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

For the next eight or ten months, Oliver was the victim of a systematicrncourse of treachery and deception. He was brought up by hand. Thernhungry and destitute situation of the infant orphan was duly reportedrnby the workhouse authorities to the parish authorities. The parishrnauthorities inquired with dignity of the workhouse authorities, whetherrnthere was no female then domiciled in “the house” who was in arnsituation to impart to Oliver Twist, the consolation and nourishment ofrnwhich he stood in need. The workhouse authorities replied withrnhumility, that there was not. Upon this, the parish authoritiesrnmagnanimously and humanely resolved, that Oliver should be “farmed,”rnor, in other words, that he should be dispatched to a branch-workhousernsome three miles off, where twenty or thirty other juvenile offendersrnagainst the poor-laws, rolled about the floor all day, without therninconvenience of too much food or too much clothing, under the parentalrnsuperintendence of an elderly female, who received the culprits at andrnfor the consideration of sevenpence-halfpenny per small head per week.rnSevenpence-halfpenny’s worth per week is a good round diet for a child;rna great deal may be got for sevenpence-halfpenny, quite enough tornoverload its stomach, and make it uncomfortable. The elderly female wasrna woman of wisdom and experience; she knew what was good for children;rnand she had a very accurate perception of what was good for herself.rnSo, she appropriated the greater part of the weekly stipend to her ownrnuse, and consigned the rising parochial generation to even a shorterrnallowance than was originally provided for them. Thereby finding in thernlowest depth a deeper still; and proving herself a very greatrnexperimental philosopher.rnrnEverybody knows the story of another experimental philosopher who had arngreat theory about a horse being able to live without eating, and whorndemonstrated it so well, that he had got his own horse down to a strawrna day, and would unquestionably have rendered him a very spirited andrnrampacious animal on nothing at all, if he had not died,rnfour-and-twenty hours before he was to have had his first comfortablernbait of air. Unfortunately for the experimental philosophy of thernfemale to whose protecting care Oliver Twist was delivered over, arnsimilar result usually attended the operation of _her_ system; for atrnthe very moment when the child had contrived to exist upon the smallestrnpossible portion of the weakest possible food, it did perversely happenrnin eight and a half cases out of ten, either that it sickened from wantrnand cold, or fell into the fire from neglect, or got half-smothered byrnaccident; in any one of which cases, the miserable little being wasrnusually summoned into another world, and there gathered to the fathersrnit had never known in this.rnrnOccasionally, when there was some more than usually interesting inquestrnupon a parish child who had been overlooked in turning up a bedstead,rnor inadvertently scalded to death when there happened to be arnwashing—though the latter accident was very scarce, anythingrnapproaching to a washing being of rare occurrence in the farm—the juryrnwould take it into their heads to ask troublesome questions, or thernparishioners would rebelliously affix their signatures to arnremonstrance. But these impertinences were speedily checked by thernevidence of the surgeon, and the testimony of the beadle; the former ofrnwhom had always opened the body and found nothing inside (which wasrnvery probable indeed), and the latter of whom invariably swore whateverrnthe parish wanted; which was very self-devotional. Besides, the boardrnmade periodical pilgrimages to the farm, and always sent the beadle thernday before, to say they were going. The children were neat and clean tornbehold, when _they_ went; and what more would the people have!rnrnIt cannot be expected that this system of farming would produce anyrnvery extraordinary or luxuriant crop. Oliver Twist’s ninth birthdayrnfound him a pale thin child, somewhat diminutive in stature, andrndecidedly small in circumference. But nature or inheritance hadrnimplanted a good sturdy spirit in Oliver’s breast. It had had plenty ofrnroom to expand, thanks to the spare diet of the establishment; andrnperhaps to this circumstance may be attributed his having any ninthrnbirth-day at all. Be this as it may, however, it _was_ his ninthrnbirthday; and he was keeping it in the coal-cellar with a select partyrnof two other young gentleman, who, after participating with him in arnsound thrashing, had been locked up for atrociously presuming to bernhungry, when Mrs. Mann, the good lady of the house, was unexpectedlyrnstartled by the apparition of Mr. Bumble, the beadle, striving to undornthe wicket of the garden-gate.rnrn“Goodness gracious! Is that you, Mr. Bumble, sir?” said Mrs. Mann,rnthrusting her head out of the window in well-affected ecstasies of joy.“(Susan, take Oliver and them two brats upstairs, and wash ’emrndirectly.)—My heart alive! Mr. Bumble, how glad I am to see you,rnsure-ly!”rnrnNow, Mr. Bumble was a fat man, and a choleric; so, instead ofrnresponding to this open-hearted salutation in a kindred spirit, he gavernthe little wicket a tremendous shake, and then bestowed upon it a kickrnwhich could have emanated from no leg but a beadle’s.rnrn“Lor, only think,” said Mrs. Mann, running out,—for the three boys hadrnbeen removed by this time,—“only think of that! That I should havernforgotten that the gate was bolted on the inside, on account of themrndear children! Walk in sir; walk in, pray, Mr. Bumble, do, sir.”rnrnAlthough this invitation was accompanied with a curtsey that might havernsoftened the heart of a churchwarden, it by no means mollified thernbeadle.rnrn“Do you think this respectful or proper conduct, Mrs. Mann,” inquiredrnMr. Bumble, grasping his cane, “to keep the parish officers a waitingrnat your garden-gate, when they come here upon porochial business withrnthe porochial orphans? Are you aweer, Mrs. Mann, that you are, as I mayrnsay, a porochial delegate, and a stipendiary?”rnrn“I’m sure Mr. Bumble, that I was only a telling one or two of the dearrnchildren as is so fond of you, that it was you a coming,” replied Mrs.rnMann with great humility.rnrnMr. Bumble had a great idea of his oratorical powers and hisrnimportance. He had displayed the one, and vindicated the other. Hernrelaxed.rnrn“Well, well, Mrs. Mann,” he replied in a calmer tone; “it may be as yournsay; it may be. Lead the way in, Mrs. Mann, for I come on business, andrnhave something to say.”rnrnMrs. Mann ushered the beadle into a small parlour with a brick floor;rnplaced a seat for him; and officiously deposited his cocked hat andrncane on the table before him. Mr. Bumble wiped from his forehead thernperspiration which his walk had engendered, glanced complacently at therncocked hat, and smiled. Yes, he smiled. Beadles are but men: and Mr.rnBumble smiled.rnrn“Now don’t you be offended at what I’m a going to say,” observed Mrs.rnMann, with captivating sweetness. “You’ve had a long walk, you know, orrnI wouldn’t mention it. Now, will you take a little drop of somethink,rnMr. Bumble?”rnrn“Not a drop. Nor a drop,” said Mr. Bumble, waving his right hand in arndignified, but placid manner.rnrn“I think you will,” said Mrs. Mann, who had noticed the tone of thernrefusal, and the gesture that had accompanied it. “Just a leetle drop,rnwith a little cold water, and a lump of sugar.”rnrnMr. Bumble coughed.rnrn“Now, just a leetle drop,” said Mrs. Mann persuasively.rnrn“What is it?” inquired the beadle.rnrn“Why, it’s what I’m obliged to keep a little of in the house, to putrninto the blessed infants’ Daffy, when they ain’t well, Mr. Bumble,”rnreplied Mrs. Mann as she opened a corner cupboard, and took down arnbottle and glass. “It’s gin. I’ll not deceive you, Mr. B. It’s gin.”rnrn“Do you give the children Daffy, Mrs. Mann?” inquired Bumble, followingrnwith his eyes the interesting process of mixing.rnrn“Ah, bless ’em, that I do, dear as it is,” replied the nurse. “Irncouldn’t see ’em suffer before my very eyes, you know sir.”rnrn“No”; said Mr. Bumble approvingly; “no, you could not. You are a humanernwoman, Mrs. Mann.” (Here she set down the glass.) “I shall take a earlyrnopportunity of mentioning it to the board, Mrs. Mann.” (He drew itrntowards him.) “You feel as a mother, Mrs. Mann.” (He stirred therngin-and-water.) “I—I drink your health with cheerfulness, Mrs. Mann”;rnand he swallowed half of it.rnrn“And now about business,” said the beadle, taking out a leathernrnpocket-book. “The child that was half-baptized Oliver Twist, is ninernyear old today.”rnrn“Bless him!” interposed Mrs. Mann, inflaming her left eye with therncorner of her apron.rnrn“And notwithstanding a offered reward of ten pound, which wasrnafterwards increased to twenty pound. Notwithstanding the mostrnsuperlative, and, I may say, supernat’ral exertions on the part of thisrnparish,” said Bumble, “we have never been able to discover who is hisrnfather, or what was his mother’s settlement, name, or condition.”rnrnMrs. Mann raised her hands in astonishment; but added, after a moment’srnreflection, “How comes he to have any name at all, then?”rnrnThe beadle drew himself up with great pride, and said, “I inwented it.”rnrn“You, Mr. Bumble!”rnrn“I, Mrs. Mann. We name our fondlings in alphabetical order. The lastrnwas a S,—Swubble, I named him. This was a T,—Twist, I named _him_. Thernnext one comes will be Unwin, and the next Vilkins. I have got namesrnready made to the end of the alphabet, and all the way through itrnagain, when we come to Z.”rnrn“Why, you’re quite a literary character, sir!” said Mrs. Mann.rnrn“Well, well,” said the beadle, evidently gratified with the compliment;“perhaps I may be. Perhaps I may be, Mrs. Mann.” He finished therngin-and-water, and added, “Oliver being now too old to remain here, thernboard have determined to have him back into the house. I have come outrnmyself to take him there. So let me see him at once.”rnrn“I’ll fetch him directly,” said Mrs. Mann, leaving the room for thatrnpurpose. Oliver, having had by this time as much of the outer coat ofrndirt which encrusted his face and hands, removed, as could be scrubbedrnoff in one washing, was led into the room by his benevolentrnprotectress.rnrn“Make a bow to the gentleman, Oliver,” said Mrs. Mann.rnrnOliver made a bow, which was divided between the beadle on the chair,rnand the cocked hat on the table.rnrn“Will you go along with me, Oliver?” said Mr. Bumble, in a majesticrnvoice.rnrnOliver was about to say that he would go along with anybody with greatrnreadiness, when, glancing upward, he caught sight of Mrs. Mann, who hadrngot behind the beadle’s chair, and was shaking her fist at him with arnfurious countenance. He took the hint at once, for the fist had beenrntoo often impressed upon his body not to be deeply impressed upon hisrnrecollection.rnrn“Will _she_ go with me?” inquired poor Oliver.rnrn“No, she can’t,” replied Mr. Bumble. “But she’ll come and see yournsometimes.”rnrnThis was no very great consolation to the child. Young as he was,rnhowever, he had sense enough to make a feint of feeling great regret atrngoing away. It was no very difficult matter for the boy to call tearsrninto his eyes. Hunger and recent ill-usage are great assistants if yournwant to cry; and Oliver cried very naturally indeed. Mrs. Mann gave himrna thousand embraces, and what Oliver wanted a great deal more, a piecernof bread and butter, lest he should seem too hungry when he got to thernworkhouse. With the slice of bread in his hand, and the littlernbrown-cloth parish cap on his head, Oliver was then led away by Mr.rnBumble from the wretched home where one kind word or look had neverrnlighted the gloom of his infant years. And yet he burst into an agonyrnof childish grief, as the cottage-gate closed after him. Wretched asrnwere the little companions in misery he was leaving behind, they werernthe only friends he had ever known; and a sense of his loneliness inrnthe great wide world, sank into the child’s heart for the first time.rnrnMr. Bumble walked on with long strides; little Oliver, firmly graspingrnhis gold-laced cuff, trotted beside him, inquiring at the end of everyrnquarter of a mile whether they were “nearly there.” To theserninterrogations Mr. Bumble returned very brief and snappish replies; forrnthe temporary blandness which gin-and-water awakens in some bosoms hadrnby this time evaporated; and he was once again a beadle.rnrnOliver had not been within the walls of the workhouse a quarter of anrnhour, and had scarcely completed the demolition of a second slice ofrnbread, when Mr. Bumble, who had handed him over to the care of an oldrnwoman, returned; and, telling him it was a board night, informed himrnthat the board had said he was to appear before it forthwith.rnrnNot having a very clearly defined notion of what a live board was,rnOliver was rather astounded by this intelligence, and was not quiterncertain whether he ought to laugh or cry. He had no time to think aboutrnthe matter, however; for Mr. Bumble gave him a tap on the head, withrnhis cane, to wake him up: and another on the back to make him lively:rnand bidding him to follow, conducted him into a large whitewashedrnroom, where eight or ten fat gentlemen were sitting round a table. Atrnthe top of the table, seated in an arm-chair rather higher than thernrest, was a particularly fat gentleman with a very round, red face.rnrn“Bow to the board,” said Bumble. Oliver brushed away two or three tearsrnthat were lingering in his eyes; and seeing no board but the table,rnfortunately bowed to that.rnrn“What’s your name, boy?” said the gentleman in the high chair.rnrnOliver was frightened at the sight of so many gentlemen, which made himrntremble: and the beadle gave him another tap behind, which made himrncry. These two causes made him answer in a very low and hesitatingrnvoice; whereupon a gentleman in a white waistcoat said he was a fool.rnWhich was a capital way of raising his spirits, and putting him quiternat his ease.rnrn“Boy,” said the gentleman in the high chair, “listen to me. You knowrnyou’re an orphan, I suppose?”rnrn“What’s that, sir?” inquired poor Oliver.rnrn“The boy _is_ a fool—I thought he was,” said the gentleman in the whiternwaistcoat.rnrn“Hush!” said the gentleman who had spoken first. “You know you’ve gotrnno father or mother, and that you were brought up by the parish, don’trnyou?”rnrn“Yes, sir,” replied Oliver, weeping bitterly.rnrn“What are you crying for?” inquired the gentleman in the whiternwaistcoat. And to be sure it was very extraordinary. What _could_ thernboy be crying for?rnrn“I hope you say your prayers every night,” said another gentleman in arngruff voice; “and pray for the people who feed you, and take care ofrnyou—like a Christian.”rnrn“Yes, sir,” stammered the boy. The gentleman who spoke last wasrnunconsciously right. It would have been _very_ like a Christian, and arnmarvellously good Christian too, if Oliver had prayed for the peoplernwho fed and took care of _him_. But he hadn’t, because nobody hadrntaught him.rnrn“Well! You have come here to be educated, and taught a useful trade,”rnsaid the red-faced gentleman in the high chair.rnrn“So you’ll begin to pick oakum tomorrow morning at six o’clock,” addedrnthe surly one in the white waistcoat.rnrnFor the combination of both these blessings in the one simple processrnof picking oakum, Oliver bowed low by the direction of the beadle, andrnwas then hurried away to a large ward; where, on a rough, hard bed, hernsobbed himself to sleep. What a novel illustration of the tender lawsrnof England! They let the paupers go to sleep!rnrnPoor Oliver! He little thought, as he lay sleeping in happyrnunconsciousness of all around him, that the board had that very dayrnarrived at a decision which would exercise the most material influencernover all his future fortunes. But they had. And this was it:rnrnThe members of this board were very sage, deep, philosophical men; andrnwhen they came to turn their attention to the workhouse, they found outrnat once, what ordinary folks would never have discovered—the poorrnpeople liked it! It was a regular place of public entertainment for thernpoorer classes; a tavern where there was nothing to pay; a publicrnbreakfast, dinner, tea, and supper all the year round; a brick andrnmortar elysium, where it was all play and no work. “Oho!” said thernboard, looking very knowing; “we are the fellows to set this to rights;rnwe’ll stop it all, in no time.” So, they established the rule, that allrnpoor people should have the alternative (for they would compel nobody,rnnot they), of being starved by a gradual process in the house, or by arnquick one out of it. With this view, they contracted with thernwater-works to lay on an unlimited supply of water; and with arncorn-factory to supply periodically small quantities of oatmeal; andrnissued three meals of thin gruel a day, with an onion twice a week, andrnhalf a roll of Sundays. They made a great many other wise and humanernregulations, having reference to the ladies, which it is not necessaryrnto repeat; kindly undertook to divorce poor married people, inrnconsequence of the great expense of a suit in Doctors’ Commons; and,rninstead of compelling a man to support his family, as they hadrntheretofore done, took his family away from him, and made him arnbachelor! There is no saying how many applicants for relief, underrnthese last two heads, might have started up in all classes of society,rnif it had not been coupled with the workhouse; but the board werernlong-headed men, and had provided for this difficulty. The relief wasrninseparable from the workhouse and the gruel; and that frightenedrnpeople.rnrnFor the first six months after Oliver Twist was removed, the system wasrnin full operation. It was rather expensive at first, in consequence ofrnthe increase in the undertaker’s bill, and the necessity of taking inrnthe clothes of all the paupers, which fluttered loosely on theirrnwasted, shrunken forms, after a week or two’s gruel. But the number ofrnworkhouse inmates got thin as well as the paupers; and the board werernin ecstasies.rnrnThe room in which the boys were fed, was a large stone hall, with arncopper at one end: out of which the master, dressed in an apron for thernpurpose, and assisted by one or two women, ladled the gruel atrnmealtimes. Of this festive composition each boy had one porringer, andrnno more—except on occasions of great public rejoicing, when he had twornounces and a quarter of bread besides. The bowls never wanted washing.rnThe boys polished them with their spoons till they shone again; andrnwhen they had performed this operation (which never took very long, thernspoons being nearly as large as the bowls), they would sit staring atrnthe copper, with such eager eyes, as if they could have devoured thernvery bricks of which it was composed; employing themselves, meanwhile,rnin sucking their fingers most assiduously, with the view of catching uprnany stray splashes of gruel that might have been cast thereon. Boysrnhave generally excellent appetites. Oliver Twist and his companionsrnsuffered the tortures of slow starvation for three months: at last theyrngot so voracious and wild with hunger, that one boy, who was tall forrnhis age, and hadn’t been used to that sort of thing (for his father hadrnkept a small cook-shop), hinted darkly to his companions, that unlessrnhe had another basin of gruel _per diem_, he was afraid he might somernnight happen to eat the boy who slept next him, who happened to be arnweakly youth of tender age. He had a wild, hungry eye; and theyrnimplicitly believed him. A council was held; lots were cast who shouldrnwalk up to the master after supper that evening, and ask for more; andrnit fell to Oliver Twist.rnrnThe evening arrived; the boys took their places. The master, in hisrncook’s uniform, stationed himself at the copper; his pauper assistantsrnranged themselves behind him; the gruel was served out; and a longrngrace was said over the short commons. The gruel disappeared; the boysrnwhispered each other, and winked at Oliver; while his next neighborsrnnudged him. Child as he was, he was desperate with hunger, and recklessrnwith misery. He rose from the table; and advancing to the master, basinrnand spoon in hand, said: somewhat alarmed at his own temerity:rnrn“Please, sir, I want some more.”rnrnThe master was a fat, healthy man; but he turned very pale. He gazed inrnstupefied astonishment on the small rebel for some seconds, and thenrnclung for support to the copper. The assistants were paralysed withrnwonder; the boys with fear.rnrn“What!” said the master at length, in a faint voice.rnrn“Please, sir,” replied Oliver, “I want some more.”rnrnThe master aimed a blow at Oliver’s head with the ladle; pinioned himrnin his arm; and shrieked aloud for the beadle.rnrnThe board were sitting in solemn conclave, when Mr. Bumble rushed intornthe room in great excitement, and addressing the gentleman in the highrnchair, said,rnrn“Mr. Limbkins, I beg your pardon, sir! Oliver Twist has asked forrnmore!”rnrnThere was a general start. Horror was depicted on every countenance.rnrn“For _more_!” said Mr. Limbkins. “Compose yourself, Bumble, and answerrnme distinctly. Do I understand that he asked for more, after he hadrneaten the supper allotted by the dietary?”rnrn“He did, sir,” replied Bumble.rnrn“That boy will be hung,” said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. “Irnknow that boy will be hung.”rnrnNobody controverted the prophetic gentleman’s opinion. An animatedrndiscussion took place. Oliver was ordered into instant confinement; andrna bill was next morning pasted on the outside of the gate, offering arnreward of five pounds to anybody who would take Oliver Twist off thernhands of the parish. In other words, five pounds and Oliver Twist werernoffered to any man or woman who wanted an apprentice to any trade,rnbusiness, or calling.rnrn“I never was more convinced of anything in my life,” said the gentlemanrnin the white waistcoat, as he knocked at the gate and read the billrnnext morning: “I never was more convinced of anything in my life, thanrnI am that that boy will come to be hung.”rnrnAs I purpose to show in the sequel whether the white waistcoatedrngentleman was right or not, I should perhaps mar the interest of thisrnnarrative (supposing it to possess any at all), if I ventured to hintrnjust yet, whether the life of Oliver Twist had this violent terminationrnor no.