 ing bare his head, the expert lady, clasp- 
 ing him tight round the throat with one 
 hand, inflicted a shower of blows (dealt 
 with singular vigour and dexterity) upon 
 it with the other. This done, she cre- 
 ated a little variety by scratching his face 
 and tearing his hair ofl^, and having by 
 this time inflicted as much punishment as 
 she deemed necessary for the offence, she 
 pushed him over a chair, which was luck- 
 ily well situated for the purpose, and de- 
 fied him to talk about his prerogative 
 again if he dared. 
 
 " Get up," said Mrs. Bumble, in a voice 
 of command, " and take yourself away 
 from here, unless you want me to do 
 something desperate." 
 
 Mr. Bumble rose with a very ruefiil 
 countenance, wondering much what some- 
 thing desperate might be, and picking up 
 his hat, looked towards the door, 
 
 "Are you going?" demanded Mrs. 
 Bumble. 
 
 " Certainly, my dear, certainly," rejoin- 
 ed Mr. Bumble, making a quicker motion 
 towards the door. " I did n't intend to — 
 I 'm going, my dear — you are so very vio- 
 lent, that really I " 
 
 At this instant Mrs. Bumble stepped 
 hastily forward to replace the carpet, 
 

 :1-Ki 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 143 
 
 which had been kicked up in the scuffle, 
 and Mr. Bumble immediately darted out 
 of the room without bestowing another 
 thought on his unfinished sentence, leav- 
 ing ttie late Mrs. Corney in full posses- 
 sion of the field. 
 
 Mr. Bumble was fairly taken by sur- 
 prise, and fairly beaten. He had a de- 
 cided bullying propensity, derived no in- 
 considerable pleasure from the exercise 
 of petty cruelty, and consequently was 
 (it is needless to say) a coward. This is 
 by no means a disparagement to his cha- 
 racter ; for many official personages, who 
 are held in high respect and admiration, 
 are the victims of similar infirmities. The 
 remark is made, indeed, rather in his fa- 
 vour than otherwise, and with the view 
 of impressing the reader with a just sense 
 of his qualifications for office. 
 
 But the measure of his degradation was 
 not yet full. After making a tour of the 
 house, and thinking for the first time that 
 the poor laws really were too hard upon 
 people, and that men who ran away from 
 their wives, leaving them chargeable to 
 the parish, ought in justice to be visited 
 with no punishment at all, but rather re- 
 warded as meritorious individuals who had 
 suffered much, Mr. Bumble came to a 
 room where some of the female paupers 
 were usually employed in washing the 
 parish linen, and whence the sound of 
 voices in conversation now proceeded. 
 ' " Hem !" said Mr. Bumble, summoning 
 up all his native dignity. " These women 
 at least shall continue to respect the pre- 
 rogative. Hallo ! hallo there ! — what do 
 you mean by this noise, you hussies 1" 
 
 With these words Mr. Bumble opened 
 the door, and walked in with a very fierce 
 and angry manner, which was at once 
 exchanged for a most humiliated and 
 cowering air as his eyes unexpectedly 
 rested on the form of his lady wife. 
 
 " My dear," said Mr. Bumble, " I did n't 
 know you were here." 
 
 " Did n't know I was here !" repeated 
 Mrs. Bumble. " What do you do here .'" 
 
 " I thought they were talking rather 
 too much to be doing their work properlyi 
 my dear," replied Mr. Bumble, glancing 
 distractedly at a couple of old women at 
 the wash-tub, who were comparing notes 
 of admiration at the workhouse-master's 
 humility. 
 
 " You thought they were talking too 
 much ]" said Mrs. Bumble. " What busi- 
 ness is it of yours ]" 
 
 " Why, my dear — " urged Mr. Bumble, 
 submissively. 
 
 "What business is it of yours 1" de- 
 manded Mrs. Bumble again. 
 
 " It 's very true you 're matron here, 
 my dear," submitted Mr. Bumble ; " but 
 1 thought you might n't be in the way 
 just then." 
 
 " I '11 tell you what, Mr. Bumble," re- 
 turned his lady, " we do n't want any of 
 your interference, and you 're a great deal 
 too fond of poking your nose into things 
 that do n't concern you, making everybody 
 in the house laugh the moment your back 
 is turned, and making yourself look like 
 a fool every hour in the day. Be off"; 
 come !" 
 
 Mr. Bumble, seeing with excruciating 
 feelings the delight of the two old pau- 
 pers who were titterfng together most 
 rapturously, hesitated for an instant. 
 Mrs. Bumble, whose patience brooked no 
 delay, caught up a bowl of soap-suds, and 
 motioning him towards the door, ordered 
 him instantly to depart, on pain of receiv- 
 ing the contents on bis portly person. 
 
 What could Mr. Bumble dol He look- 
 ed dejectedly round, and slunk away; 
 and as he reached the door, the titterings 
 of the paupers broke into a shrill chuckle 
 of irrepressible delight. It wanted but 
 this. He was degraded in their eyes ; he 
 had lost caste and station before the very 
 paupers ; he had fallen from all the 
 height and pomp of beadleship to the 
 lowest depth of the most snubbed hea- 
 peckery. 
 
 " All in two months !" said Mr. Bun> 
 ble, filled with dismal thoughts. " Two 
 months — not more than two months ago I 
 was not only my own master, but every- 
 body else's, so far as the porochial work- 
 house was concerned, and now ! — " 
 
 It was too much. Mr. Bumble boxed 
 the ears of the boy who opened the gate 
 for him, (Jox he had reached the portal in 
 his reverie,) and walked distractedly into 
 the street. 
 
 He walked up one street and down 
 another, until exercise had abated the 
 first passion of his grief, and then the 
 revulsion of feeling made him thirsty. 
 He passed a great many public-houses, 
 and at length paused before one in a by- 
 way, whose parlour, as he gathered from 
 a hasty peep over the blinds, was desert- 
 ed save by one solitary customer. It 
 began to rain heavily at the moment, and 
 this determined him ; Mr. Bumble stepped 
 in, and ordering something to drink as he 
 passed the bar, entered the apartment 
 into which he had looked from the street. 
 
 The man who was seated there was 
 
144 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 tall and dark, and wore a large cloak. 
 He had the air of a stranger, and seem- 
 ed, by a certain haggardness in his look, 
 as well as by the dusty soils on his dress, 
 to have travelled some distance. He 
 eyed Bumble askance as he entered, but 
 scarcely deigned to nod his head in ac- 
 knowledgment of his salutation. 
 
 Mr. Bumble had quite dignity enough 
 for two, supposing even that the stranger 
 had been more familiar, so he drank his 
 gin-and-water in silence, and read the 
 paper with great show of pomp and im- 
 portance. 
 
 It so happened, however, — as it will 
 happen very often when men fall into 
 company under such circumstances, — 
 that Mr. Bumble felt every now and then 
 a powerful inducement, which he could 
 not resist, to steal a look at the stranger, 
 and that whenever he did so he withdrew 
 his eyes in some confusion, to find that 
 the stranger was at that moment stealing 
 a look at him. Mr. Bumble's awkward- 
 ness was enhanced by the very remark- 
 able expression of the stranger's eye, 
 which was keen and bright, but shadow- 
 ed by a scowl of distrust and suspicion 
 unlike anything he had observed before, 
 and most repulsive to behold. 
 
 When they had encountered each 
 other's glance several times in this way, 
 the stranger, in a harsh, deep voice, 
 broke silence. 
 
 " Were you looking for me," he said, 
 " when you peered in at the window V 
 
 "Not that I am aware of, unless 
 
 you 're Mr. ." Here Mr. Bumble 
 
 stopped short, for he was curious to 
 know the stranger's name, and thought 
 in his impatience he might supply the 
 blank. 
 
 " I see you were not," said the stranger, 
 an expression of quiet sarcasm playing 
 about his mouth, "or you would have 
 known my name. You don't know it, 
 and I should recommend you not to in- 
 quire." 
 
 " I meant no harm, young man," ob- 
 served Mr. Bumble, majestically. 
 
 " And have done none," said the 
 stranger. 
 
 Another silence succeeded this short 
 dialogue, which was again broken by the 
 stranger. 
 
 " I have seen you before, I think," said 
 he. " You were differently dressed at 
 that time, and I only passed you in the 
 ■treet, but I should know you again. 
 You were beadle here once, were you 
 not]" 
 
 " I was," said Mr. Bumble, in some 
 surprise. " Porochial beadle." 
 
 " Just so," rejoined the other, nodding 
 his head. " It was in that character I 
 saw you. What are you now !" 
 
 " Master of the workhouse," rejoined 
 Mr. Bumble, slowly and impressively, to 
 check any undue familiarity the stranger 
 might otherwise assume. " Master of 
 the workhouse, young man !" 
 
 " You have the same eye to your own 
 interest that you always have had, I 
 doubt not?" resumed the stranger, look- 
 ing keenly into Mr. Bumble's eyes as he 
 raised them in astonishment at the ques- 
 tion. " Do n't scruple to answer freely, 
 man. I know you pretty well, you see." 
 
 " I suppose a married man," replied 
 Mr. Bumble, shading his eyes with his 
 hand, and surveying the stranger from 
 head to foot in evident perplexity, " is 
 not more averse to turning an honest 
 penny when he can than a single one. 
 Porochial officers are not so well paid 
 that they can afford to refuse any little 
 extra fee, when it comes to them in a 
 civil and proper manner." 
 
 The stranger smiled, and nodded his 
 head again, as much as to say he found 
 he had not mistaken his man : then rang 
 the bell. 
 
 " Fill this glass again," he said, hand- 
 ing Mr. Bumble's empty tumbler to the 
 landlord. " Let it be strong and hot. 
 You like it so, I suppose ?" 
 
 " Not too strong," replied Mr. Bumble, 
 with a delicate cough. 
 
 " You understand what that means, 
 landlord !" said the stranger, drily. 
 
 The host smiled, disappeared, and short- 
 ly afterwards returned with a steaming 
 jorum, of which the first gulph brought 
 the water into Mr. Bumble's eyes. 
 
 " Now listen to me," said the stranger, 
 after closing the door and window. "1 
 came down to this place to-day to find 
 you out, and, by one of those chances 
 which the devil throws in the way of his 
 friends sometimes, you walked into the 
 very room I was sitting in while you 
 were uppermost in my mind. I want 
 some information from you, and do n't ask 
 you to give it for nothing, slight as it is. 
 Put up that to begin with." 
 
 As he spoke he pushed a couple of 
 sovereigns across the table to his com- 
 panion carefully, as though unwilling that 
 the clinking of the money should be heard 
 without; and when Mr. Bumble had 
 scrupulously examined the coins to see 
 that they were genuine, and put them up 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 14& 
 
 with much satisfaction in his waistcoat 
 pocket, he went on. 
 
 " Carry your memory back — let me see 
 — twelve years last winter." 
 
 " It 's a long time," said Mr. Bumble. 
 " Very good. I 've done it." 
 
 " The scene, the workhouse." 
 
 " Good !" 
 
 " And the time, night." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And the place the crazy hole, wher- 
 ever it was, in which miserable drabs 
 brought forth the life and health so often 
 denied to themselves — gave birth to pul- 
 ing children for the parish to rear, and hid 
 their shame, rot 'em, in the grave." 
 
 " The lying-in room, I suppose that 
 means!" said Mr. Bumble, not quite fol- 
 lowing the stranger's excited description. 
 
 " Yes," said the stranger. " A boy was 
 born there." 
 
 " A many boys," observed Mr. Bumble, 
 shaking his head despondingly. 
 
 "A murrain on the young devils!" 
 cried the stranger impatiently ; " I speak 
 of one, a meek-looking, pale-faced hound, 
 who was apprenticed, down here, to a 
 coffin-maker, (I wish he had made his 
 coffin, and screwed his body in it,) and 
 who afterwards ran away to London, as 
 it was supposed." 
 
 "Why, you mean Oliver — young 
 Twist !" said Mr. Bumble ; " I remember 
 him of course. There was n't a obsti- 
 nater young rascal " 
 
 " It 's not of him I want to hear ; I've 
 heard enough of him," said the stranger, 
 stopping Mr. Bumble in the very outset 
 of a tirade on the subject of poor Oliver's 
 vices. " It 's of a woman, the hag that 
 nursed his mother. Where is she 1" 
 
 " Where is she 7" said Mr. Bumble, 
 whom the gin-and-water had rendered 
 facetious. "It would be hard to tell. 
 There's no midwifery there, whichever 
 place she 's gone to ; so I suppose she 's 
 out of employment any way." 
 
 " What do you mean 1" demanded the 
 stranger, sternly. 
 
 " That she died last winter," rejoined 
 Mr. Bumble. 
 
 The man looked fixedly at him when 
 he had given this information, and al- 
 though he did not withdraw his eyes for 
 some time afterwards, his gaze gradually 
 became vacant and abstracted, and he 
 seemed lost in thought. For some time 
 he appeared doubtful whether he ought 
 to be relieved or disappointed by the in- 
 telligence, but at length he breathed more 
 freely, and withdrawing his eyes, observ- 
 13 T 
 
 ed that it was no great matter, and roufc 
 as if to depart. 
 
 Mr. Bumble was cunning enough, and 
 he at once saw that an opportunity was 
 opened for the lucrative disposal of some 
 secret in the possession of his better half. 
 He well remembered the night of old 
 Sally's death, which the occurrences of 
 that day had given him good reason to 
 recollect as the occasion on which he had 
 proposed to Mrs. Comey ; and although 
 that lady had never confided to him the 
 disclosure of which she had been the soli- 
 tary witness, he had heard enough to 
 know that it related to something that 
 had occurred in the old woman's atten- 
 dance, as workhouse nurse, upon the 
 young mother of Oliver Twist. Hastily 
 calling this circumstance to mind, he in- 
 formed the stranger with an air of mys- 
 tery, that one woman had been closeted 
 with the old harridan shortly before she 
 died, and that she could, as he had reason 
 to believe, throw some light on the sub- 
 ject of his inquiry. 
 
 •'How can I find her I" said the 
 stranger, thrown off his guard, and plain- 
 ly showing that all his fears (whatever 
 they were) were aroused afresh by the 
 intelligence. 
 
 " Only through me," rejoined Mr. Bum- 
 ble. 
 
 "When?" cried the etrangei, hastily. 
 
 " To-morrow," rejoined Bumble. 
 
 " At nine in the evening," said the 
 stranger, producing a scrap of paper, and 
 writing down an obscure address, by the 
 water-side, upon it, in characters that be- 
 trayed his agitation, " at nine in the even- 
 ing, bring her to me there. I need n't 
 tell you to be secret, for it 's your inter- 
 est." 
 
 With these words he led the way to 
 the door, after stopping to pay for the 
 liquor that had been drunk ; and shortly 
 remarking that their roads were different, 
 departed without more ceremony than an 
 emphatic repetition of the hour of ap- 
 pointment for the following night. 
 
 On glancing at the address, the paro- 
 chial functionary observed that it contain- 
 ed no name. The stranger had not gone 
 far, so he made after him to ask it. 
 
 "Who's thati" cried the man, turning 
 quickly round as Bumble touched him on 
 the arm. " Following me !" 
 
 "Only to ask a question," said the 
 other, pointing to the scrap of paper. 
 " What name am I to ask for ?" 
 
 " Monks !" rejoined the man, and strode 
 hastily away. 
 
146 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 BOOK THE THIRD. 
 
 CHAPTER THE FIRST, 
 
 Cmtaining an account of what passed between 
 Mr. and Mrs. Bumble and Monks at their noc- 
 turnal interview. 
 
 It was a dull, close, overcast summer 
 evening, when the clouds, which had been 
 threatening all day, spread out in a dense 
 and sluggish mass of vapour, already 
 yielded large drops of rain, and seemed 
 to presage a violent thunder-storm, as Mr. 
 and Mrs. Bumble, turning out of the main 
 street of the town, directed their course 
 towards a scattered little colony of ruin- 
 ous houses, distant from it some mile and 
 and a half, or thereabouts, and erected on 
 a low unwholesome swamp, bordering 
 upon the river. 
 
 They were both wrapped in old and 
 shabby outer garments, which might per- 
 haps serve the double purpose of protect- 
 ing their persons from the rain, and shel- 
 tering them from observation ; the hus- 
 band carried a lantern, from which, how- 
 ever, no light yet shone, and trudged on 
 a few paces in front, as though — the way 
 being dirty — to give his wife the benefit 
 of treading in his heavy foot-prints. They 
 went on in profound silence ; every now 
 and then Mr. Bumble relaxed his pace, 
 and turned his head round, as if to make 
 sure that his helpmate was following, and, 
 discovering that she was close at his heels, 
 mended his rate of walking, and proceed- 
 ed at a considerable increase of speed to- 
 wards their place of destination. 
 
 This was far from being a place of 
 doubtful character, for it had long been 
 known as the residence of none but low 
 and desperate ruffians, who, under vari- 
 ous pretences of living by their labour, 
 subsisted chiefly on plunder and crime. 
 It was a collection of mere hovels, some 
 hastily built with loose bricks, and others 
 of old worm-eaten ship timber, jumbled 
 together without any attempt at order or 
 arrangement, and planted, for the most 
 part, within a few feet of the river's bank. 
 A few leaky boats drawn up on the mud, 
 and made fast to the dwarf wall which 
 skirted it, and here and there an oar or 
 coil of rope, appeared at first to indicate 
 that the inhabitants of these miserable 
 cottages pursued some avocation on the 
 river ; but a glance at the shattered and 
 'jsele.oi' condition of the articles thus dis- 
 
 played would have led a passer-by with- 
 out much difficulty to the conjecture that 
 they were disposed there, rather for the 
 preservation of appearances than with 
 any view to their being actually em- 
 ployed. 
 
 In the heart of this cluster of huts, and 
 skirting the river, which its upper stories 
 overhung, stood a large building formerly 
 used as a manufactory of some kind, and 
 which had in its day probably furnished 
 employment to the inhabitants of the sur- 
 rounding tenements. But it had long 
 since gone to ruin. The rat, the worm, 
 and the action of the damp, had weakened 
 and rotted the piles on which it stood, and 
 a considerable portion of the building had 
 already sunk down into the water be- 
 neath, while the remainder, tottering and 
 bending over the dark stream, seemed but 
 to wait a favourable opportunity of fol- 
 lowing its old companion, and involving 
 itself in the same fate. 
 
 It was before this ruinous building that 
 the worthy couple paused as the first peal 
 of distant thunder reverberated in the air, 
 and the rain commenced pouring violently 
 down. 
 
 " The place should be somewhere here," 
 said Bumble, consulting a scrap of paper 
 he held in his hand. 
 
 " Halloa there !" cried a voice from 
 above. 
 
 Following the sound. Bumble raised his 
 head, and descried a man looking out of 
 a door, breast-high, on the second story, 
 
 " Stand still a minute," cried the voice ; 
 " I'Jl be with you directly." With which 
 the head disappeared, and the door closed. 
 
 " Is that the man !" asked Mr. Bumble's 
 good lady, 
 
 Mr. Bumble nodded in the affirmative, 
 
 " Then, mind what I told you," said 
 the matron, " and be careful to say as lit- 
 tle as you can, or you'll betray us at 
 once." 
 
 Mr. Bumble, who had eyed the build- 
 ing with very rueful looks, was apparently 
 about to express some doubts relative to 
 the advisability of proceeding any farther 
 with the enterprise just then, when he 
 was prevented by the appearance of 
 Monks, who opened a small door, near 
 which they stood, and beckoned them in- 
 wards. 
 
 " Come !" he cried impatiently, stamp 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 147 
 
 ing his foot upon the ground. "Don't 
 keep me here !" 
 
 The woman, who had hesitated at first, 
 walked boldly in without any further in- 
 vitation, and Mr. Bumble, who was 
 ashamed, or afraid to hang behind, fol- 
 lowed, obviously very ill at his ease, and 
 with scarcely any of that remarkable dig- 
 nity which was usually his chief charac- 
 teristic. 
 
 " What the devil made you stand lin- 
 gering there in the wet]" said Monks, 
 turning round, and addressing Bumble, 
 after he had bolted the door behind them. 
 
 " We — we were only cooling our- 
 selves," stammered Bumble, looking ap- 
 prehensively about him. 
 
 " Cooling yourselves !" retorted Monks. 
 " Not all the rain that ever fell, or ever 
 will fall, will put as much of hell's fire 
 out as a man can carry about with him. 
 You won't cool yourself so easily, don't 
 think it !" 
 
 With this agreeable speech Monks 
 turned short upon the matron, and bent 
 his fierce gaze upon her, till even she, 
 who was not easily cowed, was fain to 
 withdraw her eyes, and turn them towards 
 the ground. 
 
 "This is the woman, is it?" demanded 
 Monks. 
 
 " Hem ! That is the woman," replied 
 Mr. Bumble, mindful of his wife's cau- 
 tion. 
 
 " You think women never can keep se- 
 crets, I suppose ?" said the matron, inter- 
 posing, and returning as she spoke the 
 searching look of Monks. 
 
 " I know they will always keep one till 
 it's found out," said Monks contemptu- 
 ously. 
 
 " And what may that be 1" asked the 
 matron in the same tone. 
 
 " The loss of their own good name," 
 replied Monks: "so, by the same rule, if 
 a woman's a party to a secret that might 
 hang or transport her, I 'm not afraid of 
 her telling it to anybody, not I. Do you 
 understand me?" 
 
 "No," rejoined the matron, slightly 
 colouring as she spoke. 
 
 "Of course you don't!" said Monks 
 ironically. " How should you V* 
 
 Bestowing something half-way between 
 a eneer and a scowl upon his two compa- 
 nions, and again beckoning them to follow 
 him, the man hastened across the apart- 
 ment, which was of considerable extent, 
 but low in the roof, and was preparing to 
 ascend a steep staircase, or rather ladder, 
 leading to another floor of warehouses 
 above, when a bright flash of lightning 
 
 streamed down the aperture, and a peal 
 of thunder followed, which shook the 
 crazy building to its centre. 
 
 " Hear it !" he cried, shrinking back. 
 " Hear it rolling and crashing away as if 
 it echoed through a thousand caverns, 
 where the devils are hiding from it. Fire 
 the sound ! I hate it" 
 
 He remained silent for a few moments, 
 and then removing his hands suddenly 
 from his face, showed, to the unspeakable 
 discomposure of Mr. Bumble, that it was 
 much distorted, and nearly black. 
 
 "These fits come over me now and 
 then," said Monks, observing his alarm, 
 " and thunder sometimes brings them on. 
 Don't mind me now; it's all over this 
 once." 
 
 Thus speaking, he led the way up the 
 ladder, and hastily closing the window- 
 shutter of the room into which it led, low- 
 ered a lantern which" hung at the end of 
 a rope and pulley passed through one of 
 the heavy beams in the ceiling, and 
 which cast a dim light upon an old table 
 and three chairs that were placed be- 
 neath it. 
 
 " Now," said Monks, when they had all 
 three seated themselves, " the sooner we 
 come to our business, the better for all. 
 The woman knows what it is, does she ]" 
 
 The question was addressed to Bumble ; 
 but his wife anticipated the reply, by in- 
 timating that she was perfectly acquaint- 
 ed with it. 
 
 " He is right in saying that you were 
 with this hag the night she died, and that 
 she told- you something — " 
 
 "About the mother of the boy you 
 named," replied the matron interrupting 
 him. « Yes." 
 
 " The first question is, of what nature 
 was her communication ?" said Monks. 
 
 " That 's the second," observed the wo- 
 man with much deliberation. " The first 
 is, what may the communication be 
 worth 1" 
 
 " Who the devil can tell that, without 
 knowing of what kind it is 1" asked 
 Monks. 
 
 "Nobody better than you, I am per- 
 suaded," answered Mrs. Bumble, who did 
 not want for spirit, as her yokefellow 
 could abundantly testify. 
 
 "Humph!" said Monks significantly, 
 and with a look of eager inquiry, " there 
 may be money's worth to get, eh ?" 
 
 "Perhaps there may," was the com- 
 posed reply. 
 
 " Something that was taken from her," 
 said Monks eagerly ; " something that she 
 wore — something that — " 
 
H9 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " You had better bid," interrupted Mrs. 
 Bumble. " I have heard enough already 
 to assure me that you are the man I ought 
 to talk to." - 
 
 Mr. Bumble, who had not yet been ad- 
 mitted by his better half into any greater 
 share of the secret than he had originally 
 possessed, listened to this dialogue with 
 outstretched neck and distended eyes, 
 which he directed towards his wife and 
 Monks by turns in undisguised astonish- 
 ment; increased, if possible, when the 
 latter sternly demanded what sum was 
 required for the disclosure. 
 
 " What's it worth to you?" asked the 
 woman, as collectedly as before. 
 
 " It may be nothing; it may be twenty 
 pounds," replied Monks ; " speak out, and 
 let me know which." 
 
 " Add five pounds to the sum you have 
 named ; give me five-and-twenty pounds 
 in gold," said the woman, " and I 'II tell 
 you all I know — not before." 
 
 " Five-and-twenty pounds !" exclaimed 
 Monks, drawing back. 
 
 " I spoke as plainly as I could," replied 
 Mrs. Bumble, " and it 's not a large sum 
 either." 
 
 " Not a large sum for a paltry secret, 
 that may be nothing when it 's told !" 
 cried Monks impatiently, " and which has 
 been lying dead for twelve years past, or 
 more !" 
 
 " Such matters keep well, and, like 
 good wine, often double their value in 
 course of time," answered the matron, 
 still preserving the resolute indifference 
 she had assumed. " As to lying dead, 
 there are those who will lie dead for twelve 
 thousand years to come, or twelve mil- 
 lion, for anything you or I know, who will 
 tell strange tales at last." 
 
 " What if I pay it for nothing 1" asked 
 Monks, hesitating. 
 
 " You can easily take it away again," 
 replied the matron. " I am but a woman, 
 alone here, and unprotected." 
 
 " Not alone, my dear, nor unprotected 
 neither," submitted Mr. Bumble, in a 
 voice tremulous with fear ; " / am here, 
 my dear. And besides," said Mr. Bum- 
 ble, his teeth chattering as he spoke, 
 "Mr. Monks is too much of a gentleman 
 to attempt any violence on porochial per- 
 sons. Mr. Monks is aware that I am not 
 a young .man, my dear, and also that I 
 am a little run to seed, as I may say ; but 
 lie has heerd — I say I have no doubt Mr. 
 Monks has heerd, my dear — that I am a 
 very determined officer, with very uncom- 
 mon strength, if I 'm once roused. I only 
 want a little rousing, that's all." 
 
 As Mr. Bumble spoke, he made a me- 
 lancholy feint of grasping his lantern with 
 fierce determination, and plainly showed, 
 by the alarmed expression of every fea- 
 ture, that he did want a little rousing, 
 and not a little, prior to making any war- 
 like demonstration, unless, indeed, against 
 paupers, or other person or persons trained 
 down for the purpose. 
 
 " You are a fool," said Mrs. Bumble in 
 reply, " and had better hold your tongue." 
 
 " He had better have cut it out before 
 he came, if he can't speak in a lower 
 tone," said Monks grimly. " So he 's 
 your husband, ehV 
 
 " He my husband !" tittered the ma- 
 tron, parrying the question. 
 
 " I thought as much when you came 
 in," rejoined Monks, marking the angry 
 glance which the lady darted at her spouse 
 as she spoke. " So much the better ; I 
 have less hesitation in dealing with two 
 people, when I find that there's only one 
 will between them. I 'm in earnest — see 
 here." 
 
 He thrust his hand into a side-pocket, 
 and producing a canvas bag, told out 
 twenty-five sovereigns on the table, and 
 pushed them over to the woman. 
 
 " Now," he said, " gather them up ; and 
 when this cursed peal of thunder, that I 
 feel is coming up to break over the house- 
 top, is gone, let 's hear your story." 
 
 The roar of thunder, which seemed in 
 fact much nearer, and to shiver and break 
 almost over their heads, having subsided, 
 Monks, raising his face from the table, 
 bent forward to listen to what the woman 
 should say. The faces of the three nearly 
 touched as the two men leant over the 
 small table in their eagerness to hear, and 
 the woman also leant forward to render 
 her whisper audible. The sickly rays of 
 the suspended lantern falling directly 
 upon them, aggravated the paleness and 
 anxiety of their countenances, which, en- 
 circled by the deepest gloom and dark- 
 ness, looked ghastly in the extreme. 
 
 " When this woman, that we call old 
 Sally, died," the matron began, " she and 
 I were alone." 
 
 " Was there no one by 1" asked Monks 
 in the same hollow whisper, "no sick 
 wretch or idiot in some other bed ? — no 
 one who could hear, and might by possi- 
 bility understand 1" 
 
 " Not a soul," replied the woman ; " we 
 were alone : / stood alone beside the body 
 when death came over it." 
 
 " Good," said Monks, regarding her at- 
 tentively : " go on." 
 
 " She spoke of a young creature," re- 
 

 y/. /<'^. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 149 
 
 eumed the matron, " who had brought a 
 child into the world some years before: 
 not merely in the same room, but in the 
 same bed in which she then lay dying." 
 
 " Ay 1" said Monks with quivering lip, 
 and glancing over his shoulder. " Blood ! 
 How things come about at last !" 
 
 " The child was the one you named to 
 him last night," said the matron, nodding 
 carelessly towards her husband ; " the 
 mother this nurse had robbed." 
 
 "In life?" asked Monks. 
 
 " In death," replied the woman with 
 something like a shudder. " Slie stole 
 from the corpse, when it had hardly turned 
 to one, that which the dead mother had 
 prayed her with her last breath to keep 
 for the infant's sake." 
 
 " She sold it 1" cried Monks with des- 
 perate eagerness; "did she sell if! — 
 where? — wheni — to whom] — how long 
 before 1" 
 
 " As she told me with great difficulty 
 that she had done this," said the matron, 
 " she fell back and died." 
 
 " Without saying more ?" cried Monks 
 in a voice which, from its very suppres- 
 sion, seemed only the more furious. " It's 
 a lie ! I'll not be played with. She said 
 more — I '11 tear the life out of you both, 
 but I '11 know what it was." 
 
 " She didn't utter another word," said 
 the woman, to all appearance unmoved 
 (as Mr. Bumble was very far from being) 
 by the strange man's violence ; " but she 
 clutched my gown violently with one 
 hand, which was partly closed, and when 
 I saw that she was dead, and so removed 
 the hand by force, I found it clasped a 
 Bcrap of dirty paper." 
 
 " Which contained " interposed 
 
 Monks, stretching forward. 
 
 "Nothing," replied the woman; "it 
 was a pawnbroker's duplicate." 
 
 " For what," demanded Monks. 
 
 " In good time I '11 tell you," said the 
 woman. " I judge that she had kept the 
 trinket for some time, in the hope of turn- 
 ing it to better account, and then pawned 
 it, and saved or scraped together money 
 to pay the pawnbroker's interest year by 
 year, and prevent its running out, so that 
 if anything came of it, it could still be re- 
 deemed. Nothing had come of it ; and, 
 as I tell you, she died with the scrap of 
 paper, all worn and tattered, in her hand. 
 The time was out in two days ; I thought 
 something might one day come of it too, 
 and so redeemed the pledge." 
 
 " Where is it now 1" asked Monks 
 quickly. 
 
 " There" replied the woman. And, 
 13* 
 
 as if glad to be relieved of it, she hastily 
 threw upon the table a small kid bag 
 scarcely large enough for a French watch, 
 which Monks pouncing upon, tore open 
 with trembling hands. It contained a lit>- 
 tie gold locket, in which were two locks 
 of hair, and a plain gold wedding-ring. 
 
 " It has the word ' Agnes ' engraved on 
 the inside," said the woman. " There is 
 a blank left for tiie surname, and then fol- 
 lows the date, which is within a year be- 
 fore the child was born ; I found out that." 
 
 " And this is all 1" said Monks, after a 
 close and eager scrutiny of the contents 
 of the little packet. 
 
 " All," replied the woman. 
 
 Mr. Bumble drew a long breath, as if 
 he were glad to find that the story was 
 over, and no mention made of taking the 
 five-and-twenty pounds back again; and 
 now took courage to wipe off the perspi- 
 ration, which had been trickling over his 
 nose unchecked during the whole of the 
 previous conversation. 
 
 " I know nothing of the story beyond 
 what I can guess at," said his wife, ad- 
 dressing Monks after a short silence, 
 "and I want to know nothing, for it's 
 safer not. But I may ask you two ques- 
 tions, may 1 1" 
 
 " You may ask," said Monks, with some 
 show of surprise, " but whether I answer 
 or not is another question." 
 
 " — Which makes three," observed Mr. 
 Bumble, essaying a stroke of facetious- 
 ness. 
 
 " Is that what you expected to get from 
 me 1" demanded the matron. 
 
 "It is," replied Monks. "The other 
 question 1 — " 
 
 " What you propose to do with it. Can 
 it be used against me 1" 
 
 " Never," rejoined Monks ; " nor against 
 me either. See here ; but don't move a 
 step forward, or your life 's not worth a 
 bulrush !" 
 
 With these words he suddenly wheeled 
 the table aside, and pulling an iron ring 
 in the boarding, threw back a large trap- 
 door which opened close at Mr. Bumble's 
 feet, and caused that gentleman to retire 
 several paces backward with great pre- 
 cipitation. 
 
 "Look down," said Monks, lowering 
 the lantern into the gulf. "Don't fear 
 me. I could have let you down quietly 
 enough when you were seated over it, if 
 that had been my game." 
 
 Thus encouraged, the matron drew 
 near to the brink, and even Mr. Bumble 
 himself, impelled by curiosity, ventured 
 to do the same. The turbid water, swol- 
 
15a 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 len by the heavy rain, was rushing rapidly 
 on below, and all other sounds were lost 
 in the noise of its plashing and eddying 
 against the green and slimy piles. There 
 had once been a water-mill beneath, and 
 the tide foaming and chafing round the 
 few rotten stakes, and fragments of ma- 
 chinery, that yet remained, seemed to 
 dart onward with a new impulse when 
 freed from the obstacles which had una- 
 vailingly attempted to stem its headlong 
 course. 
 
 " If you flung a man's body down there, 
 where would it be to-morrow morning'!" 
 said Monks, swinging the lantern to and 
 fro in the dark well. 
 
 " Twelve miles down the river, and cut 
 to pieces besides," replied Bumble, recoil- 
 ing at the very notion. 
 
 Monks drew the little packet from his 
 breast, into which he had hurriedly thrust 
 it, and tying it firmly to a leaden weight 
 •which had formed a part of some pulley, 
 and was lying on the floor, dropped it into 
 the stream. It fell straight, and true as 
 a die, clove the water with a scarcely au- 
 dible splash, and was gone. 
 
 The three looked into each other's faces, 
 and seemed to breathe more freely. 
 
 " There !" said Monks, closing the trap- 
 door, which fell heavily back into its for- 
 mer position. " If the sea ever gives up 
 its dead — as books say it will — it will 
 keep its gold and silver to itself, and that 
 trash among it. We have nothing more 
 to say, and may break up our pleasant 
 party." 
 
 " By all means," observed Mr. Bumble 
 with great alacrity. 
 
 "You'll keep a quiet tongue in your 
 head, will you?" said Monks, with a 
 threatening look. "I am not afraid of 
 your wife." 
 
 " You may depend on me, young man," 
 answered Mr. Bumble, bowing himself 
 gradually towards the ladder with exces- 
 sive politeness. " On everybody's ac- 
 count, young man; on my own, you 
 know, Mr. Monks." 
 
 " I am glad fpr your sake to hear it," 
 remarked Monks. " Light your lantern, 
 and get away from here as fast as you can." 
 
 It was fortunate that the conversation 
 terminated at this point, or Mr. Bumble, 
 who had bowed himself to within six 
 inches of the ladder, would infallibly have 
 pitched headlong into the room below. 
 He lighted his lantern from that which 
 Monks had detached from the rope, and 
 now carried in his hand, and, making no 
 effort to prolong the discourse, descended 
 in silence, followed by his wife. Monks 
 
 brought up the rear, after pausing on the 
 steps to satisfy himself that there were 
 no other sounds to be heard than the beat- 
 ing of the rain without, and the rushing 
 of the water. 
 
 They traversed the lower room slowly, 
 and with caution, for Monks started at 
 every shadow, and Mr. Bumble, holding 
 his lantern a foot above the ground, walked 
 not only with remarkable care, but with 
 a marvellously light step for a gentleman 
 of his figure: looking nervously about 
 him for hidden trap-doors. The gate at 
 which they had entered was softly unfast- 
 ened and opened by Monks, and merely 
 exchanging a nod with their mysterious 
 acquaintance, the married couple emerged 
 into the wet and darkness outside. 
 
 They were no sooner gone, than Monks, 
 who appeared to entertain an invincible 
 repugnance to being left alone, called to 
 a boy who had been hidden somewhere 
 below, and bidding him go first, and bear 
 the light, returned to the chamber he had 
 just quitted. 
 
 CHAPTER THE SECOND, 
 
 Introduces some respectable characters with whom 
 the reader is already acquainted, and shows how 
 Monks and the Jew laid their worthy heads to- 
 gether. 
 
 It was about two hours earlier on the 
 evening following that upon which the 
 three worthies mentioned in the last chap- 
 ter disposed of their little matter of busi- 
 ness as therein narrated, when Mr. Wil- 
 liam Sikes, awakening from a nap, drow- 
 sily growled forth an inquiry what time 
 of night it was. 
 
 The room in which Mr. Sikes propound- 
 ed this question was not one of those he 
 had tenanted previous to the Chertsey ex- 
 pedition, although it was in the same quar- 
 ter of the town, and was situated at no 
 great distance from his former lodgings. 
 It was not in appearance so desirable a 
 habitation as his old quarters, being a 
 mean and badly-furnished apartment of 
 very limited size, lighted only by one 
 small window in the shelving roof, and 
 abutting upon a close and dirty lane. Nor 
 were there wanting other indications of 
 the good gentleman's having gone down 
 in the world of late ; for a great scarcity 
 of furniture, and total absence of comfort, 
 together with the disappearance of all 
 such moveables as spare clothe-s and linen, 
 bespoke a state of extreme poverty, while 
 the meagre and attenuated condition ot 
 

 '' //'AjA/////. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 151 
 
 Mr. Sikes himself would have fully con- 
 firmed these symptoms if they had stood 
 in need of corroboration. 
 
 The housebreaker was lying on the bed 
 wrapped in his white great-coat, by way 
 of dressing-gown, and displaying a set of 
 features in no degree improved by the ca- 
 daverous hue of illness, and the addition 
 of a soiled nightcap, and a stiff, black 
 beard of a week's growth. The dog sat 
 at the bedside, now eyeing his master with 
 8 wistful look, and now pricking his ears, 
 and uttering a low growl as some noise 
 in the street, or in the lower part of the 
 house, attracted his attention. Seated by 
 the window, busily engaged in patching 
 an old waistcoat which formed a portion 
 of the robber's ordinary dress, was a fe- 
 male, so pale and reduced with watching 
 and privation that there would have been 
 considerable difficulty in recognizing her 
 as the same Nancy who has already 
 figured in this tale, but for the voice in 
 which she replied to Mr. Sikes's question. 
 
 " Not long gone seven," said the girl. 
 "How do you feel to-night. Bill 1" 
 
 " As weak as water," replied Mr. Sikes, 
 with an imprecation on his eyes and limbs. 
 " Here ; lend us a hand, and let me get 
 off this thundering bed, anyhow." 
 
 Illness had not improved Mr. Sikes's 
 temper, for, as the girl raised him up, and 
 led him to a chair, he muttered various 
 curses upon her awkwardness, and struck 
 her. 
 
 "Whining, are youl" said Sikes. 
 " Come ; don't stand snivelling there. If 
 you can't do anything better than that, 
 cut off altogether. D' ye hear me 1" 
 
 " I hear you," replied the girl, turning 
 her face asi^e, and forcing a laugh. 
 " What fancy have you got in your head 
 nowl" 
 
 " Oh ! you 've thought better of it, have 
 youl" growled Sikes, marking the tear 
 which trembled in her eye, "All the 
 better for you, you have." 
 
 " Why, you don't mean to say you 'd be 
 hard upon me to-night, BilH" said the 
 girl, laying her hand upon his shoulder. 
 
 "No!" cried Mr. Sikes. "Why not?" 
 
 " Such a number of nights," said the 
 girl, with a touch of woman's tenderness, 
 which communicated something like 
 sweetness of tone even to her voice, — 
 " such a number of nights as I 've been 
 patient with you, nursing and caring for 
 you as if you had been a child, and this 
 the first that I 've seen you like yourself; 
 you wouldn't have served me as you did 
 just now, if you'd thought of that, would 
 you 1 Come, come ; say you wouldn't." 
 
 " Well, then," rejoined Mr. Sikes, " 1 
 wouldn't. Why, damme, now, the girl's 
 whining again !" 
 
 " It 's nothing," said the girl, throwing 
 herself into a chair. " Don't you seem to 
 mind me, and it '11 soon be over." 
 
 "What '11 be over]" demanded Mr. 
 Sikes in a savage voice. " What foolery 
 are you up to now again? Get up, and 
 bustle about, and don't come over me with 
 your woman's nonsense." 
 
 At any other time this remonstrance, 
 and the tone in which it was delivered, 
 would have had the desired effect; but 
 the girl being really weak and exhausted, 
 dropped her head over the back of the 
 chair, and fainted, before Mr. Sikes could 
 get out a few of the appropriate oaths with 
 which on similar occasions he was accus- 
 tomed to garnish his threats. Not know- 
 ing very well what to do in this uncom- 
 mon emergency, for Miss Nancy's hyste- 
 rics were usually of that violent kind 
 which the patient fights and struggles out 
 of without much assistance, Mr. Sikes 
 tried a little blasphemy, and, finding that 
 mode of treatment wholly ineffectual, 
 called for assistance. 
 
 " What 's the matter here, my dear ?" 
 said the Jew, looking in. 
 
 " Lend a hand to the girl, can't you V 
 replied Sikes impatiently, "and don't 
 stand chattering and grinning at me !" 
 
 With an exclamation of surprise, Fagin 
 hastened to the girl's assistance, while 
 Mr. John Dawkins, (otherwise the Artful 
 Dodger,) who had followed his venerable 
 friend into the room, hastily deposited on 
 the floor a bundle with which he was 
 laden, and, snatching a bottle from the 
 grasp of Master Charles Bates who came 
 close at his heels, uncorked it in a twink- 
 ling with his teeth, and poured a portion 
 of its contents down the patient's throat ; 
 previously taking a taste himself to pre- 
 vent mistakes. 
 
 "Give her a whiff of fresh air with the 
 bellows, Charley," said Mr. Dawkins; 
 "and you slap her hands, Fagin, while 
 Bill undoes the petticuts." 
 
 These united restoratives, administered 
 with great energy, especially that depart- 
 ment consigned to Master Bates, who ap 
 peared to consider his share in the pro- 
 ceeding a piece of unexampled pleasantry, 
 were not long in producing the desired 
 effect. The girl gradually recovered her 
 senses, and, staggering to a chair by the 
 bedside, hid her face upon the pillow, 
 leaving Mr. Sikes to confront the new- 
 comers, in some astonishment at their un 
 looked-for appearance. 
 
152 
 
 OLIVER TWIST, 
 
 " Why, what evil wind has blowed you 
 here '!" he asked of Fagin. 
 
 " No evil wind at all, my dear," replied 
 the Jew ; " for ill winds blow nobody any 
 good, and I've brought something good 
 with me that you '11 be glad to see. Dod- 
 ger, my dear, open the bundle, and give 
 Bill the little trifles that we spent all our 
 money on this morning." 
 
 In compliance with Mr. Fagin's request, 
 the Artful untied his bundle, which was 
 of large size, and formed of an old table- 
 cloth, and handed the articles it contained, 
 one by one, to Charley Bates, who placed 
 them on the table, with various encomi- 
 ums on their rarity and excellence. 
 
 " Sitch a rabbit pie. Bill !" exclaimed 
 that young gentleman, disclosing to view 
 a huge pasty; "sitch delicate creeturs, 
 sitch tender limbs. Bill, that the wery 
 bones melt in your mouth, and there 's no 
 occasion to pick 'em ; half a pound of 
 seven and sixpenny green, so precious 
 strong that if you mix it with boiling wa- 
 ter, it'll go nigh to blow the lid of the 
 teapot off; a pound and a half of moist 
 sugar that the niggers didn't work at all 
 at afore they got it to sitch a pitch of 
 goodness, — oh no! two half-quartern 
 brans ; pound of best fresh ; piece of dou- 
 ble Glo'ster, and, to wind up all, some of 
 the rightest sort you ever lushed." Ut- 
 tering this last panegyric. Master Bates 
 produced from one of his extensive pock- 
 ets a full-sized wine-bottle, carefully 
 corked, while Mr. Dawkins at the same 
 instant poured out a wine-glassful of raw 
 spirits from the bottle he carried, which 
 the invalid tossed down his throat without 
 a moment's hesitation. 
 
 " Ah !" said the Jew, rubbing his hands 
 with great satisfaction, " You '11 do, Bill ; 
 you '11 do now." 
 
 " Do !" exclaimed Mr, Sikes; " I might 
 have been done for twenty times over, 
 afore you 'd have done anything to help 
 me. What do you mean by leaving a 
 man in this state three weeks and more, 
 you false-hearted wagabond 1" 
 
 " Only hear him, boys ! " said the Jew, 
 shrugging his shoulders ; " and us come 
 to bring him all these beautiful things." 
 
 "The things is well enough in their 
 way," observed Mr. Sikes, a little soothed 
 as he glanced over the table ; " but what 
 hav£ you got to say for yourself why you 
 should leave me here, down in the mouth, 
 health, blunt, and everything else, and 
 take no more notice of me all this mortal 
 time than if I was that ere dog. — Drive 
 mm down, Charley." 
 
 " I never see such a jolly dog as that," 
 cried Master Bates, doing as he was de- 
 sired. " Smellin the grub like a old lady 
 a-going to market ! He 'd make his for- 
 tun' on the stage that dog would, and re- 
 wive the drayma besides," 
 
 "Hold your din," cried Sikes, as the 
 dog retreated under the bed, still growl- 
 ing angrily, "And what have you got 
 to say for yourself, you withered old fen^e, 
 eh?" 
 
 " I was away from London a week and 
 more, my dear, on a plant," replied the 
 Jew. , V 
 
 " And what about the other fortnight l" 
 demanded Sikes. " What about the other 
 fortnight that you 've left me lying here, 
 like a sick rat in his hole ?" 
 
 " I couldn't help it. Bill," replied the 
 Jew. " I can't go into a long explanation 
 before company; but I couldn't help it, 
 upon my honour." 
 
 " Upon your what ?" growled Sikes 
 with excessive disgust. " Here, cut me 
 off a piece of the pie, one of you boys, to 
 take the taste of that out of my mouth, or 
 it '11 choke me dead." 
 
 "Don't be out of temper, my dear," 
 urged the Jew submissively. "I have 
 never forgot you. Bill ; never once." 
 
 " No, I '11 pound it, that you han't," re- 
 plied Sikes with a bitter grin. " You 've 
 been scheming and plotting away every 
 hour that I 've laid shivering and burning 
 here; and Bill was to do this, and Bill 
 was to do that, and Bill was to do it all 
 dirt cheap, as soon as he got vv'ell, and 
 was quite poor enough for your work. If 
 it hadn't been for the girl, I might bave 
 died." 
 
 "There now, Bill," remonstrated the 
 Jew, eagerly catching at the word. " If 
 it hadn't been for the girl ! Who was 
 the means of your having such a handy 
 girl about you but me ?" 
 
 " He says true enough there, God 
 knows !" said Nancy, coming hastily for- 
 ward. " Let him be, let him be." 
 
 Nancy's appearance gave a new turn 
 to the conversation, for the boys, receiving 
 a sly wink from the wary old Jew, began 
 to ply her with liquor, of which, however, 
 she partook very sparingly ; while Fagin, 
 assuming an unusual flow of spirits, gradu- 
 ally brought Mr. Sikes into a better tem- 
 per, by affecting to regard his threats as 
 a little pleasant banter, and, moreover, 
 laughing very heartily at one or two 
 rough jokes, which, after repeated appli- 
 cations to the spirit-bottle, he condescend- 
 ed to make. 
 
X 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 153 
 
 "It's all very well," said Mr. Sikes; 
 •» but I must have some blunt from you to- 
 night" 
 
 " I haven't a piece of coin about me," 
 replied the Jew. 
 
 " Then you 've got lots at home," re- 
 torted Sikes, " and I must have some from 
 there." 
 
 " Lots !" cried the Jew, holding up his 
 bands. " I haven't so much as would — " 
 
 " I don't know how much you 've got, 
 and I dare say you hardly know yourself, 
 as it would take a pretty long time to 
 count it," said Sikes ; " but I must have 
 some to-night, and that's flat." 
 
 "Well, well," said the Jew with a 
 sigh, "I'll send the Artful round pres- 
 ently." 
 
 " You won't do nothing of the kind," 
 rejoined Mr. Sikes. "The Artful 's a 
 deal too artful, and would forget to come, 
 or lose his way, or get dodged by traps 
 and so be perwented, or anything for an 
 excuse, if you put him up to it. Nancy 
 shall go to the ken and fetch it, to make 
 all sure, and I'll lie down and have a 
 snooze while she 's gone." 
 
 After a great deal of haggling and 
 squabbling, the Jew beat down the amount 
 of the required advance from five pounds 
 to three pounds four and sixpence, pro- 
 testing with many solemn asseverations 
 that that would only leave him eighteen- 
 pence to keep house with ; Mr. Sikes, sul- 
 lenly remarking that if he couldn't get 
 any more he must be content with that, 
 Nancy prepared to accompany him home, 
 while the Dodger and Master Bates put 
 the eatables in the cupboard. The Jew 
 then, taking leave of his affectionate 
 friend, returned homewards, attended by 
 Nancy and the boys, Mr. Sikes meanwhile 
 flinging himself on the bed, and composing 
 himself to sleep away the time until the 
 young lady's return. 
 
 In due time they arrived at the Jew's 
 abode, where they found Toby Crackit 
 and Mr. Chitling, intent upon their fif- 
 teenth game at cribbage, which it is 
 scarcely necessary to say the latter gen- 
 tleman lost, and with it his fifteenth and 
 last sixpence, much to the amusement of 
 his young friends. Mr. Crackit, appa- 
 rently somewhat ashamed at being found 
 relaxing himself with a gentleman so 
 much his inferior in station and mental 
 endowments, yawned heavily, and, in- 
 quiring after Sikes, took up his hat to go. 
 " Has nobody been, Toby ]" asked the 
 Jew. 
 
 "Not a living leg," answered Mr. 
 Crackit, pulling up his collar : " it 's been 
 
 as dull as swipes. You ought to stand 
 something handsome, Fagin, to recom- 
 pense me for keeping house so long. 
 Damme, I 'm as flat as a juryman, and 
 should have gone to sleep as fast as New- 
 gate, if I hadn't had the good natur' to 
 amuse this youngster. Horrid dull, I'm 
 blessed if I an't." 
 
 With these and other ejaculations of 
 the same kind, Mr. Toby Crackit swept 
 up his winnings, and crammed them into 
 his waistcoat pocket with a haughty air, 
 as though such small pieces of silver were 
 wholly beneath the consideration of a man 
 of his figure, and swaggered out of the 
 room with so much elegance and gentility, 
 that Mr. Cliitling, bestowing numerous 
 admiring glances on his legs and boots 
 till they were out of sight, assured the 
 company that he considered his acquaint- 
 ance cheap at fifteen sixpences an inter- 
 view, and that he didn't value his losses 
 the snap of a little finger. 
 
 " Wot a rum chap you are, Tom," said 
 Master Bates, highly amused by this de- 
 claration. 
 
 "Not a bit of it," replied Mr. Chitling: 
 " am I, Fagin 1" 
 
 " A very clever fellow, my dear," said 
 the Jew, patting him on the shoulder, and 
 winking to his other pupils. 
 
 "And Mr. Crackit is a heavy swell, 
 an't he, Fagin ]" asked Tom. 
 
 " No doubt at all of that, my dear," re- 
 plied the Jew. 
 
 " And it is a creditable thing to have 
 his acquaintance, an't it, Fagin?" pursued 
 Tom. 
 
 " Very much so indeed, my dear," re- 
 plied the Jew. "They're only jealous, 
 Tom, because he won't give it to them." 
 
 "Ah!" cried Tom triumphantly, "that's 
 where it is. He has cleaned me out ; but 
 I can go and earn some more when I like, 
 — can't I, Fagin 1" 
 
 " To be sure you can," replied the Jew ; 
 " and the sooner you go, the better, Tom ; 
 so make up your loss at once, and don't 
 lose any more time. Dodger, Charley, 
 it's time you were on the lay: — come, 
 it 's near ten, and nothing done yet." 
 
 In obedience to this hint, the boys nod- 
 ding to Nancy, took up their hats and left 
 the room; the Dodger and his vivacious 
 friend indulging as they went in many 
 witticisms at the expense of Mr. Chitling, 
 in whose conduct, it is but justice to say, 
 there was nothing very conspicuous or 
 peculiar, inasmuch as there are a great 
 number of spirited young bloods upon 
 town who pay a much higher price than 
 Mr. Chitling for being seen in good soci 
 
154 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 ety, and a great number of fine gentle- 
 men (composing the good society afore- 
 said) who establish their reputation upon 
 very much the same footing as flash Toby 
 Crackit. 
 
 " Now," said the Jew, when they had 
 left the room, " I '11 go and get you that 
 cash, Nancy. This is only the "key of a 
 little cupboard where I keep a few odd 
 things the boys get, my dear. I never 
 lock up my money, for I 've got none to 
 lock up, my dear — ha ! ha ! ha ! — none to 
 lock. It 's a poor trade, Nancy, and no 
 thanks ; but I 'm fond of seeing the young 
 people about me, and I bear it all ; I bear 
 it all. Hush !" he said, hastily conceal- 
 ing the key in his breast ; " who 's that 1 
 Listen !" 
 
 The girl, who was sitting at the table 
 with her arms folded, appeared in no way 
 interested in the arrival, or to care whe- 
 ther the person, whoever he was, came or 
 vi'ent, until the murmur of a man's voice 
 reached her ears. The instant she caught 
 the sound she tore off her bonnet and 
 shawl with the rapidity of lightning, and 
 thrust them under the table. The Jew 
 turning round immediately afterwards, 
 she muttered a complaint of the heat in a 
 tone of languor that contrasted very re- 
 markably with the extreme haste and vio- 
 lence of this action, which, however, had 
 been unobserved by Fagin, who had his 
 back towards her at the time. 
 
 " Bah !" whispered the Jew, as though 
 nettled by the interruption ; " it 's the 
 man I expected before ; he 's coming down 
 stairs. Not a word about the money while 
 he 's here, Nance. He won't stop long — 
 not ten minutes, my dear." 
 
 Laying his skinny fore-finger upon his 
 lip, the Jew carried a candle to the door 
 as a man's step was heard upon the stairs 
 without, and reached it at the same mo- 
 ment as the visiter, who coming hastily 
 into the room, was close upon the girl be- 
 Ibre he observed her. 
 
 It was Monks. 
 
 " Only one of my young people," said 
 the Jew, observing that Monks drew back 
 on beholding a stranger. " Don't move, 
 Nancy." 
 
 The girl drew closer to the table, and 
 glancing at Monks ft Hh an air of careless 
 levity, withdrew her eyes; but as he 
 turned his towards the Jew, she stole an- 
 other look, so keen and searching, and 
 full of purpose, that if there had been any 
 bystander to observe the change he could 
 hardly have believed the two looks to have 
 proceeded from the same person. 
 
 " Any news ?" inquired the Jew. 
 
 " Great." 
 
 "And — and — good?" asked the Jew 
 hesitatingly, as though he feared to vex 
 the other man by being too sanguine. 
 
 "Not bad any way," replied Monks 
 with a smile. "I have been prompt 
 enough this time. Let me have a word 
 with you." 
 
 The girl drew closer to the table, and 
 made no offer to leave the room, although 
 she could see that Monks was pointing to 
 her. The Jew — perhaps fearing that she 
 might say something aloud about the mo- 
 ney, if he endeavoured to get rid of her — 
 pointed upwards, and took Monks out of 
 the room. 
 
 " Not that infernal hole we were in be- 
 fore," she could hear the man say as they 
 went up-stairs. The Jew laughed, and 
 making some reply which did not reach 
 her, seemed by the creaking of the boards 
 to lead his companion to the second story. 
 
 Before the sound of their footsteps had 
 ceased to echo through the house, the girl 
 had slipped off her shoes, and drawing her 
 gown loosely over her head, and muffling 
 her arms in it, stood at the door listening 
 with breathless interest. The moment 
 the noise ceased she glided from the room, 
 ascended the stairs with incredible soft- 
 ness and silence, and was lost in the gloom 
 above. 
 
 The room remained deserted for a quar- 
 ter of an hour or more ; the girl glided 
 back with the same unearthly tread, and 
 immediately afterwards the two men were 
 heard descending. Monks went at once 
 into the street, and the Jew crawled up 
 stairs again for the money. When he re- 
 turned, the girl was adjusting her shawl 
 and bonnet, as if preparing to be gone. 
 
 " Why, Nance," exclaimed the Jew, 
 starting back as he put down the candle, 
 " how pale you are !" 
 
 " Pale !" echoed the girl, shading her 
 eyes with her hand as if to look steadily 
 at him. 
 
 " Quite horrible," said the Jew. " What 
 have you been doing to yourself!" 
 
 " Nothing that I know of, except sitting 
 in this close place for I don't know how 
 long and all," replied the girl carelessly. 
 " Come, let me get back ; that 's a dear." 
 
 With a sigh for every piece of money, 
 Fagin told the amount into her hand, and 
 they parted without more conversation 
 than interchanging a " good-night." 
 
 When the girl got into the open street 
 she sat down on a door-step, and seemed 
 for a few moments wholly bewildered and 
 unable to pursue her way. Suddenly she 
 arose, and hurrying on in a direction quite 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 155 
 
 opposite to that in which Sikes was await- 
 ing her return, quickened her pace, until 
 it gradually resolved into a violent run. 
 After completely exhausting herself, she 
 stopped to take breath, and, as if suddenly 
 recollecting herself, and deploring her 
 inability to do something she was bent 
 upon, wrung her hands, and burst into 
 tears. 
 
 It might be that her tears relieved her, 
 or that she felt the full hopelessness of her 
 condition ; but she turned back, and hur- 
 rying with nearly as great rapidity in the 
 contrary direction, partly to recover lost 
 time, and partly to keep pace with the 
 violent current of her own thouglits, soon 
 reached the dwelling where she had left 
 the housebreaker. 
 
 If she betrayed any agitation by the 
 time she presented herself to Mr. Sikes, 
 he did not observe it ; for merely inquiring 
 if she had brought the money, and receiv- 
 ing a reply in the affirmative, he laid his 
 head upon his pillow, and resumed the 
 slumbers which her arrival had inter- 
 rupted. 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRD. 
 
 A strange interview, which is a sequel to the last 
 * chapter. 
 
 It was fortunate for the girl that the 
 possession of money occasioned Mr. Sikes 
 so much employment next day in the way 
 of eating and drinking, and withal had so 
 beneficial an effect in smoothing down the 
 asperities of his temper, that he had nei- 
 ther time nor inclination to be very criti- 
 cal upon her behaviour and deportment 
 That she had all the abstracted and nerv- 
 ous manner of one who is on the eve of 
 some bold and hazardous step, which it 
 has required no common struggle to re- 
 solve upon, would have been obvious to 
 his lynx-eyed friend, the Jew, who would 
 most probably have taken the alarm at 
 once ; but Mr. Sikes lacking the niceties 
 of acute discrimination, and being trou- 
 bled with no more subtle misgivings than 
 those which resolve themselves into a 
 dogged roughness of behaviour towards 
 everybody ; and being, furthermore, in an 
 unusually amiable condition, as has been 
 already observed, saw nothing unusual in 
 her demeanour, and, indeed, troubled him- 
 self so little about her, that, had her agi- 
 tation been far more perceptible than it 
 was, it would have been very unlikely to 
 have awakened his suspicions. 
 
 As the day closed in, the girl's excite- 
 
 ment increased, and, when night came on, 
 and she sat by, watching till the house- 
 breaker should drink himself asleep, there 
 was an unusual paleness in her cheek, 
 and fire in her eye, that even Sikes ob- 
 served with astonishment. 
 
 Mr. Sikes, being weak from the fever, 
 was lying in bed, taking hot water with 
 his gin to render it less inflammatory, and 
 had pushed his glass towards Nancy to be 
 replenished for the third or fourth time, 
 when these symptoms first struck him. 
 
 " Why, burn my body !" said the man, 
 raising himself on his hands as he stared 
 the girl in the face. " You look like a 
 corpse come to life again. What's the 
 matter?" 
 
 " Matter !" replied the girl. " Nothing. 
 What do you look at me so hard for ]" 
 
 "What foolery is this]" demanded 
 Sikes, grasping her by the arm, and shak- 
 ing her roughly. " What is it ? What 
 do you mean ] What are you thinking 
 of, hal" 
 
 " Of many things. Bill," replied the 
 girl, shuddering, and as she did so, press- 
 ing her hands upon her eyes. "But, 
 Lord ! what odds in that 1" 
 
 The tone of forced gaiety in which the 
 last words were spoken seemed to produce 
 a deeper impression on Sikes than the 
 wild and rigid look which had preceded 
 them. 
 
 " I tell you wot it is," said Sikes, " if 
 you havn't caught the fever, and got it 
 comin' on now, there's something more 
 than usual in the wind, and something 
 dangerous too. You're not a-going to 
 
 No, damme! you wouldn't do 
 
 that!" 
 
 " Do what 1" asked the girl. 
 
 "There ain't," said Sikes, fixing his 
 eyes upon her, and muttering the words 
 to himself, " there ain't a stauncher-heart- 
 ed gal going, or I 'd have cut her throat 
 three months ago. She 's got the fever 
 coming on ; that 's it." 
 
 Fortifying himself with this assurance, 
 Sikes drained the glass to the bottom, and 
 then, with many grumbling oaths, called 
 for his physic. The girl jumped up with 
 alacrity, poured it quickly out, but with 
 her back towards him : and held the ves- 
 sel to his lips while he drank it off. 
 
 " Now," said the robber, " come and 
 sit aside of me, and put on your own face, 
 or I '11 alter it so that you won't know it 
 again when you do want it." 
 
 The girl obeyed, and Sikes, locking her 
 hand in his, fell back upon the pillow, 
 turning his eyes upon her face. They 
 closed, opened again ; closed once mor«. 
 
/ 
 
 156 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 again opened; the housebreaker shifted 
 his position restlessly,' and, after dozing 
 again and again for two or three minutes, 
 and as often springing up with a look of 
 terror, and gazing vacantly about him, 
 was suddenly stricken, as it were, while 
 in the very attitude of rising, into a deep 
 and heavy sleep. The grasp of his hand 
 relaxed, the upraised arm fell languidly 
 by his side, and he lay like one in a pro- 
 found trance. 
 
 " The laudanum has taken effect at 
 last," murmured the girl as she rose from 
 the bedside. " I may be too late even 
 now." 
 
 She hastily dressed herself in her bon- 
 net and shawl, looking fearfully round 
 from time to time, as if, despite the sleep- 
 ing draught, she expected every moment 
 to feel the pressure of Sikes's heavy hand 
 upon her shoulder; then stooping sotlly 
 over the bed, she kissed the robber's lips, 
 and opening and closing the room-door 
 with noiseless touch, hurried from the 
 house. 
 
 A watchman was crying half-past nine 
 down a dark passage through which she 
 had to pass in gaining the main thorough- 
 fare. 
 
 "Has it long gone the half hour?" 
 asked the girl. 
 
 " It '11 strike the hour in another quar- 
 ter," said the man, raising his lantern to 
 her face. 
 
 " And I cannot get there in less than 
 an hour or more," muttered Nancy, brush- 
 ing swiftly past him, and gliding rapidly 
 down the street. 
 
 Many of the shops were already closing 
 in the back lanes and avenues through 
 which she tracked her way in making 
 from Spitalfields towards the West-End 
 of London. The clock struck ten, in- 
 creasing her impatience. She tore along 
 the narrow pavement, elbowing the pas- 
 sengers from side to side, and darting al- 
 most under the horses' heads, crossed 
 crowded streets, where clusters of per- 
 sons were eagerly waLching their oppor- 
 tunity to do the like. 
 
 " The woman is mad !" said the people, 
 turning to l(X)k after her as she rushed 
 away, 
 
 Whe*i sne reached the more wealthy 
 quarter of the town, the streets were 
 comparatively deserted, and here her 
 headlong progress seemed to excite a 
 greater curiosity in the stragglers whom 
 ehe hurried past. Some quickened their 
 pace behind, as though to see whither 
 she was hastening at such an unusual 
 rate ; and a few made head upon her, and 
 
 looked back, surprised at her undiminish- 
 ed speed, but they fell off one by one ; and 
 when she neared her place of destination 
 she was alone. 
 
 It was a family hotel, in a quiet but 
 handsome street near Hyde Park. As 
 the brilliant light of the lamp which burnt 
 before the door guided her to the spot, the 
 clock struck eleven. She had loitered 
 for a few paces as though irresolute, and 
 making up her mind to advance ; but the 
 sound determined her, and she stepped 
 into the hall. The porter's seat was va- 
 cant. She looked round with an air of 
 incertitude, and advanced towards the 
 stairs. 
 
 " Now, young woman," said a smartly- 
 dressed female, looking out from a door 
 behind her, " who do you want here 1" 
 
 " A lady who is stopping in this house," 
 answered the girl. 
 
 " A lady !" was the reply, accompani- 
 ed with a scornful look. "What lady, 
 pray ]" 
 
 " Miss Maylie," said Nancy. 
 
 The young woman, who had by this 
 time noted her appearance, replied only 
 by a look of virtuous disdain, and sum- 
 moned a man to answer her. To him 
 Nancy repeated her request. 
 
 " What name am I to say ]" asked the 
 waiter. 
 
 " It's of no use saying any," replied 
 Nancy. 
 
 "Nor business?" said the man. 
 
 "No, nor that neither," rejoined the 
 girl. " I must see the lady." 
 
 " Come," said the man, pushing her 
 towards the door, " none of this ! Take 
 yourself off, will you ?" 
 
 " I shall be carried out if I go !" said 
 the girl violently, " and I can make that 
 a job that two of you won't like to do. 
 Isn't there any body here," she said, look 
 ing round, " that will see a simple mes- 
 sage carried for a poor wretch like me 1" 
 
 This appeal produced an effect on a 
 good-tempered-faced man-cook, who with 
 some other of the servants was looking 
 on, and who stepped forward to interfere. 
 
 " Take it up for her Joe, can't you 1" 
 said this person. 
 
 " What's the good ?" replied the man. 
 " You don't suppose the young lady will 
 see such as her, do you ?" 
 
 This allusion to Nancy's doubtful char- 
 acter raised a vast quantity of chaste 
 wrath in the bosoms of four housemaids, 
 who remarked with great fervour that the 
 creature was a disgrace to her sex, and 
 strongly advocated her being thrown ruth- 
 lessly into the kennel. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 187 
 
 " Do what you like with me," said the 
 girl, turning to the men again, " but do 
 what I ask you first; and I a«ik you to give 
 this message for God Almighty's sake." 
 
 The soft-hearted cook added his inter- 
 cession, and the result was that the man 
 who iiad first appeared undertook its de- 
 livery. 
 
 " What's it to be ]" said the man, with 
 one foot on the stairs. 
 
 " That a young woman earnestly asks 
 to speak to Miss Maylie alone," said 
 Nancy; "and, that if the lady will only 
 hear the first word she has to say, she will 
 know whether to hear her business, or 
 have her turned out of doors as an im- 
 postor." 
 
 " I say," said tlie man, " you're coming 
 it strong !" 
 
 " You give the message," said the girl 
 firmly, " and let me hear the answer." 
 
 The man ran up stairs, and Nancy re- 
 mained pale and almost breathless, listen- 
 ing with quivering lip to the very audible 
 expressions of scorn, of which the chaste 
 housemaids were very prolific ; and be- 
 came still more so when the man returned, 
 and said the young woman was to walk 
 up stairs. 
 
 " It 's no good being proper in this 
 world," said the first housemaid. 
 
 " Brass can do better than the gold what 
 has stood the fire," said the second. 
 
 The third contented herself with won- 
 dering " what ladies were made of;" and 
 the fourth took the first in a quartette of 
 " Shameful !" with which the Dianas con- 
 cluded. 
 
 Regardless of all this — for she had 
 weightier matters at heart— Nancy follow- 
 ed the man with trembling limbs to a 
 small ante-chamber, lighted by a lamp 
 from the ceiling, in which he left her, and 
 retired. 
 
 The girl's life had been squandered in 
 the streets, and the most noisome of the 
 stews and dens of London, but there was 
 something of the woman's original nature 
 left in her still ; and when she heard a 
 light step approaching the door opposite 
 to that by which she had entered, and 
 thought of the wide contrast which the 
 small room would in another moment 
 contaifl, she felt burdened with the sense 
 of her own deep shame, and shrunk as 
 though she could scarcely bear the pre- 
 sence of her with whom she had sought 
 this interview. 
 
 But struggling with these better feel- 
 ings was pride, — the vice of the lowest 
 and most debased creatures no less than 
 of the high and self-assured. The misera- 
 14 
 
 ble companion of thieves and ruffians, the 
 fallen outcast of low haunts, the associate 
 of the scourings of the jails and hulks, 
 living within the shadow of the gallows 
 itself — even this degraded being felt too 
 proud to betray one feeble gleam of the 
 womanly feeling which she thought a 
 weakness, but which alone connected her 
 with that humanity, of which her wasting 
 life had obliterated all outward traces 
 when a very child. 
 
 She raised her eyes sufficiently to ob- 
 serve that the figure which presented 
 itself was that of a slight and beautiftil 
 girl, and then bending them on the ground, 
 tossed her head with affected carelessness 
 as she said, 
 
 " It's a hard matter to get to see you, 
 lady. If I had taken offence, and gone 
 away, as many would have done, you'd 
 have been sorry for it one day, and not 
 without reason either." 
 
 " I am very sorry if any one has be- 
 haved harshly to you," replied Rose. 
 " Do not think of it ; but tell me why 
 you wished to see me. I am the person 
 you inquired for." 
 
 The kind tone of this answer, the 
 sweet voice, the gentle manner, the ab- 
 sence of any accent of haughtiness or 
 displeasure, took the girl completely by 
 surprise, and she burst into tears. 
 
 " Oh, lady, lady !" she said, clasping 
 her hands passionately before her face, 
 " if there was more like you, there would 
 be fewer like me, — there would — there 
 would !" 
 
 " Sit down," said Rose earnestly ; 
 " you distress me. If you are in poverty 
 or affliction, I shall be truly happy to 
 relieve you if I can, — I shall indeed. Sit 
 down." 
 
 " Let me stand, lady," said the girl, 
 still weeping, " and do not speak so kindly 
 till you know me better. It is growing 
 late. Is — is — that door shut 1" 
 
 " Yes," said Rose, recoiling a few steps, 
 as if to be near assistance in case she 
 should require it. " Why I" 
 
 " Because," said the girl, "I am about 
 to put my life and the lives of others in 
 your hands. I am the girl that dragged 
 little Oliver back to old Fagin's, the 
 Je.v's, on the night he went out from tlie 
 house in Pentonville." 
 
 " You !" said Rose Maylie. 
 
 " I, lady," replied the girl. " I am tlje 
 infamous creature you have heard of, that 
 lives among the thieves, and that never 
 from the first moment I can recollect my 
 eyes and senses opening on London streelu 
 have known any better life, or kinder 
 
158 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 words than they have given me, so help 
 me God ! Do not mind shrinking openly 
 from me, lady. I am younger than you 
 would think, to look at me, but I am well 
 used to it ; the poorest women fall back 
 as I make my way along the crowded 
 pavement." 
 
 " What dreadful things are these !" said 
 Rose, involuntarily falling from her 
 Btrange companion. 
 
 " Thank Heaven upon your knees, dear 
 lady," cried the girl, "that you had 
 friends to care for and keep you in your 
 childhood, and that you were never in the 
 midst of cold and hunger, and riot and 
 drunkenness, and — and something worse 
 than all — as I have been from my cradle ; 
 I may use the word, for the alley and the 
 gutter were mine, as they will be my 
 death-bed." 
 
 " I pity you !" said Rose in a broken 
 voice. " It wrings my heart to hear you !" 
 "God bless you for your goodness!" 
 rejoined the girl. " If you knew what I 
 am sometimes, you would pity me, indeed. 
 But I have stolen away from those who 
 would surely murder me if they knew I 
 had been here to tell you what I have 
 overheard. Do you know a man named 
 Monks?" 
 
 " No," said Rose. 
 
 " He knows you," replied the girl ; 
 " and knew you were here, for it was by 
 hearing him tell the place that I found 
 you out." 
 
 " I never heard the name," said Rose. 
 " Then he goes by some other amongst 
 us," rejoined the girl, " which I more 
 than thought before. Some time ago, 
 and soon after Oliver was put in your house 
 on the night of the robbery, 1 — suspecting 
 this man — listened to a conversation held 
 between him and Fagin in the dark. I 
 found out from what I heard that Monks 
 — the man I asked you about, you 
 know — " 
 
 " Yes," said Rose, " I understand." 
 " — That Monks," pursued the girl, 
 " had seen him accidentally with two of 
 our boys on the day we first lost him, and 
 had known him directly to be the same 
 child that he was watching for, though I 
 couldn't make out why. A bargain was 
 struck with Fagin, that if Oliver was got 
 back he should have a certain sum ; and 
 he was to have more for making him a 
 thief, which this Monks wanted for some 
 purpose of his own." 
 
 " For what purpose 7" asked Rose. 
 «» He caught sight of my shadow on the 
 wall as I listened in the hope of finding 
 
 out,"' said the girl ; " and there are not 
 many people besides me that could have 
 got out of their way in time to escape 
 discovery. But I did ; and I saw him no 
 more till last night." 
 
 " And what occurred then V 
 "I'll tell you, lady. Last night ho 
 came again. Again they went up stairs, 
 and I, wrapping myself up so that my 
 shadow should not betray me, again 
 listened at the door. The first words I 
 heard Monks say were these. ' So, the 
 only proofs of the boy's identity lie at 
 the bottom of the river, and the old hag 
 that received them from the mother ia 
 rotting in her coffin.' They laughed and 
 talked of his success in doing this; and 
 Monks, talking on about the boy, and get- 
 ting very wild, said that though he had 
 got the young devil's money safely now, 
 he'd rather have had it the other way ; for, 
 what a game it would have been to have 
 brought down the boast of the father's 
 will, by driving him through every jail in 
 town, and then hauling him up for some 
 capital felony, which Fagin could easily 
 manage, after having made a good profit 
 of him besides." 
 
 " What is all this !" said Rose. 
 
 " The truth, lady, though it comes from 
 my lips," replied the girl. " Then he 
 said, with oaths common enough in my 
 ears, but strangers to yours, that if he 
 could gratify his hatred by taking the 
 boy's life without bringing his own neck 
 in danger, he would ; but as he couldn't, 
 he'd be upon the watch to meet him at 
 every turn in life, and if he took advan- 
 tage of his birth and history, he might 
 harm him yet. ' In short, Fagin,' he 
 says, ' Jew as you are, you never laid such 
 snares as I'll contrive for my young 
 brother, Oliver.' " 
 
 " His brother !" exclaimed Rose, clasp- 
 ing her hands. 
 
 " Those were his words," said Nancy, 
 glancing uneasily round, as she had 
 scarcely ceased to do since she began to 
 speak, for a vision of Sikes haunted her 
 perpetually. "And more. When ho 
 spoke of you and the other lady, and said 
 it seemed contrived by heaven, or the 
 devil, against him, that Oliver should 
 come into your hands, he laughed, and 
 said there was some comfort in that too, 
 for how many thousands and hundreds of 
 thousands of pounds would you not give, 
 if you had them, to know who your two- 
 legged spaniel was." 
 
 " You do not mean," said Rose, turning 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 150 
 
 very pale, " to tell me that this was said 
 in earnest." 
 
 " He spoke in hard and angry earnest, if 
 a man ever did," replied the girl, shaking 
 her head. " He is an earnest man wlien 
 his hatred is up. I know many who do 
 worse things ; but I'd rather listen to them 
 all a dozen times than to that Monks once. 
 It is growing late, and I have to reach 
 home without suspicion of having been 
 on such an errand as this. I must get 
 back quickly." 
 
 "But what can I dol" said Rose. 
 " To what use can I turn this communica- 
 tion without you 1 Back ! Why do you 
 wish to return to companions you paint in 
 such terrible colours ^ If you repeat this 
 information to a gentleman whom I can 
 summon in one instant from the ne.xt 
 room, you can be consigned to some place 
 of safety without half an hour's delay." 
 
 " I wish to go back," said the girl. " I 
 wish to go back, because — how can I tell 
 such things to an innocent lady like you 1 
 — because among the men I have told 
 you of, there is one the most desperate 
 of them all that I can't leave ; no — not 
 even to be saved from the life I am lead- 
 ing now." 
 
 " Your having interfered in this dear 
 boy's behalf before," said Rose; "your 
 coming here at so great a risk to tell me 
 what you have heard ; your manner, 
 which convinces me of the truth of what 
 you say; your evident contrition, and 
 sense of shame, all lead me to believe that 
 you might yet be reclaimed. Oh !" 
 said the earnest girl, folding her hands as 
 the tears coursed down her face, " do 
 not turn a deaf ear to the entreaties of one 
 of your own sex; the first — the first, I 
 do believe, who ever appealed to you in 
 the voice of pity and compassion. Do 
 hear my words, and let me save you yet 
 for better things." 
 
 " Lady," cried the girl, sinking on her 
 knees, " dear, sweet, angel lady, you are 
 tho first that ever blessed me with such 
 words as these, and if I had heard them 
 years ago, they might have turned me 
 from a life of sin and sorrow ; but it is 
 too late — it is too late." 
 
 " It is never too late," said Rose, " for 
 penitenee and atonement." 
 
 " It is," cried the girl writhing in the 
 agony of her mind ; " I cannot leave him 
 now — I could not be his death." 
 
 " Why should you be "!" asked Rose. 
 
 " Nothing could save him," cried the 
 girl. " If I told others what I have told 
 you, and led to their being taken, he 
 
 would be sure to die. He is the boldest, 
 and has been so cruel." 
 
 " Is it possible," cried Rose, " that for 
 such a man as this you can resign every 
 future hope, and the certainty of imme- 
 diate rescue ! It is madness." 
 
 " I don't know what it is," answered 
 the girl ; " I only know that it is so, and 
 not with me alone, but with hundreds of 
 others as bad and as wretched as myself. 
 I must go back. Whether it is God's 
 wrath for the wrong I have done, I do not 
 know; but I am drawn back to him 
 through every suffering and ill-usage, and 
 should be I believe, if I knew that I was 
 to die by his hand at last." 
 
 " What am I to do 1" said Rose. " I 
 should not let you depart from me thus." 
 
 " You should, lady, and I know you 
 will," rejoined the girl, rising. "You 
 will not stop my going because I have 
 trusted in your goodness, and forced no 
 promise from you as I might have done." 
 
 " Of what use, then, is the communica- 
 tion you have made ?" said Rose. " This 
 mystery must be investigated, or how will 
 its disclosure to me benefit Oliver, whom 
 you are anxious to serve f 
 
 " You must have some kind gentleman 
 about you that will hear it as a secret, 
 and advise you what to do," rejoined the 
 girl. 
 
 " But where can I find you again when 
 it is necessary "?" asked Rose. " I do not 
 seek to know where these dreadful people 
 live, but where you will be walking or 
 passing at any settled period from this 
 time ]" 
 
 " Will you promise me that you will 
 have my secret strictly kept, and come 
 alone, or with the only other person that 
 knows it, and that I shall not be watched 
 or followed 1" asked the girl. 
 
 " I promise you solemnly," answered 
 Rose. 
 
 " Every Sunday night, from eleven 
 until the clock strikes twelve," said the 
 girl without hesitation, " I will walk on 
 London Bridge, if I am alive." 
 
 " Stay another moment," interposed 
 Rose, as the girl moved hurriedly towards 
 the door. "Think once again on your 
 own condition, and the opportunity you 
 have of escaping from it. You have a 
 claim on me; not only as the voluntary 
 bearer of this intelligence, but as a woman 
 lost almost beyond redemption. Will yon 
 return to this gang of robbers, and this 
 man, when a word can save you 1 What 
 fascination is it that can take you back, 
 and make you cling to wickedness and 
 
iOQ 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 misery 1 — Oh ! is there no chord in your 
 heart that I can touch — is there nothing 
 left to which I can appeal against this 
 terrible infatuation ]" 
 
 " When ladies as young, and good, and 
 beautiful as you are," replied the girl 
 steadily, "give away your hearts, love 
 will carry you all lengths — even such as 
 you who have home, friends, other ad- 
 mirers, every thing to fill them. When 
 such as me, who have no certain roof 
 but the coffin-lid, and no friend in sick- 
 ness or death but the hospital nurse, set 
 our rotten hearts on any man, and let him 
 fill the place that parents, home, and 
 friends filled once, or that has been a blank 
 through all our wretched lives, who can 
 hope to cure us ■? Pity us, lady, — pity 
 us for having only one feeling of the 
 woman left, and for having tliat turned 
 by a heavy judgment from a comfort and 
 a pride into a new means of violence and 
 suifering." 
 
 " You will," said Rose, after a pause, 
 " take some money from me, which may 
 enable you to live without dishonesty — 
 at all events until we meet again 1" 
 
 " Not a penny," replied the girl, wav- 
 ing her hand. 
 
 " Do not close your heart against all 
 my efforts to help you," said Rose, step- 
 ping gently forward. " I wish to serve 
 you, indeed." 
 
 " You would serve me best, lady," re- 
 plied the girl, wringing her bands, " if 
 you could take my life at once ; for I have 
 felt more grief to think of what I am to- 
 night than I ever did before, and it would 
 be something not to die in the same hell 
 in which I have lived. God bless you, 
 sweet lady, and send as much happiness 
 on your head as I have brought shama on 
 mine !" 
 
 Thus speaking, and sobbing aloud, the 
 unhappy creature turned away ; while 
 Rose Maylie, overpowered by this extra- 
 ordinary interview, which bore more the 
 semblance of a rapid dream than an actual 
 occurrence, sank into a chair, and endea- 
 voured to collect her wandering thoughts. 
 
 CHAPTER THE FOURTH, 
 
 Containing fresh discoveries, and showing that 
 surprises, like misfortunes, seldom come alone. 
 
 Her situation was indeed one of no 
 common trial and difficulty, for while she 
 felt the most eager and burning desire to 
 
 penetrate the mystery in which Oliver's 
 history was enveloped, she could not but 
 hold sacred the confidence which the 
 miserable woman with whom she had just 
 conversed had reposed in her, as a young 
 and guileless girl. Her words and man- 
 ner had touched Rose Maylie's heart and 
 mingled with her love for her young 
 charge, and scarcely less intense in its 
 truth and fervour was her fond wish to 
 win the outcast back to repentance and 
 hope. 
 
 They only proposed remaining in Lon- 
 don three days, prior to departing for 
 some weeks to a distant part of the coast. 
 It was now midnight of the first day. 
 What course of action could she deter- 
 mine upon which could be adopted in 
 eight-and-forty hours 1 or how could she 
 postpone the journey without exciting 
 suspicion 1 
 
 Mr. Losberne was with them, and 
 would be for the next two days ; but Rose 
 was too well acquainted with the excel- 
 lent gentleman's impetuosity, and foresaw 
 too clearly the wrath with which, in the 
 first explosion of his indignation, he would 
 regard the instrument of Oliver's recap- 
 ture to trust him with the secret, when 
 her representations in the girl's behalf 
 could be seconded by no experienced per- 
 son. These were all reasons for the 
 greatest caution and the most circumspect 
 behaviour in communicating it to Mrs. 
 Maylie, whose first impulse would infal- 
 libly be to hold a conference with the 
 worthy doctor on the subject. As to re- 
 sorting to any legal adviser, even if she 
 had known how to do so, it was scarcely 
 to be thought of, for the same reasons. 
 Once the thought occurred to her of seek- 
 ing assistance from Harry ; but this 
 awakened the recollection of their last 
 parting, and it seemed unworthy of her 
 to call him back, when — the tears rose 
 to her eyes as she pursued this train of 
 reflection — he might have by this time 
 learnt to forget her, and to be happier 
 away. 
 
 Disturbed by these diffijrent reflections, 
 and inclining now to one course and then 
 to another, and again recoiling from all 
 as each successive consideration presented 
 itself to her mind. Rose passed a sleepless 
 and anxious night, and, after communing 
 with hefself next day, arrived at the des- 
 perate conclusion of consulting Harry 
 Maylie. 
 
 " If it be painful to him," she thought, 
 " to come back here, how painful will it 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 161 
 
 be to me ! But perhaps he will not come ; 
 he may write, or he may come himself, 
 and studiously abstain from meeting me 
 — he did when he went away. I hardly 
 thought he would ; but it was better for 
 us both — a great deal better." And here 
 Rose dropped the pen and turned away, 
 as though the very paper which was to 
 be her messenger should not see her 
 weep. 
 
 She had taken up the same pen and 
 laid it down fifty times, and had consid- 
 ered and re-considered the very first line 
 of her letter without writing the first 
 word, when Oliver, who had been walking 
 in the streets with Mr. Giles for a body- 
 guard, entered the room in such breathless 
 haste and violent agitation, as seemed to 
 betoken some new cause of alarm. 
 
 " What makes you look so flurried 1" 
 asked Rose, advancing to meet him. 
 "Speak to me, Oliver." 
 
 " I hardly know how ; I feel as if I 
 should be choked," replied the boy. 
 " Oh dear ! to think that I should see him 
 at last, and you should be able to know 
 that I have told you all the truth !" 
 
 " I never thought you had told us any- 
 thing but the truth, dear," said Rose, 
 .oothing him. "But what is this] — 
 of whom do you speak 1" 
 
 " I have seen the gentleman," replied 
 Oliver, scarcely able to articulate, " the 
 gentleman who was so good to me — Mr. 
 Brownlow, that we have so often talked 
 about." 
 
 " Where f ' asked Rose. 
 
 "Getting out of a coach," replied 
 Oliver shedding tears of delight, " and 
 going into a house. I didn't speak to him 
 — I couldn't speak to him, for he didn't 
 see me, and I trembled so, that I was not 
 able to go up to him. But Giles asked 
 for me whether he lived there, and they 
 said he did. Look here," said Oliver, 
 opening a paper, "here it is; here's 
 where he lives — I'm going there directly. 
 Oh, dear me, dear me ! what shall I do 
 when I come to see him and hear him 
 speak again !" 
 
 With her attention not a little distract- 
 ed by these and a great many other inco- 
 herent exclamations of joy. Rose read 
 the address, which was Craven Street, 
 in the Strand, and very soon determined 
 upon turning the discovery to account. 
 
 "Quick!" she said, "tell them to 
 fetch a hackney-coach, and be ready to 
 go with me. I will take you there di- 
 rectly, without a minute's loss of time. 
 I will only tell my aunt that we are going 
 14* V 
 
 out for an hour, and be ready as soon as 
 you are," 
 
 Oliver needed no prompting to des- 
 patch, and in a little more than five 
 minutes they were on their way to Cra- 
 ven Street. When they arrived there, 
 Rose left Oliver in the coach under pre- 
 tence of preparing the old gentleman to 
 receive him, and sending up her card by 
 the servant, requested to see Mr. Browu- 
 low on very pressing business. The ser- 
 vant soon returned to beg that she would 
 walk up stairs, and, following him into an 
 upper room. Miss Maylie was presented 
 to an elderly gentleman of benevolent 
 appearance, in a bottle-green coat ; at no 
 great distance from whom was seated 
 another old gentleman, in nankeen breech- 
 es and gaiters, who did not look particu- 
 larly benevolent, and was sitting with his 
 hands clasped on the top of a thick stick, 
 and his chin propped thereupon. 
 
 " Dear me," said the gentleman in the 
 bottle-green coat, hastily rising with great 
 politeness, "I beg your pardon, young 
 lady — I imagined it was some importunate 
 person who — I beg you will excuse me. 
 Be seated, pray." 
 
 "Mr. Brownlow, I believe, sirl" said 
 Rose, glancing from the other gentleman 
 to the one who had spoken. 
 
 " That is my name," said the old gen- 
 tleman. "This is my friend, Mr. Grira- 
 wig. Grimwig, will you leave us for a 
 few minutes'!" 
 
 " 1 believe," interposed Miss Maylie, 
 "that at this period of our interview I 
 need not give that gentleman the trouble 
 of going away. If I am correctly inform- 
 ed, he is cognizant of the business on 
 which I wish to speak to you." 
 
 Mr. Brownlow inclined his head, and 
 Mr. Grimwig, who had made one very 
 stifle bow, and risen from his chair, made 
 another very stiff bow, and dropped into 
 it again. 
 
 " I shall surprise you very much, I 
 have no doubt," said Rose, naturally em- 
 barrassed ; " but you once showed great 
 benevolence and goodness to a very dear 
 young friend of mine, and I am sure you 
 will take an interest in hearing of him 
 again." 
 
 " Indeed !" said Mr. Brownlow. " May 
 I ask his name 1" 
 
 " Oliver Twist you knew him as," re- 
 plied Rose. 
 
 The words no sooner escaped her lips 
 than Mr. Grimwig, who had been affect- 
 ing to dip into a large book that lay on the 
 table, upset it with a great crash, and 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 falling back in his chair, discharged from 
 his features every expression but one of 
 the most unmitigated wonder, and indul- 
 ged in a prolonged and vacant stare ; then, 
 as if ashamed of having betrayed so much 
 emotion, he jerked himself, as it were by 
 a convulsion, into his former attitude, and 
 looking out straight before him emitted a 
 long deep whistle, which seemed at last 
 not to be discharged on empty air, but to 
 die away in the inmost recesses of his 
 stomach. 
 
 Mr. Brownlow was no less surprised, 
 although his astonishment was not ex- 
 pressed in the same eccentric manner. 
 He drew his chair nearer to Miss Maylie's, 
 and said, 
 
 "Do me the favour, my dear young 
 lady, to leave entirely out of the question 
 that goodness and benevolence of which 
 you speak, and of which nobody else 
 knows anything, and if you have it in 
 your power to produce any evidence 
 which will alter the unfavourable opinion 
 I was once induced to entertain of that 
 poor child, in Heaven's name put me in 
 possession of it." 
 
 " A bad one — I '11 eat my head if he is 
 not a bad one," growled Mr. Grimwig, 
 speaking by some ventriloquial power, 
 without moving a muscle of his face. 
 
 " He is a child of a noble nature and a 
 warm heart," said Rose, colouring ; " and 
 that Power which has thought fit to try 
 him beyond his years has planted in his 
 breast affections and feelings which would 
 do honour to many who have numbered 
 his days six times over." 
 
 " I 'm only sixty.one," said Mr. Grim- 
 wig with the same rigid face, " and, as 
 the devil's in it if this Oliver is not 
 twelve at least, I don't see the application 
 of that remark." 
 
 " Do not heed my friend, Miss Maylie," 
 said Mr, Brownlow ; " he does not mean 
 what he says." 
 
 " Yes, he does," growled Mr. Grim- 
 wig. 
 
 " No, he does not," exclaimed Mr. 
 Brownlow, obviously rising in wrath as 
 he spoke. 
 
 " He '11 eat his head if he doesn't," 
 growled Mr. Grimwig. 
 
 " He would deserve to have it knocked 
 ufF, if he does," said Mr. Brownlow. 
 
 "And he'd uncommonly like to see 
 any man offer to do it," responded Mr. 
 Grimwig, knocking his stick upon the 
 floor. 
 
 Having gone thus far, the two old gen- 
 
 tlemen severally took snuf!j and afler- 
 wards shook hands, according to their in- 
 variable custom. 
 
 " Now, Miss Maylie," said Mr. Brown- 
 low, " to return to the subject in which 
 your humanity is so much interested. 
 Will you let me know what intelligence 
 you have of this poor child : allowing me 
 to premise that I had exhausted every 
 means in my power of discovering him, 
 and that since I have been absent from 
 this country, my first impression that he 
 had imposed upon me, and been persuaded 
 by his former associates to rob me, has 
 been considerably shaken." 
 
 Rose, who had had time to collect her 
 thoughts, at once related in a few natural 
 words all that had befallen Oliver since 
 he lefl Mr. Brownlow's house, reserving 
 Nancy's information for that gentleman's 
 private ear, and concluding with the assu- 
 rance that his only sorrow for some months 
 past had been, that he had not been able 
 to meet with his former benefactor and 
 friend. 
 
 " Thank God !" said the old gentleman ; 
 " this is great happiness to me, great hap- 
 piness. But you have not told me where 
 he is now. Miss Maylie. You must pardon 
 my finding fault with you, — but why not 
 have brought him ?" 
 
 " He is waiting in a coach at the door," 
 replied Rose. 
 
 " At this door !" cried the old gentle- 
 man. With which he hurried out of the 
 room, down the stairs, up the coach-steps, 
 and into the coach without uttering an- 
 other word. 
 
 When the room-door closed behind him, 
 Mr. Grimwig lifted up his head, and con- 
 verting one of the hind legs of his chair 
 into a pivot described three distinct circles 
 with the assistance of his stick and the 
 table; sitting in it all the time. After 
 performing this evolution, he rose and 
 limped as fast as he could up and down 
 the room at least a dozen times, and then 
 stopping suddenly before Rose, kissed her 
 without the slightest preface. 
 
 " Hush !" he said, as the young lady 
 rose in some alarm at this unusual 
 proceeding, "don't be afraid; I'm old 
 enough to be your grandfather. You 're 
 a sweet girl, and I like you. Here they 
 are." 
 
 In fact, as he threw himself at one 
 dexterous dive into his former seat, Mr. 
 Brownlow returned accompanied by 
 Oliver, whom Mr. Grimwig received very 
 graciously ; and if the gratification of that 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 163 
 
 moment had been the only reward for all 
 her anxiety and care in Oliver's behalf, 
 Rose Maylie would have been well repaid 
 for her exertions. 
 
 " There is somebody else who should 
 not be forgotten, by the bye," said Mr. 
 Brownlow, ringing the bell. " Send Mrs. 
 Bed win here, if you please." 
 
 The old housekeeper answered the 
 euramons with all possible despatch, and 
 dropping a curtsy at the door, waited for 
 orders. 
 
 "Why, you get blinder every day, 
 Bedwin," said Mr. Brownlow, rather 
 testily. 
 
 " Well, that I do, sir," replied the old 
 lady. " People's eyes, at my time of life, 
 don't improve with age, sir." 
 
 " I could have told you that," rejoined 
 Mr. Brownlow ; " but put on your glasses, 
 and see if you can't find out what you 
 were wanted for, will you?" 
 
 The old lady began to rummage in her 
 pocket for her spectacles ; but Oliver's 
 patience was not proof against this new 
 trial, and yielding to his first impulse, he 
 sprang into her arms. 
 
 " God be good to me t" cried the old 
 lady, embracing him ; " it is my innocent 
 boy!" 
 
 " My dear old nurse !" cried Oliver, af 
 fectionately. 
 
 "He would come back — I knew he 
 would," said the old lady, holding him in 
 her arms. " How well he looks, and how 
 like a gentleman's son he is dressed again. 
 Where have you been this long, long 
 while] Ah! the same sweet face, but 
 not so pale ; the same soft eye, but not so 
 Bad. I have never forgotten them or his 
 quiet smile, but seen them every day side 
 by side with those of my own dear chil- 
 dren, dead and gone since I was a young 
 and lightsome creature." Running on 
 thus, and now holding Oliver from her 
 to mark how , he had grown, now clasp- 
 ing him to her and passing her fingers 
 fondly through his hair, the poor soul 
 laughed and wept upon his neck by 
 turns. 
 
 Leaving her and Oliver to compare 
 notes at leisure, Mr. Brownlow led the 
 way into another room, and there heard 
 from Rose a full narration of her inter- 
 view with Nancy, which occasioned him 
 no little surprise and perplexity. Rose 
 also explained her reasons for not making 
 a confidant of her friend Mr. Losberne in 
 the first instance; the old gentleman 
 considered that she had acted prudently. 
 
 and readily undertook to hold solemn 
 conference with the worthy doctor him- 
 self. To afibrd him an early opportunity 
 for the execution of this design, it was 
 arranged that he should call at the hotel 
 at eight o'clock that evening, and that in 
 the mean time Mrs. Maylie should be 
 informed of all that had occurred. These 
 preliminaries adjusted. Rose and Oliver 
 returned home. 
 
 Rose had by no means overrated the 
 measure of the good doctor's wrath, for 
 Nancy's history was no sooner unfolded, 
 than he poured forth a shower of mingled 
 threats and execrations; threatened to 
 make her the first victim of the combined 
 ingenuity of Messrs. Blathers and Dufl^ 
 and actually put on his hat preparatory to 
 sallying forth immediately to obtain the 
 assistance of those worthies. And doubt- 
 less he would, in this outbreak, have carri- 
 ed the intention into effect without a mo- 
 ment's consideration of the consequences, 
 if he had not been restrained, in part, by 
 corresponding violence on the side of Mr. 
 Brownlow, who was himself of an irasci- 
 ble temperament, and partly by such argu- 
 ments and representations as seemed best 
 calculated to dissuade him from his hot- 
 brained purpose. 
 
 " Then what the devil is to be done 1" 
 said the impetuous doctor, when they had 
 rejoined the two ladies. " Are we to pass a 
 vote of thanks to all these vagabonds, 
 male and female, and beg them to accept 
 a hundred pounds or so apiece as a trifling 
 mark of our esteem, and some slight 
 acknowledgment of their kindness to 
 Oliver]" 
 
 "Not exactly that," rejoined Mr. 
 Brownlow laughing, "but we must pro- 
 ceed gently and with great care." 
 
 " Gentleness and care !" exclaimed 
 the doctor. "I'd send them, one and all 
 to " 
 
 " Never mind where," interposed Mr. 
 Brownlow. "But reflect whether send- 
 ing them anywhere is likely to attain the 
 object we have in view." 
 
 " What object]" asked the doctor. 
 
 " Simply the discovery of Oliver's pa- 
 rentage, and regaining for him his inheri- 
 tance, of which, if this story be true, he 
 has been fraudulently deprived." 
 
 " Ah !" said Mr. Losberne, cooling him- 
 self with his pocket-handkerchief; "I 
 almost forgot that." 
 
 " You see," pursued Mr. Brownlow, 
 " placing this poor girl entirely out of the 
 question, and supposing it were possible 
 
164 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 to bring these scoundrels to justice with- 
 out compromising her safety, what good 
 should we bring about 1" 
 
 " Hanging a few of them at least, in 
 all probability," suggested the doctor, 
 " and transporting the rest." 
 
 " Very good," replied Mr. Brownlow 
 smiling, " but no doubt they will bring 
 hat about themselves in the fullness of 
 time, and if we step in to forestall them, 
 it seems to me that we shall be perform- 
 ing a very Quixotic act in direct opposi- 
 tion to our own interest, or at least to 
 Oliver's, which is the same thing." 
 
 " How ?" inquired the doctor. 
 
 " Thus. It is quite clear that we shall 
 have the most extreme difficulty in get- 
 ting to the bottom of this mystery, unless 
 we can bring this man, Monks, upon his 
 knees. That can only be done by strata- 
 gem, and by catching him when he is not 
 surrounded by these people. For, suppose 
 he were apprehended, we have no proof 
 against him. He is not even (so far as 
 we know, or as the facts appear to us,) 
 concerned with the gang in any of their 
 robberies. If he were not discharged, it 
 is very unlikely that he could receive any 
 further punishment than being committed 
 to prison as a rogue and vagabond, and of 
 course ever afterwards his mouth is so 
 obstinately closed that he might as well, 
 for our purposes, be deaf, dumb, blind, and 
 an idiot." 
 
 " Then," said the doctor impetuously, 
 " I put it to you again, whether you think 
 it reasonable that this promise to the girl 
 should be considered binding ; a promise 
 made with the best and kindest inten- 
 tions, but really " 
 
 "Do not discuss the point, my dear 
 young lady, pray," said Mr. Brownlow 
 interruptin? Rose as she was about to 
 speak. " The promise shall be kept. I 
 don't think it will in the slightest degree 
 interfere with our proceedings. But be- 
 fore we can resolve upon any precise 
 course of action, it will be necessary to 
 see the girl, to ascertain from her whether 
 she will point out this Monks on the un- 
 derstanding that she is to be dealt with 
 by us, and not by the law; or if she will 
 not or cannot do that, to procure from her 
 such an account of his haunts and descrip- 
 tion of his person as will enable us to iden- 
 tify him. She cannot be seen until next 
 Sunday night : this is Tuesday. I would 
 wiggest that, in the mean time, we re- 
 
 main perfectly quiet, and keep these 
 matters secret even from Oliver him- 
 self." 
 
 Although Mr. Losberne received with 
 many wry faces a proposal involving a 
 delay of five whole days, he was fain to 
 admit that no better course occurred to 
 him just then; and as both Rose and Mrs. 
 Maylie sided very strongly with Mr. 
 Brownlow, that gentleman's proposition 
 was carried unanimously. 
 
 " I should like," he said, " to call in 
 the aid of my friend Grimwig. He is a 
 strange creature, but a shrewd one, and 
 might prove of material assistance to us; 
 I should say that he was bred a lawyer 
 and quitted the bar in disgust because he 
 had only one brief and a motion of course 
 in ten years, though whether that is a 
 recommendation or not, you must deter- 
 mine yourselves." 
 
 " I have no objections to your calling 
 in your friend if I may call in mine," 
 said the doctor. 
 
 " We must put it to the vote," replied 
 Mr. Brownlow, " who may he be 7" 
 
 " That lady's son, and this young lady's 
 — very old friend," said the doctor, mo- 
 tioning towards Mrs. Maylie, and conclu- 
 ding with an expressive glance at her 
 niece. 
 
 Rose blushed deeply, but she did not 
 make any audible objection to this motion 
 (possibly she felt in a hopeless minority) 
 and Harry Maylie and Mr. Grimwig were 
 accordingly added to the committee. 
 
 " We stay in town of course," said 
 Mrs. Maylie, " while there remains the 
 slightest prospect of prosecuting this in- 
 quiry with a chance of success. I will 
 spare neither trouble nor expense in be- 
 half of the object in whom we are all so 
 deeply interested, and I am content to 
 remain here, if it be for twelve months, 
 so long as you assure me that any hope 
 remains." 
 
 "Good," rejoined Mr. Brownlow, "and 
 as I see on the faces about me a disposi- 
 tion to inquire how it happened that I 
 was not in the way to corroborate Oliver's 
 tale, and had so suddenly left the king- 
 dom, let me stipulate that I shall be asked 
 no questions until such time as I may 
 deem it expedient to forestall them by 
 telling my own story. Believe me that 
 I make this request with good reason, for 
 I might otherwise excite hopes destined 
 never to be realized, and only increase 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 165 
 
 difficulties and disappointments already 
 quite numerous enough. Come; supper 
 has been announced, and young Oliver, 
 who is all alone in the next room, will 
 have begun to think, by this time, that we 
 have wearied of his company, and entered 
 into some dark conspiracy to thrust him 
 forth upon the world." 
 
 With these words the old gentleman 
 gave his hand to Mrs. Maylie, and escort- 
 ed her into the supper room. Mr. Los- 
 berne followed, leading Rose, and the 
 council was for the present effectually 
 broken up. 
 
 CHAPTER THE FIFTH. 
 
 An old acquaintance of Oliver's exhibiting decided 
 marks of genius, becomes a public character in 
 the metropolis. 
 
 Upon the very same night wiien Nancy, 
 having lulled Mr. Sikes to sleep, liurried 
 on her self-imposed mission to Rose May- 
 lie, there advanced towards London by 
 tlie Great North Road two persons, upon 
 whom it is expedient that this history 
 should bestow some attention. 
 
 They were a man and woman, or per- 
 haps they would be better described as a 
 male and female ; for the former was one 
 of those long-limbed, knock-kneed, sham- 
 bling, bony figures to wliom it is difficult 
 to assign any precise age, — looking as 
 they do, when they are yet boys, like un- 
 der-grown men, and when they are almost 
 men, like over-grown boys. The woman 
 was young, but of a robust and hardy 
 make, as she need have been to bear the 
 weight of the heavy bundle which was 
 strapped to her back. Her companion 
 was not encumbered with much luggage, 
 as there merely dangled from a stick 
 which he carried over his shoulder, a 
 small parcel wrapped in a common hand- 
 kerchief, and apparently light enough. 
 This circumstance, added to the length 
 of his legs which were of unusual extent, 
 enabled him with much ease to keep some 
 half-dozen paces in advance of his com- 
 panion, to whom he occasionally turned 
 with an impatient jerk of the head, as if 
 reproaching her tardiness, and urging her 
 to ^eater exertion. 
 
 Thus they toiled along the dusty road, 
 taking little heed of any object within 
 sight, save when they stepped aside to 
 allow a wider passage for the mail-coach- 
 es which were whirling out of town, until 
 they passed through Highgate Archway, 
 when the foremost traveller stopped, and 
 called impatiently to his companion, 
 
 " Come on, can't yer 1 What a lazy- 
 bones yer ar, Charlotte." 
 
 " It's a heavy load, I can tell you," 
 said the female, coming up almost breath 
 less with fatigue. 
 
 " Heavy ! What are yer talking 
 about? — What are yer made for?" re- 
 joined the male traveller, changing hia 
 own little bundle as he spoke to the other 
 shoulder. "Oh, there yer are, resting 
 again. Well, if yer ain't enough to tire 
 anybody's patience out, I don't know what 
 is.'' 
 
 "Is it much further?" asked the wo- 
 man, resting herself on a bank, and look- 
 ing up, with the perspiration streaming 
 from her face. 
 
 " Much further ! Yer as good as there," 
 said the long-legged tramper, pointing out 
 before him. " Look there, — those are the 
 lights of London." 
 
 " They're a good two miles off at least,'* 
 said the woman despondingly. 
 
 "Never mind whether they're two 
 miles off or twenty," said Noah Clay- 
 pole, for he it was; " but get up and come 
 on, or I'll kick yer; and so I give yer 
 notice." 
 
 As Noah's red nose grew redder with 
 anger, and as he crossed the road while 
 speaking, as if fully prepared to put his 
 threat into execution, the woman rose 
 without any further remark, and trudged 
 onward by his side. 
 
 " Where do you mean to stop for the 
 night, Noah ?" she asked, after they had 
 walked a few hundred yards. 
 
 "How should I know?" replied Noah, 
 whose temper had been considerably im- 
 paired by walking. 
 
 "Near, I hope," said Charlotte. 
 
 " No, not near," replied Mr. Claypole ; 
 " there — not near ; so don't think it." 
 
 " Why not ?" 
 
 " When I tell yer that I don't mean to 
 do a thing, that's enough, without any 
 why, or because either," replied Mr 
 Claypole with dignity. 
 
 " Well, you needn't be so cross," said 
 his companion. 
 
166 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " A pretty thing it would be, wouldn't 
 it, to go and stop at the very first public 
 house outside the town, so that Sower- 
 berry, if he come up after us, might poke 
 in his old nose, and have us taken back 
 in a cart with handcuffs on," said Mr. 
 Claypole in a jeering tone. " No, I shall 
 go and lose myself among the narrowest 
 streets I can find, and not stop till we 
 come to the very out-of-the-wayest house 
 I can set eyes on. 'Cod, you may thank 
 your stars I've got a head on : for if we 
 hadn't gone at first the wrong road on 
 purpose, and come back across country, 
 you'd have been locked up hard and fast 
 a week ago, my lady, and serve you right 
 for being a fool." 
 
 " I know I ain't as cunning as you are," 
 replied Charlotte ; " but don't put all the 
 blame on me, and say I should have been 
 locked up. You would have been, if I 
 had been, any way." 
 
 " Yer took the money from the till, yer 
 know yer did," said Mr. Claypole. 
 
 "I took it for you, Noah, dear," re- 
 joined Charlotte. 
 
 " Did I keep it ]" asked Mr. Claypole. 
 
 " No ; you trusted in me, and let me 
 carry it, like a dear, and so you are," said 
 the lady, chucking him under the chin, 
 aud drawing her arm through his. 
 
 This was indeed the case ; but, as it 
 was not Mr. Claypole's habit to repose a 
 blind and foolish confidence in anybody, 
 it should be observed, in justice to that 
 gentleman, that he had trusted Charlotte 
 to this extent, in order that if they were 
 pursued, the money might be found on 
 her, which would leave him an opportu- 
 nity of asserting his utter innocence of 
 any theft, and greatly facilitate his 
 chances of escape. Of course he entered 
 at this juncture into no explanation of his 
 motives, and they walked on very loving- 
 ly together. 
 
 In pursuance of his cautious plan, Mr. 
 Claypole went on without halting until 
 he arrived at the Angel, at Islington, 
 where he wisely judged, from the crowd 
 of passengers and number of vehicles that 
 Ijondon began in earnest. Just pausing 
 to observe which appeared the most 
 crowded streets, and consequently the 
 most to be avoided, he crossed into Saint 
 John's Road, and was soon deep in the 
 obscurity of the intricate and dirty ways 
 which, lying between Gray's Inn Lane 
 and Smithfield, render that part of the 
 town one of the lowest and worst that 
 improvement has left in the midst of Lon- 
 don. 
 
 Through these streets Noah Claypole 
 
 walked, dragging Charlotte after him, 
 now slipping into the kennel to embrace 
 at a glance the whole external character 
 of some small public houses, and now 
 jogging on again as some fancied appear- 
 ance induced him to believe it too public 
 for his purpose. At length he stopped in 
 front of one more humble in appearance 
 and more dirty than any he had yet seen, 
 and having crossed over and surveyed it 
 from the opposite pavement, graciously 
 announced his intention of putting up 
 there for the night. 
 
 " So give us the bundle," said Noah, 
 unstrapping it from the woman's shoul- 
 ders, and slinging it over his own ; " and 
 don't yer speak except when yer spoken 
 to. What's the name of the house — 
 t-h-r- three what ?" 
 
 " Cripples," said Charlotte. 
 
 " Three Cripples," repeated Noah, 
 " and a very good sign, too. Now, then, 
 keep close at my heels, and come along," 
 With these injunctions, he pushed the 
 rattling door with his shoulder, and en- 
 tered the house, followed by his com- 
 panion. 
 
 There was nobody in the bar but a 
 young Jew, who, with his two elbows on 
 the counter, was reading a dirty newspa- 
 per. He stared very hard at Noah, and 
 Noah stared very hard at him. 
 
 If Noah had been attired in his Chari- 
 ty-boy's dress, there might have been 
 some reason for the Jew's opening his 
 eyes so wide ; but as he had discarded the 
 coat, and badge, and wore a short smock- 
 frock over his leathers, there seemed no 
 particular reason for his appearance ex- 
 citing so much attention in a public 
 house. 
 
 " Is this the ' Three Cripples V " asked 
 Noah. 
 
 " That is the dabe of this house," re- 
 plied the Jew. 
 
 "A gentleman we met on the road 
 coming up from the country, recommend- 
 ed us here," said Noah, nudging Char- 
 lotte, perhaps to call her attention to this 
 most ingenious device for attracting re- 
 spect, and perhaps to warn her to betray 
 no surprise. 
 
 " We want to sleep here to-night." 
 
 " I'b dot certaid you cad," said Barney, 
 who was the attendant sprite ; " but I'll 
 idquire." 
 
 " Show us the tap, and give us a bit of 
 cold meat and a drop of beer while yer 
 inquiring, will yer?" said Noah. 
 
 Barney complied by ushering them into 
 a small back-room, and setting the re- 
 quired viands before them ; having done 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 167 
 
 which, he informed the travellers that 
 they could be lodged that night, and 
 left the amiable couple to their refresh- 
 ment. 
 
 Now, this back-room was immediately 
 behind the bar, and some steps lower, so 
 that any person connected with the house, 
 undrawing a small curtain which con- 
 cealed a single pane of glass fixed in the 
 wall of the last-named apartment, about 
 five feet from its flooring, could not only 
 look down upon any guests in the back- 
 room without any great hazard of being 
 observed, (the glass being in a dark angle 
 of the wall, between which and a large 
 upright beam the observer had to thrust 
 himself,) but could, by applying his ear 
 to the partition, ascertain with tolerable 
 distinctness their subject of conversation. 
 The landlord of the house had not with- 
 drawn his eye from this place of espial 
 for five minutes, and Barney had only just 
 returned from making the communication 
 above related, when Fagin, in the course 
 of his evening's business, came into the 
 bar to inquire after some of his young 
 pupils. 
 
 " Hush !" said Barney : " stradegers id 
 the next roob." 
 
 " Strangers !" repeated the old man in 
 a whisper. 
 
 " Ah ! ad rub uds too," added Barney. 
 •♦ Frob the cuttry, but subthig in your 
 way, or I'b bistaked." 
 
 Fagin appeared to receive this commu- 
 nication with great interest, and, mount- 
 ing on a stool, cautiously applied his eye 
 to the pane of glass, from which secret 
 post he could see Mr. Claypole taking 
 cold beef from the dish and porter from 
 the pot, and administering bomcEopathic 
 doses of both to Charlotte, who sat pa- 
 tiently by, eating and drinking at his 
 pleasure. 
 
 " Aha !" whispered the Jew, looking 
 round to Barney. " I like the fellow's 
 looks. He 'd be of use to us ; he knows 
 how to train the girl already. Don't make 
 as much noise as a mouse, my dear, and 
 let me hear 'em talk — let me hear 'em." 
 
 The Jew again applied his eye to the 
 glass, and turning his ear to the partition, 
 listened attentively, with a subtle and ea- 
 ger look upon his face that might have 
 appertained to some old goblin. 
 
 " So I mean to be a gentleman," said 
 Mr. Claypole, kicking out his legs, and 
 continuing a conversation, the commence- 
 ment of which Fagin had arrived too late 
 to hear. " No more jolly old coffins, 
 Charlotte, but a gentleman's life for me ; 
 and if yer like, yer shall be a lady." 
 
 " I should like that well enough, dear," 
 replied Charlotte ; " but tills an't to be 
 emptied every day, and people to get clear 
 oft" after it." 
 
 " Tills be blowed !" said Mr. Claypole ; 
 " there 's more things besides tills to be 
 emptied." 
 
 " What do you mean f asked his com- 
 panion. 
 
 " Pockets, women's ridicules, houses, 
 mail-coaches, banks," said Mr. Claypole, 
 rising with the porter. 
 
 " But you can't do all that, dear," said 
 Charlotte. 
 
 " I shall look out to get into company 
 with them as can," replied Noah. "They'll 
 be able to make us useful some way or 
 another. Why, you yourself are worth 
 fifty women. I never see such a precious 
 sly and deceitful creetur as yer can be 
 when I let yer." 
 
 " Lor, how nice it is to hear you say 
 so," exclaimed Charlotte, imprinting a 
 kiss upon his ugly face. 
 
 " There, that '11 do ; don't yer be too 
 affectionate, in case I 'm cross with yer," 
 said Noah, disengaging himself with 
 great gravity. " I should like to be the 
 captain of some band, and have the whop- 
 ping of 'em, and follering 'em about, un- 
 beknown to themselves. That would 
 suit me, if there was good profit ; and if 
 we could only get in with some gentle- 
 men of this sort, I say it would be cheap 
 at that twenty pound note you've got, — 
 espicially as we don't very well know 
 how to get rid of it ourselves." 
 
 After expressing this opinion, Mr. Clay- 
 pole looked into the porter-pot with an 
 aspect of deep wisdom, and having well 
 shaken its contents, nodded condescend- 
 ingly to Charlotte, and took a draught, 
 wherewith he appeared greatly refreshed. 
 He was meditating another, when the 
 sudden opening of the door and appear- 
 ance of a stranger interrupted him. 
 
 The stranger was Mr. Fagin, and very 
 amiable he looked, and a very low bow 
 he made as he advanced, and, sitting 
 himself down at the nearest table, ordered 
 something to drink of the grinning Barney. 
 
 " A pleasant night, sir, but cool for the 
 time of year," said Fagin, rubbing his 
 hands. " From the country, I see, sir ?" 
 
 " How do you see that ?" asked Noah 
 Claypole. 
 
 " We have not so much dust as that in 
 London," replied the Jew, pointing from 
 Noah's shoes to those of his companitm, 
 and from them to the two bundles. 
 
 " Ye'r a sharp feller," said Noah. " Ha! 
 ha ! only hear that, Charlotte." 
 
168 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " Why, one need be sharp in this town, 
 my dear," replied the Jew, sinking his 
 voice to a confidential whisper, " and 
 that's the truth." 
 
 The Jew followed up this remark by 
 striking the side of his nose with his right 
 forefinger, — a gesture which Noah at- 
 tempted to imitate, though not with com- 
 plete success, in consequence of his nose 
 not being large enough for the purpose. 
 However, Mr. Fagin seemed to interpret 
 the endeavour as expressing a perfect co- 
 incidence with his opinion, and put about 
 the liquor which Barney re-appeared 
 with, in a very friendly manner. 
 
 " Good stuff that," observed Mr. Clay- 
 pole, smacking his lips. 
 
 " Dear," said Fagin, " a man need be 
 always emptying a till, or a pocket, or a 
 woman's reticule, or a house, or a mail- 
 coach, or a bank, if he drinks it regu- 
 larly." 
 
 Mr. Claypole no sooner heard this ex- 
 tract from his own remarks than he fell 
 back in his chair, and looked from the 
 Jew to Charlotte with a countenance of 
 ashy paleness and excessive terror. 
 
 " Don't mind me, my dear," said Fagin, 
 drawing his chair closer. " Ha ! ha ! it 
 was lucky it was only me that heard you 
 by chance. It was very lucky it was 
 only me." 
 
 " I didn't take it," stammered Noah, 
 no longer stretching out his legs like an 
 independent gentleman, but coiling them 
 up as well as he could under his chair ; 
 " it was all her doing ; yer've got it now, 
 Charlotte, yer know yer have." 
 
 " No matter who's got, or who did it, 
 my dear!" replied Fagin, glancing, ne- 
 vertheless, with a hawk's eye at the girl 
 and the two bundles. I'm in that way 
 myself, and I like you for it." 
 
 " In what way 1" asked Mr. Claypole, 
 a little recovering. 
 
 " In that way of business," rejoined 
 Fagin, " and so are the people of the 
 house. You've hit the right nail upon the 
 head, and are as safe here as you could 
 be. There is not a safer place in all this 
 town than is the Cripples ; that is, when 
 I like to make it so, and I've taken a fancy 
 to you and the young woman ; so I've said 
 the word, and you may make your minds 
 easy." 
 
 Noah Claypole's mind might have been 
 at ease after this assurance, but his body 
 certainly was not, for he shuffled and 
 writhed about into various uncouth posi- 
 tions, eyeing his new friend meanwhile 
 with mingled fear and suspicion. 
 
 "I'll tell you more," said the Jew, 
 
 after he had re-assured the girl, by dint 
 of friendly nods and muttered encourage- 
 ments. " I have got a friend that I think 
 can gratify your darling wish and put you 
 in the right way, where you can take 
 whatever department of the business you 
 think will suit you best at first, and be 
 taught all the others." 
 
 " Yer speak as if yer were in earnest," 
 replied Noah. 
 
 " What advantage would it be to me 
 to be anything else ?" inquired the Jew, 
 shrugging his shoulders. " Here. Let 
 me have a word with you outside." 
 
 "There's no occasion to trouble our- 
 selves to move," said Noah, getting hia 
 legs by gradual degrees abroad again. 
 " She'll take the luggage up-stairs the 
 while. Char-lotte, see to them bundles." 
 
 This mandate, which had been delivered 
 with great majesty, was obeyed without 
 the slightest demur, and Charlotte made 
 the best of her way off with the packages, 
 while Noah held the door open, and 
 watched her out. 
 
 " She's kept tolerably well under, ain't 
 she, sir!" he asked as he resumed his 
 seat, in the tone of a keeper who has 
 tamed some wild animal. 
 
 " Quite perfect," rejoined Fagin, clap- 
 ping him on the shoulder. " You're a 
 genius, my dear." 
 
 " Why, I suppose if I wasn't I shouldn't 
 be here," replied Noah. "But, I say, 
 she'll be back if yer lose time." 
 
 " Now, what do you think ]" said the 
 Jew. " If you was to like my friend, 
 could you do better than join him 1" 
 
 " Is he in a good way of business, that's 
 where it is ?" responded Noah, winking 
 one of his little eyes. 
 
 " The top of the tree," said the Jew ; 
 " employs a power of hands ; and has the 
 very best society in the profession." 
 
 "Regular town-maders ?" asked Mr. 
 Claypole. 
 
 " iVot a countryman among 'em ; and 
 I don't think he'd take you even on my 
 recommendation, if he didn't run rather 
 short of assistants just now," replied the 
 Jew. 
 
 " Should I have to hand over 7" said 
 Noah, slapping his breeches' pocket. 
 
 " It couldn't possibly be done without," 
 replied Fagin, in a most decided manner. 
 
 " Twenty pounds, though, — it's a lot of 
 money." 
 
 " Not when it's in a note you can't get 
 rid of," retorted Fagin. " Number and 
 date taken, I suppose ; payment stopped 
 at the bank ] Ah ! its not worth much 
 to him ; it '11 have to go abroad, and ha 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 icd 
 
 couldn't sell it for a great deal in the 
 market." 
 
 " When could I see him V asked Noah 
 doubtfully. 
 
 " To-morrow morning," replied the 
 Jew. 
 
 » Where r 
 
 " Here." 
 
 " Urn !" said Noah. " What's the 
 wages ]" 
 
 " Live like a gentleman, — board atd 
 lodging, pipes and spirits free, — half of 
 all you earn, and half of all the young 
 woman earns," replied Mr. Fagin. 
 
 Whether Noah Claypole, whose rapa- 
 city was none of the least comprehensive, 
 would have acceded even to these glow- 
 ing terms had he been a perfectly free 
 agent, is very doubtful; but as he recol- 
 lected that, in the event of his refusal, it 
 was in the power of his new acquaintance 
 to give him up to justice immediately, 
 (and more unlikely things had come to 
 pass,) he gradually relented, and said he 
 thought that would suit him. 
 
 "But, yer see," observed Noah, "as 
 she will be able to do a good deal, I should 
 like to take something very light." 
 
 "A little fancy-work]" suggested Fa- 
 gin. 
 
 " Ah ! something of that sort," replied 
 Noah. " What do you think would suit 
 me now 1 Something not too trying for 
 the strength, and not very dangerous, you 
 know ; that's the sort of thing !" 
 
 " I heard you talk of something in the 
 spy way upon the others, my dear," said 
 the Jew. " My friend wants somebody 
 who would do that well very much." 
 
 " Why, I did mention that, and I 
 shouldn't mind turning my hand to it 
 sometimes," rejoined Mr. Claypole slow- 
 ly ; " but it wouldn't pay by itself, you 
 know." 
 
 " That 's true !" observed the Jew, ru- 
 minating, or pretending to ruminate. 
 " No, it might not." 
 
 " What do you think, then 1" asked 
 Noah, anxiously regarding him. " Some- 
 thing in the sneaking way, where it was 
 pretty sure work, and not much more 
 risk than being at home." 
 
 " What do you think of the old ladies ]" 
 asked the Jew. " There 's a good deal 
 of money made in snatching their bags 
 and parcels, and running round the cor- 
 ner." 
 
 " Don't they holler out a good deal, and 
 scratch sometimes 7" asked Noah, shak- 
 ing his head. " I don't think that would 
 answer my purpose. Ain't there any other 
 line open 1" 
 
 15 W 
 
 " Stop," said the Jew, laying his hand 
 on Noah's knee. " The kinchin lay." 
 
 " What 's that 1" demanded Mr. Clay- 
 pole. 
 
 " The kinchins, my dear," said the 
 Jew, " is the young children that 's sent 
 on errands by their mothers, with six- 
 pences and shillings, and the lay is just 
 to take their money away — they've al- 
 ways got it ready in their hands, — and 
 then knock 'em into the kennel, and walk 
 off very slow, as if there was nothing else 
 the matter but a child fallen down and 
 hurt itself Ha ! ha ! ha !" 
 
 " Ha ! ha !" roared Mr. Claypole, kick- 
 ing up his legs in an ecstasy. " Lor, 
 that 's the very thing !" 
 
 " To be sure it is," replied Fagin ; 
 " and you can have a few good beats 
 chalked out in Camden-Town, and Battle- 
 Bridge and neighbourhoods like that, 
 where they 're always going errands, and 
 upset as many kinchins as you want any 
 hour in the day. Ha ! ha ! ha !" With 
 this Fagin poked Mr. Claypole in the side, 
 and they joined in a burst of laughter 
 both long and loud. 
 
 " Well, that 's all right !" said Noah 
 when he had recovered himself, and Char- 
 lotte had returned. " What time to- 
 morrow shall we say 1" 
 
 " Will ten do 1" asked the Jew, adding, 
 as Mr. Claypole nodded assent, " What 
 name shall I tell my good friend ]" 
 
 " Mr. Bolter," replied Noah, who had 
 prepared himself for such an emergency. 
 " Mr. Morris Bolter. This is Mrs. Bolter." 
 
 " Mrs. Bolter's humble servant," said 
 Fagin, bowing with grotesque politeness. 
 " I hope I shall know her better very 
 shortly." 
 
 " Do you hear the gentleman, Char- 
 lotte ?" thundered Mr. Claypole. 
 
 " Yes, Noah, dear !" replied Mrs. Bolter, 
 extending her hand. 
 
 " She calls me Noah, as a sort of fond 
 way of talking," said Mr. Morris Bolter, 
 late Claypole, turning to the Jew. " You 
 understand ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, I understand, — perfectly," 
 replied Fagin, telling the truth for once. 
 " Good night ! good night !" 
 
 With many adieus and good wishes, 
 Mr. Fagin went his way ; and Noah Clay- 
 pole, bespeaking his good lady's attention, 
 proceeded to enlighten her relative to the 
 arrangement he had made, with all that 
 haughtiness and air of superiority becom- 
 ing not only a member of the sterner sex, 
 but a gentleman who appreciates the dig 
 nity of a special appointment on the kin 
 chin lay in London and its vicinity. 
 
170 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 CHAPTER THE SIXTH. 
 
 Wherein is shown how the artful Dodger got into 
 trouble. 
 
 " And so it was you that was your own 
 friend, was it V asked Mr. Claypole, 
 otherwise Bolter, when, by virtue of the 
 compact entered into between them, he 
 had removed next day to the Jew's house. 
 " 'Cod, I thought as much last night !" 
 
 " Every man 's his own friend, my 
 dear," replied Fagin, with his most in- 
 sinuating grin. " He has'nt as good a 
 one as himself anywhere." 
 
 " Except sometimes," replied Morris 
 Bolter, assuming the air of a man of the 
 world. " Some people are nobody's ene- 
 mies but their own, you know." 
 
 " Don't believe that," said the Jew. 
 " When a man's his own enemy, it's only 
 because he's too much his own friend, not 
 because he's careful for everybody but 
 himself Pooh ! pooh 1 there ain't such a 
 thing in nature." 
 
 " There oughtn't to be, if there is," re- 
 plied Mr. Bolter. 
 
 " That stands to reason," said the Jew. 
 " Some conjurers say that number three 
 is the magic number, and some say num- 
 ber seven. It 's neither, my friend, nei- 
 ther. It 's number one." 
 
 " Ha ! ha!" cried Mr. Bolter. "Num- 
 ber one for ever !" 
 
 " In a little community like ours, my 
 dear," said the Jew, who felt it necessary 
 to qualify this position, " we have a gen- 
 oral number one ; that is, you can't con- 
 sider yourself as number one without 
 considering me too as the same, and all 
 the other young people." 
 
 " Oh, the devil !" exclaimed Mr. Bolter. 
 
 " You see," pursued the Jew, affecting 
 to disregard this interruption, " we are so 
 mixed up together and identified in our 
 interests that it must be so. For instance, 
 it 's your object to take care of number 
 one — meaning yourself" 
 
 " Certainly," replied Mr. Bolter. " Yer 
 about right there." 
 
 " Well, you can't take care of yourself, 
 number one, without taking care of me, 
 number one." 
 
 " Number two, you mean," said Mr. 
 Bolter, who was largely endowed with 
 the quality of selfishness. 
 
 " No, I don't !" retorted the Jew. " I'm 
 of the same importance to you as you are 
 :u yourself." 
 
 " I say," interrupted Mr. Bolter, " yer 
 a v'ery nice man, and I 'm very fond of 
 yer ; but we ain't quite so thick together 
 as all that comes to." 
 
 " Only think," said tiie Jew, shruggmg 
 his shoulders and stretching out his hands, 
 " only consider. You 've done what 'a 
 a very pretty thing, and what I love yon 
 for doing; but what at the same time 
 would put the cravat round your throat 
 that 's so very easily tied, and so very dif- 
 ficult to unloose — in plain English, the 
 halter." 
 
 Mr. Bolter put his hand to his necker- 
 chief, as if he felt it inconveniently tight, 
 and murmured an assent, qualified in tone 
 but not in substance. 
 
 " The gallows," continued Fagin, " the 
 gallows, my dear, is an ugly finger-post, 
 which points out a very short and sharp 
 turning that has stopped many a bold fel- 
 low's career on the broad highway. To 
 keep in the easy road, and to keep it at 
 a distance, is object number one with 
 you." 
 
 " Of course it is," replied Mr. Bolter. 
 " What do yer talk about such things 
 for]" 
 
 " Only to show you my meaning clear 
 ly," said the Jew, raising his eyebrows. 
 " To be able to do that, you depend upoa 
 me ; to keep my little business all snug, I 
 depend upon you. The first is your num- 
 ber one, the second my number one. The 
 more you value your number one, the 
 more careful you must be of mine ; so we 
 come at last to what I told you at first — 
 that a regard for number one holds us all 
 together, and must do so, unless we would 
 all go to pieces in company." 
 
 " That 's true," rejoined Mr. Bolter 
 thoughtfully. " Oh ! yer a cunning old 
 codger !" 
 
 Mr. Fagin saw with delight that this 
 tribute to his powers was not mere com- 
 pliment, but that he had really impressed 
 bis recruit with a sense of his wily ge- 
 nius, which it was most important that he 
 should entertain in the outset of their ac- 
 quaintance. To strengthen an impression 
 so desirable and useful, he followed up 
 the blow by acquainting him in some de- 
 tail with the magnitude and extent of his 
 operations ; blending truth and fiction to- 
 gether as best served his purpose, and 
 bringing both to bear with so much art 
 that Mr. Bolter's respect visibly increased, 
 and became tempered, at the same time, 
 with a degree of wholesMne fear, which 
 it was highly desirable to awaken. 
 
 " It 's this mutual trust we have in each 
 other that consoles me under heavy loss- 
 es," said the Jew. " My best hand was 
 taken from me yesterday morning." 
 
 " Yer don't mean to say he died 1" 
 cried Mr. Bolter. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 171 
 
 *♦ No, no," replied Fagin, " not so bad 
 as that. Not quite so bad." 
 
 «' What, I suppose he was ^" 
 
 " Wanted," interposed the Jew. " Yes, 
 he was wanted." 
 
 ** Very particular ?" inquired Mr. Bol- 
 ter. 
 
 " No," replied the Jew, " not very. 
 He was charged with attempting to pick 
 a pocket, and they found a silver snuff- 
 box on him, — his own, my dear, his own, 
 for he took snufF himself, and was very 
 fond of it. They remanded him till to- 
 day, for they thought they knew the 
 owner. Ah ! he was worth fifty boxes, 
 and I 'd give the price of as many to have 
 him back. You should have known the 
 Dodger, my dear ; you should have known 
 the Dodger." 
 
 " Well, but I shall know him, I hope ; 
 don't yer think so V said Mr. Bolter. 
 
 «' I 'm doubtful about it," replied the 
 Jew, with a sigh. " If they don't get 
 any fresh evidence it'll only be a sum- 
 mary conviction, and we shall have him 
 back again after six weeks or so ; but, if 
 they do, it's a case of lagging. They 
 know what a clever lad he is ; he '11 be a 
 lifer: they'll make the Artful nothing 
 less than a lifer." 
 
 " What do yer mean by lagging and a 
 lifer ■?" demanded Mr. Bolter. " What 's 
 the good of talking in that way to me ; 
 why don't yer speak so as I can under- 
 stand yer ]" 
 
 Fagin was about to translate these mys- 
 terious expressions into the vulgar tongue, 
 and, being interpreted, Mr. Bolter would 
 have been informed that they represented 
 that combination of words, " transporta- 
 tion for life," when the dialogue was cut 
 short by the entry of Master Bates with 
 his hands in his breeches-pockets, and his 
 fiice twisted into a look of semi-comical 
 woe. 
 
 "It's all up, Fagin," said Charley, 
 when he and his new companion had 
 been made known to each other. 
 
 " What do you mean V asked the Jew 
 with trembling lips. 
 
 " They ' ve found the gentleman as owns 
 the box; two or three more's a coming 
 to 'dentify him, and the Artful 's booked 
 for a passage out," replied Master Bates. 
 ** I must have a full suit of mourning, Fa- 
 gin, and a hatband to wisit him in, afore 
 he sets out upon his travels. To think 
 of Jack Dawkins — lummy Jack — the 
 Dodger — the Artful Dodger— going abroad 
 for a common twopenny-halfpenny sneeze- 
 box ! I never thought he 'd ha' done it 
 
 under a gold watch, chain, and seals, at 
 the lowest. Oh, why did'nt he rob some 
 rich old gentleman of all his walables, 
 and go out as a gentleman, and not like 
 a common prig, without no honour nor 
 glory 1" 
 
 With this expression of feeling for his 
 unfortunate friend. Master Bates sat him- 
 self on the nearest chair with an aspect 
 of chagrin and despondency. 
 
 " What do you talk about his having 
 neither honour nor glory for ]" exclaimed 
 Fagin, darting an angry look at his pupil. 
 " Wasn't he always top-sawyer among you 
 all ! — is there one of you that could touch 
 him or come near him on any scent — eh ?" 
 
 " Not one," replied Master Bates, in a 
 voice rendered husky by regret, — '« not 
 one." 
 
 " Then what do you talk off replied 
 the Jew angrily ; what are you blubbering 
 for?" 
 
 " 'Cause it isn't on the rec-ord, is it ?" 
 said Charley, chafed into perfect defiance 
 of his venerable friend by the current of 
 his regrets ; " 'cause it can't come out in 
 the indictment; 'cause nobody will never 
 know half of what he was. How will he 
 stand in the Newgate Calendar "i P'r'aps 
 not be there at all. Oh, my eye, my eye, 
 wot a blow it is !" 
 
 "Ha! ha!" cried the Jew extending 
 his right hand, and turning to Mr. Bolter 
 in a fit of chuckling which shook him as 
 though he had the palsy ; " see what a pride 
 they take in their profession, my dear. 
 Isn't it beautiful ?" 
 
 Mr. Bolter nodded assent, and the Jew, 
 after contemplating the grief of Charley 
 Bates for some seconds with evident sa- 
 tisfaction, stepped up to that young gen- 
 tleman and patted him on the shoulder. 
 
 "Never mind, Charley," said Fagin 
 soothingly; " it'll come out, it'll be sure 
 to come out. They'll all know what a 
 clever fellow he was ; he '11 show it him- 
 self, and not disgrace his old pals and 
 teachers. Think how young he is, too ! 
 What a distinction, Charley, to be lagged 
 at his time of life !" 
 
 " Well, it is a honour, that is !" said 
 Charley, a little consoled. 
 
 "He shall have all he wants," conti- 
 nued the Jew. " He shall be kept in the 
 Stone Jug, Charley, like a gentleman - 
 like a gentleman, with his beer every 
 day, and money in his pocket to pitch and 
 toss with, if he can't spend it." 
 
 " No, shall he though ?" cried Charley 
 Bates. 
 
 " Aj, that he shall," replied the Jew 
 
172 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 "and we'll have a big-wig, Charley, — 
 one that's got the greatest gift of the 
 gab, — to carry on his defence, and he 
 shall make a speech for himself, too, if 
 he likes, and we'll read it all in the pa- 
 pers — ' Artful Dodger — shrieks of laugh- 
 ter — here the court was convulsed' — eh, 
 Charley, eh ?" 
 
 "Ha! ha!" laughed Master Bates, 
 " what a lark that would be, wouldn't it, 
 Faginl I say, how the Artful would 
 bother 'em, wouldn't hel" 
 
 " Would !" cried the Jew ; " he shall— 
 he will !" 
 
 " Ah, to be sure, so he will," repeated 
 Charley, rubbing his hands. 
 
 " I think I see him now," cried the 
 Jew, bending his eyes upon his pupil. 
 
 " So do I," cried Charley Bates — " ha ! 
 ha ! ha ! so do I. I see it all afore me, 
 upon my soul I do, Fagin. What a game ! 
 what a regular game ! All the big-wigs 
 trying to look solemn, and Jack Dawkins 
 addressing of 'em as intimate and com- 
 fortable as if he was the judge's own son 
 making a speech arter dinner — ha ! ha ! 
 ha!" 
 
 In fact the Jew had so well humoured 
 his young friend's eccentric disposition, 
 that Master Bates, who had at first been 
 disposed to consider the imprisoned Dod- 
 ger rather in the light of a victim, now 
 looked upon him as the chief actor in a 
 scene of most uncommon and exquisite 
 humour, and felt quite impatient for the 
 arrival of the time when his old compa- 
 nion should have so favourable an oppor- 
 tunity of displaying his abilities. 
 
 " We must know how he gets on to-day 
 by some liandy means or other," said Fa- 
 gin. " Let me think." 
 
 " Shall I go?" asked Charley. 
 
 " Not for the world," replied the Jew. 
 "Are you mad, my dearl — stark mad, 
 that you'd walk into the very place 
 
 where . No, Charley, no— one is 
 
 enough to lose at a time." 
 
 " You do not mean to go yourself, I sup- 
 pose ?" said Charley, with a humorous 
 leer. 
 
 " That wouldn't quite fit," replied Fa- 
 gin, shaking his head. 
 
 " Then why don't you send this new 
 cove ]" asked Master Bates, laying his 
 hand on Noah's arm ; " nobody knows 
 him." 
 
 " Why, if he didn't mind," observed 
 the Jew. 
 
 " Mind !" interposed Charley. « What 
 should he have to mind "!" 
 
 "Reallv nothing my dear," said Fa- 
 
 gin, turning to Mr. Bolter, " really no- 
 thing." 
 
 " Oh, I dare say about that, yer know," 
 observed Noah, backing towards the door, 
 and shaking his head with a kind of sober 
 alarm. " No, no — none of that. It 's not 
 in my department, that isn't." 
 
 " Wot department has he got, Fagin ?" 
 inquired Master Bates, surveying Noah's 
 lanky form with much disgust. "The 
 cutting away when there 's anything 
 wrong, and the eating all the wittles when 
 there's everything right; is that his 
 branch 1" 
 
 " Never mind," retorted Mr. Bolter ; 
 "and don't yer take liberties with yer su- 
 periors, little boy, or yer '11 find yerself 
 in the wrong shop." 
 
 Master Bates laughed so vehemently 
 at this magnificent threat, that it was 
 some time before Fagin could interpose 
 and represent to Mr. Bolter that he in- 
 curred no possible danger in visiting the 
 police office ; that inasmuch as no account 
 of the little affair in which he had been 
 engaged, nor any description of his per- 
 son, had yet been forwarded to the metro- 
 polis, it was very probable that he was 
 not even suspected of having resorted to 
 it for shelter ; and that, if he were pro- 
 perly disguised, it would be as safe a spot 
 for him to visit as any in London, inas- 
 much as it would be of all places the very 
 last to which he could be supposed likely 
 to resort of his own free will. 
 
 Persuaded, in part, by these represent- 
 ations, but overborne in a much greater 
 degree by his fear of the Jew, Mr. Bolter 
 at length consented, with a very bad 
 grace, to undertake the expedition. By 
 Fagin's directions, he immediately sub- 
 stituted for his own attire a wagoner's 
 frock, velveteen breeches, and leather 
 leggings, all of which articles the Jew 
 had at hand. He was likewise furnished 
 with a felt hat, well garnished with turn- 
 pike tickets, and a carter's whip. Thus 
 equipped, he was to saunter into the 
 office, as some country fellow from 
 Covent Garden market might be supposed 
 to do, for the gratification of his curiosity ; 
 and as he was as awkward, ungainly, and 
 raw-boned a fellow as need be, Mr. Fagin 
 had no fear but that he would look the 
 part to perfection. 
 
 These arrangements completed, he was 
 informed of the necessary signs and to- 
 kens by which to recognise the artful 
 Dodger, and was conveyed by Master 
 Bates through dark and winding ways to 
 within a very short distance of Bow street 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 173 
 
 Having described the precise situation of 
 the office, and accompanied it with copious 
 directions iiow he was to walk straight 
 up the passage, and when he got into the 
 yard take the door up the steps on the 
 right-hand side, and pull off his hat as he 
 went into the room, Charley Bates bade 
 him hurry on alone, and promised to bide 
 his return on the spot of their parting. 
 
 Noah Claypole, or Morris Bolter, as the 
 reader pleases, punctually followed the 
 directions he had received, which — Mas- 
 ter Bates being pretty well acquainted 
 with the locality — were so exact that he 
 was enabled to gain the magisterial pre- 
 sence without asking any question, or 
 meeting with any interruption by the 
 way. He found himself jostled among a 
 crowd of people, chiefly women, who 
 ■were huddled together in a dirty frowsy 
 room, at the upper end of which was a 
 raised platform railed off from the rest, 
 with a dock for the prisoners on the left 
 hand against the wall, a box for the wit- 
 nesses in the middle, and a desk for the 
 magistrates on the right; the awftil lo- 
 cality last named being screened off by a 
 partition which concealed the bench from 
 the common gaze, and left the vulgar to 
 imagine (if they could) the full majesty 
 of justice. 
 
 There were only a couple of women in 
 the dock, who were nodding to their ad- 
 miring friends, while the clerk read some 
 depositions to a couple of policemen and 
 a man in plain clothes who leant over the 
 table. A jailer stood reclining against 
 the dock-rail, tapping his nose listlessly 
 with a large key, except when he re- 
 pressed an undue tendency to conversa- 
 tion among the idlers, by proclaiming 
 silence, or looked sternly up to bid some 
 woman " take that baby out," when the 
 gravity of justice was disturbed by feeble 
 cries, halP-smothered in the mother's 
 shawl, from some meagre infant. The 
 room smelt close and unwholesome ; the 
 walls were dirt-discoloured, and the ceil- 
 ing blackened. There was an old smoky 
 bust over the mantel-shelf, and a dusty 
 clock above the dock — the only thing pre- 
 sent that seemed to go on as it ought ; for 
 depravity, or poverty, or an habitual ac- 
 quaintance with both, had left a taint on 
 all the animate matter, hardly less un- 
 pleasant than the thick greasy scum on 
 every inanimate object that frowned upon 
 it 
 
 Noah looked eagerly about him for 
 the Dodger, but although there were sev- 
 eral women who would have done very 
 well for that distinguished character's 
 15* 
 
 mother or sister, and more than one man 
 who might be supposed to bear a strong 
 resemblance to his father, nobody at all 
 answering the description given him of 
 Mr. Dawkins was to be seen. He waited 
 in a state of much suspense and uncer- 
 tainty until the women, being committed 
 for trial, went flaunting out, and then was 
 quickly relieved by the appearance of an- 
 other prisoner, whom he felt at once could 
 be no other than the object of his visit. 
 
 It was indeed Mr. Dawkins, who, shuf- 
 fling into the office with the big coat 
 sleeves tucked up as usual, his left hand 
 in his pocket, and his hat in his right, 
 preceded the jailer with a rolling gait 
 altogether indescribable, and, taking his 
 place in the dock, requested in an audible 
 voice to know what he was placed in that 
 'ere disgraceful sitivation for. 
 
 " Hold your tongue, will you 1" said the 
 jailer. 
 
 " I 'm an Englishman, ain't I V rejoined 
 the Dodger. " Where are my privileges 7" 
 
 " You '11 get your privileges soon 
 enough," retorted the jailer, " and pepper 
 with 'em." 
 
 " We '11 see wot the Secretary of State 
 for the Home Affiiirs has got to say to the 
 beaks, if I don't," replied Mr. Dawkins. 
 " Now then, wot is this here business 1 
 I shall thank the madg'strates to dispose 
 of this here little affair, and not to keep 
 me while they read the paper, for I 've 
 got an appointment with a gentleman in 
 the city, and as I 'm a man of my word 
 and wery punctual in business matters, 
 he '11 go away if I ain't there to my time, 
 and then p'raps there won't be an action 
 for damage against those as kept me 
 away. Oh no, certainly not !" 
 
 At this point the Dodger, with a show 
 of being very particular with a view to 
 proceedings to be had thereafter, desired 
 the jailer to communicate " the names of 
 them two old files as was on the bench," 
 which so tickled the spectators that they 
 laughed almost as heartily as Master 
 Bates could have done if he had heard 
 the request. 
 
 " Silence there !" cried the jailer. 
 
 " What is this 1" inquired one of the 
 magistrates. 
 
 " A pick-pocketing case, your worship." 
 
 " Has that boy ever been here be- 
 fore]" 
 
 " He ought to have been a many times." 
 replied the jailer. " He has been pretty 
 well everywhere else. / know him well, 
 your worship." 
 
 " Oh ! you know me, do you ?" cried 
 the Artful, making a note of the state- 
 
174 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 ment " Werry good. That 's a case of 
 deformation of character, any way." 
 
 Here there was another laugh, and an- 
 other cry of silence. 
 
 " Now then, where are the witnesses]" 
 said the clerk. 
 
 " Ah ! that 's right," added the Dodger. 
 " Where are they 1 I should like to see 
 'em." 
 
 This wish was immediately gratified, 
 for a policeman stepped forward who had 
 seen the prisoner attempt the pocket of 
 an unknown gentleman in a crowd, and 
 indeed take a handkerchief therefrom, 
 which being a very old one, he delibe- 
 rately put back again, after trying it on 
 his own countenance. For this reason he 
 took the Dodger into custody as soon as 
 he could got near him, and the said 
 Dodger being searched had upon his per- 
 son a silver snufF^box with the owner's 
 name engraved upon the lid. This gen- 
 tleman had been discovered on referer.ce 
 to the Court Guide, and being then and 
 there present, swore that the snufF-box 
 was his, and that he had missed it on the 
 previous day, the moment he had disen- 
 gaged himself from the crowd before re- 
 ferred to. He had also remarked a young 
 gentleman in the throng particularly ac- 
 tive in making his way about, and that 
 the young gentleman was the prisoner 
 before him. 
 
 " Have you anything to ask this wit- 
 ness, boy r' said the magistrate. 
 
 " I wouldn't abase myself by descend- 
 ing to hold any conversation with him," 
 replied the Dodger. 
 
 " Have you anything to say at all 1" 
 
 " Do you hear his worship ask if you've 
 anything to say 1" inquired the jailer, 
 nudging the silent Dodger with his 
 elbow. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said the Dodger, 
 looking up with an air of abstraction. 
 " Did you address yourself to me, my 
 man V 
 
 " I never see such an out-and-out young 
 wagabone, your worship," observed the 
 officer with a grin. " Do you mean to 
 say anything, you young shaver?" 
 
 "No," replied the Dodger, "not here, 
 for this ain't the shop for justice ; besides 
 which my attorney is a-breakfasting this 
 morning with the Wice President of the 
 House of Commons ; but I shall have 
 boinething to say elsewhere, and so will 
 he, and so will a werry numerous and 
 respectable circle of acquaintance, as '11 
 make them beaks wish they 'd never been 
 born, or that they 'd got their footman to 
 }iang 'em up to their own hat-pegs, 'afore 
 
 they let 'em come out this morning to 
 try it on upon me. I '11 — " 
 
 " There, he 's fully committed !" inter- 
 posed the clerk. "Take him away." 
 
 " Come on," said the jailer. 
 
 " Oh, ah ! I '11 come on," replied the 
 Dodger, brushing his hat with the palm 
 of his hand. "Ah! (to the Bench) it's 
 no use your looking frightened ; I won't 
 show you no mercy, not a ha'porth of it. 
 You II pay for this, my fine fellers : I 
 wouldn't be you for something. I wouldn't 
 go free now, if you wos to fall down on 
 your knees and ask me. Here, carry me 
 off to prison. Take me away." 
 
 With these last words, the Dodger suf- 
 fered himself to be led off by the collar, 
 threatening till he got into the yard to 
 make a parliamentary business of it, and 
 then grinning in the officer's face with 
 great glee and self-approval. 
 
 Having seen him locked up by himself 
 in a little cell, Noah made the best of his 
 way back to where he had left Master 
 Bates. After waiting here some time, 
 he was joined by that young gentleman, 
 who had prudently abstained from show- 
 ing himself until he had looked carefully 
 abroad from a snug retreat, and ascer- 
 tained that his new friend had not been 
 followed by any impertinent person. 
 
 The two hastened back together to 
 bear to Mr. Fagin the animating news 
 that the Dodger was doing full justice to 
 his bringing-up, and establishing for him- 
 self a glorious reputation. 
 
 CHAPTER THE SEVENTH. 
 
 The time arrives for Nancy to redeem her pledge to 
 Rose Maylie. She fails. Noah Claypole is em- 
 ployed by Fagin on a secret mission. 
 
 Adept as she was in all the arts of 
 cunning and dissimulation, the girl Nan- 
 cy could not wholly conceal the efl^ect 
 which the knowledge of the step she had 
 taken worked upon her mind. She re- 
 membered that both the crafty Jew and 
 the brutal Sikes had confided to her 
 schemes which had been hidden from all 
 others, in the full confidence that she was 
 trustworthy, and beyond the reach of their 
 suspicions ; and vile as those schemes 
 were, desperate as were their originators, 
 and bitter as were her feelings towards 
 the Jew, who had led her step by step, 
 deeper and deeper down into an abyss of 
 crime and misery, whence was no escape, 
 still there were times when even towards 
 him she felt some rolentinfr, h^ft her (lis- 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 11» 
 
 closure should bring him within the iron 
 grasp he had so long eluded, and he should 
 fall at last — richly as he merited such a 
 fate — by her hand. 
 
 But these were the mere wanderings 
 of a mind unable wholly to detach itself 
 from old companions and associations, 
 though enabled to fix itself steadily on 
 one object, resolved not to be turned aside 
 by any consideration. Her fears for Sikes 
 would have been more powerful induce- 
 ments to recoil while there was yet time, 
 but she had stipulated that her secret 
 should be rigidly kept ; she had dropped 
 no clue which could lead to his discovery ; 
 she had refused even for his sake a refuge 
 from ail the guilt and wretchedness that 
 encompassed her : and what more could 
 she do ! She was resolved. 
 
 Though every mental struggle termi- 
 nated in this conclusion, tiiey forced 
 themselves upon her again and again, 
 and left their traces too. She grew pale 
 and thin even within a few days. At 
 times she took no heed of what was pass- 
 ing before her, or no part in conversations 
 where once she would have been the 
 loudest. At others she laughed without 
 merriment, and was noisy without cause 
 or meaning. At others — often within a 
 moment afterwards — she sat silent and 
 dejected, brooding with her head upon 
 her hands, while the very effort by which 
 she roused herself told more forcibly than 
 even these indications tliat she was ill at 
 ease, and that her thoughts were occu- 
 pied wiih matters very different and dis- 
 tant from those in course of discussion by 
 her companions. 
 
 It was Sunday night, and the bell of 
 the nearest church struck the hour. 
 Sikes and the Jew were talking, tut they 
 paused to listen. The girl looked up 
 from the low seat on which she crouched 
 and listened too, intently. Eleven. 
 
 " An hour this side of midnight," said 
 Sikes, raising the blind to look out, and 
 returning to his seat. " Dark and heavy 
 it is too. A good night for business this." 
 
 " Ah !" replied the Jew, " what a pity. 
 Bill, my dear, that there's none quite 
 ready to be done." 
 
 " You 're right for once," replied Sikes 
 gruffly. " It is a pity, for I'm in the hu- 
 mour too." 
 
 The Jew sighed and shook his head 
 despond ingly. 
 
 " We must make up for lost time when 
 we 've got things into a good train, that's 
 all I know," said Sikes. 
 
 " That 's the way to talk, my dear," 
 replied the Jew, venturing to pat him on 
 
 the shoulder, " It does me good to hear 
 you." 
 
 " Does you good, does it !" cried Sikes. 
 " Well, so be it." 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the Jew, as 
 if he were relieved by even this conces- 
 sion, " You 're like yourself to-night. Bill, 
 quite like yourself." 
 
 " I don't feel like myself when you lay 
 that withered old claw on my shoulder, 
 so take it away," said Sikes, casting off 
 the Jew's hand. 
 
 " It makes you nervous, Bill — reminds 
 you of being nabbed, does iti" said the 
 Jew, determined not to be offended. 
 
 " Reminds me of being nabbed by the 
 Devil," returned Sikes. " Not by a trap. 
 There never was another man with such 
 a face as yours, unless it was your father, 
 and I suppose he is singeing his grizzled 
 red beard by this time, unless you came 
 straight from the old 'un without any fa- 
 ther at all betwixt you, which I shouldn't 
 wonder at a bit." 
 
 Fagin offered no reply to this compli- 
 ment, but pulling Sikes by the sleeve, 
 pointed his finger towards Nancy, who 
 had taken advantage of the foregoing 
 conversation to put on her bonnet, and 
 was now leaving the room. 
 
 "Hdlo!" cried Sikes. "Nance. 
 Where 's the gal going to at this time of 
 night r' 
 " Not far." 
 
 "What answer's thati" returned 
 Sikes. " Where are you going !" 
 " I say, not far." 
 
 " And I say where 1" retorted Sikes 
 in a loud voice. " Do you hear me 1" 
 
 " I don't know where," replied the 
 girl. 
 
 " Then I do," said Sikes, more in the 
 spirit of obstinacy than because he had 
 any real objection to the girl going where 
 she listed. " Nowhere. Sit down." 
 
 " I 'm not well. I told you that before," 
 rejoined the girl. " 1 want a breath of 
 air." 
 
 " Put your head out of the window and 
 take it there," replied Sikes. 
 
 "There's not enough there," said the 
 girl ; " I want it in the street." 
 
 "Then you won't have it," replied 
 Sikes, with which assurance he rose, lock- 
 ed the door, took the key out, and, pull- 
 ing her bonnet from her head, flung it up 
 to the top of an old pre.ss. " There," said 
 the robber : " now stop quietly where you 
 are, will you !" 
 
 "It's not such a matter as a bonnet 
 would keep me," said the girl, turning 
 very pale. 
 
176 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 *• VVhat do you mean, Bill 1 Do you 
 know what 3'ou'rG doing .'" 
 
 *' Know what I'm — oh !" cried Sikes, 
 turning to Fagin, " she's out of her senses, 
 jiou know, or she daren't talk to me in 
 tliat way." 
 
 " You'll drive me to something despe- 
 rate," muttered the girl, placing both 
 hands upon her breast, as though to keep 
 down by force some violent outbreak. 
 " Let me go, will you, this moment — this 
 instant." 
 
 " No," — roared Sikes. 
 
 '• Tell him to let me go, Fagin. He 
 had better. It'll be better for him. Do 
 you hear me ]" said Nancy, stamping her 
 foot upon the ground. 
 
 " Hear you !" repeated Sikes, turning 
 round in his chair, to confront her. " Ay, 
 and if I hear you for half a minute longer, 
 the dbg shall have such a grip on your 
 throat as '11 tear some of that screaming 
 voice out. Wot has come over you, you 
 jade, wot is it ]" 
 
 " Let me go," — said the girl, with 
 great earnestness. Then sitting herself 
 down on the floor, before the door, she 
 said, " Bill, let me go ; you don't know 
 what you're doing, you don't, indeed. For 
 only one hour — do— do." 
 
 " Cut my limbs off one by one," cried 
 Sikes, seizing her roughly by the arm, 
 " if I don't think the gal 's stark raving 
 mad. Get up." 
 
 " Not till you let me go — not till you 
 let me go. — Never — never!" — screamed 
 the girl. 
 
 Sikes looked on for a minute, watching 
 his opportunity, and suddenly pinioning 
 her hands, dragged her, struggling and 
 wrestling with him by the way, into a 
 small room adjoining, where he sat him- 
 self on a bench, and thrusting her into a 
 chair, held her down by force. She 
 struggled and implored by turns, until 
 twelve o'clock had struck, and then, wea- 
 ried and exhausted, ceased to contest the 
 point any further. With a caution, 
 backed by many oaths, to make no more 
 efforts to go out that night, Sikes left 
 her to recover at leisure, and rejoined the 
 Jew. 
 
 " Phew !" said the housebreaker, wip- 
 ing the perspiration from his face. " Wot 
 a precious strange gal that is !" 
 
 " You may say that, Bill," replied the 
 Jew thoughtfully. " You may say that." 
 
 " Wot did she take it into her head to 
 go out to-night for, do you think T" asked 
 Sikes. "Come; you should know her 
 better than me — wot does it mean V 
 
 " Obstinacy, woman's obstinacy, I sup- 
 
 pose, my dear," replied the Jew, shrug- 
 ging his shoulders. 
 
 " Well, I suppose it is," growled Sikes. 
 " I thought I had tamed her, but she 's as 
 bad as ever." 
 
 " Worse," said the Jew thoughtfully. 
 " I never knew her like this, for such a 
 little cause." 
 
 <' Nor I," said Sikes. " I think she 's 
 got a touch of that fever in her blood yet, 
 and it won't come out — ehl" 
 
 " Like enough," replied the Jew. 
 
 " I '11 let her a little blood without 
 troubling the doctor, if she's took that 
 way again," said Sikes. 
 
 The Jew nodded an expressive approval 
 of this mode of treatment. 
 
 " She was hanging about me all day 
 and night too when I was stretched on 
 my back, and you, like a black-hearted 
 wolf as you are, kept yourself aloof," said 
 Sikes. " We was very poor too all the 
 time, and I think one way or other it 's 
 worried and fretted her, and that being 
 shut up here so long has made her rest- 
 less—eh r' 
 
 " That's it, my dear," replied the Jew 
 in a whisper — " Hush !" 
 
 As he uttered these words, the girl 
 herself appeared and resumed her former 
 seat. Her eyes were swollen and red ; 
 she rocked herself to and fro, tossed her 
 head, and after a little time burst out 
 laughing. 
 
 " Why now she's on the other tack !" 
 exclaimed Sikes, turning a look of exces- 
 sive surprise upon his companion. 
 
 The Jew nodded to him to take no fur- 
 ther notice just then, and in a few minutes 
 the girl subsided into her accustomed de- 
 meanour. Whispering Sikes that there 
 was no lear of her relapsing, Fagin took 
 up his hat and bade him good night. He 
 paused when he reached the door, and 
 looking round asked if somebody would 
 light him down the dark stairs. 
 
 " Light him down," said Sikes, who 
 was filling his pipe. " It 's a pity he 
 should break his neck himself, and disap- 
 point the sight-seers. There, show him 
 a light." 
 
 Nancy followed the old man down 
 stairs with the candle. When they 
 reached the passage, he laid his fingers 
 on his lip, and drawing close to the girl, 
 said in a whisper — 
 
 " What is it, Nancy dear?" 
 
 "What do you mean?" replied the 
 girl in the same tone. 
 
 " The reason of all this," replied Fa- 
 gin. " If Ae" — he pointed with his skinny 
 forefinger up the stairs — " is so hard with 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 1T7 
 
 you (he 's a brute, Nance, a brute beast,) 
 
 why don't you " 
 
 " Well !" said the girl, as i-'agin paused 
 with his mouth almost touching her ear, 
 and his eyes looking into hers. 
 
 " No matter just now," said the Jew, 
 " we '11 talk of this again. You have a 
 friend in me, Nance, a staunch friend. I 
 have the means at hand, quiet and close. 
 If you want revenge on those that treat 
 you like a dog — like a dog ! worse than 
 his dog, for he humours him sometimes — 
 come to me. I say come to me. He is 
 the mere hound of a day, but you know 
 me of old, Nance — of old." 
 
 "I know you well," replied the girl, 
 without manifesting the least emotion. 
 " Good night." 
 
 She shrunk back as Fagin offered to 
 lay his hand on her, but said good night 
 again in a steady voice, and, answering 
 his parting look with a nod of intelligence, 
 closed the door between them. 
 
 Fagin walked towards his own house, 
 intent upon the thoughts that were work- 
 ing within his brain. He had conceived 
 the idea — not from what had just passed, 
 though that had tended to confirm him — 
 but slowly and by degrees, that Nancy, 
 wearied of the house-breaker's brutality, 
 had conceived an attachment for some 
 new friend. Her altered manner, her 
 repeated absences from home alone, her 
 comparative indifference to the interests 
 of the gang for which she had once been 
 60 zealous, and added to these her despe- 
 rate impatience to leave home that night 
 at a particular hour, all favoured the sup- 
 position, and rendered it — to him at least 
 — almost a matter of certainty. The ob- 
 ject of this new liking was not among his 
 mynnidons. He would be a valuable ac- 
 quisition with such an assistant as Nancy, 
 and must (so Fagin argued) be secured 
 without delay. 
 
 There was another and a darker object 
 to be gained. Sikes knew too much, and 
 his ruffian taunts had not galled the Jew 
 the less because the wounds were hidden. 
 The girl must know well that if she shook 
 him off, she could never be safe from his 
 fury, and that it would be surely wreaked 
 — to the maiming of limbs or perhaps the 
 loss of life — on the object of her more re- 
 cent fancy. " With a little persuasion," 
 thought Fagin, " what more likely than 
 that she would consent to poison him ] 
 Women have done such things and worse, 
 to secure the same object, before now. 
 There would be the dangerous villain — 
 the man I hate — gone ; another secured 
 in his place, and my influence over the 
 
 girl, with the knowledge of this crime to 
 back it, unlimited." 
 
 These things passed through the mind 
 of Fagin during the short time he sat 
 alone in the housebreaker's room ; and 
 with them uppermost in his thoughts he 
 had taken the opportunity afterwards af^ 
 forded him of sounding the girl in the 
 broken hints he threw out at parting. 
 There was no expression of surprise, no 
 assumption of an inability to understand 
 his meaning. The girl clearly compre- 
 hended it. Her glance at parting showed 
 that. 
 
 But perhaps she would recoil from a 
 plot to take the life of Sikes, and that was 
 one of the chief ends to be attained. 
 "How" — thought the Jew as he crept 
 homewards, " can I increase my influence 
 with her 1 What new power can I ac- 
 quire 1" 
 
 Such brains are fertile in expedients. 
 If without extracting a confession from 
 herself, he laid a watch, discovered the 
 object of her altered regard, and threat- 
 ened to reveal the whole history to Sikea 
 (of whom she stood in no common fear) 
 unless she entered into his designs, could 
 he not secure her compliance 1 
 
 " I can," said Fagin almost aloud. 
 " She durst not refuse me then— not for 
 her life, not for her life. I have it all. 
 The means are ready ! and I shall set to 
 work ; I shall have you yet." 
 
 He cast back a dark look and a threat- 
 ening motion of the hand towards the spot 
 where he had left the bolder villain, and 
 went on his way, burying his bony hands 
 in the folds of his tattered garment, and 
 wrenching them tightly in his grasp, as 
 though there were a hated enemy crushed 
 with every motion of his fingers. 
 
 He rose betimes next morning, and 
 waited impatiently for the appearance of 
 his new associate, who, after a delay thai 
 seemed interminable, at length presented 
 himself and commenced a voracious as- 
 sault upon the breakfast. 
 
 " Bolter," said the Jew, drawing up a 
 chair, and seating himself opposite. " Mor- 
 ris Bolter." 
 
 "Well, here I am," returned Noah. 
 " What 's the matter. Don't yer ask me 
 to do anything till I have done eating. 
 That 's a great fault in this place. Yer 
 never get time enough over yer meals." 
 
 " You can talk as you eat, can't you ?" 
 said Fagin, curbing his dear young friend's 
 greediness from the very bottom of his 
 heart. 
 
 " Oh ! yes, I can talk ; I can get on bet- 
 ter when I talk," said Noah, cutting a 
 
178 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 monstrous slice of bread. "Where's 
 Charlotte 1" 
 
 " Out," said Fagin, " I sent her out 
 this morning with the other young wo- 
 man, because I wanted us to be alone." 
 
 "Oh!" said Noah, "I wish yer'd or- 
 dered her to make some buttered toast 
 first. Well, talk away. Yer won't in- 
 terrupt me." 
 
 There seemed indeed no great fear of 
 anything interrupting him, as he had evi- 
 dently sat down with a determination to 
 do a great deal of business. 
 
 "You did well yesterday my dear," 
 said the Jew, " beautiful ! six shillings 
 and ninepence-halfpenny on the very first 
 day ! The kinchin lay will be a fortune 
 to you." 
 
 " Don't yer forget to add three pint-pots 
 and a milk-can," said Mr. Bolter. 
 
 " No, no, my dear," replied the Jew ; 
 " the pint-pots were great strokes of ge- 
 nius, but the milk-can was a perfect mas- 
 terpiece." 
 
 *' Pretty well, I think, for a beginner," 
 remarked Mr. Bolter complacently. " The 
 pots I took off airy railings, and the milk- 
 can was standing by itself outside a pub- 
 lic house, so I thought it might get rusty 
 with the rain, or take cold, yer know. 
 Ha! ha! ha!" 
 
 The Jew affected to laugh very heartily, 
 and Mr. Bolter had his laugh out, took a 
 series of large bites, which finished his 
 first hunk of bread and butter, and assisted 
 himself to a second. 
 
 " I want you, Bolter," said Fagin lean- 
 ing over the table, " to do a piece of work 
 for me, my dear, that needs great care 
 and caution." 
 
 "I say," rejoined Bolter, "don't yer 
 go shoving me into danger, or sending me 
 to any more police offices. That don't 
 suit me, that don't, and so I tell yer." 
 
 " There 's not the smallest danger in it 
 — not the very smallest," said the Jew. 
 " It 's only to dodge a woman." 
 
 " An old woman ?" demanded Mr. Bol- 
 ter. 
 
 " A young one," replied Fagin. 
 
 " I can do that pretty well, I know," 
 said Bolter ; " I was a regular cunning 
 sneak when I was at school. What am 
 I to dodge her for 1 — not to " 
 
 " Not to do anything," interrupted the 
 Jew, " but to tell me where she goes to, 
 who she sees, and, if possible, what she 
 says: to remember the street, if it is a 
 street, or the house, if it 's a house, and 
 to bring me back all the information you 
 ran." 
 
 " What 'U yer give me ?" asked Noah, 
 
 setting down his cup, and lookmg his em- 
 ployer eagerly in the face. 
 
 "If you do it well, a pound, my dear — 
 one pound," said Fagin, wishing to inte- 
 rest him in the scent as much as possible. 
 "And that's what I never gave yet for 
 any job of work where there wasn't valu- 
 able consideration to be gained." 
 
 " Who is she "?" inquired Noah. 
 
 " One of us." 
 
 " Oh Lor !" cried Noah, curling up hia 
 nose. " Yer doubtful of her, are yer ?" 
 
 " She has found out some new friends, 
 my dear, and I must know who they are," 
 replied the Jew. 
 
 "I see," said Noah, "just to have the 
 pleasure of knowing them, if they 're re- 
 spectable people — eh 7 Ha ! ha ! ha ! — 
 I'm your man." 
 
 " I knew you would be," cried Fagin, 
 elated by the success of his proposal. 
 
 " Of course, of course," replied Noah. 
 " Where is she 1 Where am I to wait for 
 her 1 When am I to go 1 
 
 " All that, my dear, you shall hear from 
 me. I '11 point her out at the proper 
 time," said Fagin, " you keep ready, and 
 leave the rest to me." 
 
 That night, and the next, and the next 
 again, the spy sat booted and equipped in 
 his carter's dress, ready to turn out at a 
 word from Fagin. Six nights passed — 
 six long weary nights — and on each Fa- 
 gin came home with a disappointed face, 
 and briefly intimated that it was not yet 
 time. On the seventh he returned ear- 
 lier, and with an exultation he could not 
 conceal. It was Sunday. 
 
 " She goes abroad to-night," said Fa- 
 gin, "and on the right errand, I'm sure; 
 for she has been alone all day, and the 
 man she is afraid of will not be back 
 much before day-break. Come with me. 
 Quick." 
 
 Noah started up without saying a word, 
 for the Jew was in a state of such intense 
 excitement that it infected him. They 
 left the house stealthily, and hurrying 
 through a labyrinth of streets, arrived at 
 length before a public house, which Noah 
 recognized as the same in which he had 
 slept on the night of his arrival in Lon- 
 don. 
 
 It was past eleven o'clock, and the door 
 was closed. It opened softly on its hinges, 
 as the Jew gave a low whistle. They 
 entered without noise, and the door closed 
 behind them. 
 
 Scarcely venturing to whisper, but sub- 
 stituting dumb-show for words, Fagin and 
 the young Jew who had admitted them 
 pointed out the pane of glass to Noah, and 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 179 
 
 si^ed to him to climb up and observe the 
 person in the adjoining room. 
 
 " Is that the woman 1" he asked, 
 scarcely above his breath. 
 
 The Jew nodded ' yes.' 
 
 " I can't see her face well," whispered 
 Noah. " She is looking down, and the 
 candle is behind her." 
 
 " Stay there," whispered Pagin. He 
 signed to Barney, who withdrew. In an 
 instant the lad entered the room adjoin- 
 ing, and under pretence of snuffing the 
 candle, moved it into the required posi- 
 tion, and speaking to the girl, caused her 
 to raise her face. 
 
 •' I see her now," cried the spy. 
 
 " Plainly 7" asked the Jew. 
 
 " I should know her among a thousand.". 
 
 He hastily descended as the room-door 
 opened, and the girl came out. Fagin 
 drew him behind a small partition which 
 wag curtained off, and they held their 
 breath as she passed within a few feet of 
 their place of concealment, and emerged 
 by the door at which they had entered. 
 
 "Hist!" cried the lad who held the 
 door. " Noah." 
 
 Noah exchanged a look with Fagin, 
 and darted out. 
 
 "To the left," whispered the lad. 
 " Take the left hand, and keep on the 
 other side." 
 
 He did so, and by the light of the lamps 
 saw the girl's retreating figure already 
 at some distance before him. He ad- 
 vanced as near as he considered prudent, 
 and kept on the opposite side of the street, 
 the better to observe her motions. She 
 looked nervously round twice or thrice, 
 and once stopped to let two men who 
 were following close behind her pass on. 
 She seemed to gather courage as she ad- 
 vanced, and to walk with a steadier and 
 firmer step. The spy preserved the same 
 relative distance between them, and fol- 
 lowed with his eye upon hep. 
 
 CHAPTER THE EIGHTH. 
 
 The appointment kept. 
 
 The church clocks chimed three quar- 
 ters past eleven, as two figures emerged 
 on London Bridge. One which advanced 
 with a swift and rapid step, was that of 
 a woman, who looked eagerly about her 
 as though in quest of some expected ob- 
 ject ; the other figure was that of a man, 
 who slunk along in the deepest shadow 
 he could find, and at some distance, ac- 
 
 commodated his pace to here, stopping 
 when she stopped, and as she moved, 
 again creeping stealthily on ; but never 
 allowing himself, in the ardour of bis pur- 
 suit, to gain upon her footsteps. Thus 
 they crossed the bridge from the Middle- 
 sex to the Surrey shore, where the wo- 
 man, apparently disappointed in her 
 anxious scrutiny of the foot-passengers, 
 turned back. The movement was sudden, 
 but he who watched her was not thrown 
 off his guard by it ; for shrinking into 
 one of the recesses which surmount the 
 piers of the bridge, and leaning over the 
 parapet the better to conceal his figure, 
 he sufiered her to pass by on the opposite 
 pavement; and when she was about the 
 same distance in advance as she bad been 
 before, he slipped quietly down and fol- 
 lowed her again. At nearly the centre 
 of the bridge she stopped. The man 
 stopped too. 
 
 It was a very dark night. The day 
 had been unfavourable, and at that hour 
 and place there were few people stirring. 
 Such as there were hurried quickly past, 
 very possibly without seeing, but certain- 
 ly without noticing, either the woman or 
 the man who kept her in view. Their 
 appearance was not calculated to attract 
 the importunate regards of such of Lon- 
 don's destitute population as chanced to 
 take their way over the bridge that night 
 in search of some cold arch or doorless 
 hovel whereon to lay their head. They 
 stood there in silence, neither speaking 
 nor spoken to by any one who passed. 
 
 A mist hung over the river, deepening 
 the glare of the fires that burnt upon the 
 small craft moored off the different wharfs, 
 and rendering darker and more indistinct 
 the murky buildings on the banks. The 
 old smoke-stained storehouses on either 
 side rose heavy and dull fi-om the dense 
 mass of roofs and gables, and frowned 
 sternly upon water too black to reflect 
 even their lumbering shapes. The tower 
 of old Saint Saviour's church, and the 
 spire of Saint Magnus, so long the giant 
 warders of the ancient bridge, were visi- 
 ble in the gloom, but the forest of shipping 
 below the bridge, and the thickly scat- 
 tered spires of churches above, were near- 
 ly all hidden from the sight. 
 
 The girl had taken a few restless tuma 
 to and fro — closely watched, meanwhile, 
 by her hidden observer — when the heavy 
 bell of Saint Paul's tolled for the death of 
 another day. Midnight had come upon 
 the crowded city. The palace, the night- 
 cellar, the jail, the mad-house, the cham- 
 bers of birth and death, of health and 
 
180 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 sickness, the rigid face of the corpse, and 
 the calm sleep of the child — midnight was 
 upon them all. 
 
 The hour had not struck two minutes, 
 when a young lady, accompanied by a 
 grey-haired gentleman, alighted from a 
 hackney-carriage within a short distance 
 of the bridge, and, having dismissed the 
 vehicle, walked straight towards it. They 
 had scarcely set foot upon the pavement, 
 when the girl started, and immediately 
 made towards them. 
 
 They walked onwards, looking about 
 them with the air of persons who enter- 
 tained some very slight expectation which 
 had little chance of being realized, when 
 they were suddenly joined by this new 
 associate. They halted with an exclama- 
 tion of surprise, but suppressed it imme- 
 diately, for a man in the garments of a 
 countryman came close up — brushed 
 against them indeed — at that precise mo- 
 ment. 
 
 " Not here," said Nancy, hurriedly. 
 •' I am afraid to speak to you here. Come 
 away — out of the public road — down the 
 steps yonder." 
 
 As she uttered these words, and indi- 
 cated with her hand the direction in which 
 she wished them to proceed, the country- 
 man looked round, and roughly asking 
 what they took up the whole pavement 
 for, passed on. 
 
 The steps to which the girl had pointed 
 were those which, on the Surrey bank 
 and on the same side of the bridge as 
 Saint Saviour's church, form a landing- 
 stairs from the river. To this spot the 
 man, bearing the appearance of a country- 
 man, hastened unobserved ; and after a 
 moment's survey of the place, he began 
 to descend. 
 
 These stairs are a part of the bridge ; 
 they consist of three flights. Just below 
 the end of the second going down, the 
 stone wall on the left terminates in an 
 ornamental pilaster, facing towards the 
 Thames. At this point the lower steps 
 widen, so that a person turning that angle 
 of the wall is necessarily unseen by any 
 others on the stairs who chance to be 
 above him, if only a step. 
 
 Noah looked hastily round when he 
 reached this point, and as there seemed 
 no better place of concealment, and, the 
 tide being out, there was plenty of room, 
 he slipped aside, with his back to the 
 pilaster, and there waited, pretty certain 
 that they would come no lower, and that 
 fiven if he could not hear what was said, 
 he could follow them again with safety. 
 
 So tardily stole the time in this lonely 
 
 place, and so eager was the spy to pene- 
 trate the motives of an interview so dif- 
 ferent from what he had been led to ex- 
 pect, that he more than once gave the 
 matter up for lost, and persuaded himself 
 either they had stopped far above, or re- 
 sorted to some entirely different spot to 
 hold their mysterious conversation. He 
 was on the very point of emerging from 
 his hiding-place, and regaining the road 
 above, when he heard the sound of foot- 
 steps, and directly afterwards of voices 
 almost close to his ear. 
 
 He drew himself straight upright 
 against the wall, and scarcefy breathing, 
 listened attentively. 
 
 " This is far enough," said a voice 
 which was evidently that of the gentle- 
 man. " I will not suffer the young lady 
 to go any further. Many people would 
 have distrusted you too much to have 
 come even so far, but you see I am wil- 
 ling to humour you." 
 
 " To humour me !" cried the voice of 
 the girl whom he had followed. " You're 
 considerate, indeed, sir. ' To humour me !' 
 Well, well, it 's no matter." 
 
 " Why ; for what," — said the gentle- 
 man, in a kinder tone, " for what purpose 
 can you have brought us to this strange 
 place ? Why not have let me speak to 
 you above there, where it is light, and 
 there is something stirring, instead of 
 bringinsr us to this dark and dismal 
 holer'"" 
 
 "I told you before," replied Nancy, 
 " that I was afraid to speak to you there. 
 I don't know why it is," said the girl 
 shuddering, " but I have such a fear and 
 dread upon me to-night that I can hardly 
 stand." 
 
 " A fear of what 1" asked the gentle- 
 man, who seemed to pity her. 
 
 " I scarcely know of what," replied the 
 girl. " I wish I did. Horrible thoughts 
 of death, and shrouds with blood upon 
 them, and a fear that has made me burn 
 as if I was on fire, have been upon me all 
 day. I was reading a book to-night to 
 while the time away, and the same things 
 came into the print." 
 
 " Imagination," said the gentleman, 
 soothing her. 
 
 " No imagination," replied the girl in 
 a hoarse voice. " I '11 swear I saw ' cof- 
 fin' written in every page of the book in 
 large black letters — ay, and they car- 
 ried one close to me in the streets to» 
 night." 
 
 " There is nothing unusual in that," 
 said the gentleman. " They have passed 
 me often." 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 18f? 
 
 " Real ones" rejoined the girl. «' This 
 was not." 
 
 There was somethinnr so uncommon in 
 her manner that the flesh of the concealed 
 listener crept as he heard the girl utter 
 these words, and the blood chilled within 
 him. He had never e.xperienced a greater 
 relief than hearing the sweet voice of 
 the young lady, as she begged her to be 
 calm and not allow herself to become the 
 prey of such fearful fancies. 
 
 " Speak to her kindly," said the young 
 lady to her companion. *' Poor creature ! 
 she .seems to need it." 
 
 " Your haughty religious people would 
 have held their heads up to see me as I 
 am to-night, and preached of flames and 
 vengeance," cried the girl. " Oh dear 
 lady, why ain't those who claim to be 
 God's own folks as gentle and as kind to 
 us poor wretches as you, who, having 
 youth and beauty and all that they have 
 lost, might be a little proud instead of so 
 much humbler"!" 
 
 " Ah !" said the gentleman. " A Turk 
 turns his face, after washing it well, to 
 the East when he says his prayers ; these 
 good people, after giving their faces such 
 a rub with the world as takes the smiles 
 off, turn with no less regularity to the 
 darkest side of heaven. Between the 
 Mussulman and the Pharisee, commend 
 me to the former." 
 
 These words appeared to be addressed 
 to the younger lady, and were perhaps 
 uttered with the view of aflbrding Nancy 
 time to recover herself The gentleman 
 shortly afterwards addressed himself to 
 her. 
 
 " You were not here last Sunday night," 
 he said. 
 
 " I couldn't come," replied Nancy, " I 
 was kept by force." 
 
 " By whom 1" 
 
 " Bill him that I told the young 
 
 lady of before." 
 
 " You were not suspected of holding 
 any communication with anybody on the 
 subject which has brought us here to- 
 night, I hope V asked the old gentleman 
 anxiously. 
 
 " No," replied the girl shaking her 
 head. " It 's not very easy for me to 
 leave him unless he knows why ; I 
 could n't have seen the lady when I did, 
 but that I gave him a drink of laudanum 
 before I came away." 
 
 " Did he awake before you returned 7" 
 rejoined the gentleman. 
 
 " No, and neither he nor any of them 
 suspect me." 
 16 
 
 " Good," said the gentleman : " now lis- 
 ten to me." 
 
 " I am ready," replied the girl, as he 
 paused for a moment. 
 
 " This young lady," the gentleman be- 
 gan, " has communicated to me and some 
 otiier friends, who can be safely trusted, 
 what you told her nearly a fortnight since. 
 I confess to you that I had doubts at first, 
 whether you were to be implicitly relied 
 upon, but now I firmly believe you are." 
 
 " I am," said the girl earnestly. 
 
 " I repeat, that I firmly believe it. To 
 prove to you that I am disposed to trust 
 you, I tell you without reserve, that we 
 purpose to extort the secret, whatever it 
 may be, from the fears of this man Monks. 
 But if — if — " said the gentleman, " he 
 cannot be secured, or, if secured, he can- 
 not be acted upon as we wish, you must 
 deliver up the Jew." 
 
 ♦• Fagin !" cried the girl, recoiling. 
 
 "That man must be delivered up by 
 you," said the gentleman. 
 
 " I will not do it — I will never do it" — 
 replied the girl. " Devil that he is, and 
 worse than devil as he has been to me, I 
 will never do that." 
 
 "You will not?" said the gentleman, 
 who seemed fully prepared for this answer. 
 
 " Never," returned the girl. 
 
 " Tell me why." 
 
 " For one reason," rejoined the girl 
 firmly, — " for one reason that the lady 
 knows and will stand by me in — I know 
 she will, for I have her promise ; and for 
 this other reason besides, that bad life as 
 he has led, I have led a bad life too : there 
 are many of us who have kept the same 
 courses together, and I '11 not turn upon 
 them, who might, any of them, have 
 turned upon me, but didn't, bad as they 
 are." 
 
 " Then," said the gentleman quickly, 
 as if this liad been the point he had been 
 aiming to attain, "put Monks into my 
 hands, and leave me to deal with him." 
 
 " What if he turns against the others'!" 
 
 " I promise you in that case, if the truth 
 is forced from him, there the matter will 
 rest. There must be circumstances in 
 Oliver's little history which it would be 
 painful to drag before the public eye, and 
 if the truth is once elicited, they will go 
 Scot free." 
 
 " And if it is nof!" suggested the girl. 
 
 " Then," pursued the gentleman, " this 
 Jew shall not be brought to justice with- 
 out your consent. In such a case I could 
 show you reasons, I think, which would 
 induce you to yield it." 
 
189 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " Have I the lady's promise for that 1" 
 asked the girl eagerly. 
 
 " You have," replied Rose, " my true 
 and faithful pledge." 
 
 " Monks would never learn how you 
 knew what you doV said the girl, after 
 a short pause. 
 
 " Never," replied the gentleman. " The 
 intelligence should be so brought to bear 
 upon him that he could never even guess." 
 
 " I have been a liar and among liars 
 from a little child," said the girl, after 
 another interval of silence, " but I will 
 take your words." 
 
 After receiving an assurance from both, 
 tliat she might safely do so, she proceed- 
 ed in a voice so low that it was often diffi- 
 cult for the listener to discover even the 
 purport of what she said, to describe by 
 name and situation the public house 
 whence she had been followed that night. 
 From the manner in which she occasion- 
 ally paused, it appeared as if the gentle- 
 man were making some hasty notes of the 
 information she communicated. When 
 she had thoroughly explained the locali- 
 ties of the place, the best position from 
 which to watch it without exciting obser- 
 vation, and the night and hour on which 
 Monks was most in the habit of frequent- 
 ing it, she seemed to consider a few mo- 
 ments for the purpose of recalling his fea- 
 tures and appearance more forcibly to her 
 recollection. 
 
 " He is tall," said the girl, " and a 
 stronffly made man, but not stout; he has 
 a lurking walk, and, as he walks, con- 
 stantly looks over his shoulder, first on 
 one side and then on the other. Don't 
 forget that, for his eyes are sunk in his 
 head so much deeper than any other 
 man's, that you miijht almost toll him by 
 this alone. His face is dark like his hair 
 and eyes ; but, although he can't be more 
 than six or eight and twenty, withered 
 and haggard. His lips are often disco- 
 loured and disfigured with the marks of 
 teeth, for he has desperate fits, and some- 
 times even bites his hands, and covers 
 them with wounds — why did you start?" 
 said the girl, stopping suddenly. 
 
 The gentleman replied in a hurried 
 manner, that he was not conscious of hav- 
 ing done so, and begcred her to proceed. 
 
 " Part of this," said the ffirl, « I 've 
 drawn out from other people at the house 
 1 tell you of, for I have only seen him 
 twice, and both times he was covered up 
 in a lar?e cloak. I think that's all I can 
 give yon to know him by. Stay thoug-h," 
 she added, •' upon his throat, so hinrh that 
 you can see a part of it below his 
 
 neckerchief when he turns his face, there 
 is 
 
 " A broad red mark, like a burn or 
 scald," cried the gentleman. 
 
 " How 's this ?" said the girl ; " you 
 know him." 
 
 The young lady uttered a cry of ex- 
 treme surprise, and for a few moments 
 they were so still that the listener could 
 distinctly hear them breathe. 
 
 " I think I do," said the gentleman, 
 breaking silence. " I should, by your de- 
 scription; we shall see. Many people 
 are singularly like each other though — it 
 may not be the same." 
 
 As he expressed himself to this effect, 
 with assumed carelessness, he took a step 
 or two nearer Noah, as he could tell from 
 the distinctness with which he heard him 
 utter — " It must be he !" 
 
 " Now," he said, returning — so it 
 seemed by the sound — to the spot where 
 he had stood before, " you have given us 
 most valuable assistance, young woman, 
 and I wish you to be the better for it 
 What can I do to serve you ?" 
 
 " Nothing," replied Nancy. 
 
 " You will not persist in saying that,** 
 rejoined the gentleman with a voice and 
 emphasis of kindness that might have 
 touched a much harder and more obdurate 
 heart. " Think now ; tell me." 
 
 " Nothing, sir," rejoined the girl, weep- 
 ing. " You can do nothing to help me. I 
 am past all hope, indeed." 
 
 " You put yourself beyond its pale," 
 said the gentleman ; " the past has been 
 a dreary waste with you of youthful ener- 
 gies misspent, and such priceless trea- 
 sures lavished as the Creator bestows but 
 once, and never grants again ; but for the 
 future you may hope. I do not say that 
 it is in our power to ofTer you peace of 
 heart and mind, for that must come as you 
 seek it, but a quiet asylum either in Eng- 
 land, or, if you fear to remain here, in 
 some foreiorn country, it is not only within 
 the compass of our ability, but our most 
 anxious wish to secure to you. Before 
 the dawn of morning, before this river 
 wakes to the fresh g-limpse of daylight, 
 you shall be placed as entirely beyond the 
 reach of your fiirmer associatf^s, and leave 
 as utter an absence of all traces behind 
 you, as if you were to disappear from the 
 earth this moment. Come. I would not 
 have you go back to exchange one word 
 with any old companion, or take one look 
 at any old haunt, or breathe the very air 
 which is pestilence and death to you. 
 Quit them all while there is time and 
 opportunity." 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 183 
 
 " She will be persuaded now," cried 
 the young lady ; " she hesitates, I am 
 Bure." 
 
 " I fear not, my dear," said the gentle- 
 man. 
 
 " No, sir, I do not," replied the girl 
 after a short struggle. " I am chained to 
 my old life, and loathe and hate it now, 
 but I cannot leave it ; I must have gone 
 too far to turn back, — and yet I don't 
 know, for if you had spoken to me so 
 sometime ago, I should have laughed it 
 off. But" — she said, looking hastily round 
 — " this fear comes over me again. I 
 must go home." 
 
 " Home !" replied the young lady, with 
 great stress upon the word. 
 
 " Home, lady," rejoined the girl. " To 
 such a home as I have raised for myself, 
 with the work of my whole life. Let us 
 part. I shall be watched, or seen. Go ; 
 go. If I have done you any service, all 
 I ask is that you leave me, and let me go 
 my way alone." 
 
 " It is useless," said the gentleman, 
 with a sigh. " We compromise her safety, 
 perhaps, by staying here. We may have 
 detained her longer than she expected, 
 already." 
 
 " Yes, yes," urged the girl, " you 
 have." 
 
 " What," cried the young lady, " can 
 be the end of this poor creature's life !" 
 
 " What !" repeated the girl. " Look 
 before you, lady. Look at that dark 
 water. How many times do you read of 
 such as me who spring into the tide, and 
 leave no living thing to care for or bewail 
 them. It may be years hence, or it may 
 be only months ; but I shall come to that 
 at last." 
 
 " Do not speak thus, pray," returned 
 the young lady, sobbing. 
 
 " It will never reach your ears, dear 
 lady, and God forbid such horrors should," 
 replied the girl. "Good night, good 
 night." 
 
 The gentleman turned away. 
 
 " This purse," cried the young lady, 
 " take it for my sake, that you may have 
 some resource in an hour of need and 
 trouble." 
 
 "No, no," replied the girl, "I have not 
 done this for money. Let me have that 
 to think of. And yet — give me something 
 that you have worn : I should like to have 
 something — no, no, not a ring, your 
 gloves, or handkerchief — anything that I 
 can keep as having belonged to you, 
 sweet lady. There, bless you, God bless 
 you. Good night, good night, good night." 
 
 The violent agitation of the girl, and 
 
 the apprehension of some discovery which 
 would subject her to ill-usage and vio- 
 lence, seemed to determine the gentleman 
 to leave her as she requested. The sound 
 of retreating footsteps were audible, and 
 the voices ceased. 
 
 The two figures of the young lady and 
 her companion soon afterwards appeared 
 upon the bridge. They stopped at the 
 summit of the stairs. 
 
 " Hark !" cried the young lady, listen- 
 ing. "Did she call] I thought I heard 
 her voice." 
 
 " No, my love," replied Mr. Brownlow, 
 looking sadly back. " She has not moved, 
 and will not till we are gone." 
 
 Rose Maylie lingered, but the old gen- 
 tleman drew her arm through his and led 
 her with gentle force away. As they 
 disappeared, the girl sunk down nearly 
 at her full length upon one of the stone 
 stairs, and vented the anguish of her heart 
 in bitter tears. 
 
 After a time she rose, and with feeble 
 and tottering steps ascended to the street. 
 The astonished listener remained motion- 
 less on his post for some minutes after- 
 wards, and having ascertained with many 
 cautious glances round him that he was 
 again alone, crept slowly from his hiding- 
 place and returned, stealthily and in the 
 shade of the walk, in the same manner 
 as he had descended. 
 
 Peeping out more than once when he 
 reached the top to make sure that he was 
 unobserved, the spy darted away at his 
 utmost speed, and made for the Jew's 
 house as fast as his legs would carry him. 
 
 CHAPTER THE NINTH. 
 
 Fatal Consequences. 
 
 It was nearly two hours before day- 
 break — that time, which in the autumn 
 of the year, may be truly called the dead 
 of night, when the streets are silent and 
 deserted, when even sound appears to 
 slumber, and profligacy and riot have 
 staggered home to dream — it was at this 
 still and silent hour that the Jew sat 
 watching in his old lair with face so dis- 
 torted and pale, and eyes so red and 
 bloodshot, that he looked less like a man 
 than like some hideous phantom, moist 
 from the grave, and worried by an evil 
 spirit. 
 
 He sat crouching over a cold hearth 
 wrapped in an old torn coverlet, with his 
 face turned towards a wasting candle thai 
 stood upon a table by his side. His righ 
 
184 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 Land was raised to his lips, and as, ab- 
 sorbed in thought, he bit his long black 
 nails, he disclosed among his toothless 
 gums a few such fangs as should have 
 been a dog's or rat's. 
 
 Stretched upon a mattress on the floor 
 lay Noah Claypole, fast asleep. Towards 
 him the old man sometimes directed his 
 eyes for an instant, then brought them 
 back again to the candle, which, witli 
 long burnt wick drooping almost double, 
 and hot grease falling down in clots upon 
 the table, plainly showed that his thoughts 
 were busy elsewhere. 
 
 Indeed they were. Mortification at 
 the overthrow of his notable scheme, ha- 
 tred of the girl who had dared to palter 
 with strangers, an utter distrust of the 
 sincerity of her refusal to yield him up, 
 bitter disappointment at the loss of his 
 revenge on Sikes, the fear of detection 
 and ruin and death, and a fierce and 
 deadly rage kindled by all — these were 
 the passionate considerations, that follow- 
 ing upon each other with rapid and cease- 
 less whirl, shot through the brain of Fa- 
 gin, as every evil thought and blackest 
 purpose lay working at his heart. 
 
 He sat without changing his attitude 
 in the least, or appearing to take the 
 smallest heed of time, until his quick ear 
 seemed to be attracted by a footstep in 
 the street. 
 
 " At last," muttered the Jew, wiping 
 his dry and fevered mouth. " At last." 
 
 The bell rang gently as he spoke. He 
 crept up stairs to the door, and presently 
 returned accompanied by a man muffled 
 to the chin, who carried a bundle under 
 one arm. Sitting dow'h and throwing 
 back his outer coat, the man displayed 
 the burly frame of Sikes. 
 
 " There," he said, laying the bundle 
 on the table. " Take care of that, and 
 do the most you can with it. It 's been 
 trouble enough to get it; I thought I 
 should have been here three hours ago." 
 
 Fagin laid his hand upon the bundle, 
 and locking it in the cupboard, sat down 
 again without speaking. But he did not 
 take his eyes off the robber for an instant 
 during this action, and now that they 
 eat over against each other face to face, 
 he looked fixedly at him, with his lips 
 quivering so violently, and his face so 
 altered by the emotions which had mas- 
 tered him, that the house-breaker invo- 
 luntarily drew back his chair and surveyed 
 him with a look of real affright. 
 
 " Wot now ]" cried Sikes. " Wot do 
 you look at a man so fori Speak, will 
 vour 
 
 The Jew raised his right hand, and 
 shook his trembling forefinger in the air ; 
 but his passion was so great that the 
 power of speech was for the moment 
 gone. 
 
 " Damme !" said Sikes, feeling in his 
 breast, with a look of alarm. " He 's 
 gone mad. I must look to myself here." 
 
 " No, no," rejoined Fagin, finding his 
 voice. " It 's not — you're not the person, 
 Bill. I 've no — no fault to find with you." 
 
 " Oh ! you haven't, haven't you," said 
 Sikes, looking sternly at him, and osten- 
 tatiously passing a pistol into a more con- 
 venient pocket. " That's lucky — for one 
 of us. Which one that is don't matter." 
 
 " 1 've got that to tell you. Bill," said 
 the Jew, drawing his chair nearer, " will 
 make you worse than me." 
 
 " Ay "!" returned the robber, with an 
 incredulous air. " Tell away. Look 
 sharp, or Nance will think I'm lost." 
 
 " Lost !" cried Fagin. " She has pret- 
 ty well settled that in her own mind al- 
 ready." 
 
 Sikes looked with an aspect of great 
 perplexity into the Jew's face, and read- 
 ing no satisfactory explanation of the 
 riddle there, clenched his coat-collar in 
 his huge hand and shook him soundly. 
 
 " Speak, will you," he said ; " or if 
 you don't, it shall be for want of breath. 
 Open your mouth, and say wot you've 
 got to say in plain words. Out with it, 
 you thundering old cur, out with it." 
 
 " Suppose that lad that's lying there — " 
 Fagin began. 
 
 Sikes turned round to where Noah was 
 sleeping, as if he had not previously ob- 
 served him. "Well," he said, resuming 
 his former position. 
 
 " Suppose that lad," pursued the Jew, 
 " was to beach — blow upon us all — first 
 seeking out the right folks for the pur- 
 pose, and then having a meeting with 'em 
 in the street to paint our likenesses, de- 
 scribe every mark that they might know 
 us by, and the crib where we might be 
 most easily taken. Suppose he was to 
 do all this, and besides, to blow upon a 
 plant we've all been in, more or less — 
 of his own fancy ; not grabbed, trapped, 
 tried, ear-wigged by the parson, and 
 brought to it on bread and water, but of 
 his own fancy, to please his own taste, 
 stealing out at nights to find those most 
 interested against us, and peaching to 
 them. Do you hear me ?" cried the Jew, 
 his eyes flashing with rage. " Suppose 
 he did all this ; what then r' 
 
 " What then !" replied Sikes, with a 
 tremendous oath. " If he were left alive 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 185 
 
 till I came, I M ^ind his skull under the 
 iron heel of my boot into as many grains 
 as there are hairs upon his head." 
 
 " What if I did it !" cried the Jew, 
 almost in a yell. " /, that know so much, 
 and could hang so many besides your- 
 eelf!" 
 
 " I don't know," replied Sikes, clench- 
 ing his teeth, and turning white at the 
 mere suggestion. " I'd do something in 
 the jail that 'd get me put in irons, and if 
 I was tried along with you, I'd fall upon 
 you with them in the open court, and beat 
 your brains out afore the people. I should 
 have such strength," muttered the robber, 
 poising his brawny arm, " that I could 
 smash your head as if a loaded wagon 
 had gone over it." 
 
 "You would 1" 
 
 " Would I !" said the housebreaker. 
 " Try me." 
 
 " If it was Charley, or the Dodger, or 
 Bet, or " 
 
 " I don 't care who," replied Sikes, im- 
 patiently. " Whoever it was, I 'd serve 
 them the same." 
 
 Fagin again looked ha;d at the robber, 
 and motioning him to be silent, stooped 
 over the bed upon the floor, and shook the 
 sleeper to rouse him. Sikes leant for- 
 ward in his chair, looking on with his 
 hands upon his knees, as if wondering 
 much what all this questioning and pre- 
 paration was to end in. 
 
 " Bolter, Bolter. Poor lad !" said Fa- 
 gin, looking up with an expression of 
 devilish anticipation, and speaking slow- 
 ly, and with marked emphasis. " He 's 
 tired — tired with watching for Aer so long 
 — watching for her. Bill." 
 
 " Wot d'ye mean ]" asked Sikes, draw- 
 ing back. 
 
 The Jew made no answer, but bending 
 over the sleeper again, hauled him into a 
 Bitting position. When his assumed 
 name had been repeated several times, 
 Noah rubbed his eyes, and giving a heavy 
 yawn, looked sleepily about him. 
 
 "Tell me that again — once again; 
 just for him to hear," — said the Jew, 
 pointing to Sikes as he spoke. 
 
 "Tell yer what?" asked the sleepy 
 Noah, shaking himself pettishly. 
 
 " Thit about Nancy," said the Jew, 
 clutching Sikes by the wrist, as if to pre- 
 vent his leaving the house before he had 
 heard enough. " You followed her 1" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " To I/)ndon Bridge 1" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Where she met two people 1" 
 
 " So she did." 
 16* Y 
 
 " A gentleman and a lady, that she 
 had gone to of her own accord before, 
 who asked her to give up all her pals, 
 and Monks first, which she did — and to 
 describe him, which she did — to tell her 
 what house it was we meet at and go to, 
 which she did — and where it would be 
 best watched from, which she did — and 
 what lime the people went there, which 
 she did. She did all this ; she told it 
 all, every word, without a threat, without 
 a murmur — she did. Didn't she V cried 
 the Jew, half mad with fury. 
 
 "All right," replied Noah, scratching 
 his head. " That 's just what it was." 
 
 " What did they say about last Sun- 
 day 1" demanded the Jew. 
 
 "About last Sunday!" replied Noah, 
 considering; " why I told you that be- 
 fore." 
 
 "Again — tell it again," crird Fagin, 
 tightening his grasp on Sikes, and bran- 
 dishing his other hand alofl, as the foam 
 flew from his lips. 
 
 " They asked her," said Noah, who, as 
 he grew more wakeful, seemed to have 
 a dawning perception who Sikes was, — 
 " they asked her why she didn't come last 
 Sunday, as she promised "] She said 
 ' she couldn't.' " 
 
 " Why, why V mterrapted the Jew 
 triumphantly. " Tell him that." 
 
 " Because she was forcibly kept at 
 home by Bill, the man she bad told them 
 of before," replied Noah. 
 
 " What more of him !" cried the Jew. 
 " What more of the man she had told 
 them of before f Tell him that, tell him 
 that." 
 
 " Why, that she couldn't very easily 
 get out of doors unless he knew where 
 she was going to," said Noah ; " and so 
 the first time she went to see the lady, 
 she — ha ! ha ! ha ! — it made me laugh 
 when she said it — that it did — she gave 
 him a drink of laudanum !" 
 
 " Hell's fire !" cried Sikes, breaking 
 fiercely from the Jew. " Let me go !" 
 Flinging the old man from him, he rush- 
 ed from the room, and darted wildly and 
 furiously up the stairs. 
 
 " Bill, Bill !" cried the Jew, following 
 him hastily. " A word — only a word." 
 
 The word would not have been ex- 
 changed, but that the housebreaker was 
 unable to open the door, on which he was 
 expending fruitless oaths and violence 
 when the Jew came panting up. 
 
 " Let me out," said Sikes. " Don't 
 speak to me — it 's not safe. Let me out, 
 I say !" 
 
 " Hear me speak a word," rejoined tb© 
 
186 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 Jew, laying his hand upon the lock. 
 " You won't be " 
 
 " Well," replied the other. 
 
 "You won't be— too— violent, BilH" 
 whined the Jew. 
 
 The day was breaking, and there was 
 light enough for the men to see each 
 other's faces. They exchanged one brief 
 glance ; there was a fire in the eyes of 
 both which could not be mistaken. 
 
 " I mean," said Fagin, showing that he 
 felt all disguise was now useless — " not 
 too violent for safety. Be crafty, Bill, and 
 not too bold." 
 
 Sikes made no reply ; but, pulling open 
 the door of which the Jew had turned 
 the lock, dashed into the silent streets. 
 
 Without one pause or moment's consi- 
 deration, without once turning his head 
 to the right or left, or raising his eyes to 
 the sky, or lowering them to the ground, 
 but looking straight before him with 
 savage resolution, his teeth so tightly 
 compressed, that the strained jaw seem- 
 ed starting through his skin, the robber 
 held on his headlong course, nor muttered 
 a word, nor relaxed a muscle, until he 
 reached his own door. He opened it 
 softly with a key, strode lightly up the 
 stairs, and entering his own room, double- 
 locked the door, and lifting a heavy table 
 against it, drew back the curtain of the 
 bed. 
 
 The girl was lying half-dressed upon 
 it. He had roused her from her sleep, 
 for she raised herself with a hurried and 
 startled look. 
 
 " Get up," said the man. 
 
 " It is you. Bill !" cried the girl, 
 with an expression of pleasure at his re- 
 turn. 
 
 '• It is," was the reply. " Get up." 
 
 There was a candle burning, but the 
 man hastily drew it from the candlestick 
 and hurled it under the grate. Seeing 
 the faint light of early day without, the 
 girl rose to undraw the curtain. 
 
 " Let it be," said Sikes, thrusting his 
 hand before her. " There's light enough 
 tor what I 've got to do." 
 
 " Bill," said the girl, in the low voice 
 of alarm. " Why do you look like that 
 at me 1" 
 
 The robber sat regarding her for a few 
 seconds with dilated nostrils and heaving 
 breast, and then grasping her by the head 
 and throat, dragged her into the middle 
 of the room, and looking once towards the 
 door, placed his heavy hand upon her 
 mouth. 
 
 " Bill, Bill," gasped the girl, wrestling 
 
 with the strength of mortal fear, " 1 — I 
 — won't scream or cry — not once — hear 
 me — speak to me — tell me what I have 
 done." 
 
 " You know, you she-devil," returned 
 the robber, suppressing his breath. " You 
 were watched to-night; and every word 
 you said was heard." 
 
 " Then spare my life, for the love of 
 Heaven, as I spared yours," rejoined the 
 girl, clinging to him. " Bill, dear Bill, 
 you cannot have the heart to kill me. 
 Oh ! think of all I have given up this one 
 night for you. You shall have time to 
 think and save yourself this crime ; I 
 will not loose my hold, you cannot throw 
 me off! Bill, Bill, for dear God's sake, 
 for your own, for mine, stop before you 
 spill my blood. I have been true to you, 
 upon my guilty soul I have." 
 
 The man struggled violently to release 
 his arms, but those of the girl were 
 clasped round his, and tear her as he 
 would, he could not tear them away. 
 
 " Bill," cried the girl, striving to lay 
 her head upon his breast, " the gentleman 
 and that dear lady told me to-night of a 
 home in some foreign country, where I 
 could end my days in solitude and peace. 
 Let me see them again, and beg them on 
 my knees to show the same mercy and 
 goodness to you, and let us both leave 
 this dreadful place, and, far apart, lead 
 better lives, and forget how we have lived, 
 except in prayers, and never see each 
 other more. It is never too late to re- 
 pent. They told me so ; I feel it now ; 
 but we must have time — a little, little 
 time I" 
 
 The housebreaker freed one arm, and 
 grasped his pistol. The certainty of im- 
 mediate detection if he fired, flashed 
 across his mind, even in the midst of his 
 fury, and he beat it twice, with all the 
 force he could summon, upon the upturned 
 face that almost touched his own. 
 
 She staggered and fell, nearly blinded 
 with the blood that rained down from a 
 deep gash in her forehead, but raising her- 
 self with difficulty on her knees, drew 
 from her bosom a white handkerchief — 
 I Rose Maylie's own — and holding it up in 
 I her folded hands as high towards heaven 
 : as her feeble strength would let her, 
 ' breathed one prayer for mercy to her 
 Maker, 
 
 It was a ghastly figure to look upon. 
 The murderer, staggering backward to 
 the wall, and shutting out the sight with 
 his hand, seized a heavy club and struck 
 her down. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 187 
 
 CHAPTER THE TENTH. 
 The flight of Sikes. 
 
 Op all bad deeds that, under cover of 
 the darkness, had been committed within 
 wide London's bounds since night hung 
 over it, that was the worst Of all the 
 horrors that rose with an ill scent upon 
 the morning air, that was the foulest and 
 most cruel. 
 
 The sun — the bright sun, that brings 
 back not light alone, but new life and 
 hope and freshness to man, — burst upon 
 the crowded city in clear and radiant glo- 
 ry. Through costly coloured glass and 
 paper-mended window, through cathedral 
 dome and rotten crevice, it shed its equal 
 ray. It lighted up the room where the 
 murdered woman lay. It did. He tried 
 to shut it out, but it would stream in. If 
 tiie sight had been a ghastly one in the 
 dull morning, what was it now in all that 
 brilliant light] 
 
 He had not moved : he had been afraid 
 to stir. There had been a moan and mo- 
 tion of the hand ; and, with terror added 
 to hate, he had struck and struck again. 
 Once he threw a rug over it — but it was 
 worse to fancy the eyes and imagine them 
 moving towards him, than to see them 
 glaring upwards, as if watching the re- 
 flection of the pool of gore, that quivered 
 and danced in the sunlight on the ceiling. 
 He had plucked it off again. And there 
 was the body — mere flesh and blood, no 
 more — but such flesh and such blood ! 
 
 He struck a light, kindled a fire, and 
 thrust the club into it. There was hu- 
 man hair upon the end which blazed, and 
 shrunk into a light cinder, and, caught by 
 the air, whirled up the chimney. Even 
 that frightened him, sturdy as he was, but 
 he held the weapon till it broke, and then 
 piled it on the coals to burn away and 
 smoulder into ashes. He washed him- 
 self and rubbed his clothes; there were 
 spots that would not be removed, but he 
 cut the pieces out and burnt them. How 
 those stains were dispersed about the 
 room ! The very feet of the dog were 
 bloody. 
 
 All this time he had never once turned 
 his back upon the corpse ; no, not for a 
 moment. Such preparations completed, 
 he moved backwards towards the door, 
 dragging the dog with him, lest he should 
 carry out new evidences of the crime 
 into the streets. He shut it softly, locked 
 it, took the key, and left the house. 
 
 He crossed over, and glanced up at the 
 window, to be sure that nothing was visi- 
 ble from the outside. There was the cur- 
 
 tain still drawn which she would have 
 opened to admit the light she never saw 
 again. It lay nearly under there. He 
 knew that. God ! how the sun poured 
 down upon the very spot ! 
 
 The glance was instantaneous. It was 
 a relief to have got free of the room. 
 He whistled on the dog, and walked ra- 
 pidly away. 
 
 He went through Islington, strode up 
 the hill at Highgate, on which stands the 
 stone in honour of Whittington ; turned 
 down to Highgate Hill, unsteady of pur- 
 pose, and uncertain where to go ; struck 
 oft' to the right again almost as soon as 
 he began to descend it, and taking the 
 footpath across the fields, skirted Carn 
 Wood, and came out on Hampstead 
 Heath, Traversing the hollow by the 
 Vale of Health, he mounted the opposite 
 bank, and crossing the road which joins 
 the villages of Hampstead and Highgate, 
 made along the remaining portion of the 
 Heath to the Fields at North End, in one 
 of which he laid himself down under a 
 hedge and slept. 
 
 Soon he was up again and away, — not 
 far into the country, but back towards 
 London by the High Road — then back 
 again — then over another part of the same 
 ground as he had already traversed — then 
 wandering up and down in fields, and 
 lying on ditches' banks to rest, and start- 
 ing up to make for some other spot and 
 do the same, and ramble on again. 
 
 Where could he go to, that was near, 
 and not too public, to get some meat and 
 drink 1 Hendon. That was a good 
 place, not far off", and out of most people's 
 way. Thither he directed his steps — 
 running sometimes, and sometimes with 
 a strange perversity loitering at a snail's 
 pace, or stopping altogether, and idly 
 breaking the hedges with his stick. But 
 when he got there, all the people he met 
 — the very children at t'le doors — seemed 
 to view him with suspicion. Back he 
 turned again, without the courage to pur- 
 chase a bit or drop, though he had tasted 
 no food for many hours; and once more 
 he lingered on the heath uncertain where 
 to go. 
 
 He wandered over miles and miles of 
 ground, and still came back to the old 
 place; morning and noon had passed, and 
 the day was on the wane, and still he 
 rambled to and fro, and up and down, and 
 round and round, and still lingered about 
 the same spot. At last he got away, and 
 shaped his course to Hatfield. 
 
 It was nine o'clock at night when the 
 man quite tired out, and the dog limning 
 
188 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 and lame from the unaccustomed exercise, 
 turned down the hill by the church of the 
 quiet village, and plodding along the little 
 street, crept into a small public-house, 
 whose scanty light had guarded them to 
 the spot. There was a fire in the tap- 
 room, and some country Labourers were 
 drinking before it. They made room for 
 the stranger, but he sat down in the far- 
 thest corner, and eat and drank alone, or 
 rather with his dog, to whom he cast a 
 morsel of food from time to time. 
 
 The conversation of the men assembled 
 here turned upon the neighbouring land 
 and farmers, and when these topics were 
 exhausted, upon the age of some old man 
 who had been buried on the previous Sun- 
 day ; the young men present considering 
 him very old, and the old men present 
 declaring him to have been quite young — 
 not older, one white-haired grandfather 
 said, than he was, with ten or fifteen 
 years of life in him at least — if he had 
 taken care ; if he had taken care. 
 
 There was nothing to attract attention 
 or excite alarm in this. The robber, 
 after paying his reckoning, sat silent and 
 unnoticed in his corner, and had almost 
 dropped asleep, when he was half waken- 
 ed by the noisy entrance of a new-comer. 
 
 This was an antic fellow, half pedlar 
 and half mountebank, who travelled about 
 the country on foot to vend hones, strops, 
 razors, washballs, harness-paste, medi- 
 cines for dogs and horses, cheap per- 
 fumery, cosmetics, and such-like wares, 
 which he carried in a case slung to his 
 back. His entrance was the signal for 
 various homely jokes with the country- 
 men, which slackened not until he had 
 made his supper and opened his box of 
 treasures, when he ingeniously contrived 
 to unite business with amusement. 
 
 " And what be that stoof — good to eat, 
 Harry?" asked a grinning countryman, 
 pointing to some composition cakes in one 
 corner. 
 
 " This" — said the fellow, producing 
 one, " this is the infallible and invaluable 
 composition for removing all sorts of 
 stain, rust, dirt, mildew, spick, speck, 
 spot, or spatter, from silk, satin, linen 
 cambric, cloth, crape, stuff, carpet, me- 
 rino, muslin, bombazeen, or woollen stuff. 
 Wine-stains, fruit-stains, beer-stains, wa- 
 ter-stains, paint-stains, pitch-stains, any 
 etains — all comes out at one rub with the 
 infallible and invaluable composition. If 
 a lady stains her honour, she has only 
 need to swallow one cake, and sne's 
 cured at once — for it's poison. If a gen- 
 Uenaaii wants to prove his, he has only 
 
 need to bolt one little square and he has 
 put it beyond question — for it 's quite as 
 satisfactory as a pistol-bullet, and a great 
 deal nastier in the flavour, consequently 
 the more credit in taking it. One penny 
 a square. With all these virtues, one 
 penny a square." 
 
 There were two buyers directly, and 
 more of the listeners plainly hesitated. 
 The vender observing this, increased in 
 loquacity. 
 
 " It 's all bought up as fast as it can be 
 made," said the fellow. " There are four- 
 teen water-mills, six steam-engines, and 
 a galvanic battery, always working upon 
 it, and they can't make it fast enough, 
 though the men work so hard that they 
 die of^ and the widows is pensioned 
 directly with twenty pounds a year for 
 each of the children, and a premium of 
 fifty for twins. One penny a square, two 
 half-pence are all the same, and four far- 
 things is received with joy. One penny 
 a square. Wine-stains, fruit-stains, beer- 
 stains, water-stains, paint-stains, pitch- 
 stains, mud-stains, blood-stains — here is a 
 stain upon the hat of a gentleman in com- 
 pany that I'll take clean out before he 
 can order me a pint of ale." 
 
 " Ha !" cried Sikes, starting up, " give 
 that back !" 
 
 " I '11 take it clean out, sir," replied the 
 man, winking to the company, "before 
 you can come across the room to get it. 
 Gentlemen, all, observe the dark stain 
 upon this gentleman's hat, no wider than 
 a shilling, but thicker than a half-crown. 
 Whether it is a wine-stain, fruit-stain, 
 beer-stain, water-stain, paint-stain, pitch- 
 stain, mud-stain, or blood-stain " 
 
 The man got no further, for Sikes, with 
 a hideous imprecation, overthrew the 
 table, and, tearing the hat from him, burst 
 out of the house. 
 
 With the same perversity of feeling 
 and irresolution that had fastened upon 
 him despite himself, all day, the murderer 
 finding that he was not followed, and that 
 they most probably considered him some 
 drunken sullen fellow, turned back up the 
 town, and getting out of the glare of the 
 lamps of a stage-coach that was standing 
 in the street, was walking past, when ho 
 recognised the mail from London, and saw 
 that it was standing at the little post- 
 office. He almost knew what was to 
 come, but he crossed over and listened. 
 
 The guard was standing at the door 
 waiting for the letter-bag. A man dressed 
 like a game-keeper came up at the mo- 
 ment, and he handed him a basket which 
 lay ready on the pavement. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 189 
 
 " That 's for your people," said the 
 guard. "Now look alive in there, will 
 youl Damn that 'ere bag, it warn't 
 ready night afore last; this won't do, you 
 know." 
 
 "Any tiling new up in town, Beni" 
 asked the gamekeeper, drawing back to 
 the window-shutters, the better to admire 
 the horses. 
 
 " No, nothing that I know on," replied 
 the man, pulling on his gloves. " Corn 's 
 up a little. I heerd talk of a murder, too, 
 down Spital fields way, but I don't reckon 
 much upon it." 
 
 " Ah, that's quite true," said a gentle- 
 man inside, who was looking out of the 
 window ; " and a very dreadful murder it 
 was." 
 
 " Was it, sir ]" rejoined the guard, 
 touching his hat. " Man or woman, pray 
 sir?' 
 
 " A woman," replied the gentleman, 
 it is supposed " 
 
 " Now, Ben," cried the coachman, im- 
 patiently. 
 
 " Damn that 'ere bag," said the guard. 
 " Are you gone to sleep in there 1" 
 
 " Coming," cried the office-keeper, run- 
 ning out. 
 
 " Coming !" growled the guard. " Ah ! 
 and so's the young 'ooman of property 
 that's going to take a fancy to me ; but I 
 don't know when. Here, give hold. All 
 ri-ight." 
 
 The horn sounded a few cheerful notes, 
 and the coach was- gone. 
 
 Sikes remained standing in the street, 
 apparently unmoved by what he had just 
 heard, and agitated by no stronger feeling 
 than a doubt where to go. At length he 
 went back again, and took the road which 
 leads from Hatfield to Saint Alban's. 
 
 He went on doggedly, but as he left 
 the town behind him, and plunged further 
 and further into the solitude and darkness 
 of the road, he felt a dread and awe creep- 
 ing upon him which shook him to the 
 core. Every object before him, substance 
 or shadow, still or moving, took the sem- 
 blance of some fearful thing ; but these 
 fears were nothing, compared to the sense 
 that haunted him of that morning's ghastly 
 figure following at his heels. He could 
 trace its shadow in the gloom, supply the 
 smallest item of the outline, and note how 
 stiff and solemn it seemed to stalk along. 
 He could hear its garments rustling in 
 the leaves, and every breath of wind came 
 laden with that last low cry. If he stop- 
 ped, it did the same; if he ran, it follow- 
 ed — not running too, that would have 
 been a relief, but like a corpse endowed 
 
 with the mere machinery of life, and 
 borne upon one slow melancholy wind 
 that never rose or fell. 
 
 At times he turned with desperate de- 
 termination, resolved to beat this phantom 
 off, though it should look him dead ; but 
 his hair rose from his head, and his blood 
 stood still; for it had turned with him, 
 and was behind him then. He had kept 
 it before him that morning, but it wa.s 
 behind him now — always. He leant his 
 back against a bank, and felt that it stood 
 above him, visibly out against the cold 
 night's sky. He threw himself upon the 
 road — on his back upon the road. At hia 
 head it stood, silent, erect, and still — a 
 living grave-stone, with its epitaph in 
 blood. 
 
 Let no man talk of murderers escaping 
 justice, and hint that Providence must 
 sleep. There were twenty score of vio- 
 lent deaths in one long minute of that 
 agony of fear. 
 
 There was a shed in a field he passed 
 that offered shelter for the night. Before 
 the door were three tall poplar trees, 
 which made it very dark within, and the 
 wind moaned through them with a dismal 
 wail. He could not walk on till daylight 
 came again, and here he stretched him- 
 self close to the wall to undergo new 
 torture. 
 
 For now a vision came before him, as 
 constant and more terrible than that from 
 which he had escaped. Those widely- 
 staring eyes, so lustreless and so glassy, 
 that he had better borne to see than think 
 upon, appeared in the midst of the dark- 
 ness; light in themselves, but giving 
 light to nothing. There were but two, 
 but they were everywhere. If he shut 
 out the sight, then came the room with 
 every well-known object, — some indeed 
 that he would have forgotten if he had 
 gone over its contents from memory — 
 each in its accustomed place. The body 
 was in its place, and its eyes were as he 
 saw them when he stole away. He got 
 up and rushed into the field without. The 
 figure was behind him. He re-entered 
 the shed, and shrunk down once more. 
 The eyes were there before he had lain 
 himself along. 
 
 And here he remained in such terror 
 as none but he can know, trembling in 
 every limb, and the cold sweat starling 
 from every pore, when suddenly there 
 arose upon the night wind the noise of 
 distant shouting, and the roar of voices 
 mingled in alarm and wonder. Any 
 sound of men in that lonely place, even 
 though it conveyed a real cau-se of alarm 
 
190 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 was something to him. Ho regained his 
 strength and energy at the prospect of 
 personal danger, and springing to his feet, 
 rushed into the open air. 
 
 The broad sky seemed on fire. Rising 
 into the air with showers of sparks, and 
 rolling one above the other, were sheets 
 of flame, lighting the atmosphere for 
 miles round, and driving clouds of smoke 
 in the direction where he stood. 
 
 The shouts grew louder as new voices 
 swelled the roar, and he could hear the 
 cry of fire — mingled with the ringing of 
 an alarm-bell, the fall of heavy bodies, 
 and the crackling of flames as they turn- 
 ed round some new obstacle, and shot 
 aloft as though refreshed by food. The 
 noise increased as he looked. There 
 were people there — men and women — 
 light, and bustle. It was like new life to 
 him. He darted onward — straight, head- 
 long, dashing through brier and brake, 
 and leaping gate and fence, as madly as 
 the dog who careered with loud and 
 sounding bark before him. 
 
 He came upon the spot ; there were 
 halfdressed figures, tearing to and fro, 
 some endeavouring to drag the frightened 
 horses from the stables, others driving the 
 cattle from the yard and out-houses, and 
 others coming laden from the burning 
 pile, amidst a shower of falling sparks, 
 and the tumbling down of hot beams. 
 The apertures where doors and windows 
 stood an hour ago, disclosed a chaos of 
 raging fire ; walls rocked and crumbled 
 into the burning well; the molten lead 
 and iron poured down upon the ground : 
 women and children shrieked, and men 
 encouraged each other with noisy shouts 
 and cheers. The clanking of the engine- 
 pumps, and the spouting and hissing of 
 the water as it fell upon the blazing 
 wood, added to the tremendous roar. He 
 shouted too till he was hoarse, and, flying 
 from memory and himself, plunged into 
 the thickest of the throng. 
 
 Hither and thither he dived that night, 
 iiuw working at the pumps, and now hur- 
 rying through the smoke and flame, but 
 never ceasing to engage himself wherever 
 noise and men were thickest. Up and 
 down the ladders, upon the roofs of build- 
 ings, over floors that quaked and trembled 
 with his weight, under the lee of liiUing 
 bricks and stones — in every part of that 
 great fire was he — but he bore a charmed 
 life, and had neither scratch nor bruise, 
 nor weariness nor thought, till morning 
 dawned again, and only smoke and black- 
 ened ruins remained. 
 
 This raad excitement over, thei'^ re- 
 
 turned with tenfold force the dreadful 
 consciousness of his crime. He looked 
 suspiciously about him, for the men were 
 conversing in groups, and he feared to be 
 the subject of their talk. The dog obeyed 
 the significant beck of his finger, and they 
 drew off" stealthily together. He passed 
 near an engine where some men were 
 seated, and they called to him to share in 
 their refreshment. He took some bread 
 and meat, and as he drank a draught of 
 beer, heard the firemen, who were from 
 London, talking about the murder. " He 
 has gone to Birmingham, they say," said 
 one, " but they'll have him yet ; for the 
 scouts are out, and by to-morrow night 
 there'll be a cry all through the coun- 
 try." 
 
 lie hurried off, and walked till he al- 
 most dropped upon the ground ; then lay 
 down in a lane, and had a long, but 
 broken and uneasy sleep. He wandered 
 on again, unresolved and undecided, and 
 oppressed with the fear of another soli- 
 tary night. 
 
 Suddenly he took the desperate resolu- 
 tion of going back to London. 
 
 " There's somebody to speak to there, 
 at all events," he thought. " A good 
 hiding place, too. They'll never expect 
 to nab me there, after this country scent. 
 Why can't I lay by for a week or so, and 
 forcing blunt from Fagin, get abroad to 
 France ] Damme, I'll risk it." 
 
 He acted upon this impulse without 
 delay ; and choosing the least frequented 
 roads, began his journey back, resolved 
 to lie concealed within a short distance 
 of the metropolis, and entering it at dusk, 
 by a circuitous route, to proceed straight 
 to that part of it which he had fixed on 
 for his destination. 
 
 The dog, though — if any descriptions 
 of him were out, it would not be forgotten 
 that the dog was missing, and had proba- 
 bly gone with him. This might lead to 
 his apprehension as he passed along the 
 streets. He resolved to drown him, and 
 walked on, looking about for a pond ; 
 picking up a heavy stone, and tying it to 
 his handkerchief as he went. 
 
 The animal looked up into his master's 
 face while these preparations were mak- 
 ing, and, whether his instinct apprehend- 
 ed something of their purpose, or the 
 robber's sidelong glance at him was 
 sterner than ordinary, skulked a little 
 further in the rear than usual, and cow- 
 ered as he came more slowly along. 
 When his master halted at the brink of 
 a pool, and looked round to call him, he 
 stopped outright. 
 
^^^^^:/>^-t:^.a^J^/'^t^'^^f!/ 'a!^. 
 
 /'J.'iu. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 191 
 
 " Do you hear me call 1 Come here," 
 cried Sikes, whistling. 
 
 The animal came up from the very 
 force of habit; but as Sikes stooped to at- 
 tach the handkerchief to his throat, he 
 uttered a low growl, and started back. 
 
 " Come back," said the robber, stamp- 
 ing on the ground. The dog wagged his 
 tail, but moved not. Sikes made a run- 
 ning noose, and called him again. 
 
 The dog advanced, retreated, paused 
 an instant, turned, and scoured away at 
 his hardest speed. 
 
 The man whistled again and again, 
 and sat down and waited in the expecta- 
 tion that he would return. But no dog 
 appeared, and he resumed his journey. 
 
 CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH. 
 
 Monks aud Mr. Brownlow at length meet. Their 
 conversation, and the intelligence that inter- 
 rupts it. 
 
 The twilight was beginning to close in 
 when Mr. Brownlow alighted from a 
 hackney coach at his own door, and 
 knocked softly. The door being opened, 
 a sturdy man got out of the coach, and 
 stationed himself on one side of the steps, 
 while another man, who had been seated 
 on the box, dismounted too, and stood 
 upon the other side. At a sign from Mr. 
 Brownlow, they helped out a third man, 
 and taking him between them, hurried 
 him into the house. This man was 
 Monks. 
 
 They walked in the same manner up 
 the stairs without speaking, and Mr. 
 Brownlow preceding them, led the way 
 into a back room. At the door of this 
 apartment. Monks, who had ascended 
 with evident reluctance, stopped. The 
 two men looked to the old gentleman as 
 if for instructions. 
 
 " He knows the alternative," said Mr. 
 Brownlow. " If he hesitates, or moves a 
 finger but as you bid him, drag him into 
 the street, call for the aid of the police, 
 and impeach him as a felon in my name." 
 
 " How dare you say this of me ]" — ask- 
 ed Monks. 
 
 " How dare you urge me to it, young 
 man 1" — replied Mr. Brownlow, confront- 
 ing him with a steady look. " Are you 
 mad enough to leave this house 1 Un- 
 hand him. There, sir. You are free to go, 
 and we to follow. But I warn you by all 
 I hold most solemn and most sacred, that 
 the instant you set foot in the street, that 
 instant I will have you apprehended on a 
 
 charge of fraud and robbery. I am reso- 
 lute and immoveable. If you are deter- 
 mined to be the same, your blood be upon 
 your own head." 
 
 " By what authority am I kidnapped in 
 the street and brought here by these 
 dogs ?" asked Monks, looking from one to 
 the other of the men, who stood beside 
 him. 
 
 "By mine," replied Mr. Brownlow. 
 " These persons are indemnified by me. 
 If you complain of being deprived of your 
 liberty, you had power and opportunity to 
 retrieve it as you came along, but you 
 deemed it advisable to remain quiet. I 
 say again, throw yourself for protection 
 upon the law. I will appeal to the law 
 too ; but when you have gone too far to 
 recede, do not sue to me for leniency, 
 when the power will have passed into 
 other hands, and do not say I plunged you 
 down the gulf into which you rushed 
 yourself" 
 
 Monks was plainly disconcerted, and 
 alarmed besides. He hesitated. 
 
 " You will decide quickly," said Mr. 
 Brownlow, with perfect firmness and com- 
 posure. " If you wish me to prefer my 
 charges publicly, and consign you to a 
 punishment, the extent of which, although 
 I can, with a shudder, foresee, I cannot 
 control, once more, I say, you know the 
 way. If not, and you appeal to my for- 
 bearance, and the mercy of those you 
 have deeply injured, seat yourself with- 
 out a word in that chair. It has waited 
 for you two whole days." 
 
 Monks muttered some unintelligible 
 words, but wavered still. 
 
 " You will be prompt," said Mr. Brown- 
 low. " A word from me, and the alte^ 
 native is gone for ever." 
 
 Still the man hesitated. 
 
 " I have not the inclination to parley 
 further," said Mr. Brownlow, "and as I 
 advocate the dearest interests of others, I 
 have not the right." 
 
 " Is there — " demanded Monks with a 
 faltering tongue, "is there — no middle 
 course 1" 
 
 " None ; emphatically none." 
 
 Monks looked at the old gentleman 
 with an anxious eye, but reading in hia 
 countenance nothing but severity and de- 
 termination, walked into the room, and 
 shrugging his shoulders, sat down. 
 
 " Lock the door on the outside," saiJ 
 Mr. Brownlow to the attendants, "and 
 come when I ring." 
 
 The men obeyed, and the two were 
 left alone together. 
 
 " This is pretty treatment, sir," saiil 
 
192 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 Monks, throwing down his hat and cloak, 
 " from my father's oldest friend." 
 
 "It was because I was your father's 
 oldest friend, young man," returned Mr. 
 Brownlow. " It is because the hopes and 
 wishes of young and happy years were 
 bound up with him and that fair creature 
 of his blood and kindred, who rejoined her 
 God in youth and left me here a solitary 
 lonely man — it is because he knelt with 
 me beside his only sister's death-bed, 
 when he was yet a boy, on the morning 
 that would — but Heaven willed it other- 
 wise — have made her my young wife — 
 it is because my seared heart clung to 
 him from that time forth, through all his 
 trials and errors, till he died — it is be- 
 cause old recollections and associations 
 fill my heart, and even the sight of you 
 brings with it old thoughts of him — it is 
 all these things that move me to treat you 
 gently now. — Yes, Edward Leeford, even 
 now — and blush for your imworthiness, 
 who bear the name." 
 
 " What has the name to do with it 1" 
 asked the other after contemplating, half 
 in silence and half in dogged wonder, the 
 agitation of his companion. " What is 
 the name to me?" 
 
 "Nothing," replied Mr. Brownlow, 
 " nothing to you. But it was her's, and 
 even at this distance of time, brings back 
 to me, an old man, the glow and thrill 
 which I once felt, only to hear it repeated 
 by a stranger. I am very glad you have 
 changed it — very — very." 
 
 " This is all mighty fine," said Monks 
 (to retain his assumed designation) after 
 a long silence, during which he had jerked 
 himself, in sullen defiance, to and fro, and 
 Mr. Brownlow had sat shading his face 
 with his hand. " But what do you want 
 with me 1" 
 
 " You have a brother," said Mr. Brown- 
 low rousing himself, " a brother, the whis- 
 per of whose name in your ear, when I 
 came behind you in the street, was in 
 itself almost enough to make you accom- 
 pany me hither in wonder and alarm." 
 
 "I have no brother," replied Monks. 
 " You know I was an only child. Why 
 do you talk to me of brothers ? You know 
 that as well as I." 
 
 " Attend to what I do know and you 
 may not," said Mr. Brownlow. " I shall 
 interest you bye and bye. I know that 
 of the wretched marriage, into which fa- 
 mily pride and the most sordid and nar- 
 rowest of all ambition forced your un- 
 happy father, when a mere boy, you 
 were the soie and most unnatural issue," 
 returned Mr. Brownlow. 
 
 "I don't care for hard names," inter- 
 rupted Monks, with a jeering laugh. 
 " You know the fact, and that's enough 
 for me." 
 
 " But I also know," pursued the old 
 gentleman, " the misery, the slow torture, 
 the protracted anguish of that ill-assorted 
 union: I know how listlessly and wearily 
 each of that wretched pair dragged on 
 their heavy chain through a world that 
 was poisoned to them both. I know how 
 cold formalities were succeeded by open 
 taunts; how indifference gave place to 
 dislike, dislike to hate, and hate to loath- 
 ing, until at last they wrenched the 
 clanking bond asunder, and retiring a 
 wide space apart, carried each a galling 
 fragment of which nothing but death 
 could break the rivets, to hide it in new 
 society, beneath the gayest looks they 
 could assume. Your mother succeeded ; 
 she forgot it soon — but it rusted and 
 cankered at your father's heart for 
 years." 
 
 " Well, they were separated," said 
 Monks, " and what of that]" 
 
 " When they had been separated for 
 some time," returned Mr. Brownlow, 
 " and your mother, wholly given up to 
 continental frivolities, had utterly forgot- 
 ten the young husband, ten good years 
 her junior, who with prospects blighted 
 lingered on at home, he fell among new 
 friends ; this circumstance you know al 
 ready " 
 
 " Not I," said Monks, turning away his 
 eyes, and beating his foot upon the ground, 
 as a man who is determined to deny 
 everything, " Not I." 
 
 " Your manner no less than your ac- 
 tions assures me that you have never for- 
 gotten it, or cease to think of it with bit- 
 terness," returned Mr. Brownlow. " 1 
 speak of fifteen years ago, when you were 
 not more than eleven years old, and your 
 father but one-and-thirty — for he was, 1 
 repeat, a boy when his father ordered him 
 to marry. Must I go back to events that 
 cast a shade upon the memory of your 
 parent, or will you spare it and disclose 
 to me the truth ?" 
 
 " I have nothing to disclose," rejoined 
 Monks, in evident confusion. " You must 
 talk on, if you will." 
 
 " These new friends, then," said Mr. 
 Brownlow, " were a naval officer retired 
 from active service, whose wife had died 
 some half year before, and left him with 
 two children — there had been more, but 
 of all their family happily but two sur- 
 vived. They were both daughters ; one 
 a beautiful creature of nineteen, and the 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 193 
 
 other a mere child of two or three years 
 old." 
 
 " What 's that to me ?" asked Monks, 
 
 " They resided," said Mr. Brownlow, 
 without seeming to hear tlie interruption, 
 " in a part of the country to which your 
 father, in his wanderings, had repaired, 
 and where he had taken up his abode. 
 Acquaintance, intimacy, friendship, fast 
 followed each other. Your father was 
 gifted as few men are — he had his sister's 
 soul and person. As the old officer knew 
 him more and more, he grew to love him. 
 I would that it had ended there. His 
 daughter did the same." 
 
 The old gentleman paused. Monks 
 was biting his lips, with his eyes fixed on 
 the floor ; seeing this he immediately re- 
 sumed — 
 
 "The end of a year found him con- 
 tracted, solemnly contracted, to that 
 daughter, the object of the first, true, ar- 
 dent, only passion, of a guileless, untried 
 girl." 
 
 " Your tale is of the longest," observed 
 Monks, moving restlessly in his chair. 
 
 " It is a true tale of grief, and trial, and 
 sorrow, young man," returned Mr. Brown- 
 low, " and such tales usually are. If it 
 were one of unmixed joy and happiness, it 
 would be very brief. At length one of 
 those rich relations, to strengthen whose 
 interest and importance your father had 
 been sacrificed — as others are often, it is 
 no uncommon case — died, and to repair 
 the misery he had been instrumental in 
 occasioning, left his panacea for all griefs 
 — money. It Vv'as necessary that he should 
 immediately repair to Rome, whither this 
 man had sped for health, and where he 
 had died, leaving his affairs in great con- 
 fusion. He went, was seized with mortal 
 illness there, was followed the moment 
 the intelligence reached Paris by your 
 mother, who carried you with her; he 
 died the day after her arrival, leaving no 
 will — 710 will — so that the whole property 
 fell to her and you." 
 
 At this point of the recital, Monks 
 held his breath and listened with a face 
 of intense eagerness, though his eyes 
 were not directed towards the speaker. 
 As Mr. Brownlow paused he changed his 
 position, with the air of one who has ex- 
 perienced a sudden relief, and wiped his 
 hot face and hands. 
 
 " Before he went abroad, as he passed 
 through London on his way," said Mr. 
 Brownlow, slowly, and fixing his eyes 
 upon the other's face, " he came to me." 
 
 " I never heard of that," interposed 
 Monks, in a tone to appear incredulous, 
 17 Z 
 
 but savouring more of disagreeable sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " He came to me, and left with me 
 among other things a picture — a portrait 
 painted by himself — a likeness of this 
 poor girl — which he did not wish to leave 
 behind, and could not carry forward in his 
 hasty journey. He was worn by anxiety 
 and remorse almost to a shadow, talked 
 in a wild and distracted strain of ruin and 
 dishonour worked by him, confided to me 
 his intention to convert his whole property 
 at any loss into money, and having settled 
 on his wife and you a portion of his recent 
 acquisition, to fly the country — I guessed 
 too well he would not fly alone — and ne- 
 ver see it more. Even from me, his old 
 and early friend, whose strong attachment 
 had taken root in the earth that covered 
 one most dear to both, even from me he 
 withheld any more particular confession, 
 promising to write and tell me all, and 
 after that to see me — once again for the 
 last time on earth. Alas ! that was the 
 last time. I had no letter, and I never 
 saw him more." 
 
 " I went," said Mr. Brownlow, after a 
 short pause, " I went, when all was over, 
 to the scene of his — I will not use the 
 term the world would use, for harshness 
 or favour are now alike to him — of his 
 guilty love ; resolved, if my fears were 
 realized, that erring child should find one 
 heart and home open to shelter and com- 
 passionate her. The family had left that 
 part a week before; they had called in 
 such trifling debts as were outstanding, 
 discharged them, and left the place by 
 night. Why or whither, none could tell." 
 
 Monks drew his breath yet more freely, 
 and looked round with a smile of triumph. 
 
 " When your brother," said Mr. Brown- 
 low, drawing nearer to the other's chair, 
 " when your brother — a feeble, ragged, 
 neglected child — was cast in my way by 
 a stronger hand than chance, and rescued 
 by me from a life of vice and infamy — " 
 
 " What !" cried Monks, starting. 
 
 " By me," said Mr. Brownlow — " I told 
 you I sliould interest you before long. I 
 say by me — I see that your cunning asso- 
 ciate suppressed my name, although, for 
 aught he knew, it would be quite strange 
 to yoiir ears. When he was rescued by 
 me then, and lay recovering from sick- 
 ness in my house, his strong resemblance 
 to the picture I have spoken of struck me 
 with astonishment. Even when I first 
 saw him, in all his dirt and misery, there 
 was a lingering expression in his face that 
 came upon me like a glimpse of some old 
 friend flasliing on one in a vivid dream. 
 
194 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 I will not tell you that he was snared 
 
 away before I knew his history " 
 
 " Why not 1" asked Monks, hastily. 
 " Because you know it well." 
 " I !" 
 
 " Denial to me is vain," replied Mr. 
 Brownlow. " I shall show you that I 
 know more than that." 
 
 " You — you — can't prove anything 
 against me," stammered Monks. " I defy 
 you to do it." 
 
 " We shall see," returned the old gen- 
 tleman, with a searching glance. " I lost 
 the boy, and no efforts of mine could re- 
 cover him. Your mother being dead, I 
 knew that you alone could solve the mys- 
 tery, if anybody could, and as when I had 
 last heard of you, you were on your own 
 estate in the West Indies — whither, as 
 you well know, you retired upon your 
 mother's death, to escape the conse- 
 quences of vicious courses here, — I made 
 the voyage. You had left it months be- 
 fore, and were supposed to be in London, 
 but no one could tell where. I returned. 
 Your agents had no clue to your resi- 
 dence. You came and went, they said, 
 as strangely as you had ever done ; some- 
 times for days together, and sometimes 
 not for months, keeping, to all appear- 
 ance, the same low haunts, and mingling 
 with the same infamous herd who had 
 been your associates when a fierce ungo- 
 vernable boy. I wearied them with new 
 applications; I paced the streets by night 
 and day ; but, until two hours ago, all my 
 efforts were fruitless, and I never saw 
 you for an instant." 
 
 " And now you do see me," said Monks, 
 rising boldly, " what then 1 Fraud and 
 robbery are high-sounding words ; justi- 
 fied, you think, by a fancied resemblance 
 in some young imp to an idle daub of a 
 dead man's. Brother ! you don't even 
 know that a child was born of this maud- 
 lin pair ; you don't even know that." 
 
 " / did not," replied Mr. Brownlow, 
 rising too ; " but within this last fortnight 
 I have learnt it all. You have a brother ; 
 you know it and him. There was a will, 
 which your mother destroyed, leaving the 
 secret and the gain to you at her own 
 death. It contained a reference to some 
 child likely to be the result of this sad 
 connexion, which child was born, and 
 accidentally encountered by you, when 
 your suspicions were first awakened by 
 his resemblance to his father. You re- 
 paired to the place of his birth. There 
 existed proofs — proofs long suppressed — 
 of his birth and parentage. Those proofs 
 M'ere destroyed by you, and now, in your | 
 
 own words to your accomplice the Jew, 
 ' the only proofs of the boy's identity lie 
 at the bottom of the river,' and the old hag 
 that received them from the mother is 
 rotting in her coffin. Unworthy son, cow- 
 ard, liar — you, who hold your councils 
 with thieves and murderers in dark rooms 
 at night — you, whose plots and wiles have 
 hurled a violent death upon the head of 
 one worth millions such as you — you, who 
 from your cradle were gall and bitterness 
 to your own father's heart, and in whom 
 all evil passions vie, and profligacy fes- 
 tered, till they found a vent in a hideous 
 disease which has made your face an in- 
 dex even to your mind — you, Edward 
 Leeford, do you brave me still !" 
 
 " No, no, no," returned the coward, 
 overwhelmed by these accumulated 
 charges. 
 
 " Every word," cried the old gentle- 
 man, " every word that has passed be- 
 tween you and this detested villain, is 
 known to me. Shadows on the wall 
 have caught your whispers, and brought 
 them to my ear ; the sight of the perse- 
 cuted child has turned vice itself, and 
 given it the courage, and almost the attri- 
 butes of virtue. Murder has been done, 
 to which you were morally, if not really 
 a party." 
 
 "No, no," interposed Monks. "I — I 
 — know nothing of that. I was going to 
 inquire the truth of the story when you 
 overtook me. I didn't know the cause; 
 I thought it was a common quarrel." 
 
 " It was the partial disclosure of your 
 secrets," replied Mr. Brownlow. " Will 
 you disclose the whole"!" 
 
 " Yes, I will." 
 
 " Set your hand to a statement of truth 
 and facts, and repeat it before witness- 
 es?" 
 
 " That I promise, too." 
 
 " Remain quietly here until such a 
 document is drawn up, and proceed with 
 me to such a place as I may deem most 
 advisable, for the purpose of attesting 
 it?" 
 
 " If you insist upon that, I '11 do that, 
 also," replied Monks. 
 
 " You must do more than that," said 
 Mr. Brownlow. " Make restitution to an 
 innocent and unoffending child, for such 
 he is, although the oftsprin;? of a guilty 
 and most miserable love. You have not 
 forgotten the provisions of the will. Car- 
 ry them into execution so far as your 
 brother is concerned, and then go where 
 you please. In this world, you need meet 
 no more." 
 
 While Monks was pacing up and down, 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 195 
 
 meditating with dark and evil looks on 
 this proposal, and the possibilities of evad- 
 ing it^-torn by his fears on the one hand, 
 and his hatred on the other — the door 
 was hurriedly unlocked, and a gentleman 
 — Mr. Losberne — entered the room in 
 violent agitation. 
 
 " The man will be taken," he'' cried. 
 ' He will be taken to-night." 
 
 " The murderer ]" asked Mr. Brown- 
 low. 
 
 " Yes, yes," replied the other. " His 
 dog has been seen lurking about some 
 old haunt, and there seems little doubt 
 that his master either is, or will be there 
 under cover of the darkness. Spies are 
 hovering about in every direction. I have 
 spoken to the men who are charged with 
 his capture, and they tell me he can 
 never escape. A reward of a hundred 
 pounds is proclaimed by government to- 
 night." 
 
 " I will give fifty more," said Mr. 
 Brownlow, "and proclaim it with my own 
 lips upon the spot, if I can reach it. 
 Where is Mr. Maylie V^ 
 " Harry 1" 
 
 " As soon as he had seen your friend 
 here safe in a coach with you, he turned 
 off to where he heard this;" replied the 
 doctor ; " and mounting his horse, sallied 
 forth to join the first party at some place 
 in the outskirts agreed upon between 
 them." 
 
 " The Jew," said Mr. Brownlow. 
 "What of him 1" 
 
 " When I last heard, he had not been 
 taken ; but he will be, or is by this time. 
 They're sure of him." 
 
 " Have you made up your mind 7" 
 asked Mr. Brownlow, in a low voice, of 
 Monks. 
 
 " Yes," he replied. " You — you — will 
 be secret witli me ]" 
 
 " I will. Remain here till I return ; it 
 is your only hope of safety." 
 
 They left the room, and the door was 
 again locked. 
 
 " What have you done 1" asked the 
 doctor, in a whisper. 
 
 " All that I could hope to do, and even 
 more. Coupling the poor girl's intelli- 
 gence with my previous knowledge, and 
 the result of our good friend's inquiries 
 on the spot, I left him no loophole of 
 escape, and laid bare the villany, which, 
 by these lights, became plain as day. 
 Write, and appoint the evening after to- 
 morrow, at seven, for the meeting. We 
 shall be down there a few hours before, 
 but shall require rest, and especially the 
 young lady, who may have greater need 
 
 of firmness than either you or I can quite 
 foresee just now. But my blood boils to 
 avenge this poor murdered creature — 
 which way have they taken 1" 
 
 " Drive straight to the office, and you 
 will be in time," replied Mr. Losberne. 
 " I will remain here." 
 
 The two gentlemen hastily separated ; 
 each in a fever of excitement wholly un- 
 controllable. 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWELFTH. 
 
 The pursuit and escape. 
 
 Near to that part of the Thames on 
 which the church of Rotherhithe abuts, 
 where the buildings on the banks are dir- 
 tiest, and tiie vessels on the river black- 
 est with the dust of colliers, and the 
 smoke of close-built, low-roofed houses, 
 there exists at the present day, the fil- 
 thiest, the strangest, the most extraordi- 
 nary of the many localities that are hid- 
 den in London, wholly unknown by name 
 to the great mass of its inhabitants. 
 
 To reach this place, the visiter has to 
 penetrate through a maze of close, nar- 
 row, and muddy streets, thronged by the 
 roughest and poorest of water-side people, 
 and devoted to the traffic they may be 
 supposed to occasion. The cheapest and 
 least delicate provisions are heaped in the 
 shops, the coarsest and commonest arti- 
 cles of wearing apparel dangle at the 
 salesman's door, and stream from the 
 house parapet and windows. Jostling 
 with unemployed labourers of the lowest 
 class, ballast-heavers, coal-whippers, bra- 
 zen women, ragged children, and the 
 very raff" and refuse of the river, ho 
 makes his way with difficulty along, as- 
 sailed by offensive sights and smells from 
 the narrow alleys which branch off on 
 the right and left, and deafened by the 
 clash of ponderous wagons that bear great 
 piles of merchandise from the stacks of 
 warehouses that rise from every corner. 
 Arriving at length in streets remoter and 
 less-frequented than those through which 
 he had passed, he walks beneath totter- 
 ing house-fronts projecting over the pave- 
 ment, dismantled walls that seem to 
 totter as he passes, chimneys half crush- 
 ed, half hesitating to fall, windows guard- 
 ed by rusty iron bars, that time and dusl 
 have almost eaten away, and every ima- 
 ginable sign of desolation and neglect. 
 
 In such a neighbourhood, beyond Dock- 
 head, in the Borough of Southwark, 
 stands Jacob's Island, surrounded by a 
 
19G 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 muddy ditch six or eight feet deep, and 
 fifteen or twenty wide, when the tide is 
 in, once called Mill Pond, but known in 
 these days as Folly Ditch. It is a creek 
 or inlet from the Thames, and can always 
 be filled up at high water by opening the 
 sluices at the head mills from which it 
 took its old name. At such times, a 
 stranger, looking from one of the wooden 
 bridges thrown across it at Mill Lane, 
 will see the inhabitants of the houses on 
 either side lowering from their back doors 
 and windows, buckets, jars, domestic 
 utensils of all kinds, in which to haul the 
 water up; and when his eye is turned 
 from these operations to the houses them- 
 selves, his utmost astonishment will be 
 excited by the scene before him. Crazy 
 wooden galleries, common to the backs 
 of half a-dozen houses, with holes from 
 which to look upon the sluice beneath ; 
 windows broken and patched, with poles 
 thrust out on which to dry linen that is 
 never there; rooms so small, so filthy, so 
 confined, that the air would seem too 
 tainted even for the dirt and squalor which 
 they shelter ; wooden chambers thrusting 
 themselves out above the mud, and threat- 
 ening to fall into it — as some have done ; 
 dirt-besmeared walls and decaying foun- 
 dations; every repulsive lineament of 
 poverty, every loathsome indication of 
 filth, rot, and garbage — all these orna- 
 ment the banks of Folly Ditch. 
 
 In Jacob's Island the warehouses are 
 roofless and empty, the walls are crum- 
 bling down, the windows are windows no 
 more, the doors are falling into the street, 
 the chimneys are blackened, but they 
 yield no smoke. Thirty or forty years 
 ago, before losses and chancery suits 
 came upon it, it was a thriving place ; 
 but now it is a desolate island indeed. 
 The houses have no owners; they are 
 broken open and entered upon by those 
 who have the courage, and there they 
 live and there they die. They must have 
 powerful motives for a secret residence, 
 or be reduced to a destitute condition in- 
 deed, who seek a refuge in Jacob's Island. 
 
 In an upper room of one of the houses 
 — a detached house of a fair size — ruin- 
 ous in other respects, but strongly defend- 
 ed at door and window, of which the back 
 commanded the ditch, in manner already 
 described, there were assembled three 
 men, who, regarding each other every 
 now then with looks expressive of per- 
 plexity and expectation, sal for some time 
 in profound and gloomy cilence. One of 
 these was Toby Crackit, another Mr. 
 Chitling, and the third a robber of fifty 
 
 years, whose nose had been almost beaten 
 in in some old scuffle, and whose face bore 
 a frightful scar, which might probably be 
 traced back to the same occasion. This 
 man was a returned transport, and his 
 name was Kags. 
 
 " I wish," said Toby, turning to Mr. 
 Chitling, " that you had picked out some 
 other crib when the two old ones got too 
 warm, and not come here, my fine feller." 
 
 " Why didn't you, blunder-head 1" said 
 Kags. 
 
 " Well, I thought you 'd have been a 
 little more glad to see me than this," re- 
 plied Mr. Chitling with a melancholy 
 air. 
 
 " Why lookee, young gentleman," said 
 Toby, " when a man keeps himself so 
 very ex-clusive, as I have done, and by 
 that means has a snug house over his 
 head, with nobody prying and smelling 
 about it, it's rather a startling thing to 
 have the honour of a wisit from a young 
 gentleman (however respectable and plea- 
 sant a person he may be to play cards 
 with at conveniency) circumstanced as 
 you are." 
 
 " Especially when the exclusive young 
 man has got a friend stopping with him, 
 that 's arrived sooner than was expected, 
 from foreign parts, and too modest to 
 want to be presented to the Judges on his 
 return," added Mr. Kags. 
 
 There was a short silence, after which 
 Toby Crackit, seeming to abandon as 
 hopeless, any further efibrt to maintain 
 his usual devil-may-care swagger, turned 
 to Chitling and said — 
 
 " When was Fagin took, then l" 
 
 " Just at dinner time — two o'clock this 
 afternoon," was the reply. " Cliarley and 
 I made our lucky up the washer's chim- 
 ney, and Bolter got into the empty water- 
 butt, head downwards, but his legs were 
 so precious long that they stuck out at 
 the top, and so they took him too." 
 
 " And Bet 7" 
 
 " Poor Bet ! she went to see the body 
 to speak to who it was," replied Chitling, 
 his countenance falling more and more, 
 " and went off" mad, screaming and raving 
 and beating her head against the boards, 
 so they put a strait weskut on her and 
 took her to the hospital — and there she 
 is." 
 
 "Wot's come of young Bates'!" de- 
 manded Kags. 
 
 " lie hung about, not to come over here 
 afore dark, but he '11 be here soon," re- 
 plied Chitling. " There 's no where else 
 to go to now, for the people at the Crip- 
 ples are all in custody, and the bar of the 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 197 
 
 ken — I went up there and saw it with 
 my own eyes — is filled with traps." 
 
 " This is a smash," observed Toby, bit- 
 ing his lips. "There's more than one 
 will gfo with this." 
 
 " The Sessions are on," said Kags ; " if 
 they get the inquest over ; if Bolter turns 
 King's evidence, as of course he will 
 from what he 's said already ; they can 
 prove Fagin an accessary before the fact, 
 and get the trial on on Friday ; he 'II swing 
 in six days from this, by G — !" 
 
 " You should have heard the people 
 groan," said Chitling ; " the officers fought 
 like devils, or they'd have torn him away. 
 He was down once, but they made a ring 
 round him, and fought their way along. 
 You should have seen how he looked 
 about him, all muddy and bleeding, and 
 clung to them as if they was his dearest 
 friends. I can see 'em now, not able to 
 stand upright with the pressing of the 
 mob, and dragging him along amongst 
 them ; I can see the people jumping up, 
 one behind another, and snarling with 
 their teeth, and making at him like wild 
 beasts ; I can see the blood upon his hair 
 and beard, and hear the dreadful cries, 
 with which the women worked themselves 
 into the centre of the crowd, at the street 
 corner, and swore they 'd tear his heart 
 out !" The horror-stricken witness of 
 this scene pressed his hands upon his ears, 
 and with his eyes fast closed, got up and 
 paced violently to and fro like one dis- 
 tracted. 
 
 Whilst he was thus engaged, and the 
 two men sat in silence with their eyes 
 fixed upon the floor, a pattering noise was 
 heard upon the stairs, and Sikes's dog 
 bounded into the room. They ran to the 
 window, down stairs, and into the street. 
 The dog had jumped in at an open win- 
 dow ; he made no attempt to follow them, 
 nor was his master to be seen. 
 
 "What's the meaning of this !" said 
 Toby, when they had returned. "He 
 can't be coming here. I — I — hope 
 not." 
 
 " If he was coming here, he 'd have 
 come with the dog," said Kags, stooping 
 down to examine the animal, who lay 
 panting on the floor. " Here ; give us 
 some water for him, he has run himself 
 faint." 
 
 " He 's drunk it all up, every drop," 
 eaid Kags, afler watching the dog some 
 time in silence, " covered with mud — 
 lame — half blind — he must have come a 
 long way." 
 
 " Where can he have come from !" ex- 
 claimed Toby. " He 's been to the other 
 17* 
 
 kens, of course, and finding them filled 
 with strangers, come on here, where he 's 
 been many a time, and often. But where 
 can he have come from first, and how 
 comes he here alone, without the other?" 
 
 " He, (none of them called the mur- 
 derer by his old name,) he can't have 
 made away with himself; what do you 
 think 1" said Chitling. 
 
 Toby shook his head. 
 
 " If he had," said Kags, " the dog 'ud 
 want to lead us away to where he did it 
 No. I think he's got out of the country, 
 and left the dog behind. He must have 
 given him the slip somehow, or he wouldn't 
 be so easy." 
 
 This solution appearing the most pro- 
 bable one, was adopted as the right, and 
 the dog creeping under a chair, coiled 
 himself up to sleep, without further notice 
 from anybody. 
 
 It being now dark, the shutter was 
 closed, and a candle lighted and placed 
 upon the table. The terrible events of 
 the two days had made a deep impression 
 upon all three, increased by the danger 
 and uncertainty of their own position. 
 They drew their chairs close together, 
 starting at every sound. They spoke 
 little, and that in whispers, and were as 
 silent and awe-stricken as if the remains 
 of the murdered woman lay in the next 
 room. 
 
 They had sat thus some time, when 
 suddenly was heard a hurried knock at 
 the door below. 
 
 " Young Bates," said Kags, looking 
 angrily round to check the fear he felt 
 himself. 
 
 The knocking came again. " No, it 
 wasn 't he — he never knocked like 
 that." 
 
 Crackit went to the window, and, shak- 
 ing all over, drew in his head. 
 
 There was no need to tell them who it 
 was ; his pale face was enough. The 
 dog, too, was on the alert in an instant, 
 and ran whining to the door. 
 
 " We must let him in," he said, taking 
 up the candle. 
 
 "Isn't there any help for if?" asked 
 the other man in a hoarse voice. 
 
 " None. He must come in. ' 
 
 " Don 't leave us in the dark," said 
 Kags, taking down a candle from the 
 chimney-piece, and lighting it with such 
 a trembling hand that the knocking was 
 twice repeated before he had finished. 
 
 Crackit went down to the door, and 
 returned followed by a man with the 
 lower part of his face buried in a hand- 
 kerchief, and another tied over his head 
 
198 
 
 OLIVER TWIST, 
 
 under his hat. He drew them slowly off 
 — blanched face, sunken eyes, hollow 
 cheeks, beard of three days' growth, 
 wasted flesh, short thick breath — it was 
 the very ghost of Sikes. 
 
 He laid his hand upon a chair which 
 etood in the middle of the room, but shud- 
 dering as he was about to drop into it, 
 and seeming to glance over his shoulder, 
 dragged it back close to the wall-"— as 
 close as it would go — ground it against 
 it — and sat down. 
 
 Not a word had been exchanged. He 
 looked from one to another in silence. 
 If an eye was furtively raised and met 
 his, it was instantly averted. When his 
 hollow voice broke silence, they all three 
 started. They had never heard its tones 
 before. 
 
 " How came that dog here 1" he asked. 
 
 " Alone. Three hours ago." 
 
 " To-night's paper says that Fagin 's 
 taken. Is it true, or a lie 1" 
 
 " Quite true." 
 
 They were silent again. 
 
 " Damn you all," said Sikes, passing 
 his hand across his forehead. " Have you 
 nothing to say to me V 
 
 There was an uneasy movement among 
 them, but nobody spoke. 
 
 " You, that keep this house," said 
 Spikes, turning his face to Crackit ; " do 
 you mean to sell me, or to let me be here 
 till this hunt is over V 
 
 " You must stop here, if you think it 
 safe," returned the person addressed, after 
 some hesitation. 
 
 Sikes carried his eyes slowly up the 
 ■wall behind him, rather trying to turn 
 his head than actually doing it, and said, 
 "Is it — the body — is it buried]" 
 
 They shook their heads. 
 
 " Why isn't it ?" said the man, in the 
 same glance behind him. " Wot do they 
 keep such ugly things as that above the 
 ground for ? — who 's that knocking 1" 
 
 Crackit intimated by a motion of his 
 hand, as he left the room, that there was 
 nothing to fear, and directly came back 
 with Charley Bates behind him. Sikes 
 sat opposite the door, so that the moment 
 the boy entered the room he encountered 
 his figure. 
 
 " Toby," said the boy, falling back as 
 Sikes turned his eyes towards him, " why 
 didn't you tell me this down stairs ?" 
 
 There had been something so tremen- 
 dous in the shrinking off of the three, that 
 the wretched man was willing to propiti- 
 ate even this lad. Accordingly he nod- 
 ded, and made as though he would shake 
 hands with him. 
 
 " Let me go into some other room," 
 said the boy, retreating still further. 
 
 " Why, Charley," said Sikes, stepping 
 forward, " Don't you — don't you know 
 me]" 
 
 " Don't come nearer me," answered 
 the boy, still retreating, and looking with 
 horror in his eyes upon the murderer's 
 face. " You monster !" 
 
 The man stepped half-way, and they 
 looked at each other, but Sikes's eye sunk 
 gradually to the ground. 
 
 " Witness you three," cried the boy, 
 shaking his clenched fist, and becoming 
 more and more excited as he spoke. 
 " Witness you three — I 'm not afraid of 
 him — if they come here after him, I '11 
 give him up; I will. I tell you out at 
 once ; he may kill me for it, if he likes, 
 or if he dares, but if I 'm here I '11 give 
 him up. I 'd give him up if he was to be 
 boiled alive. Murder! Help! If there's 
 the pluck of a man among you three, 
 you '11 help me. Murder ! Help ! Down 
 with him." 
 
 Pouring out these cries, and accompa- 
 nying them with violent gesticulations, 
 the boy actually threw himself single- 
 handed upon the strong man, and in the 
 intensity of his energy, and the sudden- 
 ness of the surprise, brought him heavily 
 to the ground. 
 
 The three spectators seemed quite 
 transfixed and stupefied. They offered 
 no interference, and the boy and man 
 rolled on the ground together, the former, s 
 heedless of the blows that showered upon 
 him, wrenching his hand tighter and 
 tighter in the garments about the mur- 
 derer's breast, and never ceasing to call 
 for help with all his might. 
 
 The contest, however, was too unequal 
 to last long. Sikes had him down, and 
 his knee was on his throat, when Crackit 
 pulled him back with a look of alarm, 
 and pointed to the window. There were 
 lights gleaming below, voices in loud and 
 earnest conversation, the tramp of hurried 
 footsteps — endless they seemed in num- 
 ber — crossing the nearest wooden bridge. 
 One man on horseback seemed to be 
 among the crowd, for there was the noise 
 of hoofs rattling on the uneven pavement ; 
 the gleam of light increased, the foot' 
 steps came more thickly and noisily on. 
 Then came a loud knocking at the door, 
 and then a hoarse murmur from such a 
 multitude of angry voices as would have 
 made the boldest quail. 
 
 " Help !" shrieked the boy, in a voice 
 that rent the air. " He 's here ; he 's 
 here. Break down the door !" 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 199 
 
 "In the King's name," cried voices 
 without ; and the hoarse cry rose again, 
 but louder. 
 
 " Break down the door," screamed the 
 boy. "I tell you they'll never open it. 
 Run straight to the room where the light 
 is. Break down the door." 
 
 Strokes, thick and heavy, rattled upon 
 the door and lower window-shutters as he 
 ceased to speak, — and a loud huzza burst 
 from the crowd — giving the listener, for 
 the first time, some adequate idea of its 
 immense extent. 
 
 " Open the door of some place where 
 I can lock this screeching hell-babe," 
 cried Sikes fiercely, running to and fro, 
 and dragging the boy, now, as easily as 
 if he were an empty sack. " That door. 
 Quick." He flung him in, bolted it and 
 turned the key, " Is the down-stairs door 
 fast ]" 
 
 "Double-locked and chained," replied 
 Crackit, who, with the other two men, 
 still remained quite helpless and bewil- 
 dered. 
 
 " The panels, are they strong !" 
 
 " Lined with sheet-iron." 
 
 " And the windows too I" 
 
 " Yes, and the windows." 
 
 " Damn you," cried the desperate ruf- 
 fian, throwing up the sash and menacing 
 the crowd, " do your worst ; I '11 cheat 
 you yet !" 
 
 Of all the terrific yells that ever fell 
 on mortal ears, none could exceed the cry 
 of that infuriated throng — some shouted 
 to those who were nearest to set the 
 house on fire ; others roared to the ofli- 
 cers to shoot him dead. Among them all, 
 none showed such fury as the man on 
 horseback, who, throwing himself out of 
 the saddle and bursting through the crowd 
 as if he were parting water, cried beneath 
 the window in a voice that rose above all 
 others, " Twenty guineas to the man who 
 brings a ladder." 
 
 The nearest voices took up the cry, and 
 a hundred echoed it. Some called for 
 ladders, some for sledgehammers; some 
 ran with torches to and fro as if to seek 
 them, and still came back and roared 
 again ; some spent their breath in impo- 
 tent curses and execrations ; some pressed 
 forward with the ecstasy of madmen, and 
 thus impeded the progress of those below ; 
 some among the boldest attempted to 
 climb up by the water-spout and crevices 
 in the wall ; and all waved to and fro in 
 the darkness beneath, like a field of corn 
 moved by an angry wind, and joined from 
 time to time in one loud, furious roar. 
 
 " The tide !" cried the murderer, as he 
 
 staggered back into the room and shut 
 the laces out. "The tide was in as I 
 came up. Give me a rope, a long rope. 
 They 're all in front. I may drop into the 
 Folly Ditch, and clear off that way. Give 
 me a rope, or I shall do three more mur- 
 ders and kill myself at last." 
 
 The panic-stricken men pointed to 
 where such articles were kept ; the mur- 
 derer, hastily selecting the longest and 
 strongest cord, hurried up to the house- 
 top. 
 
 All the windows in the rear of the 
 house had been long ago bricked up ex- 
 cept one small trap in the room where 
 the boy was locked, and that was too 
 small even for the passage of his body. 
 But from this aperture he had never ceased 
 to call on those without to guard the back, 
 and thus, when the murderer emerged at 
 last on the house-top, by the door in the 
 roof, a loud shout proclaimed the fact to 
 those in front, who immediately began to 
 pour round, pressing upon each other in 
 one unbroken stream. 
 
 He planted a board, which he had car- 
 ried up with him for the purpose, so firmly 
 against the door that it must be matter of 
 great difficulty to open it from the inside, 
 and creeping over the tiles, looked over 
 the low parapet. 
 
 The water was out, and the ditch a bed 
 of mud. 
 
 The crowd had been hushed during 
 these few moments, watching his motions 
 and doubtful of his purpose, but the in- 
 stant they perceived it and knew it was 
 defeated, they raised a cry of triumphant 
 execration, to which all their previous 
 shoutings had been whispers. Again and 
 again it rose ; those who were at too great 
 a distance to know its meaning, took up 
 the sound ; it echoed and re-echoed ; it 
 seemed as though the whole city had 
 poured its population out to curse him. 
 
 On pressed the people from the front 
 — on, on, on, in one strong struggling 
 current of angry faces, with here and 
 there a glaring torch to light them up 
 and show them out in all their wrath and 
 passion. The houses on the opposite side 
 of the ditch had been entered by the mob ; 
 sashes were thrown up or torn bodily out ; 
 there were tiers and tiers of faces in 
 e'very window, and cluster upon cluster 
 of people clinging to every house-top. 
 Each little bridge (and there were three 
 in sight) bent beneath the weight of the 
 crowd upon it, and still the current pour 
 ed on to find some nook or hole from 
 which to vent their shouts, and only for 
 an instant see the wretch. 
 
1^00 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " They have him now," cried a man 
 on the nearest bridge. " Hurrah !" 
 
 The crowd grew light with uncovered 
 heads, and again the shout uprose. 
 
 " I promise fifty pounds," cried an old 
 gentleman from the same quarter ; " fifty 
 pounds to the man who takes him alive. 
 I will remain here till he comes to ask 
 me for it." 
 
 There was another roar. At this mo- 
 ment the word was passed among the 
 crowd that the door was forced at last, 
 and that he who had first called for the 
 ladder had mounted into the room. The 
 stream abruptly turned as this intelligence 
 ran from mouth to mouth, and the people 
 at the windows seeing those upon the 
 bridges pouring back, quitted their sta- 
 tions, and running into the street, joined 
 the concourse that now thronged pell- 
 mell to the spot they had left, each man 
 crushing and striving with his neighbour, 
 and all panting with impatience to get 
 near the door and look upon the criminal, 
 as the officers brought him out. The 
 cries and shrieks of those who were 
 pressed almost to suflbcation, or trampled 
 down and trodden under foot in the con- 
 fusion, were dreadful : the narrow ways 
 were completely blocked up ; and at this 
 time, between the rush of some to regain 
 the space in front of the house, and the 
 unavailing struggles of others to extricate 
 themselves from the mass, the immediate 
 attention was distracted from the mur- 
 derer, although the universal eagerness 
 fbi- his capture was, if possible, increased. 
 
 The man had shrunk down, thoroughly 
 quelled by the ferocity of the crowd and 
 the impossibility of escape, but seeing 
 this sudden change with no less rapidity 
 than it occurred, he sprang upon his feet, 
 determined to make one last effort for his 
 life by dropping into the ditch, and at the 
 risk of being stifled, endeavouring to 
 creep away in the darkness and confu- 
 sion. 
 
 Roused into new strength and energy, 
 and stimulated by the noise within the 
 house, which announced that an entrance 
 had really been effected, he set his foot 
 against the stack of chimneys, fastened 
 one end of the rope tightly and firmly 
 round it, and with the other made a strong 
 running noose by the aid of his hands 
 and teeth almost in a second. He could 
 let himself down by the cord to within a 
 less distance of the ground than his own 
 height, and had his knife ready in his 
 hand to cut it then and drop. 
 
 At the very instant that he brought the 
 .'oop over his head previous to slipping it 
 
 beneath his arm-pits, and when the old 
 gentleman before mentioned (who had 
 clung so tight to the railings of the 
 bridge as to resist the force of the crowd, 
 and retain his position) earnestly warned 
 those about him that the man was about 
 to lower himself down — at that very in- 
 stant the murderer, looking behind him 
 on the roof, threw his arms above his 
 head, and uttered a yell of terror. 
 
 " The eyes again !" he cried, in an un- 
 earthly screech. Staggering as if struck 
 by lightning, he lost his balance and tum- 
 bled over the parapet : the noose was at 
 his neck ; it ran up with his weight tight 
 as a bow-string, and swift as the arrow it 
 speeds. He fell for five-and-thirty feet. 
 There was a sudden jerk, a terrific con- 
 vulsion of the limbs, and there he hung, 
 with the open knife clenched in his stij 
 fening hand. 
 
 The old chimney quivered with the 
 shock, but it stood it bravely. The mur- 
 derer swung lifeless against the wall, and 
 the boy, thrusting aside the dangling body, 
 which obscured his view, called to the 
 people to come and take him out for God's 
 sake. 
 
 A dog, which had lain concealed till 
 now, ran backwards and forwards on the 
 parapet with a dismal howl, and, collect- 
 ing himself for a spring, jumped for the 
 dead man's shoulders. Missing his aim, 
 he fell into the ditch, turning completely 
 over as he went, and striking his head 
 against a stone, dashed out his brains. 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRTEEJ\TH, 
 
 Affording an explanation of more mysteries than 
 one, and comprehending a proposal of marriage, 
 with no word of settlement or pin-money. 
 
 The events narrated in the last chap- 
 ter were yet but two days old, when Oli- 
 ver found himself at three o'clock in the 
 afternoon, in a travelling carriage rolling 
 fast towards his native town. Mrs. May- 
 lie and Rose, and Mrs. Bed win and the 
 good Doctor, were with him, and Mr. 
 Brownlow followed in a post-chaise, ac- 
 companied by one other person, whose 
 name had not been mentioned. 
 
 They had not talked much upon the 
 way, for Oliver was in a flutter of agita- 
 tion and uncertainty, which deprived him 
 of the power of collecting his thoughts, 
 and almost of speech, and appeared to 
 have scarcely less effect on his compa- 
 nions, who shared it in at least an equal 
 degree. He and the two ladies had been 
 
'^^-S^^^ ''^a^;^f^.' 
 
 J". ?.oo> 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 201 
 
 very carefully made acquainted by Mr. 
 Brownlow, with the nature of the admis- 
 sions which had been forced from Monks, 
 and although they knew that the object 
 of their present journey was to complete 
 the work which had been so well begun, 
 still the whole matter was enveloped in 
 enough of doubt and mystery to leave 
 them in endurance of the most intense 
 suspense. 
 
 The same kind friend had, with Mr. 
 Losberne's assistance, cautiously stopped 
 all channels of communication through 
 which they could receive intelligence of 
 the dreadful occurrences that had so re- 
 cently taken place. " It is quite true," 
 he said, " that they must know them be- 
 fore long, but it might be at a better time 
 than the present, and it could not be at a 
 worse." So they travelled on in silence, 
 each busied with reflections on the object 
 which had brought them together, and 
 no one disposed to give utterance to the 
 thoughts which crowded upon all. 
 
 But if Oliver, under these inferences, 
 had remained silent, while they journeyed 
 towards his birth-place by a road he had 
 never seen, how the whole current of his 
 recollections ran back to old times, and 
 what a crowd of emotions were wakened 
 up in his breast when they turned into 
 that which he had traversed on foot, a 
 poor, houseless, wandering boy, without a 
 friend to help him, or a roof to shelter his 
 head. 
 
 " See there — there," cried Oliver, 
 eagerly clasping the hand of Rose, and 
 in pointing out at the carriage-window, 
 " that's the stile I came over ; there are 
 the hedges I crept behind for fear any one 
 should overtake me and force me back ; 
 yonder is the path across the fields lead- 
 ing to the old house when I was a little 
 child. Oh, Dick ! Dick ! my dear old 
 friend, if I could only see you now !" 
 
 " You will see him soon," replied Rose, 
 gently taking his folded hands between 
 her own. " You shall tell him how happy 
 you are, and how rich you have grown, 
 and that, in all your happiness, you have 
 none so great as the coming back to make 
 him happy too." 
 
 «» Yes, yes," said Oliver, " and we'll — 
 we'll take him away from here, and have 
 him clothed and taught, and send him to 
 some quiet country place, where he may 
 grow strong and well — shall we 1" 
 
 Rose nodded "yes;" for the boy was 
 smiling through such happy tears that 
 she could not speak. 
 
 " You will be kind and good to him, for 
 vou are to every one," said Oliver. " It 
 2A 
 
 will make you cry, I know, to hear what 
 he can tell, but never mind, never mind, 
 it will be all over, and you will smile 
 again — I know that too — to think how 
 changed he is; you did the same with 
 me. He said, * God bless you' to me 
 when I ran away," cried the boy with a 
 burst of affectionate emotion, " and I will 
 say, ' God bless you' now, and show him 
 how I love him for it !" 
 
 As they approached the town, and at 
 length drove through its narrow streets, 
 it became matter of no small difficulty to 
 restrain the boy within reasonable bounds. 
 There was Sowerberry's, the underta- 
 ker's, just as it used to be, smaller and 
 less imposing in appearance than he re- 
 membered it — all the well-known shops 
 and houses, with almost every one of 
 which he had some slight incident con- 
 nected — Gamfield's cart, the very cart ho 
 used to have, standing at the old public- 
 house door — the workhouse, the dreary 
 prison of his youthful days, with its dis- 
 mal windows frowning on the streets — 
 the same lean porter standing at the gate, 
 at sight of whom Oliver involuntarily 
 shrunk back, and then laughed at himself 
 for being so foolish, then cried, then 
 laughed again — scores of faces at the 
 doors and windows that he knew quite 
 well — nearly everything as if he had left 
 it but yesterday, and all his recent life 
 had been but a happy dream. 
 
 But it was pure, earnest, joyful reality. 
 They drove straight to the door of the 
 chief hotel, (which Oliver used to stare 
 up at with awe, and think a mighty pal- 
 ace, but which had somehow fallen off in 
 grandeur and size,) and here was Mr. 
 Grimwig, all ready to receive them, 
 kissing the young lady and the old one 
 too, when they got out of the coach, as if 
 he were the grandfather of the whole 
 party, all smiles and kindness, and not 
 offering to eat his head — no, not once ; 
 not even when he contradicted a very old 
 postboy about the nearest road to London, 
 and maintained he knew it best, though 
 he had only come that way once, and that 
 time fist asleep. There was dinner pre- 
 pared, and there were bed-rooms ready, 
 and everything was arranged, as if by 
 magic. 
 
 Notwithstanding all this, when the 
 first half-hour was over, the same silence 
 and constraint prevailed that had marked 
 their journey down. Mr. Brownlow did 
 not join them at dinner, but remained in 
 a separate room. The two other gentle- 
 men hurried in and out with anxious 
 faces, and during the short intervals tha' 
 
202 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 they were present conversed apart. Once 
 Mrs. Maylie was called away, and after 
 being absent for nearly an hour, returned 
 with eyes swollen with weeping. All 
 these things made Rose and Oliver, who 
 were not in any new secrets, nervous and 
 uncomfortable. They sat wondering in 
 silence, or, if ihey exchanged a few words, 
 spoke in whispers, as if they were afraid 
 to hear the sound of their own voices. 
 
 At length, when nine o'clock had come, 
 and they began to think they were to hear 
 no more that night, Mr. Losberne and 
 Mr. Grimwig entered the room, followed 
 by Mr. Brownlow and a man whom Oliver 
 almost shrieked with surprise to see ; for 
 they told him it was his brother, and it 
 was the same man he had met at the 
 market-town, and seen looking in with 
 Fagin at the window of his little room, 
 lie cast a look of hate, which even then 
 he could not dissemble, at the astonished 
 boy, and sat down near the door. Mr. 
 Brownlow, who had papers in his hand, 
 walked to a table, near which Rose and 
 Oliver were seated. 
 
 " This is a painful task," said he. " But 
 these declarations, which have been sign- 
 ed in London before many gentlemen, 
 must be in substance repeated here. I 
 would have spared you the degradation, 
 but we must have them from your own 
 lips before we part, and you know why." 
 
 " Go on," said the person addressed, 
 turning away his face. " Quick. I have 
 done enough. Don't keep me here." 
 
 " This child," said Mr. Brownlow, 
 drawing Oliver to him, and laying his 
 hand upon his head, "is your half-brother, 
 the illegitimate son of your father, and 
 my dear friend Edwin Leeford, by poor 
 young Agnes Fleming, who died in giv- 
 ing him birth." 
 
 " Yes," said Monks, scowling at the 
 trembling boy, the beating of whose heart 
 he might have heard. " That is their 
 bastard child." 
 
 " The term you use, said Mr. Brown- 
 low, sternly, " is a reproach to those who 
 long since passed beyond the feeble cen- 
 sure of this world. It reflects true dis- 
 grace on no one living except you who 
 use it. Let that pass. He was born in 
 this town?" 
 
 " In the workhouse of this town," was 
 the sullen reply. " You have the story 
 there." He pointed emphatically to the 
 papers as he spoke. 
 
 " I must have it here, too," said Mr. 
 Brownlow, looKmg round upon the list- 
 eners. 
 
 " Listen, then," returned Monks. " His 
 
 father being taken ill at Rome, as you 
 know, was joined by his wife, my mother, 
 from whom he had been long separated, 
 who went from Paris, and took me with 
 her — to look after his property for what 
 I know, for she had no great affection for 
 him, nor he for her. He knew nothing 
 of us, for his senses were gone ; and he 
 slumbered on till next day, when he died. 
 Among the papers in his desk, were two 
 dated on the night his illness first came 
 on, directed to yourself, and enclosed in 
 a few short lines to you, with an intima- 
 tion on the cover of the package that it 
 was not to be forwarded till he was dead. 
 One of these papers was a letter to this 
 girl Agnes, and the other a will." 
 
 " What of the letter!" asked Mr. 
 Brownlow. 
 
 " The letter ! a sheet of paper crossed 
 and crossed again with a penitent confes- 
 sion, and prayers to God to help her. He 
 had palmed a tale upon the girl, that 
 some secret mystery — to be explained 
 one day — prevented his marrying her 
 just then, and so she had gone on, trust- 
 ing patiently to him, until she trusted 
 too far, and lost what none could give 
 her back. She was at that time within 
 a few months of her confinement. He 
 told her all he had meant to do to hide 
 her shame if he had lived, and prayed her, 
 if he died, not to curse his memory, or 
 think the consequences of their sin would 
 be visited on her or their young child ; 
 for all the guilt was his. He reminded 
 her of the day he had given her the little 
 locket and the ring with her christian 
 name engraved upon it, and a blank left 
 for that which he hoped one day to have 
 bestowed upon her — prayed her yet to 
 keep it, and wear it next her heart, as 
 she had done before — and then ran on 
 wildly in the same words over and over 
 again, as if he had gone distracted — as 1 
 believe he had." 
 
 " The will," said Mr. Brownlow, as Oli- 
 ver's tears fell fast. " I will go on to 
 that. The will was in the same spirit. 
 He talked of miseries, which his wife had 
 brought upon him, of the rebellious dispo- 
 sition, vice, malice, and premature bad 
 passions of you, his only son, who had 
 been trained to hate him, and left you and 
 your mother each an annuity of eight 
 hundred pounds. The bulk of his pro- 
 j>erty he divided into two equal portions 
 — one for Agnes Fleming, and the other 
 for their child, if it should be born alive 
 and ever come of age. If it was a girl, 
 it was to come into the money uncondi- 
 tionally ; but if a boy, only on one stipu- 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 203 
 
 lation, that in his minority he should ne- 
 ver have stained his name with any public 
 act of dishonour, meanness, cowardice, or 
 wrong. He did this, he said, to mark his 
 confidence in the mother, and his convic- 
 tion — only strengthened by approaching 
 death — that the child would share her 
 gentle heart and noble nature. If he 
 was disappointed in this expectation, 
 then the money was to come to you, for 
 then, and not till then, when both chil- 
 dren were equal, would he recognise your 
 prior claim upon his purse, who had none 
 upon his heart, but had, from an infant, 
 repulsed him with coldness and aver- 
 sion." 
 
 " My mother," said Monks in a louder 
 tone, " did what a woman should have 
 done — she burnt this will. The letter 
 never reached its destination, but that and 
 other proofs she kept, in case they ever 
 tried to lie away the blot. The girl's fa- 
 ther had the truth from her, with every 
 aggravation that her violent hate — I love 
 her for it now — could add. Goaded by 
 shame and dishonour, he fled with his 
 children into a remote corner of Wales, 
 changing his very name, that his friends 
 might never know of his retreat; and 
 here, no great while afterwards, he was 
 found dead in his bed. The girl had left 
 her home in secret some weeks before ; 
 he had searched for her on foot in every 
 town and village near, and it was on the 
 night that he returned home, assured that 
 she had destroyed herself, to hide her 
 shame and his, that his old heart broke." 
 
 There was a short silence here, until 
 Mr. Brownlow took up the thread of the 
 narrative. 
 
 " Years after this," he said, " this man's 
 — Edward Leeford's — mother came to me. 
 He had left her when only eighteen ; rob- 
 bed her of jewels and money ; gambled, 
 squandered, forged, and fled to London, 
 where, for two years, he had associated 
 with the lowest outcasts. She was sink- 
 ing under a painful and incurable disease, 
 and wished to recover him before she died. 
 Enquiries were set on foot ; strict searches 
 made — unavailing for a long time — but 
 ultimately successful — and he went back 
 with her to France." 
 
 " There she died," said Monks, " after 
 a lingering illness; and on her death-bed 
 she bequeathed these secrets to me, to- 
 gether with her unquenchable and deadly 
 hatred of all whom they involved, though 
 she need not have left me that, for I had 
 inherited it long before. She would not 
 believe that the girl had destroyed her- 
 self and the child too, but was filled with 
 
 the impression that a male child had been 
 born, and was alive. I swore to her, if 
 ever it crossed my path, to hunt it down ; 
 never to let it rest, to pursue it with the 
 bitterest and most unrelenting animosity ; 
 to vent upon it the hatred that I deeply 
 felt; and to spit upon the empty vaunt 
 of that insulting will by dragging it, if I 
 could, to the very gallows' foot. She 
 was right. He came in my way at last ; 
 I began well, and, but for babbling drabs, 
 I would have finished as I began; I 
 would, I would !" 
 
 As the villain folded his arms tight to- 
 gether, and muttered curses on himself 
 in the impotence of baflled malice, Mr. 
 Brownlow turned to the terrified group 
 beside him, and explained that the Jew, 
 who had been his old accomplice and con- 
 fidant, had a large reward for keeping 
 Oliver ensnared, of which some part was 
 to be given up in the event of his being 
 rescued, and that a dispute on this head 
 had led to their visit to the country-house 
 for the purpose of identifying him. 
 
 " The locket and ring ]" said Mr. Brown- 
 low, turning to Monks. 
 
 •' I bought them from the man and wo- 
 man I told you of, who stole them from 
 the corpse," answered Monks, without 
 raising his eyes. * " You know what be- 
 came of them." 
 
 Mr. Brownlow merely nodded to Mr. 
 Grimwig, who, disappearing with great 
 alacrity, shortly returned, pushing in 
 Mrs. Bumble, and dragging her unwilling 
 consort after him. 
 
 " Do my hi's deceive me !" cried Mr. 
 Bumble, with ill-feigned enthusiasm, " or 
 is that little Oliver'! Oh, 0-li-ver, if you 
 know'd how I've been grieving for you !" 
 
 " Hold your tongue, fool," murmured 
 Mrs. Bumble. 
 
 " Isn't natur natur, Mrs. Bumble 1" 
 remonstrated the work-house mastei'. 
 " Can't I be suffered to feel — I as brought 
 him up porochially — when I see him a 
 setting here among ladies and gentlemen 
 of the very affablest description ! I al- 
 ways loved that boy as if he'd been my — 
 my — my own grandfather," said Mr. 
 Bumble, halting for an appropriate com- 
 parison. " Master Oliver, my dear, you 
 remember the blessed gentleman in the 
 white waistcoats Ah! he went to hea- 
 ven last week in a oak coffin with plated 
 handles, Oliver." 
 
 " Come, sir," said Mr. Grimwig, tartly, 
 " suppress your feelings." 
 
 "I will do my endeavours, sir," replied 
 Mr. Bumble. "How^ do you do, sir'' I 
 hope you are very well." 
 
204 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 This salutation was addressed to Mr. 
 Brownlow, who had stepped up to within 
 a short distance of the respectable couple, 
 and who inquired as he pointed to Monks, 
 "Do you know that person ■!" 
 
 " No," replied Mrs. Bumble, flatly. 
 
 " Perhaps you don't," said Mr. Brown- 
 low, addressing her spouse. 
 
 " I never saw him in all my life," said 
 Mr. Bumble. 
 
 "Nor sold him anything, perhaps?" 
 
 "No," replied Mrs. Bumble. 
 
 " You never had, perhaps, a certain 
 gold locket and ring 3" said Mr. Brown- 
 low. 
 
 "Certainly not," replied the matron. 
 " What are we brought here to answer 
 to such nonsense as this for ?" 
 
 Again Mr. Brownlow nodded to Mr. 
 Grimwig, and again that gentleman limp- 
 ed away with extraordinary readiness. 
 But not again did he return With a stout 
 man and wife; for this time he led in two 
 palsied women, who shook and tottered 
 as they walked. 
 
 " You shut the door the night old 
 Sally died," said the foremost one, rais- 
 ing her shrivelled head ; " but you 
 couldn't shut out the sound, nor stop the 
 chinks." 
 
 " No, no," said the other, looking 
 round her, and wagging her toothless 
 jaws ; " no, no, no." 
 
 " We heard her try to tell you what 
 she'd done, and saw you take a paper 
 from her hand; and watched you, too, 
 next day, to the pawnbroker's shop," said 
 the first. 
 
 " Yes," added the second ; " and it was 
 a locket and gold ring. We found out 
 that, and saw it given you. We were 
 by. Oh ! we were by." 
 
 " And we know more than that," re- 
 sumed the first ; " for she told us often, 
 long ago, that the young mother had told 
 her, that feeling she should never get 
 over it, she was on her way, at the time 
 she was taken ill, to die near the grave 
 of the father of the child." 
 
 " Would you like to see the pawn- 
 broker, himself?" asked Mr. Grimwig, 
 with a motion towards the door. 
 
 "No," replied the woman. " If he," 
 she pointed to Monks, " has been coward 
 enough to confess, as I see he has, and 
 you have sounded all these hags till you 
 found the right ones, I have nothing 
 more to say. I did sell them, and 
 they're where you'll never get them. 
 What then ?" 
 
 " Nothing," replied Mr. Brownlow, 
 " except that it remains for us to take 
 
 care that you are neither of you employed 
 in a situation of trust again. You may 
 leave the room." 
 
 " I hope," said Mr. Bumble, looking 
 about him with great ruefulness, as Mr. 
 Grimwig disappeared with the two old 
 women, " I hope that this unfortunate 
 little circumstance will not deprive me 
 of my porochial office ?" 
 
 " Indeed it will," replied Mr. Brown- 
 low. " You must make up your mind to 
 that, and think yourself well ofl^ besides." 
 
 " It was all Mrs. Bumble. She would 
 do it," urged Mr. Bumble ; first looking 
 round to ascertain that his partner had 
 left the room. 
 
 " That is no excuse," returned Mr. 
 Brownlow. " You were present on the 
 occasion of the destruction of these trink- 
 ets, and, indeed, are the more guilty of 
 the two in the eye of the law, for the law 
 supposes that your wife acts under your 
 direction." 
 
 " If the law supposes that," said Mr. 
 Bumble, squeezing his hat emphatically 
 in both hands, " the law is an ass — an 
 idiot. If that is the eye of the law, the 
 law's a bachelor ; and the worst I wish 
 the law is, that his eye may be opened 
 by experience — by experience." 
 
 Laying great stress on the repetition 
 of these two words, Mr. Bumble fixed his 
 hat on very tight, and putting his hands 
 in his pockets, followed his helpmate 
 down stairs. 
 
 " Young lady," said Mr. Brownlow, 
 turning to Rose, " give me your hand. 
 Do not tremble : you need not fear to 
 hear the few remaining words we have 
 to say." 
 
 " If they have — I do not know how 
 they can — but if they have any reference 
 to me," said Rose, " pray let me hear 
 them at some other time. I have not 
 strength or spirits now." 
 
 " Nay," returned the old gentleman, 
 drawing her arm through his, " you 
 have more fortitude than this, I am sure. 
 Do you know this young lady, sir 1" 
 
 " Yes," replied Monks. 
 
 " I never saw you before," said Rose, 
 faintly. 
 
 " I have seen you often," returned 
 Monks. 
 
 " The father of the unhappy Agnes had 
 two daughters," said Mr. Brownlow. 
 " What was the fate of the other — the 
 child r' 
 
 " The child," replied Monks, " when 
 her father died, in a strange place, in a 
 strange name, without a letter, book, or 
 scrap of paper, that yielded the faintest 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 205 
 
 clue by which his friends or relatives 
 could be traced — the child was taken hy 
 some wretched cottagers, who reared it 
 as their own." 
 
 " Go on," said Mr. Brownlow, signing 
 to Mrs. Maylie to approach, " go on." 
 
 " You couldn't find the spot to which 
 these people had repaired," said Monks; 
 "but where friendship fails, hatred will 
 often force a way. My mother found it, 
 after a year of cunning search — ay, and 
 found the child." 
 
 " She took it, did she 1" 
 
 " No. The people were poor, and be- 
 gan to sicken — at least the man did — of 
 their fine humanity, so she left it with 
 them, giving them a small present of mo- 
 ney, which would not last long, and pro- 
 mising more, which she never meant to 
 send. She didn't quite rely, however, 
 on their discontent and poverty for the 
 child's unhappiness, but told the history 
 of the sister's shame (with such altera- 
 tions as suited her), bade them take good 
 heed of the child, for she came of bad 
 blood, and told them she was illegitimate, 
 and sure to go wrong one time or other. 
 The circumstances countenanced all this ; 
 the people believed it, and there the child 
 dragged on an existence miserable enough 
 to satisfy us, until a widow, residing then 
 at Chester, saw the girl by chance — pitied 
 her, and took her home. There was some 
 cursed spell against us; for, in spite of 
 all our efforts, she remained there and 
 was happy ; I lost sight of her two or 
 three years ago, and saw her no more un- 
 til a few months back." 
 
 " Do you see her now I" 
 
 " Yes, leaning on your arm." 
 
 " But not the less my niece," cried 
 Mrs. Maylie, folding the fainting girl in 
 her arms ; " not the less my dearest child. 
 I wouldn't lose her now for all the trea- 
 sures of the world — my sweet companion 
 — my own dear girl." 
 
 " The only friend I ever had," cried 
 Rose, clinging to her ; " the kindest, best 
 of friends. My heart will burst — I can- 
 not, cannot bear all this." 
 
 "You have borne more, and been, 
 through all, the best and gentlest crea- 
 ture that ever shed happiness on every 
 one she knew," said Mrs. Maylie, em- 
 bracing her tenderly. " Come, come, my 
 love, remember who this is who waits to 
 clasp you in his arms. Poor child ! see 
 here — look, look, my dear." 
 
 " Not aunt," cried Oliver, throwing his 
 
 arms about her neck ; " I '11 never call her 
 
 aunt — sister, my own dear sister, that 
 
 something taught my heart to love so 
 
 18 
 
 dearly from the first Rose, dear, darling 
 Rose." 
 
 Let the tears which fell, and the broken 
 words which were exchanged, in the long 
 close embrace between the orphans, be 
 sacred. A father, sister, and mother 
 were gained and lost in that one moment. 
 Joy and grief were mingled in the cup, 
 but there were no bitter tears, for evon 
 grief itself arose so softened, and clothed 
 in such sweet and tender recollections, 
 that it became a solemn pleasure and lost 
 all character of pain. 
 
 They were a long, long time alone. A 
 soft tap at the door at length announced 
 that some one was without. Oliver 
 opened it, glided away, and gave place to 
 Harry Maylie. 
 
 " I know it all," he said, taking a seat 
 beside the lovely girl. "Dear Rose, I 
 know it all." 
 
 " I am not here by accident," he added, 
 after a lengthened silence, " nor have I 
 heard all this to-night, for I knew it yes- 
 terday — only yesterday. Do you guess 
 that I have come here to remind you of a 
 promise 1" 
 
 "Stay," said Rose. "You do know 
 allV 
 
 " All. You gave me leave at any time 
 within a year to renew the subject of our 
 last discourse." 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " Not to press you to alter your deter- 
 mination," pursued the young man, " but 
 to hear you reject it if you would. I v/as 
 to lay whatever of station or fortune I 
 might possess at your feet; and if you 
 still adhered to your former determina- 
 tion, I pledged myself by no word or act 
 to seek to change it." 
 
 " The same reasons which influenced 
 me then, will influence me now," said 
 Rose firmly. " If I ever owed a strict 
 and rigid duty to her whose goodness 
 saved me from a life of indigence and 
 suffering, when should I ever feel it as I 
 do to-night 1 It is a struggle," said Rose, 
 " but one I am proud to make ; it is a 
 pang, but one my heart shall bear." 
 
 "The disclosure of to-night," Harry 
 began. 
 
 "The disclosure of to-night," replied 
 Rose softly, " leaves me in the same posi- 
 tion with reference to you, as that in 
 which I stood before." 
 
 " You harden your heart against me, 
 Rose," urged her lover. 
 
 "Oh Harry, Harry," said the young 
 lady, bursting into tears. "I wish I 
 could, and spare myself this pain." 
 
 "Then why inflict it on yourself' 
 
206 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 said Harry, taking^ her hand. "Think, 
 dear Rose, what you have heard to-night." 
 
 " And what have I heard ] what ?iave 
 I heard ]" cried Rose. " That a sense 
 of his deep disgrace so worked upon my 
 own father that he shunned all — there ; 
 we have said enough, Harry, we have 
 said enough." 
 
 "Not yet, not yet," said the young 
 man, detaining her as she rose. " My 
 hopes, my wishes, prospect?, feelings, 
 every thought in life — except my love for 
 you — have undergone a change. I offer 
 you now no distinction among a bustling 
 crowd, no mingling with a world of 
 malice and detraction, where the blood is 
 called into honest cheeks by aught but 
 real disgrace and shame: but a home — a 
 heart and home — yes, dearest Rose, and 
 those, and those alone, are all I have to 
 offer." 
 
 "What does this mean?" faltered the 
 young lady. 
 
 "It means but this — that when I left 
 you last, I left you with the firm deter- 
 mination to level all fancied barriers be- 
 tween yourself and me ; resolved that if 
 my world could not be yours, I would 
 make yours mine ; that no pride of birth 
 should curl the lip at you, for I would 
 turn from it. This I have done. Those 
 who have shrunk from mc because of this, 
 have shrunk from you and proved you so 
 far right. Such power and patronage — 
 such relatives of influence and rank, as 
 smiled upon me then, look coldly now, 
 but there arc smiling friends and waving 
 trees in England's richest county, and by 
 one village church — mine. Rose, my own 
 — there stands a rustic dwelling, wliich 
 you can make rne prouder of than all the 
 hopes I have renounced, increased a thou- 
 sand-fold. This is my rank and station 
 now, and here I lay it down." 
 
 ******* * 
 
 "It's a trying thing waiting supper 
 for lovers," said Mr. Grimwig, waking up, 
 and pulling his pocket-handkerchief from 
 over his head. 
 
 Truth to tell, tfie supper had been 
 waiting a most unreasonable time. Nei- 
 ther Mrs. Maylie, nor Harry, nor Rose 
 (who all came in together,) could ofier a 
 word in extenuation. 
 
 " I had serious thoughts of eating my 
 head off to-night," said Mr. Grimwig, 
 " for I began to think I should get nothing 
 else. I '11 take the liberty, if you '11 al- 
 low me, of saluting the bride that is to 
 be." 
 
 Mr. Grimwig lost no time in carrying 
 tliis notice into effect upon the blushing 
 
 girl, and the example being contagious, 
 was followed both by the Doctor and Mr. 
 Brownlow. Some people affirm that 
 Harry Maylie had been observed to set it 
 originally in a dark room adjoining ; but 
 the best authorities consider this down- 
 right scandal, he being young and a 
 clergyman. 
 
 " Oliver, my child," said Mrs. Maylie, 
 " where have you been ? and why do you 
 look so sadi There are tears stealing 
 down your face at this moment. What 
 is the matter]" 
 
 It is a world of disappointment — often 
 to hopes we most cherish, and hopes that 
 do our nature the greatest honour. Poor 
 Dick was dead ! 
 
 CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH. 
 
 The Jew's last night alive. 
 
 The court was paved from floor to 
 roof with human faces. Inquisitive and 
 eager eyes peered from every inch of 
 space; from the rail before the dock, 
 away into the sharpest angle of the small- 
 est corner in the galleries. All looks 
 were fixed upon one man — the Jew. 
 Before him and behind, above, below, on 
 the right and on the left — he seemed to 
 stand surrounded by a firmament all 
 bright with gleaming eyes. He stood 
 there in all this glare of living light, with 
 one hand resting on the wooden slab be- 
 fore him, the other held to his ear, and 
 his head thrust forward to enable him to 
 catch with greater distinctness every 
 word that fell from the presiding judge, 
 who was delivering his charge to the 
 jury. At times he turned his eyes upon 
 them to observe the effect of the slightest 
 feather-weight in his favour; and when 
 the points against him were stated with 
 terrible distinctness, looked towards his 
 counsel in mute appeal that he would 
 even then urge something in his behalf. 
 Beyond these manifestations of anxiety, 
 he stirred not hand or foot. He had 
 scarcely moved since the trial began, and 
 now that the judge ceased to speak, he 
 still remained in the same strained atti- 
 tude of close attention, vt'ith his gaze bent 
 on him as though he listened still. 
 
 A slight bustle in the court recalled 
 him to himself, and looking round, he saw 
 that the jurymen had turned together to 
 consider of their verdict. As his eyes 
 wandered to the gallery, he could see the 
 people rising above each other to see his 
 face : some hastily applying their glasses 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 207 
 
 to their eyes, and others whispering their 
 neighbours with looks expressive of ab- 
 horrence. A few there were who seemed 
 unmindful of him, and looked only to the 
 jury in impatient wonder how they could 
 delay, but in no one face — not even among 
 the women, of whom there were many 
 there — 'Could be read the faintest sym- 
 pathy with him, or any feeling but one 
 of all-absorbing interest that he should 
 be condemned. 
 
 As he saw all this in one bewildered 
 glance, the death-like stillness came 
 again, and, looking back, he saw that the 
 jurymen had turned towards the judge. 
 Hush ! 
 
 They only sought permission to retire. 
 He looked wistfully into their feces one 
 by one when they passed out, as though 
 to see which way the greater number 
 bent; but that was fruitless. The jailer 
 touched him on the shoulder. He fol- 
 lowed mechanically to the end of the 
 dock, and sat down on a chair. The man 
 pointed it out, or he would not have seen 
 it. 
 
 He looked up into the gallery again. 
 Some of the people were eating, and 
 some fanning themselves with handker- 
 chiefs, for the crowded place was very 
 hot. There was one young man sketch- 
 ing his face in a little note-book. He 
 wondered whether it was like, and looked 
 on when the artist broke his pencil-point, 
 and made another with his knife, as any 
 idle spectator might have done. 
 
 In the same way, when he turned his 
 eyes towards the judge, his mind began 
 to busy itself with the fashion of his dress, 
 and about its cost, and how he put it on. 
 There was an old fat gentleman on the 
 bench, too, who had gone out some half 
 an hour before, and now came back. He 
 wondered within himself whether this 
 man had been to get his dinner, what he 
 had had, and where he had had it, and 
 pursued this train of careless thought 
 until some new object caught his eye and 
 roused another. 
 
 Not that all this time his mind was 
 for an instant free from one oppressive 
 overwhelming sense of the grave that 
 opened at his feet ; it was ever present 
 to him, but in a vague and general way, 
 and he could not fix his thoughts upon it. 
 Thus, even while he trembled and turned 
 burning hot at the idea of speedy death, 
 he fell to coun' -^ the iron spikes before 
 him, and woi, ig how the head of 
 one had been oroken off, and whether 
 they would mend it, or leave it as it was. 
 Then he thought of all the horrors of the 
 
 gallows and the scaffold, and stopped to 
 watch a man sprinkling the floor to cool 
 it, and then went on to think again. 
 
 At length there was a cry of silence, 
 and a breathless look from all towards 
 the door. The jury returned, and passed 
 him close. He could glean nothing from 
 their faces ; they might as well have been 
 of stone. Perfect stillness ensued — not a 
 rustle — not a breath — Guilty ! 
 
 The building rang with a tremendous 
 shout, and another, and another, and then 
 it echoed deep loud groans, that gathered 
 strength as they swelled out, like angry 
 thunder. It was a peal of joy from the 
 populace outside, greeting the news that 
 he would die on Monday. 
 
 The noise subsided, and he was asked 
 if he had anything to say why sentence 
 of death should not be passed upon him. 
 He had resumed his listening attitude, 
 and looked intently at his questioner 
 while the demand was made ; but it was 
 twice repeated before he seemed to hear 
 it, and then he only muttered that he 
 was an old man — an old man — an old 
 man — and so dropping into a whisper, 
 was silent again. 
 
 The judge assumed the black cap, and 
 the prisoner still stood with the same air 
 and gesture. A woman in the gallery 
 uttered some exclamation, called forth 
 by this dread solemnity ; he looked has- 
 tily up, as if angry at the interruption, 
 and bent forward yet more attentively. 
 
 The address was solemn and impres- 
 sive — the sentence fearful to hear; but 
 he stood like a marble figure, without 
 the motion of a nerve. His haggard 
 face was still bent forward, his under-jaw 
 hanging down, and his eyes staring out 
 before him, when the jailer put his hand 
 upon his arm, and beckoned him away, 
 lie gazed stupidly about him for an in- 
 stant, and obeyed. 
 
 They led him through a paved room 
 under the court, where some prisoners 
 were waiting until their turn came, and 
 others were talking to their friends, who 
 crowded round a grate which looked into 
 the open yard. There was nobody there 
 to speak to him ; but, as he passed, the 
 prisoners fell back to render him more 
 visible to the people who were cling- 
 ing to the bars, and they assailed him 
 with opprobrious names, and screeched 
 and hissed. He shook his fist, and would 
 have spat upon them, but his conductors 
 hurried him on through a gloomy passage, 
 lighted by a few dim lamps, into the inte- 
 rior of the prison. 
 
 Here he was searched, that he might 
 
808 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 not have about him the means of antici- 
 pating the law ; this ceremony performed, 
 they led him to one of the condemned 
 cells, and left him there — alone. 
 
 He sat down on a stone bench opposite 
 the door, which served for seat and bed- 
 stead, and casting his bloodshot eyes upon 
 the ground, tried to collect his thoughts. 
 After awhile he began to remember a few 
 disjointed fragments of what the judge 
 had said, tliough it had seemed to him at 
 the time that he could not hear a word. 
 These gradually fell into their proper 
 places, and, by degrees, suggested more, 
 so that in a little time he had the whole 
 almost as it was delivered. To be hanged 
 by the neck till he was dead — that was 
 the end. To be hanged by the neck till 
 he was dead. 
 
 As it came on very dark, he began to 
 think of all the men he had known who 
 had died upon the scaffold — some of them 
 through his means. They rose up in such 
 quick succession that he could hardly 
 count them. He had seen some of them 
 die — and joked too, because they died 
 with prayers upon their lips. With what 
 a rattling noise the drop went down ; and 
 how suddenly they changed from strong 
 and vigorous men to dangling heaps of 
 clothes ! 
 
 Some of them might have inhabited 
 that very cell, — sat upon that very spot. 
 It was very dark ; why did'nt they bring 
 a light] The cell had been built for 
 many years — scores of men must have 
 passed their last hours there — it was like 
 sitting in a vault strewn with dead bodies 
 — the cap, the noose, — the pinioned arms 
 — the faces that he knew even beneath 
 that hideous veil — Light, light ! 
 
 At length, when his hands were raw 
 with beating against the heavy door and 
 walls, two men appeared, one bearing a 
 candle which he thrust into an iron can- 
 dlestick fixed against the wall, and the 
 other dragging in a mattress on which to 
 pass the night; for the prisoner was to 
 be left alone no more. 
 
 Then came night — dark, dismal, silent 
 night. Other wretches are glad to hear 
 the church-clocks strike, for they tell of 
 life and coming day. To the Jew they 
 brought despair. The boom of every iron 
 bell came laden with the one deep hollow 
 sound — death. What availed the noise 
 nnd busfvc of cheerful morning, which 
 penetrated even there, to him ? It was 
 unother fori.i of knell, with mockery add- 
 ed to the warning. 
 
 The day passed off — day, there was no 
 day ; it was gone as soon as come — and 
 
 night came on again ; night so long, and 
 yet so short ; long in its dreadful silence, 
 and short in its fleeting hours. One time 
 he raved and blasphemed, and at another 
 howled and tore his hair. Venerable men 
 of his own persuasion had come to pray 
 beside him, but he had driven them away 
 with curses. They renewed their chari- 
 table efforts, and he beat them off. 
 
 Saturday night! he had only one night 
 more to live. And as he thought of this, 
 the day broke — Sunday. It was not until 
 the night of this last awful day, that a 
 withering sense of his helpless, desperate 
 state came in its full intensity upon his 
 blighted soul ; not that he had ever held 
 any defined or positive hopes of mercy, 
 but that he had never been able to con- 
 sider more than the dim probability of 
 dying so soon. He had spoken little to 
 either of the two men who relieved each 
 other in their attendance upon him, and 
 they, for their parts, made no eflJbrt to 
 rouse his attention. He had sat there 
 awake, but dreaming. Now he started 
 up every minute, and with gasping mouth 
 and burning skin hurried to and fro in 
 such a paroxysm of fear and wrath that 
 even they — used to such sights — recoiled 
 from him with horror. He grew so ter- 
 rible at last in all the tortures of his evil 
 conscience, that one man could not bear 
 to sit there, eyeing him alone, and so the 
 two kept watch together. 
 
 He cowered down upon his stone bed, 
 and thought of the past. He had been 
 wounded with some missiles from the 
 crowd on the day of his capture, and his 
 head was bandaged with a linen cloth. 
 His red hair hung down upon his blood- 
 less face ; his beard was torn and twisted 
 into knots ; his eyes shone with a terrible 
 light ; his unwashed flesh crackled with the 
 fever that burnt him up. Eight — nine — 
 ten. If it was not a trick to frighten 
 him, and those were the real hours tread- 
 ing on each others' heels, where would he 
 be when they came round again ! Eleven. 
 Another struck ere the voice of the hour 
 before had ceased to vibrate. At eight 
 he would be the only mourner in his own 
 funeral train ; at eleven 
 
 Those dreadful walls of Newgate, 
 which have hidden so much misery and 
 such unspeakable anguish — not only from 
 the eyes, but too often and too long from 
 the thoughts of men, never held so dread 
 a spectacle as that. The few who lin- 
 gered as they passed, and wondered what 
 the man was doing who was to be hanged 
 to-morrow, would have slept but ill that 
 night, if they could have seen him then. 
 
^^- /y/^y^yt!^ t^-^/^a^^^y^t^ ^^■^■ 
 
 Ii.t^S. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 209 
 
 From early in the evening until mid- 
 night, little groups of two or three pre- 
 sented themselves at the lodge-gate, and 
 inquired with anxious faces whether any 
 reprieve had been received. These being 
 answered in the negative, communicated 
 the welcome intelligence to others in the 
 street, who pointed out to one another the 
 door from which he must come out, and 
 showed where the scaffold would be built, 
 and, walking with unwilling steps away, 
 turned back to conjure up the scene. By 
 degrees they fell off one by one ; and for 
 an hour, in the dead of night, the street 
 was left to solitude and darkness. The 
 space before the prison was cleared, and 
 a few strong barriers, painted black, had 
 been already thrown across the road to 
 break the pressure of the expected crowd, 
 when Mr. Brownlow and Oliver appeared 
 at the wicket, and presented an order of 
 admission to the prison, signed by one of 
 the sheriffs. They were immediately ad- 
 mitted into the lodge. 
 
 " Is the young gentleman to come too, 
 sir 1" said the man whose duty it was to 
 conduct them. " It's not a sight for chil- 
 dren, sir." 
 
 " It is not indeed, my friend," rejoined 
 Mr. Brownlow, "but my business with 
 this man is intimately connected with 
 him, and as this child has seen him in the 
 full career of his success and villany, I 
 think it better — even at the cost of some 
 pain and fear — that he should see him 
 now." 
 
 These few words had been said apart, 
 so as to be inaudible to Oliver. The man 
 touched his hat, and, glancing at him with 
 some curiosity, opened another gate oppo- 
 site to that at which they had entered, 
 and led them on, through dark and wind- 
 ing ways, towards the cells. 
 
 " This," said the man, stopping in a 
 gloomy passage where a couple of work- 
 men were making some preparations in 
 profound silence — " This is the place he 
 passes through. If you step this way, 
 you can see the door he goes out at." 
 
 He led them into a store-kitchen, fitted 
 with coppers for dressing the prison food, 
 and pointed to a door. There was an 
 open grating above it, through which 
 came the sound of men's voices, mingled 
 with the noise of hammering and the 
 throwing down of boards. They were 
 putting up the scaffold. 
 
 From this place they passed through 
 several strong gates, opened by other 
 turnkeys, from the inner side, and having 
 crossed an open yard, ascended a flight 
 of narrow steps and came into a passage 
 18* 2B 
 
 with a row of strong doors on the left, 
 hand. Motioning them to remain where 
 they were, the turnkey knocked at one 
 of these with his bunch of keys. The 
 two attendants, after a little whispering, 
 came out into the passage, stretching 
 themselves, as if glad of the temporary 
 relief, and motioned the visiters to follow 
 the jailer into the cell. They did so. 
 The condemned criminal was seated on 
 his bed, rocking himself from side to side, 
 with a countenance more like that of a 
 snared beast than the face of a man. His 
 mind was evidently wandering to his old 
 life, for he continued to mutter, without 
 seeming conscious of their presence other- 
 wise than as a part of his vision. 
 
 "Good boy, Charley — well done," he 
 mumbled — " Oliver too — ha, ha, ha, — Oli- 
 ver too — quite the gentleman now — quite 
 the — take that boy away to bed." 
 
 The jailer took the disengaged hand 
 of Oliver, and whispering him not to be 
 alarmed, looked on without speaking. 
 
 " Take him away to bed," cried the 
 Jew. " Do you hear me, some of you 1 
 He has been the — the — the somehow the 
 cause of all this. It 's worth the money 
 to bring him up to it — Bolter's throat. Bill, 
 never mind the girl. Bolter's throat as 
 deep as you can cut. Saw his head off" 
 
 " Fagin," said the jailer. 
 
 " That 's me !" cried the Jew, falling 
 instantly into precisely the same attitude 
 of listening that he had assumed upon his 
 trial. " An old man, my lord ; a very old, 
 old, man." 
 
 "Here," said the turnkey, laying his 
 hand upon his breast to keep him down, 
 " Here 's somebody wants to see you, to 
 ask you some questions, I suppose. Fa- 
 gin, Fagin, are you a man 1" 
 
 "I shan't be one long," replied the 
 Jew, looking up with a face retaining no 
 human expression but rage and terror. 
 " Strike them all dead ; what right have 
 they to butcher me 1" 
 
 As he spoke, he caught sight of Oliver 
 and Mr. Brownlow, and, shrinking to the 
 furthest corner of the seat, demanded to 
 know what they wanted there. 
 
 " Steady," said the turnkey, still hold- 
 ing him down. " Now, sir, tell him what 
 you want — quick, if you please, for he 
 grows worse as the time gets on." 
 
 " You have some papers," said Mr. 
 Brownlow, advancing, "which were placed 
 in your hands for better security, by a 
 man called Monks." 
 
 "It's all a lie together," replied the 
 Jew. " I haven't one — not one." 
 I " For the love of God," said Mr. Brown- 
 
210 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 low solemnly, " do not say that now, up- 
 on,the very verge of death ; but tell me 
 wllpre they are. You know that Sikes is 
 dead, that Monks has confessed, that there 
 is no hope of any further gain. Where 
 are those papers!" 
 
 " Oliver," cried the Jew, beckoning to 
 him. " Here, here. Let me whisper to 
 you." 
 
 " I am not afraid," said Oliver in a low 
 voice, as he relinquished Mr. Brownlow's 
 hand. 
 
 " The papers," said the lew, drawing 
 him towards him, " are in a canvas bag, 
 in a hole a little way up the chimney in 
 the top front-room. I want to talk to you, 
 my dear, I want to talk to you." 
 
 •' Yes, yes," returned Oliver. " Let 
 me say a prayer. Do. Let me say one 
 prayer; say only one upon your knees 
 with me; and we will talk till morning." 
 
 " Outside — outside," replied the Jew, 
 pushing the boy before him towards the 
 door, and looking vacantly over his head. 
 " Say I 've gone to sleep — they '11 believe 
 you. You can get me out if you take me 
 so. Now then, now then." 
 
 " Oh ! God forgive this wretched man !" 
 cried the boy with a burst of tears. 
 
 " That's right, that's right," said the 
 Jew ; " that 'll help us on. This door 
 first. If I shake and tremble as we pass 
 the gallows, don't you mind, but hurry 
 on. Now, now, now." 
 
 " Have you nothing else to ask him, 
 sir ?" inquired the turnkey. 
 
 " No other question, replied Mr. Brown- 
 low. " If I hoped we could recal him to 
 a sense of his real position " 
 
 " Nothing will do that, sir," replied 
 the man, shaking his head. " You had 
 better leave him." 
 
 The door of the cell opened, and the 
 attendants returned. 
 
 " Press on, press on," cried the Jew. 
 " Softly, but not so slow. Faster, faster." 
 
 The man laid hands upon him, and dis- 
 engaging Oliver from his grasp, held him 
 back. He writhed and struggled with 
 the power of desperation, and sent up 
 shriek upon shriek that penetrated even 
 those massive walls, and rung in their 
 ears until they reached the open yard. 
 
 It was some time before they left the 
 prison, for Oliver nearly swooned after 
 this frightful scene, and was so weak that 
 for an hour or more he had not the 
 strength to walk. 
 
 Day was dawning when they again 
 emerged. A great multitude had already 
 assembled. The windows were filled 
 with people, smoking and playing cards, 
 
 to beguile the time; the crowd were 
 pushing, quarrelling and joking. Every 
 thing told of life and animation, but one 
 dark cluster of objects in the very centre 
 of all — the black stage, the cross beam, 
 the rope, and all the hideous apparatus 
 of death. 
 
 CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH, 
 
 And Last. 
 
 The fortunes of those who have figured 
 in this tale are nearly closed, and what 
 little remains to their historian to relate, 
 is told in few and simple words. 
 
 Before three months had passed, Rose 
 Fleming and Harry Maylie were married 
 in the village church which was hence- 
 forth to be the scene of the young clergy- 
 man's labours ; on the same day they en- 
 tered into possession of their new and 
 happy home. 
 
 Mrs. Maylie took up her abode with 
 her son and daughter-in-law, to enjoy du- 
 ring the tranquil remainder of her days 
 the greatest felicity that age and worth 
 can know — the contemplation of the hap- 
 piness of those on whom the warmest af- 
 fections and tenderest cares of a well- 
 spent life have been unceasingly bestowed. 
 
 It appeared on a full and careful inves- 
 tigation, that if the wreck of property 
 remaining in the custody of Monks (which 
 had never prospered in his hands or those 
 of his mother,) were equally divided be- 
 tween himself and Oliver, it would yield 
 to each little more than three thousand 
 pounds. By the provisions of his father's 
 will, Oliver would have been entitled to 
 the whole ; but Mr. Brownlow, unwilling 
 to deprive the elder son of the opportu- 
 nity of retrieving his former vices, and 
 pursuing an honest career, proposed this 
 mode of distribution, to which his young 
 charge most joyfully acceded. 
 
 Monks, still bearing that assumed 
 name, retired with his portion to a distant 
 part of the New World, where, hav- 
 ing quickly squandered it, he once more 
 fell into his old courses, and after under- 
 going a long confinement for some fresh 
 act of fraud and knavery, at length sunk 
 under an attack of his old disorder, and 
 died in prison. 
 
 Mr. Brownlow adopted Oliver as his 
 own son, and removing with him and the 
 old housekeeper to within a mile of the 
 parsonage-house where his dear friends 
 resided, gratified the only remaining wish 
 of Oliver's warm and earnest heart, and 
 thus linked together a little society whose 
 
>'/^^^^^'-c y/^v^^ .-^//i^^^^^^i -■ 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 211 
 
 condition approached as nearly to one of 
 perfect happiness as can ever be known 
 in this changing world. 
 
 Soon after the marriage of the young 
 people, the worthy doctor returned to 
 Chertsey, where, bereft of the presence 
 of his old friends, he would have been 
 discontented, if his temperament had ad- 
 mitted of such a feeling, and would have 
 turned quite feverish if he had known 
 how. 
 
 For two or three months, he contented 
 himself with hinting that he feared the 
 air began to disagree with him; and 
 then, finding that the place really was to 
 him no longer what it had been before, 
 settled his business on his assistant, took 
 a bachelor's cottage just outside the vil- 
 lage of which his young friend was pas- 
 tor, and instantaneously recovered. Here 
 he took to gardening, planting, fishing, 
 carpentering, and various other pursuits, 
 of a similar kind, all undertaken with his 
 characteristic impetuosity ; and in each 
 and all he has since become famous 
 throughout the neighbourhood as a most 
 profound authority. 
 
 Before his removal, he had managed 
 to contract a strong friendship for Mr. 
 Grimwig, which that eccentric gentle- 
 man cordially reciprocated. He is ac- 
 cordingly visited by him a great many 
 times in the course of the year; and on 
 all such occasions, Mr. Grimwig plants, 
 fishes, and carpenters with great ardour, 
 doing every thing in a very singular and 
 unprecedented manner, but always main- 
 taining, with his favourite asseveration, 
 that his mode is the ri^ht one. On Sun- 
 days, lie never fails to criticise the ser- 
 mon to the young clergyman's face, al- 
 ways informing Mr. Losberne, in strict 
 confidence, afterwards, that he considers 
 it an excellent performance, but thinks it 
 it as well not to say so. It is a standing 
 and very favourite joke for Mr. Brownlow, 
 to rally him on his old prophecy concern- 
 ing Oliver, and to remind him of the 
 night on which they sat with the watch 
 between them, waiting his return; but 
 Mr. Grimwig contends that he was right 
 in the main, and in proof thereof remarks, 
 that Oliver did not come back, after all, 
 which always calls forth a laugh on his 
 Bide, and increases his good humour. 
 
 Mr. Noah Claypole receiving a free 
 pardon from the crown, in consequence 
 of being admitted approver against the 
 Jew, and considering his profession not 
 altogether so safe a one as he could wish, 
 was for some little time at a loss for the 
 means of a livelihood, not burthened with 
 
 too much work. After some considera- 
 tion, he went into business as an informer, 
 in which calling he realizes a genteel 
 subsistence. His plan is to walk out 
 once a week during church-time, attend- 
 ed by Charlotte, in respectable attire. 
 The lady faints away at the doors of 
 charitable publicans, and the gentleman, 
 being accommodated with three penny- 
 worth of brandy to restore her, lays an 
 information next day, and pockets half 
 the penalty. Sometimes, Mr. Claypole 
 faints himself, but the result is the same. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Bumble, deprived of their 
 situations, were gradually reduced to 
 great indigence and misery, and finally 
 became paupers in that very same work- 
 house in which they had once lorded it 
 over others. Mr. Bumble has been heard 
 to say, that in this reverse and degrada- 
 tion, he has not even spirits to be thank- 
 ful for being separated from his wife. 
 
 As to Mr. Giles and Brittles, they 
 still remain in their old posts, although 
 the former is bald, and the last-named 
 boy quite grey. They sleep at the par- 
 sonage, but divide their attention so 
 equally between its inmates and Oliver, 
 and Mr. Brownlow, and Mr. Losberne, 
 that to this day the villagers have never 
 been able to discover to what establish- 
 ment they properly belong. 
 
 Master Charles Bates, appalled by 
 Sikes's crime, fell into a train of reflec- 
 tion whether an honest life was not, after 
 all, the best. Arriving at the conclusion 
 that it certainly was, he turned his back 
 upon the scenes of his past life, resolved 
 to amend it in some new sphere of action. 
 He struggled hard, and suffered much 
 for some time; but, having a contented 
 disposition and a good purpose, succeeded 
 in the end, and from being a farmer's 
 drudge and a carrier's lad, is now the 
 merriest young grazier in all Northamp- 
 tonshire. 
 
 And now, the hand that traces these 
 words, falters as it approaches the con- 
 clusion of its task, and would weave, for 
 a little longer space, the thread of these 
 adventures. 
 
 I would fain linger yet with a few of 
 those among whom I have so long moved, 
 and share their happiness by endeavour- 
 ing to depict it. I would show Rose 
 Maylie in all the bloom and grace of 
 early womanhood, shedding upon her se- 
 cluded path in life such soft and gentle 
 light as fell on all who trod it with her, 
 and shone into their hearts. I would paint 
 her the life and joy of the fireside circle, 
 and the evening summer group ; I would 
 
212 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 follow her through the sultry fields at 
 noon, and hear the low tones of her sweet 
 voice in the moonlit evening walk ; I 
 would watch her in all her goodness and 
 charity abroad, and the smiling, untiring 
 discharge of domestic duties at home ; I 
 would paint her and her dead sister's 
 child, happy in their mutual love, and 
 passing whole hours together in picturing 
 the friends whom they had so sadly lost; 
 I would summon before me once again 
 those joyous little faces that clustered 
 round her knee, and listen to their merry 
 prattle ; I would recall the tones of that 
 clear merry laugh, and conjure up the 
 sympathising tear that glistened in that 
 soft blue eye. These, and a thousand 
 looks and smiles, and turns of thought 
 and speech — 1 would fain recall them, 
 every one. 
 
 How Mr. Brownlow went on from day 
 to day filling the mind of his adopted 
 child with stores of knowledge, and be- 
 coming attached to him more and more 
 as his nature developed itself, and showed 
 tlie thriving seeds of all he could wish 
 nim to become — how he traced in him 
 new traits of his early friend, that 
 
 awakened in his own bosom old remem- 
 brances, melancholy, and yet sweet and 
 soothing — how the two orphans, tried by 
 adversity, remembered its lessons in mer- 
 cy to others, and mutual love, and fervent 
 thanks to Him who had protected and 
 preserved them — these are all matters 
 which need not to be told; for I have 
 said that they were truly happy, and 
 without strong affection and humanity 
 of heart, and gratitude to that Being 
 whose code is mercy, and whose great 
 attribute is benevolence to all things that 
 breathe, true happiness can never be at- 
 tained. 
 
 Within the altar of the old village 
 church stands a white marble tablet, 
 which bears as yet but one word, 'Agnes.' 
 There is no coffin in that tomb, and may 
 it be many, many years, before another 
 name is placed above it ! But if the spi- 
 rits of the dead ever come back to earth, 
 to visit spots hallowed by the love — the 
 love beyond the grave — of those whom 
 they knew in life, I do believe that the 
 shade of that poor girl often hovers about 
 that solemn nook — ay, though it is a 
 church, and she was weak and erring. 
 
 THE END. 
 

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