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 Jbrary 
 
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 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013472620 
 
THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 ALSO, 
 
 PICTURES FROM ITALY, 
 
 AND 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY f. MAHONSiT. 
 
 BOSTON : 
 
 D. LOTHROP & CO 
 1883. 
 
A7/6f^^ 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 . . Once upon a time it was held to be a coarse and shockihg 
 circuHistanice, that some of the characters in these pages are 
 chosen from the most criminal and. degraded of London's 
 population. : ; " 
 
 As I saw no reason, when I wrote this book, why the dregs 
 of life (so long aj Jlieij.speech did not offend the ear) should 
 not serve the purpose of a moral, as well as itS: froth and 
 cream, I mad« bold to believe that this same Once upon a 
 time would not prove to be All-time or even a long time. I 
 saw many strong reasons for pursuing my course. I had read 
 of thieves by scores ; seductive fellows (amiable for the most 
 part), faultless in dress, plump in pocket, choice in horse- 
 flesh, bold in bearing, fortunate in gallantry, great at a song, a 
 bottle, pack of cards or dice-boX, and fit companions for the 
 bravest. But I had never met (except in Hogarth) with the ; 
 miserable reality. It appeared to me that to draw a knot of/ 
 such associates in crifne as really did exist ; to paint them in' 
 all their deformity, in all their wretchedness, in all the squalid 
 misery of their lives ; to show them as they really were, for 
 ever skulking uneasily through the dirtiest paths of life, with 
 the great black ghastly gallows closing up their prospect, turn 
 them where they might ; it appeared to me that to do this, 
 would be to attempt a something which was needed, and 
 which would be a service to society. And I did it as I bea^ 
 Gould, 
 
 In every, book I know, where such characters are treated 
 of, allurements and fascinations are thrown around them. 
 Even in the Beggar's Opera, the thieves are .represented as 
 leading a life which is rather to be envied than otherwise : 
 while. Machsath, with all ihfi cap.tjvationsesfcqmpiand, and 
 the devotion of the most beautiful- gixl^ afi4 only piffe char- 
 
ii PREFACE. 
 
 acter in the piece, is as much to be admired and emulated by 
 weak beholders, as any fine gentleman in a red coat who has 
 purchased, as Voltaire says, the right to command a couple 
 of thousand men,, or so, and to affront death at their head. 
 Johnson's question, whether any man will turn thief because 
 Macheath is reprieved, seems to me beside the matter. I ask 
 myself, whether any man will be deterred from turning thief, 
 because of Macheath's being sentenced to" death, and because 
 of the existence of Peachum and Lockit ; and remembering 
 the captain's roaring life, great appearance, vast success, and 
 strong advantages, I feel assured that nobody having a bent 
 that way will take any warning from him, or will see anything 
 in the play but a flowery and pleasant road, conducting an 
 honorable ambition — in course of time— to Tyburn Tree. 
 
 In fact, Gay's witty satire on society had a general object, 
 which made him quite regardless of example in this respect, 
 and gave him other and wider aims. The same may be said of 
 Sir Edward Bulwer's admirable and powerful novel of Paul 
 Clifford, which cannot be fairly considered as having, or as 
 being intended to have, any bearing on this part of the sub- 
 ject, one way or other. 
 
 What manner of life is that which is described in these 
 pages, as the every-day existence of a Thief ? What charms 
 has it for the young and ill-disposedj what allurements for the 
 most jolter-headed of jbveniles ? Here are no canterings on 
 moonlit heaths, no merry-makings in the snuggest of all pos- 
 sible caverns, none of the attractions of dress, no embroidery, 
 no lace, ho jack-boots, no crimson coats and ruffles, none of 
 the dash and freedom with which " the road " has been time 
 out of mind invested. The cold wet shelterless midnight 
 streets of London; the foul and frowsy dens, where vice is 
 closely packed and lacks the room to turn ; the haunts of 
 hunger and disease ; the shabby rags that scarcely hold to- 
 gether ; where are the attractions of these things ? 
 
 There are people, however, of so refined and ■ delicate a 
 nature, that they cannot bear the contemplation of such hor- 
 rors. Not that they turn instinctively from crime ; but that 
 criminal ' characters, to suit them, must be, like their meat, in 
 delicate disguise. A Massaroni in green velvet is an enchant- 
 ing creature ; but a Sikes in fustian is insupportable. A Mrs 
 Massaroni, being a lady in short petticoats and a fancy dress, 
 is a thing to imiliate in tableaux and have in lithograph on 
 pretty song&j but a'NanGV, being a creature in a cottongown 
 
PREFACE. iii 
 
 and cheap shawl, is not to be thought of. It is \?onderful how 
 Virtue turns from dirty stockings ;, and how Vice, married to 
 ribbons and a' little gay attire, changes her name, as wedded 
 ladies do, and becomes Romance. . ;;; - 
 
 But as the stern truth, even in the idfess of this (in novels) 
 much exalted^ face, was a part of the purpose of this book, I 
 did not, for these readers, abate one hole in the Dodger's 
 coat, or one scrap of curl-paper in, Nancy's 4ist!ievelled hair. 
 I had no faith in the delicacy which- could not bear t.o look 
 upon them. I had no desire to make proselytes among such 
 people. I had no respect for their opinion, good or bad ; did 
 not covet their approval ; and did not write for their amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 It has been observed of Nancy that her devotion to the 
 brutal house-breaker does not seem natural. And it has been 
 objected to Sikes in the same breath — ^with some inconsist- 
 ency, as I venture to think — that he is surely overdrawn, be- 
 cause in him there would appear to be none of those redeem- 
 ing traits which are objected to as unnatural in his mistress. 
 Of the latter objection I will merely remark, that I feaj: there 
 are in the world some insensible and callous natures^ that do 
 become utterly and incurably bad. Whether this be so or not, 
 of one thing I am certain : that there are such men as Sikes, 
 who, being closely followed through the same space of time 
 and through the same current of circumstances, would not 
 give, by the action of a moment, the faintest indication of a 
 better nature. Whether every gentler human feeling is dead 
 within such bosoms, or the proper chord to strike has rusted 
 and is hard to find, I do not pretend to know ; but that the 
 fact is as I state it, I am sure. 
 
 It is useless to discuss whether the conduct and character 
 of the girl seems natural or unnatural, probable or improbable, 
 right or wrong. It is true. Every man who has watched 
 these melancholy shades of life, must know it to be so. From 
 the first introduction of that poor wretch, to her laying her 
 blood-stained head upon the robber's breast, there is not a 
 word exaggerated or over-wrought. It is emphatically God's 
 truth, for it is the truth He leaves in such depraved and miser- 
 able breasts ;-the hope yet lingering there ; the last fair drop 
 of water at the bottom of the weed-choked well. It involves 
 the best and worst shades of our nature ; much of its ugliest 
 hues, and something of its most beautiful ; it is a contradic- 
 tion, an anomaly, an apparent impossibility ; but it is a truth. 
 
iv PREFACE. 
 
 I am glad to have had it doubted, for in that circumstance I 
 should find a sufficient assurance (if I wanted any) that it 
 heeded to be told. 
 
 In the year one thousand eight hundred and fifty, it was 
 publicly declared in London by an amazing Alderman, that 
 Jacob's Island did not exist, and never had existed. Jacob's 
 Island continues to exist -(like an ill-bred place as it is) in the 
 year one thousand eight hundred and sixty^ven, though im- 
 proved and much changed. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE, 
 
 I. Treats of the place where Oliver Twist was bom, 
 
 and o£ the circumstances attending his birth. . .-. . . 7 
 II. Treats of Oliver Twist's growth, education, and 
 
 board 10 
 
 III. Relates how Oliver Twist was very near getting a 
 
 place, which would not have been a sinecure ...... 20 
 
 IV. Oliver, t5eing offered another place, makes his fiirst 
 
 entry into public life 28 
 
 V. Oliver mingles with new associates. Going to. a 
 funeral for the first time, he foritis an unfavorable 
 
 notion of his master's business ... 34 
 
 ^ VI. Oliver, being goaded by the taunts of Noah, rouses. 
 
 into action, and rather astonishes him.. ......... . 45 
 
 VII. Oliver continues refractory 49 
 
 Vni. Oliver walks to London. He encounters on the road 
 
 a strange sort of young gentleman 56 
 
 IX. Containing further particulars concerning the pleasant 
 
 old gentleman, and his hopeful pupils 63 
 
 X. Oliver becomes better acquainted with the characters 
 of his new associates ; and purchases experience 
 at a high price. Being a short, but vefy impor- 
 tant chapter, in this history. . .. ....:.'.-.. ..... 69 
 
 XI. Treats of Mr. Fang, tlie police magistrate ; and 
 furnishes a slight specimen- of bis mode of admin- 
 istering justice 74 
 
 XII. In which Oliver is taken better care of than he ever 
 was before, and in which the narrative reverts to 
 the merry old gentleman and his youthful frieijds. 81 
 
 XIII. Some iiew acquaintances are introduced to the intel- 
 
 ligent reader, connected with whom, various pleas- 
 ant matters are related, appertaining to this history 90 
 
 XIV. Comprising 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 97 
 
 XV. Showing how very fond of Oliver Twist, the merry 
 
 old Jew and Miss Nancy were 10,7 
 
 XVL Relates what became of Oliver Twist, aftej he had 
 
 been claimed by Nancy 113 
 
 XVII. Oliver's ■ destiny cotttinuing unpropitious, brings a 
 
 great man to London to injure his reputation 122 
 
VI CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. rt-cx. 
 
 XVI 1 1. How OIiver,passed Iiis time in tli? improving society 
 
 of liis reputable friends.. . . .. i '3" 
 
 XIX. In which a notable plan is discussed and determined 
 
 on ■•• 138 
 
 XX. Wherein Oliver is delivered over to Mr. William 
 
 Sikes : 147 
 
 XXI. The expedition 1 54 
 
 XXII. The burglary 160 
 
 XXIII. Which contains the substance of a pleasant conver- 
 sation between Mr. Bumble and a lady; and 
 shows that even a beadle may be susceptible on 
 
 some points , 166 
 
 XXIV. Treats of a very poor subject. But is a short one, 
 
 and may be found of importance in this history. 173 
 XXV. Wherein this history reverts to Mr. F^n and 
 
 company 1 78 
 
 XXVI. -In wlxicli a mysterious character appears upon the 
 scene; and many things, inseparable from this 
 
 history, are done and performed. 184 
 
 XXVII. Atones for the unpoliteness of a former chapter; 
 
 wliich deserted a lady most unceremoniously., . . 195 
 XXVIII. Looks after Oliver, and proceeds with his adven- 
 tures 202 
 
 XXIX. Has an introductory account of tlje inmates of the 
 
 house, to which Oliver resorted 211 
 
 XXX. Relates what Oliver's new visitors thought of him. 2T5 
 
 XXXI. Involves a critical position 221 
 
 XXXII. Of tiie happy life Oliver began to lead with his 
 
 kind friends 231 
 
 XXXIII. Wherein the happiness of Oliver and his friends 
 
 experiences a sudden check. 230 
 
 XXXIV. Contains some introductory particulars relative to 
 
 a young gentleman who now arrives upon the 
 scene ; and a new adventure which happened to 
 
 Oliver ,4- 
 
 XXXV. Containing the unsatisfactory result of Oliver's ad- 
 venture ; and a conversation of some importance 
 
 between Harry Maylie and Rose 2 1;6 
 
 XXXVI. Is a very short one, and may appear of no great 
 importance in its place, but it sljould be read 
 notwithstanding, as a sequel to the last, and a 
 key to one that will follow when its time arrives. 263 
 
 XXXVII. In which the reader may perceive a contrast, not 
 
 uncommon in matrimonial cases 266 
 
 XXXVIII. Containing an account of what passed between 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Bumble, and Mr. Monks, at 
 their nocturnal interview . . , 275 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Vll 
 
 CHAP. , PACB. 
 
 XXXIX. Introduces some respectable characters with 
 .whom the. reader is already acquainted, and 
 shows how Monks and the J&w laid their 
 
 worthy heads together. , 285 
 
 XL. A strange intierview, which is a sequel to the last 
 
 chapter 298 
 
 XLI. Containing fresh discoveries, and showing tha:t 
 . . surprises, like misfortunes, seldom come alone 305 
 XLII. An old acquaintance of Oliver's, exhibiting de- 
 cided marks of genius, becomes a public char- 
 acter in the metropolis i ... . r 314 
 
 XLIII. Wherein is shown how. the artful do(%ergot into 
 
 trouble -y.; 323 
 
 XLIV. The time arrives for-Ndncy toiredeem her pledge 
 
 to Rose Maylife. ,, She.i^ls..U, 333 
 
 XLV. Noah Claypole is employed by Fagin on a secret 
 
 mission; . ... •.': 339 
 
 XLVI. The appointment kept 343 
 
 XLVII. Fatal consequences. 352 
 
 XLVIII. The flight of Sikes., ; , 358 
 
 XLIX. Monks and Mr. Brownlow at length meet. Their 
 conversation, and the intelligence that inter- 
 rupts it. . . .' 367 
 
 L. The pursuit ai;d escape 376 
 
 LI. Affording an explanation of more. mysteries than . 
 one, and comprehending a proposal of mar- 
 riage with no word of settlement orpin-money 386 
 
 LI I. Fagin's last night alive '• 398 
 
 LIII. And last 406 
 
 PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 The reader's passport 413 
 
 Going through France 415 
 
 Lyons, the Rhone, and the Goblin of Avignon 422 
 
 Avignon to Genoa ;. 43 1 
 
 Genoa and its neighborhood 43 J 
 
 To Parma, Modena, and Bologna 465 
 
 Through Bologna and Ferrara 473 
 
 An Italian dream 479 
 
 By Verona, Mantua, and Milan, across the Pass of the Sim- 
 
 plon into Switzerland 486 
 
 To Rome by Pisa and Siena 501 
 
 Rome S14 
 
 A rapid diorama SS7 
 
Viii CONTENTS. 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 CHAP. ■ '■■''■ PAGB. 
 
 I. Going away. ..'■■. 585 
 
 II. The passage out 593 
 
 III. Boston ..; .•:■••• ^°^ 
 
 IV. An American railroad. Lowell and its factory- sys- 
 
 tem . 642 
 
 V. Worcester. The Connecticut River. Hartford. New 
 
 Haven. To New York 650 
 
 VI. New York.. .:. 659 
 
 VII. Philadelphia, and its solitary prison 676 
 
 VIII. Washington. The Legislature. And the "President's 
 
 house. .%..,^.v 690 
 
 IX, A night steamer, on the Potomac River. Virginia 
 road, and a- black drive*".! Richmond. Baltimore. 
 The Harrisbttrg mail; and- a glimpse of the city. A 
 
 canalboat..; , '..."..",.'. 706 
 
 X. Some further account of the canal boat, its domestic 
 economy-,. and its passengers. Journey to Pittisturg 
 
 across, the Alleghany -Mountains. Pittsburg ^ 722 
 
 • XI. From Pittsburg to Cinoinnatiin a Western steamboat. 
 
 Cincinnati.; 733 
 
 XIL From Cincinnati to Louisville in another Western 
 steam-boat; and from Louisville to St. Louis in 
 in another. St. Louis 741 
 
 XIII, A jaunt tothe Looking-Glass Prairie and back. .... . 752 
 
 XIV. Return to Cincinnati. A sta:ge-cbach ride from that 
 
 city to Columbus, and thenfce to Sandusky. So, 
 by Lake Erie, to the Falls of Niagara. ^ ' .7. /. ... . 759 
 XV. In Canada; Toronto; Kingston; Montreal; Quebe^; 
 St. John's. In the United States again ; Lebanon ; 
 
 the Shaker village ; West Point 77^ 
 
 XVI. The passage home 70-3 
 
 XVII. Slavery. .„..;....................... 800 
 
 XVIII. Concluding remarks : §16 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 QHAPTEE L 
 
 TREATS OF THE PLACE WHERE OLIVER TWIST WAS BORNj AND 
 OF THE CIRCUMSTANCES ATTENDING HIS BIRTH. 
 
 Among Other public buildings in a certain town, which for 
 many reasons Lt will be prudent to refrain from mentioning,' 
 and to which I will assign no fictitious name, there: is one 
 anciently common to most towns, great or small : to wit, a 
 workhouse ; and in this workhouse was bom, on a day and 
 date which, I need not trouble myself to repeat, inasmuch as 
 it can be of no possible consequence to the reader, in this 
 Stage of the: business at all events, the item of ' mortality 
 SKhpse name is prefixed to the hea4 of this chapter. 
 
 For a loi^ time after it was ushered into this world of 
 sorrow and trouble, by. the parish surgeon, it remained, a mat' 
 ter of considerable doubt whether the child would survive to 
 bear any name at all ; in which case it is somewhat more 
 than probabde that these memoirs would never have appealed ; 
 or, if they had, that being comprised within a couple of piages, 
 they would have possessed the inestimable merit of being the 
 most coaicissi and faitMul specimen of biography, extant in the 
 literature of any age. or country. 
 
 Althptigh I am not disposed to maintain that the being 
 bom in a workhouse,, is in itself the most fortunate and en- 
 viable circumstance that can possibly befall a human being, 
 I do mean to say that in this particular instance, it was the 
 best thing for OUver Twist that GOtddby possibility have- oc- 
 
8 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 curred. The fact is, that there was considerable difficulty in 
 inducing Oliver to take upon himself the office of respiration, 
 a troublesome practice, but one which custom has rendered 
 necessary to our easy existence ; and for some time he lay 
 gasping on a little flock mattress, rather unequally poised be- 
 tween this world and the next : the balance being decidedly in 
 favor of the latter. Now, if, during this brief period, Oliver 
 had been surrounded by careful grandmothers, anxious aunts, 
 experienced nurses, and -doctors, of profound wisdom, he would 
 most ipejitably and indubitably fiave been killed in no time. 
 There being nobody by however, but a pauper old woman, 
 who was rendered rather misty by an unwonted allowance of 
 beer; and a parish surgeon who did such matters by con- 
 tract J Oliver and Nature fought out the point between them. 
 The result was, that, after a few struggles, Oliver breathed, 
 sneezed, and proceeded t6 advertise to the inmates of the 
 workhouse the fact of a new burden having been imposed 
 upon theparish, by setting up as loud a cry as could reason- 
 ably have been expected from a male infant who had not been 
 possessed of that very useful appendage, a voice, for a much 
 longer space of time than three minutes and a quarter. 
 
 As Oliver gave this first proof of the freie and proper action 
 of his lungs,- the patchwork coverlet which was carelessly flung 
 over the iiron bedstead, rustled; the pale face of a young 
 woman was raised feebly from the pillow ; and a faint voice 
 imperfectly articulated the words, " Let me see the child 
 and die." 
 
 The surgeon had been sitting with his face turned towards 
 the fire : giving, the palms of his hands a warm and a rub 
 alternately. As the young woman spoke, he rose, and ad- 
 vancing to the bed's head, said, with more kindness than 
 might have been expected of him : 
 - . "Oh, you must not talk about dying yet.'' 
 
 " Lor bless her dear heart, no! " interposed the nurse 
 hastily depositing in her pocket a green glass bottle, the con- 
 tents of which she had been tasting in a comer 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 
 ^nd.all on 'em dead except two, and them in the wurkus with 
 me, she'll know better than to take- on in that way, bless her 
 dear heart! > Think what it is to be a mother, there's a dear 
 young lamb, do.". 
 
 Apparently this consolatory perspective of a mother's 
 
OLIVER TWIST. g 
 
 prospects failed in producing i;s due effect. The patient 
 shook her head, and stretched out her hand towards the 
 child. :., . ., 
 
 The surgeon deposited it in her arms. She imprinted her 
 cold white lips passionately on its forehead ; passed her hands 
 over her face ; -gazedrwildly- round ; shuddered; fell back — 
 and died. They chafed her breast, hands, and temples ; but 
 the blood had stopped for ever. They talked of hope and 
 comfort. They had been strangers too long. 
 
 " It's all over, Mrs. Thingummy ! " said the surgeon at 
 last. 
 
 " Ah, poor dear, so it is 1 " said the nurse, picking up the 
 cork of the green bottle, which had fallen out on the pillow, 
 as she stooped to take up the child. " Poor dear ! " 
 
 " You needn't mind sending up to me, if the child cries, 
 nurse," said the surgeon, putting on his gloves with great 
 deliberation. " It's very likely it will be troublesome. Give 
 it a little gruel if it is." He put on his hat, and, pausing by 
 the bed'Side on his way to the door, added, " She was a good- 
 looking girl, too ; where did she come from ? " 
 
 " She was brought here last night," replied the old woman, 
 "by the overseer's order. She was found lyir^ in the street. 
 She had walked some distance, for her shoes were worn to 
 pieces ; but where she came from, or where she was going to, 
 nobody knows." 
 
 The surgeon leaned over the body, and raised the left 
 hand. " The old story," he said, shaking his head : " no 
 wedding-ring, I see. Ah ! Good-night ! " 
 
 The medical gentleman walked away to dinner ; and the 
 nurse, having once more applied • herself to the green bottle, 
 sat down on a low chair before the fire, and proceeded to 
 dress the infant. 
 
 What an excellent example of the power of dress, young 
 Oliver Twist was ! Wrapped in the blanket which had hither- 
 to formed his only covering, he might have been the child of 
 a nobleman or a beggar ; it would have been Jiard for the 
 haughtiest stranger to have assigned .him his proper station in 
 society. But now that he was enveloped in the old calico 
 robes which had grown yellow in the same service, he was \ 
 badged and ticketed, and fell into his place at once — -i. parish ' 
 child — 'the orphan of a workhouse — ^the humble, half-starved 
 drudge — to be cuffed and buffeted through the world — de- 
 spised by all, and pitied by none. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 Oliver cried lustily. If he couldhave knownthat he wasr 
 an orphan, left to the tender mercies oi churchwardens ana 
 overseers, perhaps he would have cried the louder. 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 TREATS OF OLIVER TWIST'S GROWTH, EDUCATION, AND 
 
 BOARD. 
 
 For thS next eight or ten months, Oliver was the victim 
 of a systematic course of treachery and deception. He -was 
 brought up by hapd. The hungry and destitute situation of 
 the infant orphan was duly reported by the workhouse author- 
 ities. The parish authorities inquired with dignity of the 
 workhouse authorities, whether there was no female then 
 domiciled in " the house " wlio was in a situation to impart to 
 Oliver Twist, the consolation: and nourishment of which he 
 stood in need. The workhouse authorities replied with 
 humility, that there was not. Upon this, the parish authorities 
 magnardmously and humanely resolved^ that Oliver should be 
 " farmed," or, in other words, that he should be despatched 
 to a branch-workhouse some three miles off, where twenty or 
 thirty other juvenile offenders against the poor-laws, rolled 
 about the floor all day, without the inconvenience of too much 
 food or too much clothing, under the parental superintendence 
 of an elderly female, who received the culprits at and for the 
 consideration of seven^enee-halfpenny per small head per 
 week Seyenpence-halfpenny's worth per week is a good 
 round diet forachild ; a great deal may be got for sevenpence- 
 halfpenny, quite enough to overload its stomach and make it 
 uncomfortable. The elderly female was a woman of wisdom 
 , and experience ; she knew what was good for children • a A 
 she had a very accurate perception of what was good for her 
 self. So, she appropriated the greater part of the weeklv 
 stipend to her own use, and consigned the rising parochial 
 generation to even a shorter allowance than was origin all 
 provided for them. Thereby finding in the lowest depth a 
 deeper still ; and proving herself a very great experimental 
 philosopher. 
 
OLIVER rw:fST. ,j 
 
 . Everybody knows the story of anotjjer experimental phi-: 
 Idsopher wha had. a great theory about a horse, beuig able to 
 live without eating, a^d who demonstra,ted it so well, that he 
 got his own horse down to a straw a day, and Would unques 
 tionably have rendered him a very spirited and rampacious 
 animal on nothing at all, if he had not died, f our-and-twentv 
 hours before he was to have had his first comfortable bait of 
 air. Unfortunately for the experimental philosophy of the 
 female to whose protecting care Oliver Twist was delivered 
 oyer, a similar ,rg?ult usually attended the operation of her 
 system ; for at the very moment when a child had contriveS 
 to exist, upon the smallest possible portion of the weakest 
 ppssible food, it did perversely happen jij eight a^jrfi^TTalf 
 cases out of ten, either that it sickened frOirrssaJirana^fiH.^ 
 or f elLintatlip fire from neglect, or gptihaJf'SfiiSthered by Acci- 
 dent; in any one of which cases, the nw^rable little being was 
 usually sumtrioned into another^fdnd, and there gathered to 
 the fathers it had never knp.v«i m this. • 
 
 Occasionalfy, whei^tiHere was some more tfaati usually in- 
 ^I'eating inqiiegf/Cpon a parish child who had been overlooked 
 iji tiirning^^iip g. bedstead, or inadvertently scalded to death 
 whepjlifete happened to be a washing — though the latter acct- 
 ""ifeliiwas very scarce^ anything approaching to a washing 
 Being of rare occurrence in the farm^the jury would take it 
 into their, heads to, ask troublesome questions, or the parish- 
 ioners would rebelliously affix their signatures to a remon strance. 
 But these impertinences were speedily checked by the evidence 
 of the surgeon, and. the testimony of the beadle ; the former 
 of whom had always opened the body and found nothing 
 inside (which was. very probable indeed), and the latter of 
 whom invariably swore whatever the parish wanted ; which 
 was very self-devotional. Besides, the board made periodieaL 
 pilgrimages to the farm, and always sent the beadle the day 
 before, to say they were going. The children were neat and 
 clean to behold, when theyvim.t; and what more would die 
 the people have ! 
 
 Jtcapnpt be expected' that this system of fanning would 
 produce any very extraordinary or luxuriant crop. Oliver 
 Twist's ninth birth-day found him a pale thin child, somewhat 
 diminutive i,n stature, and decidedly small in circumference. 
 5nt-nature - or inheritance had implanted a good sturdy spirit 
 in Oliver's breast. It Jjiad had plenty of room to expand, 
 thanks ta the, spare diet of the establishment; and perhaps to 
 
i2 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 this circumstance may be attributed his having any ninth 
 birth-day at all. Be this as it may, however, it was his ninth 
 birth-day : and he was keeping it in the coal-cellar with a 
 select party of two other young gentlemen, who, after partici- 
 pating with him in a sound thrashing, had been locked up for 
 atrociously presumihg to be hungry, when Mrs. Mann, the 
 good lady of the house, was unexpectedly startled by the 
 apparition of Mr. Bumble, the beadle, striving to undo the 
 wicket of the garden-gate. 
 
 " Godness gracious ! Is that you, Mr. Bumble, sir? " said 
 Mrs. Mann, thrusting her head out of the window iii well- 
 ^fected ecstasies of joy. " (Susan, take Oliver and them two 
 ^^s«$|U8teJii's, and wash 'em directly.) My heiart alive ! Mr. 
 Bumble, how"^^ I am to see you, sure-ly ! " 
 
 Now Mr^ BuriMe was a fat man, and a choleric ; so, 
 instead of responding Vi this open-hearted salutation in a 
 kindred spirit, he gave the 'ittle wicket a tremendous shake, 
 and then btstowed upon it a kick'Khich could have emanated 
 from.no leg but a beadle's. '' . 
 
 " Lor, only think," said Mrs. Mann, runnft^ out, — for the 
 three boys had been removed by this time, — " o"ri,y think of 
 that ! That I should have forgotten that the gate waS^nal^i. 
 on the inside, on account of them dear children ! Walk in, 
 sir; walk in, pray, Mr. Bumble, do, sir." 
 
 Although this invitation was accompanied with a curtsey 
 that might have softened the heart of a churchwarden, it by 
 no means mollified the beadle. 
 
 " Do you think this respectful or proper conduct, Mrs. 
 Mann," inquired Mr. Bumble, grasping his cane, "to keep 
 the parish officers a waiting at your garden-gate when they 
 come here upon porochial business connected with the 
 porochial orphans ? Are you aweer, Mrs. Mann, that you are 
 as I may say, a porochial delegate, and a stipendiary ? " 
 
 " I 'm sure, Mr, Bumble, that I was only a telling one or 
 two of the dear children as is so fond of you, that it was you 
 a coming," replied Mrs. Mann with great humility. 
 
 Mr. Bumble had a great idea of his oratorical powers and 
 his importance. He had displayed the one, and vindicated the 
 other. He relaxed. 
 
 " Well, well, Mrs. Mann," he replied in a calmer tone ; " it 
 may be as yoii say ; it may be. Lead the way in, Mrs. Mann 
 for I come on business, and have something to say." 
 
 Mrs. Mann ushered the beadle into a small parlor with a 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 13 
 
 Brick floor; placed a seat for him ; and oiSciously deposited 
 his cocked hat and cane on the table before him. Ms. 
 Bumble wiped from his forehead the perspiration which his 
 walk had engendered, glanced complacently at the cocked 
 hat, and smiled. Yes, he smiled. Beadles are but men : and 
 Mr. Bumbl^ smiled. 
 
 " Now don't j'ou be offended at what I'm a going tp say," 
 observed Mrs. Mann, with captivating sweetness. " You've 
 had a long walk, you know, or I wouldn't mention it. Now, 
 will you take a little drop of somethink, Mr. Bumble ? " ; 
 
 " Not a drop. Not a drop," said Mfj Bumble, waving his 
 right hand in a dignified, but placid manner. 
 
 " I think you will," saidMrs, Mann, who had noticed the 
 tone of the refusal, and the gesture that had accompanied it. 
 "Just a leetle drop, with 3 little cold water, and a lump of 
 sugar." 
 
 Mr. Bumble coughed. 
 
 " Now, just a leetle drop ? " said Mrs. Mann persuasively. 
 
 " What is it ? " inquired the beadle. 
 
 " Why, it's what I'm obliged to keep a little of in the 
 house, to put into the blessed infants' Daffy, when they ain't 
 well, Mr. Bumble," replied Mrs. Mann as she opened a corner 
 cupboard, and took down a bottle and glass. " It's gin. I'll 
 not deceive you, Mr. B. It's gin." 
 
 " Do you give the children Daffy, Mrs. Mann ? " inquired 
 Bumble, following with his eyes the interesting process of 
 mixing. - 
 
 " Ah, bless 'em, that I do, dear as it is," replied the nurse. 
 " I couldn't see 'em suffer before my very eyes, you know, 
 sir." 
 
 " No ; " said Mr. Bumble approvingly ; " no, you could 
 not. You are a humane woman, Mrs. Mann." (Here she 
 sat down the glass.) " I shall take a early opportunity of 
 mentioning it to the board, Mrs. Mann." (He drew it towards 
 him.) " You feel as a mother, Mrs. Mann." (He stirred the 
 gin and water.) " I — I drink your health with cheerfulness, 
 Mrs. Mann ; " and he swallowed half of it. 
 
 " And now about business," said the beadle, taking out a 
 leathern pocket-book. " The child that was half-baptized 
 Oliver Twist, is nine year old to-day." 
 
 " Bless him ! " interposed Mrs. Mann, inflaming her left 
 eye with the corner of her apron. 
 
 " And notwithstanding - a ol^ered reward of ten . pound, 
 
14 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 which was afterwards increased to twenty pound. Notwith- 
 standing the most superlative, and, I may say, supernat'ral 
 exertions on the part of this parish," said Bumble, " we have 
 never been able to discover who is his father, or what was his 
 mother's settlement, name, or con — dition." 
 
 Mrs. Mann raised her hands in astonishment ; but added, 
 after a moment's reflection, " How comes he to have any name 
 at all, then?" 
 
 The beadle drew himself up with great pride, and said, " I 
 inwented it." 
 
 "You, Mr. Bumble!" 
 
 " I, Mrs. Mann. We name our foundlings 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 Villeins. I have got names ready made 
 to the end of the alphabet, and all the way through it again, 
 when we come to Z." 
 
 "Why, you're quite a literary: character, sir!" said Mrs. 
 Mann. 
 
 "Well, well," said the beadle, evidently gratified with the 
 compliment ; " perhaps I may be. Perhaps I may be, Mrs. 
 Mann." He finished the gin and water, and added, " Oliver 
 being now too old to remain here, the board have determined 
 to have him back into the house. I have come out myself to 
 take him there. So let me see him at once." 
 
 "I'll fetch him directly," said Mrs. Mann, leaving the 
 room for that purpose. Oliver, having had by this time as 
 much of the outer coat of dirt which encrusted his face and 
 hands, removed, as could be scrubbed off in one washing, was 
 led into the room by his benevolent protectress. 
 
 " Make a bow to the gentleman, Oliver," said Mrs. Mann. 
 
 Oliver made a bow, which was divided between the beadle 
 on the chair, and tlie 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 gti along with any- 
 body with great readiness, when, glancing upward, he caught 
 sight of Mrs. Mann, who had got behind the; beadle's chair, 
 and was shaking her fist at him with a furious countenance. 
 He took the hint at once, for the fist had been too often im- 
 pressed upon his body not to be deeply impressed upon his 
 recollection. 
 -: ";WiU she^o with me? " inquiired poof Oliver. 
 
aU-VER TWIST. ,5 
 
 No, she can't," replied Mr. Bumble, "hut she'll come 
 and see you sometimes." 
 
 This was- no very great consolation to the child. Young 
 as he was, however, he had sense enough to. make a feint of 
 feeling gyeat regret at going away. It was no very difficult 
 matter for the boy to call tears into his eyes. Hunger and 
 recent ill-usage are great assistants if you want to cry ; and 
 Oliver cried very fiaturally 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 
 hungry when he got to the workhouse. With the slice of 
 bread in his hand, and the little brown-cloth parish cap on his 
 head, Oliver' was then led a*ay by Mr. "Bumble from the 
 wretched home where one kind word or look had never 
 lighted the glopm of his infant years. And yet he burst into 
 an agony of childish grief, as the cottage gate closed after 
 him. Wretched as were the little companions in : misery he 
 was leaving behind, they were the only friends he had ever 
 known ,• and a sense of his loneliness in the great wide world, 
 sank into the child's heart for the first time. 
 
 Mr. Bumble walked on with long strides ; little Oliver, 
 firmly grasping his gold-laced cuff, trotted beside him, inquir- 
 ing at the end of every quarter of a mile whether they were 
 "nearly there," To these interrogations Mr. Bumble returned 
 very brief and snappish replies ; for the temporary blandness 
 which gin and water awakens in some bosoms had by this time 
 evaporated ; and he was once again a beadle. 
 
 Oliver had not been within the walls of the workhouse a 
 quarter of an hour, and had scarcely completed the demolition 
 of a second slice of bread, when Mr. Bumble, who'had handed 
 him over to the cafe of an old woman, returned ; and, telling 
 hjm it was a board night, informed him that the board had 
 said he was to appear before it forthwith. 
 
 Not having a very clearly defined notion of what a live board 
 was, Oliver was rather astounded by this intelligence, and was 
 not quite certain whether he ought to laugh or cry. He had 
 no time to think about the matter, however ; for Mr. Bumble 
 gave him a tap on the head, with his cane, to wake him up : 
 and another on the back to make him lively : and bidding him 
 follow, conducted him into a large whitewashed-room, where 
 eSg^t or ten fat gentlemen were sitting round a table. At the 
 top of the table,' seated in an arm chair rather higher than the 
 rest, was a particularly fat ^eiijleman with a very round, .red 
 face. 
 
,6 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " Bow to the board," said Bumble. Oliver brushed away 
 two or three tears that were lingering in his eyes ; and seeing 
 no board but the table, fortunately bowed to that. 
 
 " What's your name, boy ? " said the. gentleman in the high 
 chair. 
 
 Oliver was frightened at the sight of so many gentlemen, 
 which made him tremble : and the beadle gave him anotliei 
 tap behind, which made him cry. These two causes made 
 him answer in a very low and hesitating voice ; whereupori a 
 a gentleman in a white waistcoat said he was a fool. Which 
 was a capital way of raising his spirits, and putting him quite 
 at his ease. 
 
 " Boy," said the gentleman in the high chair, '_' listen to 
 me. You know you're an orphan, I suppose ? " 
 
 " What's that, sir ? " inquired poor Oliver. 
 
 " The boy «> a fool-^I thought he was," said the gentleman 
 in the white waistcoat. 
 
 " Hush ! " said the gentleman who had spoken first 
 " You know you've got no father or mother, and that you 
 were brought up by the parish, don't you ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied Oliver, weeping bitterly. 
 
 " What are you crj'ing for ? " inquired tiie gentleman in 
 the white waistcoat. And to be sure it was very extraordinary. 
 What cou/d the boy be crying for ? 
 
 " I hope you say your prayers every night," said another 
 gentleman in a gruff voice ; " and pray for the people who 
 feed you, and take care of you — like a Christian." 
 
 " Yes, sir," stammered the boy. The gentleman who 
 spoke last was unconsciously right. It would have been very 
 like a Christian, and a marvellously good Christian, too, if 
 Oliver had prayed for the people who fed and took care of 
 /lim. But he hadn't, because nobody had taught him. 
 
 " Well ! You have come here to be educated, and taught 
 a useful trade," said tlie red-faced gentleman in the high 
 chair. 
 
 " So you'll begin to pick oakum to-morrow morning at six 
 o'clock," added the surly one in the white waistcoat. 
 
 For the combination of both these blessings in the one"' 
 simple process of picking oakum, Oliver bowed low by the di- 
 rection 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 laws of Eiw- 
 :land. They let the paupers go to sleep. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. jy 
 
 Poor Oliver ! He little thought, as he lay sleeping in 
 happy unconsciousness of all around him, that the board had 
 that very day arrived at a decision which would exercise the 
 most material influence over all his future fortunes. But they 
 had. And this was it : 
 
 The members of this board were very sage, deep, philo- 
 sophical men ; and when they came to turn their attention to 
 the workhouse, they found out at once, what ordinary folks 
 would never have discovered — the poor people liked it ! It 
 was a regular place of public entertainment for the poorer 
 classes ; a tavern where there was nothing to pay ; a public 
 breakfast, dinner, tea, and supper all the year round ; a brick 
 and mortar elysium, where it was all play and no work. 
 " Oho ! " said the board, looking very knowing ; " we are the 
 fellows to set this to rights ; we'll stop it all, in no time." So, 
 they established the rule, that all poor people should have the 
 alternative (for they would compel nobody, not they), of being 
 starved by a gradual process in the house, or by a quick one 
 out of it. With this view, they contracted with the water- 
 works to lay on an unlimited supply of water ; and with a corn- 
 factor to supply periodically small quantities of oatmeal ; and 
 issued three meals of thin gruel a day, with an onion twice a 
 week, and half a roll on Sundays. They made a great many 
 other wise and humane regulations, having reference to the 
 ladies ; which it is not necessary to repeat ; kindly undertook 
 to divorce poor married people, in consequence of the great 
 expense of a suit in Doctors' Commons ; and, instead of com- 
 pelling a man to support his family, as they had theretofore 
 done, took his family away from him, and made /him a bach- 
 elor ! There is no saying how many applicants for relief, 
 under these last two heads, might have started up in all classes 
 of society, if it had not been coupled with the workhouse ; but 
 the board were long-headed men, and had provided for this 
 difficulty. The relief was inseparable from the workhouse and 
 the gruel ; and that frightened people. 
 
 For the first six months after Oliver Twist was removed, 
 the system was in full operation. It was rather expensive at 
 first, in consequence of the increase in the undertaker's bill, 
 and the necessity of taking in the clothes of all the paupers, 
 which fluttered loosely on their wasted, shrunken forms, after 
 a week or two's gruel. But the number of workhouse inmates 
 got thin as well as the paupers ; and the board were in 
 ecstasies. 
 
l8 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 The room in which tbfi 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 this festive 
 composition each boy had one porringer, and no more — ex- 
 cept on occasions of great public rejoicings when he had two 
 ounces and a quarter of bread besides. The bowls never 
 wanted washing. The boys polished them with their spoons 
 till they shone again ; and when they had performed this op- 
 eration (which never took very long, the spoons being nearly 
 as large as the bowls), they would sit staring at the copper, 
 with such eager eyes, as if they could have devoured the very 
 bricks of which it was composed; employing themselves,, 
 meanwhile, in sucking their fingers most assiduously, with the 
 view of catching up any stray splashes of gruel that might 
 have been cast thereon. Boys have generally excellent appe- 
 tites. Oliver Twist and his companions suffered the tortures; 
 of slow starvation, for three months : at last they got so vo- 
 racious and wild with hunger, that one boy, who was tall for 
 his age, and hadn't been used to that sort of thing (for his 
 father had kept a small cook-shop), hinted darkly to his com- 
 panions, that unless he had another basin of grael^er diem, 
 he was afraid he might: some night happen to eat the boy who 
 slept next him, who happened to be a weakly youth of tender 
 age. He had a Wild, hungry eye ; and they implicitly believed 
 him. A council was held ; lots were cast who should walk up 
 to the master after supper that evening, and ask for more ; 
 and it fell to Oliver Twist. 
 
 The evening arrived; the boys took their places. The 
 master, in his cook's uniform, stationed himself at the copperj 
 his pauper assistants ranged themselves behind him; the 
 gruel was served out ; and a long grace was said over the 
 short commons. The gruel disappeared ; the boys whispered 
 each other, and winked at Oliver ; wliile his next neighbors 
 nudged him. Child as he was, he was desperate with hunger 
 and reckless with misery. He rose from the table ; and ad- 
 vancing to the master, basin and spoon in hand, said : some- 
 what alarmed at his own temerity : 
 
 " Please, sir, I want some more." 
 
 The master was a fat, healthy man ; but he turned very- 
 pale. He gazed in stupefied astonishment on the small rebel 
 for some seconds, and then dung for support to the copper. 
 The assistants were paralyzed with wonder ; the boys -vritb 
 fear. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. ig 
 
 "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 conclave, when Mr. 
 "^Bumble rushed into the xoopa. in great excitement, and ad- 
 , dressing the gentleman irij the high chair, said, ; 
 
 " Mr. Limbkins, I beg your pardon, sir ! Oliver Twist has 
 ?aked for more ! " 
 
 There w;as a general start. Horror was depicted on every 
 countenance. 
 
 '■'■^ ox morel" said Mr. Limbkins. "Compose yourself. 
 Bumble, apd answer me distinctly. Do I understand that he 
 asked for more, after he had eaten the supper allotted by the 
 dietary?" 
 
 " He did, sir," replied Bumble. 
 
 "That boy will be hung," said the gentleman in the white 
 waistcoat. " I knpw that boy will be hung." 
 
 Nobody controverted the prophetic gentleman's opinion. 
 An animated discussion took place. Oliver was ordered into 
 constant confinement ; and a bill was. next morning pasted on 
 the outside of the gate, offering a reward of five pounds to 
 anybody who would take Oliver Twist ofiE the hands of the 
 parish. In other words, five pounds and Oliver Twist were 
 offered to any man or woman ■^ho wanted an apprentice to 
 any trf de, business, or calling. 
 
 " I nevejr was more convinced of anything in my life," said 
 the gentleman in the white waistcoat, as he knocked at the 
 gate and read the bill next morning : " I never was more con-i 
 vinced of anything in my Ufe, than I am that that boy will 
 come to be hung." 
 
 As I purpose Jo show in the sequel whether the white- 
 
 waistcoat^d gentleman was right or not, I should perhaps mar 
 
 the interest of , this narrative (supposing it to possess any at 
 
 ^all), if I ventured to hiiit just yet, whether the life of Oliver 
 
 Twist had tfa^s violent terminatian or »o. 
 
20 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 RELATES HOW OLIVER TWIST WAS VERY NEAR GETTING Pt 
 PLACE, WHICH WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN A SINECURE. 
 
 For a week after the commission of the impious and pro- 
 fane offence of asking for more, Oliver remained a close pris- 
 oner in the dark and solitary room to which he had been 
 consigned by the wisdom and mercy of the board. It appears, 
 at first sight, not unreasonable to suppose, that if he had en^ 
 tertained a becoming feeling of respect for the prediction of 
 the gentleman in the white waistcoat, he would have estab-l, 
 lished that sage individual's prophetic character, once and for 
 ever, by tying one end of his pocket-handkerchief to a hook in 
 the wall, and attaching himself to the Other. To the perform- 
 ance of this feat, however, there was one obstacle : namely, 
 that pocket-handkerchiefs, being decided articles of luxury, had 
 been, for all future times and ages, removed from the noses of 
 paupers by the express order of the board, in council assem- 
 bled : solemnly given and pronounced under their hands and 
 seals. There was a still greater obstacle in Oliver's youth 
 and childishness. He only cried bitterly all day; and, when 
 the long, dismal night came on, spread his little hands before 
 his eyes to shut out the darkness, and crouching in the corner 
 tried to sleep : ever and anon waking with a start ar(d trem- 
 ble, and drawing himself closer and closer to the wall, as if to 
 feel even its cold hard surface were a protection in the gloom 
 and lopeliness which surrounded him. 
 
 Let it not be supposed by the enemies of " the system," 
 that, during the period of his solitary incarceration, Oliver 
 was denied the benefit of exercise, the pleasure of society or 
 tiie advantages of religious consolation. As for exercise it 
 was nice cold weather, and he was allowed to perform his ab- 
 lutions every morning under the pump, in a stone yard, in the 
 presence of Mr. Bumble, who prevented his catching cold and 
 caused a tingling sensation to pervade his frame, by repeated 
 applications of the cane. As for society, he was carried every 
 other day into the hall where the boys dined, and there so- 
 ciably flogged as a public warning and example. And so far 
 from being denied the advantages of religious consolation he 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 21 
 
 was kicked into the same apartment every evening at prayer- 
 time, and there permitted to listen to, and console his mind 
 withj a general supplication of tlie boys, containing a special 
 clause, therein inserted by authority of the board, in which they 
 entreated to be made good, virtuous, contented, and obedient, 
 and to be guarded from, the sins and vices of Oliver Twist : 
 whom the supplication distinctly set forth to be under the ex- 
 clusive patronage and protection of the powers of wickedness, 
 and an article direct from; the manufactory of the very Devil 
 himself. 
 
 It chanced one morning, while Oliver's affairs were in this 
 auspicious and comfortable state, that Mr. Gamfield, chimney- 
 sweep, went his way down the High Street, deeply cogitatino 
 in his tfiind his ways and means of paying certain arrears of 
 rent, for which his landlord had become rather pressing. Mr. 
 Gamfield's most sanguine estimate of his finances could not 
 raise them within full fivQ. pounds of the desired amount ; and, 
 in a species of arithmetical desperation, he was , alternately 
 cudgelling his brains and his donkey, when, passing the work- 
 house, his eyes encountered the bill on the gate. 
 
 " Wo- — o! " said Mr- Gamfield to the donkey. 
 
 The donkey was in a state of profound abstraction :. won- 
 dering, probably, whether he was destined to be regaled with 
 a cabbage-stalk or two when he had disposed of the two «acks 
 of soot with which the little cart was laden ; so, without no- 
 ticing the word of command, hp jogged onward. 
 
 Mt. Gamfield growled a fierce imprecation on the donkey 
 generally, but more particularly on his eyes ; and, running 
 after him, bestowed a blow on his head, which would inevi- 
 tably have beaten in any skull but a donkey's. Then, catch- 
 ing hold of the bridle, he gave his jaw a sharp wrench, by way 
 of gentle reminder that he was not his own master ; and by 
 these means turned him round. He then gave him another 
 blow on the. head, just to stun him till he came back again. 
 Having completed these arrangements, he walked up to the 
 gate, to read the bill. 
 
 The gentleman with the white waistcoat was standing at the 
 gate with his hands behind him, after having delivered himself 
 of some profound sentiments in the board-room. Having wit- 
 nessed the little dispute between Mr. Gamfield and the don- 
 key, he smiled joyously when that person came up to read 
 the bill, for he saw at once that Mr. Gamfield was exactly the 
 sort of master Oliver Twist wanted. Mr. Gamfield smiled, 
 2 
 
22 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 too, as he perused the docuriient j for five pounds was just 
 the sum he had been wishing for ; and, as to the boy with 
 which it was encumbered, Mr. Gamfield, knowing what the 
 dietary of the workhouse was, well knew he would be a nice 
 small pattern, just the very thing for register stoves. So he 
 spelt the bill through again, from beginning to end ; and then, 
 touching his fur cap in token of humility, accosted the gentle- 
 man in the white waistcoat. 
 
 " This here boy, sir, wot the parish wants to 'prentis," said 
 Mr. Gamfield. 
 
 '' Ay, my man," said the gentlemaii in the white waistcoat, 
 with a condescending smile. " What of him ? " 
 
 " If the parish vould like him to learn a light pleasant 
 trade, in a good 'spectable chimbley-sweepin' bisness," said 
 Mr. Gamfield; " I Wants a 'prentis, and I am ready to take 
 him." 
 
 " Walk in," said the gentleman in the- white waistcoat. 
 Mr. Gamfield having lingered behind, to give the donkey 
 another ;blow on the head, and another Wrench of the jaw, as 
 a caution not to run away in his absence, he followed the gen"- 
 tleman with the white waistcoat into the room where Oliver 
 had first seen him. 
 
 " It's a nasty trade," said Mr. Limbkins, when Gamfield 
 had again stated his wish. 
 
 "Young boys have been smothered in ' chimneys before 
 now," said another gentleman. 
 
 " That's acause they damped the straW afore they lit it in 
 the chimbley to make 'em come down agin," said Gamfield; 
 " that's all smoke, and no blaze ; vereas smoke ain't o' no use 
 at all in making a boy come down, for it only sinds him to 
 sleep, and that's wot he likes. Boys is wery obstinit, and wery 
 lazy, gen'lmen and there's nothink like a good hot blaze to 
 make 'em come down vith a nm. It's humane too, gen'lmen 
 acause, even if they've stuck in the chimbley, roasting their 
 feet-makes 'em struggle to hextricate -theirselves." 
 
 The gentleman in the white waistcoat appeared very much 
 amused by this explanation ; but his mirth was speedily checked 
 by a look from Mr. Limbkins/ The board then proceeded to 
 converse among themselves for a few minutes, but in so low a 
 tone, that the words "saving of expenditure," "looked well in 
 the accounts," "have a printed report published," were alone 
 audible. These only chanced to be heard, indeed, on account 
 of their being very frequently repeated with great emphasis 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 23 
 
 -' . . At length the whispering ceased ; and the members of the 
 board, having resumed their seats and their solemnity, Mr. 
 Limbkins said : 
 
 " We have considered your proposition,. and we don!t ap- 
 prove of it." 
 
 " Not at all," said the gentlemaji in the white waistcoat. 
 
 " Decidedly not," added the other members. 
 
 As Mr. Gamfield did happen to labor under the slight im- 
 putation of having bruised three or four boys to death- already, 
 it occurred to him that the board hadj perhaps, in some un- 
 accountable freak, taken it into their heads that this extraneous 
 circumstance ought to influence their proceedings. It was 
 very unlike their general mode of doing business, if they had ; 
 but still, as he had.no particular wish to revive the rumor, he 
 twisted his cap in his hands, and walked slowly from the 
 table. 
 
 "So you won't let me have him, gen'lmen ? " said Mr. 
 Gamfield, pausing near the door. 
 
 " No," Teplied Mr. Limbkins ; "at least, as it's a nasty 
 business,, we think you ought to take something less, than the 
 premium we offered." 
 
 Mr. Gamfield's countenance brightened, as, with a quick 
 step, he returned to the table, and said, 
 
 " What'll you give, gen'lmen ? Come ! Don't be too hard 
 on a poor man. What'll you give ? " 
 
 " I should say, three pound ten was plent)'," 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 on him for good and all. 
 There!" 
 
 " Three pound ten,^' repeated Mr. Limbkins, firmly. 
 
 " Come ! I'll split the difference, gen'lmen," urged Gam- 
 field. " Three pound fifteen." 
 
 " Not a farthing more," was the firm reply of Mr. Limb- 
 kins. 
 
 " You're desperate hard upon me, gen'lmen," said Gam- 
 field, wavering. 
 
 " Pooh ! pooh ! nonsense ! " said the gentleman in the 
 white waistcoat. " He'd be cheap with • nothing at all, as a 
 premium. Take him, you silly fellow ! He's just the ;boy for 
 you. He wants the stick, new and then .: it'll do him good ; 
 
J4 OLIVER TIVIST. 
 
 and his .baard needn't: come very expensive,,for he hasn't been 
 Qver-fed since :he was born. Ha! hatha.!" 
 
 Mr. Gamfield gave an arch look at the faces round the 
 , table, and,, observing a smile on all o£ them, gradually bioke 
 in a smile himself. The bargain was made. Mr. Bumble was 
 at once instructed that Oliver Twist- and. his indentures were 
 to be conveyed before the. magistrate, for signature and ap- 
 proval, that very afternoon. 
 
 In pursuance of this deteimination, little Oliver, to his 
 excessive astonishment, was released from bondage, and 
 ordered to put himself into a clean, shirt. He had hardly 
 achieved this very unusual gymnastic performance, when Mr. 
 Eumble brought him, with his own hands, a basin of gruel, and 
 the holiday allowance of two ounces; and a. quarter of bread* 
 At this tremendous sight, Oliver began to cry very piteously ; 
 thinking, not unnaturally, that the board must have determined 
 to killihim for some useful purpftsey or they never would have 
 begun to fatten him up in that way.. 
 
 " Don't make your eyes red, Giiver,. but eat your food and 
 be thankful," said Mr. Bumble, in a tone of: impressive pom- 
 posity. " You're a going to be made a 'prentice of, Oliver." 
 
 "A 'prentice,, sir ! " said the child, trembling. . 
 
 " Yes, Oliver," said Mr. Bumble. " Thekind 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 lip in life, and make a man of you, although the 
 expense to the parish is three pound ten ! — three pound ten, 
 Oliver [■ — seventy shillins^one hundred and: forty sixpences ! 
 and all for a naughty orphan which nobody can't love." 
 
 As Mr. Bumblepausedtotake 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 obsen'e the effect his 
 eloquence had produced ; " Come,. Ohver ! Wipe your eyes 
 with the cuffs of your jacket, and don't cry into your gruel ; 
 that's a very foolish action, Oliver:" It certainly was, for 
 there was quite enough; water in it already. . 
 
 On their way to the magistrate, Mr. Bumble' instructed 
 Oliver that all he would have to do, would be to look very 
 happy, and say, when the gendeman asked lum if he wanted 
 to be apprenticed, that he should like it very much, indeed ; 
 both of which injunctions Oliver promised to obey :the rather 
 
OLIyUji TWIST. 25 
 
 as Mr. Bumble^thrg^wina gentle Jiiut, that if Jiefailed in either 
 particular, there was- no telling what would be done to himi 
 When they arrived at the office, he was shut up in a little room 
 by himself, and admonished by Mr. Bumble to stay there, until 
 he came back to fetch him. 
 . ...Xhiere the boy remained, •yirith a palpitating heart, for half 
 an hour. At the expiration of which tune Mr, Bumble thrust 
 in his head, unadorned with the: cocked hat, and said aloud : 
 . ":Novy, Oliver, my de^r, come to the gentleman." As Mn 
 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. Bupible's face at this some- 
 what cpntradictory 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. 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- PiS-ir 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 j 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 apectades gradually dozed off, 
 over the little bit of parchrnent ; and there was a short pause, 
 after Oliver had. been stationed by Mr. Bumble in front of the 
 desk. , 
 
 " T.his 15 the boy, your worship,", said Mr. Bumble. 
 
 The old gentleman who was reading the newspaper raised 
 hls.hesvd.fora moment, and pulled the other old gentleman by 
 the sleeve; whereupon, the last-mentioned old gentleman 
 wpke up. ^ v^.,.. 
 
 " Oh, is this the boy ? ". said the old gentleman. 
 
 " This is him, sir," replied Mr. Bumble. " Bow to the 
 magistrate, my dear." 
 
 Oliver roused himself, and made his best obeisance. He 
 had been wondering, with his eyes fixed on the ma^slirates' 
 powder, whether all boards were born with that white stuff 
 on their heads, and were boards from thenceforth on that 
 account. 
 
 " Well," said the old gentleman, " I suppose he's fond of 
 chiimvey-sweeping ? " 
 
 n 
 
ag OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 The next tooming, 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 possession of hun., 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 OLIVER BEING OFFERED ANOTHER PLACE, MAKES HIS FIRST 
 ENTRY INTO. PUBLIC LIFE. 
 
 In great families, when an advantageous place cannot be 
 obtained, either in possession, reversion, remainder, or ex- 
 pectancy, for the young man who is growing up, it is a very 
 general custom to send him to sea. Theboard, in imitation 
 of so wise and salutary an example, took -counsel together on 
 the expediency of shipping off Oliver Twist, in some small 
 trading vessel bound to a good unhealthy port. This sug- 
 gested itself, as the very best thing that could possibly be 
 done with him : the probability being, that the skipper would 
 flog him to death, in a playful mood, some day after dinner, 
 or would knock his brains out mth an iron bar ; both pas- 
 times being, as is pretty generally known, very favorite and 
 common recreations 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 appeared ; 
 so, they came to the conclusion that the only way of providing 
 fpr Oliver effectually, was to send him to sea without delay. 
 
 Mr. Bumble had been despatched to make various prelim- 
 inary inquiries, with the view of finding out some captain or 
 other who wanted a cabin-boy without any friends ; and was 
 returning to the workhouse to communicate the result of his 
 mission ;. when he encountered at the gate, no less a person 
 than Mr. Sowerberry, the parochial undertaker. 
 
 Mr. Sowerberry was a tall, gaunt, large-jointed man, at- 
 tired in a suit of threadbare black, with darned cotton stock- 
 ings of tte same color, and shoes to answer. His features 
 were not naturally intended to wear a smiling aspect, but he 
 was in general rather given to professional jocosity. His step 
 was elastic, and his face betokened inward pteasantr}', as he 
 
OL/yER XWIST. ig 
 
 aivaneed to Mr. Bumble, and shook him cordially by the 
 hand. 
 
 " I have taken the measure of the two women that died 
 last night, Mi:' Bumble," said the undertaker. 
 
 "You'll make your fortune, Mn Sowerberry," said the 
 beadle, as he thrust his thumb and forefinger into the proffered 
 .snuff-box of the ' -undertaker : which was an ingenious little 
 model of a-patent coffin. "I say you'll make your fortune, 
 Mr. /Sowerberry,'' repeated Mr, Bumble, -tapping the under- 
 taker on the shoulder, in a friendly manner, with his cane. 
 
 " Think so ? '' said the undertaker in a tone which half 
 admitbed' and half disputed, the probability of the event. 
 "The prices allowed by the board are very small, Mr. Bumble." 
 
 " So are tite coffins," replied the beadle : with precisely 
 as near an approach to a laugh as a great official ought to in- 
 dulge in. 
 
 . ' Mr. Sowerberr3r was much tickled at this : as of course he 
 -ot^ht to be ; and laughed a long time without cessation. 
 "Well, well, Mr. Bumble," he said at length, 'there's no 
 denying ihat, since the new system of feedinghas come in, the 
 coffins are something narrower and more shallow than they 
 used' to be ; but we must - have some proiit, Mr. Bumble. 
 Well-seasoned timber is an expensive article, sir ; and all the 
 iron handles come, by canal, from Birmingham." 
 
 " Well, well," said Mr. Bumble, " ever)' trade has its 
 drawbacks. A fair profit is, of course, allowable." 
 
 "Of course, of course," replied: the undertaker; "and if 
 I don't get a profit upon this or that particular article, why, 
 I make it up in' the long-run, you see— he ! he ! he ! " 
 
 "Just so," said Mr. Bumble. 
 
 " Though I must say," continued the undertaker, resum- 
 ing the current of observations which the beadle had inter- 
 rupted : " though I must say, Mr. Bumble, that I have to 
 contend against one very great disadvantage : which is, that all 
 the stout people go off the quickest. The people who have 
 been better off, and have paid rates for many years, are the 
 first to sink when they come into the house ; and let me tell 
 you, Mr. Bumble, that three or four inches over one's calcu- 
 lation makes a great hole in one's profits : especially when 
 one has afamily to provide for, sir." 
 
 As Mr. Sowerberry said this, with the -becdming indigna- 
 tion of an ill-used man ; and as Mr. Bumble felt that it rather 
 tended to convey a reflection on the honor of the parish -the 
 
30 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 latter geiitleman thought it advisable to chatige the subject 
 Oliver Twist being uppermost in his mind, he made him his 
 'theme. . ; : . 
 
 "By the bye," said Mr. Bumble, "you don't know any- 
 body who wants a boy, do you i" A porochial 'prehtis, who is 
 at present a deadweight : a millstone, as I may say ; round the 
 porochial thi:bat ? Liberal terms, Mr.- Sowerberry^ liberal 
 terms ! " As Mr.; Bumble spoke; he raised his cane to the 
 bill above him, tand gave three distinct raps upon the words 
 " fiye pounds : " which were printed thereon in K.oman cap- 
 itals of gigantic size. 
 
 " Gadso ! " said the undertaker : taking Mr. Bumble by 
 the gilt-edged lappel of his official coat 3 " that's just the thing 
 I wanted to speak to you about. You Itnow — dear me, what 
 a very elegant button this is, Mr. Bumble ! I never noticed it 
 before." 
 
 " Yes, I think it is rather pretty," said the beadle, glancing 
 proudly downwards at the large brass buttons which embel- 
 lished bis coat. ."The die is the same as the porochial. seal 
 — the Good Siamaritan healing the sick and brufeed man. 
 The board presented it to me on New-year's morning, Mr. 
 Sowerberry. I put it on, I remember, for the first tinie, to 
 attend the inquest on that reduced tradesman, who died in a 
 doorway at midnight." 
 
 "I recollect," said the undertaker. " The jury brought it 
 in, ' Died from exposure to the cold, and want of the common 
 necessaries of life,' didn't they ' " 
 
 Mr.! Bumble nodded. 
 
 "And they made it a special verdict, I think," said the 
 undertaker, " by adding some words to the effect, that if the 
 relieving officer had ' 
 
 "Tush! Foolery!" interposed the beadle. "If the 
 board attended • to all the nonsense that ignorant jurymen 
 talk, they'd have enough to do." 
 
 "Very true," said tlie undertaker; "they would indeed." 
 
 "Juries," said Mr. Bumble, grasping his cane tightly, as 
 was his wont when working into a passion : " juries is ined- 
 dicated, vulgar, grovelling wretches." 
 
 "Soithey are," said the undertaker. 
 
 " They haven't no more philosophy nor political economy 
 about 'em than that," said the beadle, snapping his fingers 
 contemptuously. 
 
 " No more they have," acquiesced the undertaker. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 31 
 
 *'I despise 'em," said the beadle, growing very red in the 
 face. 
 
 " So do I," rejoined the undertaker. 
 
 " And I only wish we'd a jury of the independent sort, 
 in the house for a week or two," said the beadle ; " the rules 
 and regulations of. the board would soon bring their spirit 
 down for 'em." 
 
 "Let 'em ^lone for that," replied the undertaker. So 
 saying he srniled, approvingly ; to calm the rising wrath, of 
 the iadignant parish officer. 
 
 Mr, Bumble lifted up his cocked hat ; took; a . handker- 
 chief from the inside of the crown ; wiped from his forehead 
 the perspiration which his rage had engendered ; fixed the 
 cocked hat on again ; and, turning to the undertaker, said 
 in a calmer voice : 
 
 "Well ; what about the boy? " 
 
 " Oh ! " replied the undertaker ; " why, you knpw, Mr. 
 Bumble, I pay a good deal toward the poor'^ rates." 
 
 " Heip !" said Mr. Bumble. "Well?" 
 
 " Well," replied the undertaker, " I was thinking that if I 
 pay so much toward 'em I've a right to get as. much out of 
 em as I can, Mr. Bumble ; and so — and so — I think I'll take 
 the boy myself." 
 
 Mr. Bumble grasped the undertaker by the arm, and led 
 him into the building. Mr, Sowerberry, was closeted with the 
 board for five minutes; and it was arranged: that Oliver 
 should go to him that evening " upon liking " — a phrase which 
 means, in the ease of a parish apprentice, that if the master 
 find, upon a short trial, that he can get enough of work out 
 of a boy without puffing too much food into him, he shall have 
 him for a term of years, to do what he likes with. 
 
 When little Oliver was taken before " the gentleman " 
 that evening; and informed that he was to go, that night, as 
 general house-lad to a coffin-maker's ; and that if he com- 
 plained 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 forth- 
 with. 
 
 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 
 
32 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 feeling on the part of anybody, they were rather out, in this 
 particular instance. The simple fact was, that Oliver, instead 
 of possessing too little feeling, possessed rather too" much ; 
 and was in a. fair way of being reduced, for life, to a state of 
 brutal stupidity and sullenness by the ill usage he bad received. 
 He heard the news of his destination, in perfect silence ; and, 
 having had his luggage put into his hand — which was not 
 very -difficult to carry, inasmuch as it was all comprised within 
 the limits of a brown paper parcel about half a foot square by 
 three inches deep — he pulled his cap over his eyes ; and once 
 .more attaching himself to Mr. Bumble's coat cuff, was led 
 away by that dignitary to a new scene of suffering. 
 
 For sorne time, Mr. Bumblfe drew Oliver along, without 
 notice or remark ; for the beadle carried his head very erect, 
 as a beadle always should : and, it being a windy day, little 
 Oliver was completely enshrouded by the skirts of Mr. Bum- 
 bife's coat as tliey "blew open, and disclosed to great advantage 
 his flapped waistcoat and drab plush knee-breeches; As they 
 drew pear 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, SIT," replied Oliver, in a low, tremulous voice. 
 
 " Pull that cap off your eyes, and hold up your head, sir." 
 
 Although Oliver did as he was desired, at once ; ' and 
 passed the back of his unoccupied hand briskly across his 
 eyes, he left a tear in thein when he looked up at his conduc- 
 tor. 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 vmsuccessful one. 
 Withdrawing his other hand from Mr. Bumble's, he covered 
 his face Mvith both ; and wept until the tears sprung out froiii 
 between his chin and bony fingers. 
 
 " Well ! " exclaimed Mr. Bumble, stopping shortj and dart- 
 ing at his little charge a look of intense malignit)'. " Wdl ! 
 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 in- 
 deed j indeed, indeed I will- sir ! I am a very little- boy, sir ; 
 and it is so — -so — " ' 
 
 " So what ? " inquired Mr. BumMe in amazement. 
 
OLIVER TWrST. 23 
 
 "•So lonely, sir 1 So veiy lonely!" cried the child. 
 " Everybody hates me. Oh ! sir, don't, don't pray be cross 
 to me ! " The child beat his hand upon his heart, and looked 
 in his companion's face, with tears Of real agony. 
 
 Mr. Bumble regarded Oliver's piteous -and helpless look, 
 with some astonishment, -for a few seconds ; hemmed three or 
 four times in a husky manner ; and, after muttering some- 
 thing about " that troublesome cough," bade Oliver dry his 
 eyes and be a good boy. Then once more taking his hand, 
 he walked on with him in silence. 
 
 The undertaker, who had just put up the shutters of his 
 shop; was making sdme entries in his day-book by the light 
 of a most appropriate dismal candle, when Mr. Bumble en- 
 tered. 
 
 " Aha ! " said the undertaker : looking up from the book, 
 and pausing in the middle of a word ; "is that you. Bumble ? " 
 ■ '" No one else, Mr. Sowerberry," replied the beadle. 
 " Here ! I've brought the boy." Oliver made a bow. 
 
 '" Oh ! that's the boy, is it ? " said the undertaker : iai'sing 
 the fcandle above his head, to get a better view of Glivei?. 
 "Mrs; ^Sowerberry will you have the goodness to come here a 
 moment, my dear ? " 
 
 Mrs. Sowerberr)*- 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, deferentia'.ly, "this is 
 the boy from the workhouse that I told you of." ' Oliver 
 bowed again. - ' 
 
 " Dear me \-" said the undertaker's wife, " he's very small." 
 
 " Why, he is rather small," replied :Mf. Bumble : looking 
 at Oliver as rf it were his fd,utt that he -was no bigger;- "lie is 
 small. There's no denying it. -But he'll grow, Mrs-. Sower- 
 berry — she'll grow." 
 
 " Ah ! I dare sayiie^l'l,"Teplied-tlTe-lady pettishly, " on 
 our victuals and our drink. I see no saving in parish children, 
 not I ; for they always cost more to kfeep, than they're worth. 
 However, men always think they know best. There ! Get 
 •dowii stairs, tittle 1>ag o' bones;*' With this, the undertaker's 
 wife opened a side ■ door, and pushed Oil vet down a steep 
 flight of stairs into a stone cell, damp and dark : forming the 
 ante-room to the coal-cellar, and denominated "kitchen:" 
 wherein sat a slatternly girl, in shoes down at heel, atid blue 
 worsted stotekiags^very mucdi out of repair; ' 
 
34 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " Here, Charlotte," ■ said Mrs. Sowerberry, who had fol 
 lowed Oliver down, " give this boy some of the cold bits thai 
 were put by for Trip. He hasn't come home since the morn- 
 ing, so he may go without 'em. I dare say the boy isn't too 
 dainty to eat 'em, — are you, boy .-' " 
 
 Oliver, whose eyes had glistened at the mention of meat, 
 and who was trembling with eagerness to devour it, replied in 
 the negative ; and a plateful of coarse broken victuals was 
 set before him. 
 
 I wish some well-fed philosopher, whose meat and drink 
 turn to gall within him ; whose blood is ice, whose heart is 
 iron ; could have seen Oliver Twist clutching at the dainty 
 -viands that the dog had neglected. I wish he could have 
 witnessed the horrible avidity with which Oliver tore the bits 
 asunder with all the ferocity of famine. There is only one 
 thing I should like better;; and that would be to see the Phil- 
 osopher making the same sort of meal himself, with the same 
 relish. 
 
 "Well," said the undertaker's wife, when Oliver had 
 finished his supper : which she had regarded in silent horror, 
 and with fearful auguries of his future appetite: " have you 
 done ? " 
 
 There being nothing eatable within his reach, Oliver re- 
 plied in the affirmative. 
 
 "Then come with me," said Mrs. Sowerberry : taking up 
 a dim and dirty lamp, and leading the way up stairs; "your 
 bed's under the counter. You don't mind sleeping among 
 the coffins, I suppose } But it doesn't much matter whether 
 you do or don't, fqr you can't sleep anywhere else. Come ; 
 don't keep me here all night ! " 
 
 _ Oliver lingexed no longer, but meekly followed his new 
 mistress. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 OLIVER MINGLES WITH NEW ASSOCIATES. DOING TO A FUNERAL 
 FOR THE FIRST TIME, HE FORMS AN UNFAVORABLE NOTION 
 OF HIS master's BUSINESS. 
 
 Oliver, being left to himself in the undertaker's shop, set 
 the lamp down on a workman's bench, and gazed timidly 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 35 
 
 about him with a feeling of awe and dread, which many people 
 a good deal older than he, will be at no loss to understand. 
 An unfinished cc^n 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 ari-ay, along row of elm boards cut into the same 
 ;shape : looking in the dim light, like high-shouldered ghosts 
 with their hands in their breeches-pockets. Coffin-plates, 
 elm-chips, bright-headed nails, and shreds of black cloth, lay 
 scattered on the floor ; and the wall behind the counter was 
 ornamented with a lively representation of two mutes in very 
 stiff neckcloths, on duty at a large private door, with a hearse 
 drawn by four black steeds, approaching in the distance. The 
 shop was close and hot. The atmosphere seemed tainted 
 with the smell of coffins. The recess beneath the counter in 
 which his fiock mattress was thrust, looked like a grave. . 
 
 : Nor were these the only dismal feelings which depressed 
 Oliver. He was alone in a strange place ; and we all know 
 how chilled and desolate the best of us will sometimes feel in 
 such a situation. The boy had no friends to care for, or to 
 care for him. The regret of no recent separation was fresh 
 in his mind ; the absence of no loved and well-remembered 
 face sank heavily into his heart. But his heart was heavy, 
 notwithstanding ; and he wished, as he crept into his narrow 
 bed, that that were his coffin, and that he could be lain in a 
 calm and lasting sleep in the church-yard 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 man- 
 ner, about twenty-five times. When he began to undo the 
 chain, the legs desisted, and a voice began. 
 
 " Open the door, will yer ? " cried the voice which belonged 
 to the legs "which had kicked at the door. 
 
 " I will, directly, sir," replied Oliver : undoing thfr chain, 
 and turning the key. 
 
 " I suppose yer the new boy, ain't yer ? " said the voice 
 through the key-hole. 
 
 " Yes, sir," i replied Oliver. 
 
36 
 
 OLIV-EH TWIST. 
 
 " How old are yer ? " inquired the voice. 
 
 " Ten, sir," replied Oliver. . . ' ^ 
 
 " Then I'll whop yer when I get in," said the voice ; ' yCD 
 just see if I don't, that's all, my work'us brat i " and having 
 made this obliging promise, the voice began to wliistle. 
 
 Oliver had been too often subjected toirhe process to 
 which the very expressive monosyllable just recorded bears 
 reference, to entertain the smallest doubt that the owner of 
 the voice, whoever he might be, would redeem his pledge, 
 most honorably. He drew back the bolts with a trembling 
 hand, and opened the door. 
 
 For a second or two, Oliver glanced up the street, anrl 
 down the street, and over the way: impressed with the belief 
 that the unknown, who had addressed him througfe the key- 
 hole, and walked a few paces off, to warm himself :; for no- 
 body did he see but a big charity-boy, sittitig on a post in 
 front of the Jiouse, eating a slice of bread and butter : which 
 he cut into wedges, the size of his mouth; with a cksp knife, 
 and tlien iconsumed with great dexterity. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," said Oliver at length: seeing 
 that no other visitor made his appearance •; " did you knock'?^' 
 
 " I kiclied," replied the charity-boy. 
 
 " Did you want a coffin, sir? " inquired Oliver, innocently. 
 
 At this the charity-boy looked monstrous fierce ; and said 
 that Oliver would want one before long, if he cut jokes with 
 his superiors in that way. 
 
 " Yer don't know who I am, I suppose, Work'us ? " said 
 the charity-boy, in continuation : descending from the top of 
 the post, meanwhile, with edifying gravity. 
 
 " No, sir,?' rejoined Oliver. 
 
 ^'I'm Mister NoahClaypole," said the charity-boy, "and 
 you're under me. Take down the shutters, yer idle young 
 ruffian ! " With this, Mr. Claypole administered a kick to 
 Oliver, and entered the shop with a dignified air, which did 
 him great credit. It is difficult for large-headed, small-eyed 
 youth of lumbering make and heavy countenance, to look 
 dignified under any circumstances ; but it is more especially 
 so, when superadded to these personal attractions are a red 
 nose and yellow smalls. 
 
 Oliver, having taken down the shutters, and broken a pane 
 of: glass iiai his effdiutS'to stagger away beneath the weight of 
 the first one to a small court at tlie side of the house in which 
 they were kept during the day,- was graciously assisted bj 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 37 
 
 Noah : who having consoled him with the assurance tliat 
 " he'd catch it," condescended to' help him. Mr. Sowerberry 
 came down soon after. Shortly afterwards, Mrs. Sawerberry 
 appeared. Oliver having " caught it," in fulfilment of Noah's 
 prediction, followed that young gentleman down the stairs to 
 breakfast. 
 
 " Come near the fire, Noah," said Charlotte. " I saved a 
 nice little bit of bacon for you from master's breakfast. 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'll want you to mind the shop. D'ye 
 hear?" : . . . 
 
 " D'ye hear, Work'us .? " said Noah Claypole. 
 
 "Lor, Noala ! " said Charlotte, " what a rum creature you 
 are! Why don't you let the boy alone ? " 
 
 " Let him alone ! " said Noah. " Why everybodyiets him 
 alone enough, for the matter of that. Neither his father nor 
 his mother will ever interfere with him. All his relations 
 let him have his own way pretty well. Eh, Charlotte .' He ! 
 he ! he ! " 
 
 " Oh, you queer soul ! " said Charlotte, bursting into a 
 hearty laugh, in which she was joined by Noah ; after which 
 they both looked scornfully at poor Oliver Twist, as he sat 
 shivering on the box in the coldest comer of the room, and 
 ate the stale pieces which had been specially reserved for 
 him. 
 
 Noah was a charity-boy, but not a workhouse orphan. No 
 chance-child was he, for he could trace his genealogy all the 
 way back to his parents,- who lived hard by ; his mother being 
 washerwoman, and his father a drunken soldier, discharged 
 with a wooden leg, and a diurnal pension of twopence-half- 
 penny and an unstateable fraction. • The shop-boys in the 
 neighborhood had long been in the habit of branding Noah, 
 in-the public streets, with the ignominious epithets of " leath- 
 ers," f charity," and the like ; and Noah had borne them 
 without reply. But, now that loirtuiiE has cast in his way a 
 nameless orphan, at Jfirihom even the meanest, could point the 
 finger of scorn, he retorted on him with interest. This af- 
 fords channing food for contemplation. It- shows us what a 
 beautiful thing human nature may be made to be ; and how 
 impactially the same amiable qualities are developed in the 
 finest lord and the dirtiest charity-boy. 
 
^8 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 Oliver had been sojourning at the undertaker's some three 
 weeks or a month. Mr. and Mrs. Sowerberry— the shop being 
 shut up^— were taking their supper in the little back-parlor, 
 when Mr. Sowerberry, after several deferential glances at his 
 wife, said, 
 
 " My dear — " He was going to say more ; but, Mrs. Sower- 
 berry looking up, with a peculiarly unpropitious aspect, he 
 stopped short. 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Sowerberry, sharply. 
 
 "Nothing, ray dear, nothing," said Mr. Sowerberry. 
 
 " Ugh, you brute ! " said Mrs. Sowerberry. 
 
 " Not at all, my dear," said Mr. Sowerberry humbly. " I 
 thought you didn't want to hear, my dear. I was only going 
 to say " 
 
 " Oh, don't tell me what you are going to say," interposed 
 Mrs. Sowerberry. " I am nobody ; don't consult me, pray. / 
 don't want to intrude upon your secrets." As Mrs. Sower- 
 berry said this, she gave an hysterical laugh, which threatened 
 violent consequences. 
 
 " But, my dear," said Sowerberry, " I want to ask your 
 advice." 
 
 " No, no, don't ask mine," replied Mrs. Sowerberry, in an 
 affecting, manner : " ask • somebody else's." Here, there was 
 another hysterical laugh, which frightened Mr. Sowerberry 
 very much. This is a very common and much-approved ma- 
 trimonial course of treatment, which is often very effective. 
 It at once reduced Mr. Sowerberry to begging, as a special 
 favor, to be allowed to say what Mrs. Sowerberry was most 
 curious to hear. After a short altercation of less than three 
 quarters of an hour's duration, the permission was most gra- 
 ciously conceded. 
 
 " It's only about young Twist, my dear," said Mr. Sower- 
 berry. "A very-good-looking, boy, that, my dear." 
 
 " He need be, for he eats enough," observed the lady. 
 
 "There's an expression of melancholy in his face, my 
 dear," resumed Mr. Sowerberry, " which is very interesting- 
 He would make a delightful mute, my love." 
 
 Mrs. Sowerberry looked up with an expression of consider- 
 able wonderment. Mr. Sowerberry remarked it ; and, with- 
 out 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 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 3g 
 
 new to have a mute in proportion, ray dear. You may de 
 pend upon it, it would have a superb effect." 
 
 Mrs. Sowerberry, who Iiad a good deal of taste in the ui,- 
 dertaking way, was much struck by the novelty of this idea ; 
 but, as it would have been compromising her dignity to have 
 said so, under existing circumstances, she merely inquired, 
 with much sharpness, why such an obvious suggestion had 
 not presented itself to her husband's mind before ? Mr. 
 Sowerberry rightly construed this, as an acquiescence in his 
 proposition ; it was speedily determined, therefore, that Oliver 
 should be at once initiated into the mysteries of the trade ; 
 and, with this view, that he should accompany his master on 
 the very next occasion of his seivices being required. 
 
 The occasion was not long in coming. Half an hour after 
 breakfast next morning, Mr. Bumble entered the shop ; and 
 supporting his cane against the counter, drew forth his large 
 leathern pocket-book : from. which he selected a small scrap 
 of paper, which he handed over to Sowerberry. 
 
 " Aha ! " said the undertaker, glancing over it with a lively 
 countenance ; " an order for a coffin, eh ? " 
 
 " For a coffin first, and a porochial funeral afterwards," 
 replied Mr, Bumble, fastening the strap of the leathern pocket- 
 book : which, like himself, was very corpulent. 
 
 " Bayton," said the undertaker, looking from the scrap of 
 paper to Mr. Bumble. " I never heard the name before." 
 
 Bumble shook his head, as he replied, " Obstinate people, 
 Mr. Sowerberry ; very obstinate. Proud, too, I'm afraid, sir." 
 
 " Proud, eh ? " exclaimed Mr. Sowerberry with a sneer. 
 " Come, that's too much." 
 
 " Oh, it's sickening," replied the beadle. " Antimonial, 
 Mr. Sowerberry ! " 
 
 " So it is," acquiesced tlie undertaker. 
 
 " We only heard of the family the night before last," said 
 the beadle ; " and we shouldn't have known anything about 
 them, then, only a woman who lodges in the, same house made 
 an application to the porochial committee for them to send the 
 parochial surgeon to see a woman as was very bad. He had 
 gone out to dinner ; but this 'prentice (which is a very clever 
 lad) sent 'em some medicine in a blacking-bottle, ofl-handi" 
 
 "Ah, there's promptness," said the undertaker. 
 
 " Promptness, indeed ! " replied the beadle. " But what's 
 the consequence ; what's the ungrateful behavior of these 
 rebels, sir .' Why, the husband sends back word that the 
 
40 OLIVER nVIST. 
 
 medicine won't suit his wife's' complaint, and so she slian't 
 take it — says she shan't take it," sir! Good, strong, whole- 
 some medicine, as was given with great success to two Irish 
 laborers and a coalbeaver, only a week before — sent 'em for 
 nothing, with a blackin-bottle in, — and he sends back word 
 diat she shan't take it, sir ! " 
 
 As the atrocity presented itself to Mr. Bumble's mind in 
 uill force, he struck the counter sharply with his cane, and 
 pecame flushed with indignation. 
 
 " Well," said the undertaker, " I ne — ver— did " 
 
 " Never did, sir ! " ejaculated the beadle; " No, nor no- 
 /)ody 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 fiounced 
 out of the shop. 
 
 " Why, he was so angry, Oliver, that he forgot even to ask 
 after you ! " said Mr. Sowerberry, looking after the beadle as 
 he strode down the street. 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied Oliver, who had carefully kept himself 
 out of sight, during the interview ; and who was shaking from 
 head to foot at the mere recollection of the sound of Mr. 
 Bumble's voice. He needn't have taken the trouble to shrink 
 from Mr. Bumble's glance, however ; for that functionary, on 
 whom the prediction of the gentleman in the white waistcoat 
 had made a very Strong impression, thought that now the un- 
 dertaker had got Oliver upon trial the subject was better 
 avoided, until such time as he should be firmly bou'nd for 
 seven years, and all danger of his being returned -upon the 
 hands of the parish should be' thus effectually and legally 
 overcome. 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Sowerberry/ taking up his hat, " the 
 sooner this job is done, the betters Noah, look after the shop. 
 Oliver, put on your cap, and come with me." Oliver obeyed, 
 and followed his master on his professional mission. 
 
 They walked on, for some time, through the most crowded 
 and densely inhabited part of the town ; and then, striking 
 down a narrow street more dirty and miserable than any they 
 had yet passed through, paused to look for the house which 
 was the object of their search. The houses on either side 
 were high and large, but very old, and tenanted by people of 
 the poorest class : as their neglected appearance would have 
 sufficiently denoted, without the concurrent testimonyafforded 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 4,1 
 
 by the squalid looks of the few men and women who, with 
 folded arms ' and bodies half doubled, occasionally skulked 
 along. A great many of the tenen-fcnts- had shop-fronts ; but 
 these were fast closed, arid mouldering away ; only the upper 
 rooms being inhabited. Some houses which had become in- 
 secure from age ■ and decay, were prevented from falling into 
 the street, by huge beams of wood reared against the walls, 
 and firmly planted in the road ; but even these crazy dens 
 seemed to have been selected as the nightly haiants of some 
 houseless wretches, for many of the rough boards which sup- 
 plied the place of door andwindow, were wrenched from their 
 position, to afford an aperture wide enough for the passage of 
 a human body. The kennel was- stagnant and filthy. The 
 very rats, which here and there lay^putrefying in its rottenness, 
 were hideous with famine. 
 
 There was neither knocker nor bell-handle at the open 
 door where Oliver and his master stopped ; so, groping his 
 way. cautiously through the dark passage, and bidding Oliver 
 keep close to him and not be afraid; the undertaker mounted 
 to the top of the fiist flight of stairs. Stumbling against the 
 door on the landing, he wrapped at it with his knuckles. 
 
 It was opened by a young girl of thirteen or fourteen. 
 The undertaker at once ^saw' enough of what the room con- 
 tained, to know it was the apartment to which htf had been 
 directed. He- stepped in j 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 veiy pale ; his hair and 
 beard were grizzly; his eyes were bloodshot. The old 
 woman's face was wrinkled ; her two remaining teeth pro- 
 truded over her under lip ; and her eyes were bright and 
 piercing, Oliver was afraid to look ^t 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 
 upr as the undertaker approached the recess. "Keep back' 
 Damn;yoa, keep back, if you've a life to lose ! " 
 
42 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " Nonsense, roy 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 
 putinto the ground. She couldn't rest, there. The wonns 
 would worry her — not eat her — she is so worn away." 
 
 The undertaker offered no reply to this raving ; but pro- 
 ducing a tape from his pocket, knelt down for a moment by 
 the side of the body. 
 
 " Ah ! " said the man : bursting into tears, and sinking on 
 
 his knees at the feet of the dead, woman; "kneel down, kneel 
 
 down — kneel round her, every one of you, and mark my 
 
 words ! I say she was starved to death. I never knew how 
 
 bad she was, till the fever came upon her; and then her 
 
 '\ bones were starting through the skin. There, was neither fire 
 
 ; nor candle ; she died in the dark — in the dark ! She couldn't 
 
 , ^ven see her children's faces, though we heard her gasping 
 
 j put their names. I begged foj: her in the streets : and they 
 
 sent me to prison. When I came back, she was dying; and 
 
 ! all the blood in my heart Las dried up, for they starved her 
 
 [ jto death. I swear it before the God that saw it ! They 
 
 \; starved her! " He twined his hands in his hair; and, with a 
 
 loud scream, rolled grovelling upon the floor :.his eyes fixed and 
 
 the foam covering his lips. 
 
 The terrified children cried bitterly ; but the old woman, 
 who had hitherto remained as quiet as ijf she had been wholly 
 deaf to all that passed, menaced them into silence. Having 
 unloosed the cravat of the man who still remained extended 
 on the ground, she tottered towards the undertaker. 
 
 " She was my daughter," said the old woman, nodding her 
 head in the direction of the corpse ; and speaking with an 
 idiotic leer, more gastly than even the presence of death in 
 such a place. " Lord, Lord ! Well, it is strange that I who 
 gave birth to her, and was a woman then, should be alive and 
 merry now, and she lying .there : so cold apd stiff ! Lord, 
 Lord ! — to think of it ; it's as good as a play — as good as a 
 play ! " 
 
 As the wretched creature mumbled and chuckled in her 
 hideous merriment, the undertaker turned to go away. 
 
 " Stop, stop ! " said the old woman in a loud whisper. 
 "Will she be buried to-morrow, or next, day, or to-night? I 
 laid her out ; and I must walk, you know. Send me a large 
 cloak : a good warm one : for it is bitter cold. We should 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 43 
 
 have cake and wine, too, before we go ! Never mind ; send 
 some bread — only a loaf of bread and a cup of water. Shall 
 we have some bread, dear ? " she said eagerly ; catching at 
 the undertaker's coat, as he once more moved towards the 
 door. 
 
 " Yes, yes," said the undertaker, " of course. Anything 
 you like ! " He disengaged himself from the old woman's 
 grasp ; and, drawing Oliver after him, hurried away. 
 
 The next day, (the family having been meanwhile re- 
 lieved with a half-quartern loaf and a piece of cheese, left 
 with them by Mr. Bumble himself,) Oliver and his master re- 
 turned to the miserable abode ; where Mr. Bumble had 
 already arrived accompanied by four men from the workhouse, 
 who were to act as bearers. An old black cloak had been 
 thrown over the rags of the old woman and the man ; and 
 the bare coffin having been screwed down, was hoisted on the 
 shoulders of the bearers, and carried into the street. 
 
 " Now, you must put your best leg foremost, old lady ! " 
 whispered Sowerbeny in the old woman's ear j " we are rathei 
 late ; and it won't do, to keep the clergyman waiting. Move 
 on, my men, — as quick as you like ! " 
 
 Thus directed, the bearers trotted on under their light 
 burden ; and the two mourners kept as near them, as they 
 could. Mr. Bumble and Sowerberry walked at a good smart 
 pace in front ; and Oliver, whose legs were not so long as his 
 master's, ran by the side. 
 
 There was not so great a necessity for hurrying as Mr. 
 Sowerberry had anticipated, however; for when they reached 
 the obscure corner of the churchyard in which ' the nettles 
 grew, and where the parish graves were made, the clergyman 
 had not arrived ;, and the clerk, who was sitting by the ves- 
 try-^room fire, seemed to think it by no means improbable that 
 it might be an hour or so, before he came. So, they put the 
 bisr on the brink of the grave ; and the two mourners waited 
 patiently in the damp clay, with a cold rain drizzling down, 
 while the ragged boys whom the spectacle had attracted into 
 the churchyard played a noisy game at hide-and-seek, among 
 the tombstones, or varied their amusements by jumping back- 
 Wards and forwards over the coffin. Mr. Sowerberry and 
 Bumble, being personal friends of the clerk, sat by the fire 
 with him and read the paper. 
 
 At length, after a lapse of something more than an hour, 
 Mr. Bumble, and Sowerberry, and the clerk, were seen run- 
 
44 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 ning towards the grave. Immediately afterwards, the clergy- 
 man appeared : putting on his surplice as be came along. Mr. 
 Bumble then thrashed a boy or two, to keep up appearances ; 
 and the reverend. gentlemai3» having read as much of the 
 burial service as could be compressed into four minutes, gave 
 his surplice to the clerk, and walked away again. 
 
 " Now, Bill," said Sowerberry to the grave-digger. " Fill 
 up." 
 
 It was no very difficult task ; for the grave was so full, 
 that the uppermost coffin was within a few feet of the surface. 
 The grave-digger shovelled in the earth ; stamped it loosely 
 down with his feet : shouldered his spade ; and walked off, 
 followed by the boys, who murmured very loud complaints at 
 the fun being over so soon. 
 
 " Come, my good fellow ! " said Bumble, tapping the man 
 on the back. " They want to shut up the yard." 
 
 The man who had never once moved, since he had taken 
 his station by the grave side, started, raised his head, stared 
 at the person who had addressed him, walked forward for a 
 few paces; and fell down in a swoon. The crazy old woman 
 was too much occupied in bewailing tlie loss of her cloak 
 (which the undertaker had taken off), to pay him any atten- 
 tion; so they threw a can of cold water over him ; and when 
 he came to, saw him safely out of the churchyard, locked' the 
 gate, and departed on their different ways. 
 
 " Well, Oliver," said Sowerberry, as they walked home, 
 " how do you like it ? " 
 
 " Pretty well, thank you, sir," replied Oliver, with consid- 
 erable hesitation. " Not very much, sir." 
 
 " Ah, you'll get used to it in time, Oliver," said Sower- 
 berry. " Nothing when you are used to it, my boy." 
 
 Oliver wondered, in his own mind, whether it had taken a 
 very long time to get Mr. Sowerberry used to it. But he 
 thought it better not ask the question ; and walked back to 
 the shop : thinking over all he had seen and heard. 
 
OLIVER TWIST 45 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 OLIVEK, BEING POADED BY THE TAUNTS OF NOAH, ROUSES 
 INTO ACTION, AND RATHER ASTONISHES HIM. 
 
 The month's trial over, Oliver was formally apprenticed. It 
 was , a nice sickly season just at this time; In commercial 
 phrase, icoffins were looking up; and, in th^ eoitrse of a few 
 weeks, Oliver ;acquired a great deal of axperience'. The suc- 
 cess of Mr. Sowerberry's ingenious speculation, exceeded 
 even his most sanguine hopes. The oldest inhabitants recol- 
 lected no period at which measles had bjsen so prevalent, or 
 so fatal to infajat existence, j and many were the mournful, pro- 
 cessions which little Oliver , headed, in a liat-hand reaching 
 down to his knees, to the indescribable admiration and emotion 
 of alljthe mpthers in town. As Oliver accompanied his master 
 in most of his adult, expeditions, too, in order that he might 
 acquire that equanirnity of demeanor and full command of 
 nerve which are ess^ntiaJ,.to a finished, undertaker, he had 
 many opportunities, of obser\dng the b.eautiful resignation and 
 fortitude with which some strong-minded people bear their 
 trials and lasses. 
 
 For instance ; when Sowerberry had an order for the 
 burial of some rich old lady or gentleman, who was surround- 
 ed by a great number of nephews apd nieces, who had been 
 perfectly inconsolable during the previous illness, and, whose 
 grief had been wholly irrepressible eyppjon.the mo^t public 
 ,0CGasions, they would be as happy among themselves as need 
 ;be — quite pheerful and contented — conversing together with 
 as much freedom and gayety, as if nothing whatever had hap- 
 pened to disturb them, Husbands, too, bore the loss of their 
 wives with the most , heroic calmness. Wives, again, put on 
 weeds for their husbands, as if, so fai: from grieving in the 
 
 farb of sorrow, they had made up their mi^ids to render it as 
 ecoming and attractive as possilale. ,It was observable, too, 
 that ladies and gentlenven who were in passions of anguish 
 during the ceremony of interment, recovered alrnost as soon 
 as they reached home, and became quite composed before the 
 tea-drinking was over. All this was very pleasant and improv- 
 ing to see ; and Oliver beheld it with great .adn\iration. 
 8 
 
46 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 That Oliver Twist was moved to resignation by the ex- 
 ample of these good people, I cannot, although I am his 
 biographer, undertake to affirm with any degree of confidence j 
 but I can most distinctly safy,- that for many months he con- 
 tinued meekly to submit to the domination and ill-treatment 
 of TSIOah Claypole : who used him far worse than before,' now 
 seeing that his jealously was roused by sedin'g the new boy 
 promoted to the black stick and hat-band, while he, the old 
 one, remained statioriaiy in the muffin-cap arid leathers. Char- 
 lotte treated him ill, because Noah did ; and Mrs. Sowerberry 
 was his decided enemy, because Mr. Sowerberry was disposed 
 to be his friend ; so, between these three on one side, and a 
 glut of funerals on the other, Oliver was not altogether as 
 comfortable as the hungry pig was, tvhen he was shut up, by 
 mistake,, in the grain department of a brewery. 
 
 And now, 1 come to a very important passage in Oliver's 
 history; for I ha^e to record an act,_slight and unimportant 
 perhaps in appearance, but which indirectly produced a ma- 
 terial change in all his future pfrospects and proceedings. 
 
 One day, Oliver and Noah had'descended into the kitchen 
 at the usual dinner-hour, to banquet upon a small joint of 
 mutton — a pound and a half of the worst end of the neck — 
 when Charlotte being called out of the way, there ensued a 
 brief interval of time, which Noah Claypole, being hungry 
 and vicious, considered he could not possibly devote to a 
 worthier purpose than aggravating and tantalizing young 
 Oliver Twist. 
 
 Intent upon this innocent amusement, Noah put his feet on 
 the table-cloth ; and pulfed Oliver's hair ; and twitched his 
 ears ; and expressed his opinion that he was a " sneak ; " and 
 furthermore announced his intention of coming to see him 
 hanged, whenever that desirable event should take place ; and 
 entered upon various other topics of petty annc^ance, like a 
 malicious and ill-conditioned charity-boy as he was. But, 
 hone of these taunts producing the desired effect of making 
 Oliver cry, Noah attempted to be more facetious still ; and in 
 this' attempt, did what many small wits, with far greater repu- 
 tations tlian Noah, sometimes do to this day, when they want 
 to be funny. He got rather personal. 
 
 " Work'us," said Noah, " how's your mother ? " 
 
 " She's dead," replied Oliver ; " don't you say anything 
 about her to me ! " 
 
 Oliver's color rose as be said this : he breathed quickly ; 
 
OLIVER TWIST. ^y 
 
 and there was a curious working of the mouth and nostrils, 
 which Mr. Claypole thought must be the immediate precursor 
 of a violent; fit of crying. Under this impression he returned 
 to the 'charge. 
 
 " What did she die of, Work'us ? " said Noah. 
 
 "Of a broken heart, some of our old nurses told me,*'" re- 
 plied Oliver : more as if he were talking to himself, than 
 answering Noah. " I think I know what it must be to die of 
 that!" 
 
 " Tol de rol lol lol, right fol lairy. Work'us^" said Noah, as 
 a tear rolled down Oliver's cheek. " What's set you a snivel- 
 Mtig now ? " ' 
 
 " Not you" replied Oliver, hastily brushing the tear away. 
 " Don't think it." 
 
 " Oh, not me, eh 1 " sneered Noah. 
 
 *'No, not youj" replied Oliver, sharply. "There; that's 
 enough. Don't say anything more to me about her ; you'd 
 better not!" 
 
 " Better not !" exclaimed Noah. "Well! Better not! 
 Work'us, don't be impudent. Your mother, too ? She was 
 a nice 'un, she was.- Oh, Lor!" :And here, Noah nodded 
 his head expressively ; and curled up as much of his small 
 red nose as muscular action could collect together, for the oc- 
 casion. 
 
 "Yer know, Work'us,'' continued- Noah, emboldened by 
 Oliver's silence, and speaking in a jeering tone of affected 
 pity :" of all tones the most annoying : " Yer know, Work'us, 
 it can't be helped now ; and of course yer couldn't- help it 
 then; and I'm very sorry for it; and I'm sure we all are, and 
 pity yer very much. But yer must know, Work'us, yer mother 
 was a regwla-r right-down bad 'un.'' . : , 
 
 " What did you say ?" inquired Oliver, looking up very 
 quickly. ■ . ■ 
 
 "A regular right-down bad 'un, Work'us," replied Noah, 
 coolly. "And it's a great deal better, Work'us, that she died 
 when she did, or else she'd have been hard laboring in Bride- 
 well, or transported or hung ; which iis more likely than either, 
 isn't it?" ... 
 
 Primson with fury, Oliver started up ; overthrew the Chair 
 and table ;. seized Noah by the throat; shook him, in the 
 violence of his rage, till his teeth chattered in his head; and 
 collecting his whole force into ote heavy blow, felled him to 
 the ground. 
 
48 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 A minute ago, the boy had looked the quiet, mild, dejecteft 
 creature that harsh treatment had made him. But his spirit 
 was roused at last ; the cruel insult to his dead mother had 
 set his blood on fire. His breast heaved ; his attitude was 
 erect ; his eye bright and vivid ; his. whole person changed, 
 as he stood glaring over the cowardly tontientor who now lay 
 crouching at his feet; and defied him with an energy he had 
 never known before. 
 
 " He'll murder me ! " blubbered Noah. " Charlotte ! 
 missis ! - Here's the new boy a murdering of me 1 Help ! 
 helpi, 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 fontier of 
 whom rushed into the kitchen by a side door, while the latter 
 paused on the staircase till she was quite certain that it was 
 consistent with the preservation of human lifCj to come further 
 down. ; 
 
 " Oh, you little wretch ! " screamed Charlotte : seizing 
 Oliver wi-thi her utmost force, which was '■ abbut s equal to that 
 of a moderately strong man in particularly good training, 
 " Oh, you little un-grate-ful, mur-de'rouSj hor-rid villain ! " 
 And between every: syllable, Charlotte gave Oliver a blow 
 with all her might: accompanying it with a scream, for the 
 benefit of society. 
 
 Charlotte's: ^fist was by no means a light one ; but, 
 lest it! should not be effectual in calming Oliver's wrath, Mrs. 
 Sowerberry plunged into the kitchen, and assisted to hold him 
 with one hand, while she scratched his face with the other. In 
 this favorable position of affairs, Noah rose from the ground, 
 and pommelled him behind. 
 
 This was rather too violent exercise to last long. When 
 tiiey were all wearied out, and could tear and beat no longer, 
 they dragged Oliver, struggling and shouting, but nothing 
 daunted, into the dust-cellar, and there flocked him up. This 
 being done Mrs. Sowerberry sunk into a diair and burst into 
 tears.; 
 
 • " Bless her, she's going off ! " said Charlotte. " A glass of 
 water, Noah, dear. Make haste ! " 
 
 " Oh ! Charlotte,"' said Mrs; Sowerberry: speaking as 
 well as she could, through a deficiency of breath, and a suf- 
 ficiency of cold water, which Noah had poured over her head 
 and shoulders. " Oh ! Charlotte, what a mercy we have no/ 
 all been murdered in our beds ! " 
 
OLIVER Twrsr. 4g 
 
 "Ah! mercy indeed, ma'am," was the reply^ "I only 
 hope this'll teach master not to have any more of these dread- 
 ful creaturs, that are born toibe murderers and robbers from 
 their very cradle. Poor Noah ! He was all but killed, ma'am, 
 when I come in." 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " said Mrs. Sowerberry : looking piteously 
 on the charity boy. ' ,■ 
 
 Noah, whose top waistcoat-button might have been some- 
 where on a level with the crown of Oliver's head, rubbed his 
 eyes with the inside of his wrists while this commiseration was 
 bestowed upon him, and performed some affecting 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'll kick that door down in ten minutes," Oliver's vigorous, 
 plunges ggainst the bit of timber ' in question, rendered this 
 occurrence highly probable. 
 
 "Dear, dear! I don't know, ma'am," said Charlotte, "un- 
 less we send for the police-officers." 
 
 " Or the mjllingtary," suggested Mr. Gla3T)ole. 
 
 '* No, no," said: Mrs. Sowerberry : bethinking herself of 
 Oliver's old friend. " Run to Mr. Bumble, Noah, and teU 
 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. It'll keep the swelling down." 
 
 Noah stopped to make no reply, but started off at his 
 fullest sjteed ; and very much it astonisned 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 VII. 
 
 OLIVER CONTINUES REFRACTORY. 
 
 Noah Claypole ran along the streets at his swiftest pace, 
 and paused not once for breath, until he reached the workhbuse- 
 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 presented such a rueful 
 face to the aged pauper who opened, it, that even he, who saw 
 
^o ©LIVER TWIST. 
 
 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 Noahj with well af- 
 fected dismay : and in tones so loud and agitated, that they not 
 only caught the ear of Mr. Bumble himself 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 re- 
 markable circumstance : as showing that even a beadle, 
 acted upon by a sudden and powerful impulse, 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. Bumble : with a gleam 
 of pleasure in his metallic eyes. "Not run away; he hasn't 
 run away, has lie 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 under- 
 stand that from the violent and sanguinary onset of Oliver 
 Twist, he had sustained severe internal injury and damage, 
 from which he was at that moment suffering the acutest tor- 
 ture. 
 
 When Noah saw that the intelligence he communicated 
 perfectly paralyzed Mr. Bumble, he imparted additional effect 
 thereunto, by bewailing his dreadful wounds ten times louder 
 than before ; and when he observed a geiitteman in a white 
 waistcoat crossing the yard, he was more tragic in his lamen- 
 tations, than ever : rightly 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 howling for, and why 
 Mr. Bumble did not favor him with something which would 
 render the series of' vocular exclamations so designated an in- 
 Voluntary process? 
 
 " It's a poor boy from the free-school, sir," replied Mr. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. ^I 
 
 Bumble, " who has been nearly murdered — all but murdered, 
 sir, — by young Twist." 
 
 : " By" Jove ! " exclaimed the gentleman in the white waist- 
 coat, stopping short. "I knew it ! I felt a strange presenti- 
 ment from the very first, that that audacious young savage 
 would come to be hung ! " 
 
 " He has likewise attempted, sir, to murder the female ser- 
 vant," said Mr, Bumble, with a face of ashy paleness. 
 
 " And his missis," interposed Mr. Claypole. 
 
 "And his master, too, I think you said, Noah?" added' 
 Mr. Bumble, . 
 
 " No ! he's out, or he ■vwould have murdered 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 fiog 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 liis own. 
 " You're a good boy — a very good boy. Here's a penny for 
 you. Bumble, just step up to Sowerberry's with your cane, 
 andsee what's best to be .done. Don't spare him, Bumble." 
 
 "No, I will not, sir," replied the bea,dle : 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'll never 
 do anything with him, without stripes and bruises," said the 
 gentleman in the white waistcoat. 
 
 " I'll 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 Claypole betook 
 themselves with all speed to the undertaker's shop. 
 
 Here the position- of affairs had not at all improved. 
 Sowerberry had not yet returned, and Oliver continued to 
 kick, witli undiminished vigor, at the cellar-door. The ac- 
 counts 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 tfie outside, by way of prelude ; 
 and, then, applying his mouth to the keyhole, said, in a deep 
 and impressive tone : 
 
52 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 "Oliver!" ' 
 
 " Come ; you let me out ! " replied Oliver, from the inside. 
 
 " Do you knofl^ this here voice, Oliver? "said Mr. Bumble. 
 
 " Yes," replied Oliver. 
 
 " Ain't you afraid of it, sir.' Ain't you a-trembling while 
 I speak, sir ? " said Mr. Bumble. 
 
 " No ! " replied Oliver, boldly. 
 
 An answer so different from the one he had expected to 
 eliqit, apd was in the habit of receiving, staggerfed^Mr. Bumble 
 not a little. He stepped back frdm the keyhole ; drew him- 
 self up to his full height; and looked from one to another of 
 the three by-standers, 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 so to you." 
 
 " It is 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 empha- 
 sis. " You've over-fed him, ma'am. . You've raised a artifi- 
 cial soul and spirit in hiin, ma'am, unbecoming a person of 
 his condition: as the board, Mrs. Sowerbeny, who are prac- 
 tical philosophers, will tell you. What have paupers to do 
 with soul or spirit ? It's quite enough that we let 'em have 
 live bodies. If you had kept the boy on gruel, ma'arii, this 
 would never have happened." 
 
 "Dear, dear!" ejaculated Mrs. Sowerberry, piously rais- 
 ing her eyes to the kitchen ceiling : " this comes of being lib- 
 eral! " 
 
 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 there was a good deal of 
 meekness ahd self-devotion in her voluntarily remaining under 
 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 had 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 cellar for a day or 
 ^o, till he's a little starved down ; and then to take him out, 
 ah^, keep him on gruel all thi'ough his apprenticeship. He 
 cornes of a bad famUy. Ejicitable natures, Mrs. Sowerberry! 
 Both the nurse and the doctor said; that that mother of his 
 made her way here, against difficulties and pain that would 
 have killed an\- well-disposed woman, weeks before." 
 
OLIVER TWIST. ^_j 
 
 At this point of Mr. Bumble's discourse, Oliver just hear- 
 ing enough to know that some new allusion was being made 
 to his mother, recommenced kicking, with a Violence that 
 tendered every other sound inaudible. Sowerberry returned 
 at this juncture. 01iver?s oflEence having been explained to 
 him, with such exaggerations as the ladies thought best calcu- 
 lated to rouse his ire, he unlocked the cellar-door in a twink- 
 ling, and dragged his rebellious apprentice out, by the collar. 
 
 Oliver's clothes had been torn in the beating-he had re- 
 ceived ; his face was bruised and scratched ; and his hair 
 scattered over his foreliead. The angry flush had not disap- 
 peared, 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 ? " said 
 Sowerberry; giving Oliver a shake, and a box on the ear. 
 
 " He called my mother names," replied Oliver. 
 
 " Well, and what if he did, you little ungrateful wretch .-' " 
 said Mrs. Sowerberry. " She deserved wliat 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 Mr. Sowerberry no alternative. If 
 he had hesitated ' for one instant to punish Oliver most se- 
 verely, 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 in- 
 sulting creature, a base imitation of a man, and- various other 
 agreeable characters 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. Sowerberiy herself, and 
 rendered Mr. Bumble's subsequent application of the paro- 
 chial cane, rather unnecessary. 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. Sowerbferry, after making 
 various remarks outside the door, by no means compliment- 
 ary to the memory of his mother, looked into the room, and, 
 amidst the jeers and pointings of Noah and Charlotte, or- 
 dered him up stairs to his dismal bed. 
 
54 
 
 OUVER TWIST. 
 
 It was not until he was left alone in the silence and still- 
 ness of the gloomy workshop of the undertaker, that Oliver 
 gave wayto the feelings which the day's treatment may be 
 supposed likely to have awakened in a mere child. He had 
 listened to their taunts with a look of 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, 
 /though they had roasted him alive; But now, virhen 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 motionless in this atti' 
 tude. The candle was burning low in the socket when he 
 rose to his feet. Having gazed cautiously round him, and 
 listened intently, he gently undid the fastenings of the door, 
 and looked abroad. 
 
 It was a cold, dark night. The -stars seemed, to the boy's 
 eyes, farther from the earth than he had ever seen them be- 
 fore ; there was no wind ; and the sombre shadows thrown by 
 the trees upon the ground, looked sepulchral and death-like, 
 from being so still. He softly reclosed the door. Having 
 availed himself of the expiring light of the candle to tie up in 
 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 arose, and again unbarred the 
 door. One timid look around — one moment's pause of hesi- 
 tation — 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 tlie same route ; and 
 arriving at a footpath, across the fields : which he knew, 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 
 workhoiise froni the farm. His way lay directly in front of tlie 
 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 loose 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. 
 
OUVSR TWIST jj 
 
 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 ; 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 ? " 
 
 '! 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 fortime, some long lyay off. I don't know 
 where. How pale, you are!" 
 
 "I heard the dpctor 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'y to you," replied Olivet. ' 
 " I shall see you again, Dick. I know I shall ! You will be j 
 well and happy,!" | 
 
 , , "I hope so,'^ replied the child. " After I am dead, but not ) 
 before. I know the doctor must be right, Oliver, because I ' 
 dream so much of Heaven, and Angels, and kind faces tliat ■ 
 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'y, 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 the struggles and sufferings, and trpubles apd change^, 
 of his after life, he never once forgot it. 
 
56 OLIVER TWIST 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 OLIVER WALKS TO LOlJDON. HE ENCOUNTERS ON THE ROAB 
 '• A STRANGE SORT OF YOUNG GENTLEMAN. 
 
 Oliver, reached the style at which the by-path terminated ; 
 and once more gained the high-road. It was 'eight o'clock 
 now. Though he was nearly five miles away from the town, 
 he ran, and hid behind the hecjges, by turns, till noon : fear- 
 ing that he might be pursued aiid overtaken. Then he sat 
 down to rest by the side 6f the milestone, and began to think, 
 for the first time, where he had better go and try to live. 
 
 The stone by which he was seated, bore, in large char- 
 acters, 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 ! — no^ 
 body— not even Mr. Bumble — could ever findhim there ! He 
 had often heard the old men in the workhouse, too, say that 
 no lad of spirit need want in Londbn ; and that there were 
 ways of living in that yast city, which those who had been bred 
 up in country parts had no idea oi. Itwas the very place for 
 a homeless boy, who must die in the streets unless some one 
 helped hira. As these things passed through'his thoughts, he 
 jumped upon his feet, and again walked forward. 
 
 He had diminished the distance between himself and Lon- 
 (Jqn by full four miles more, before he recollected how much 
 he must undergo ere he could hope to, reach his place of 
 destination. As this consideration forced itself upon him, he 
 slackened his pace a little, and meditated iipoh his means of 
 getting there. He had a crust of bread, a coarse shirt, and 
 two pairs of stockings, in his bundle. He had a penny too — ■ 
 a gift of Sowerberry's after some funeral in which he had ac- 
 quitted himself more than ordinarily well — in his pocket. 
 " A clean shirt," thought Oliver, " is a very comfortable thing ; 
 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, 
 although they were extremely ready and active to point out 
 his difficulties, were wholly at a loss to suggest any feasible 
 mode of surmounting them ; so, after a good deal of thinking 
 
OLIVER TWIST. j^ 
 
 to no particular purpose, he changed his little bundle over to 
 the other shoulder, and trudged on. 
 
 Oliver walked twenty miles that day ; and all that time 
 tasted nothing but the crust of dry briead, and a few draughts 
 of water, which he begged', at the cottage-doors by the road- 
 side. When the n^ht catne, he turned into a meadow ; and, 
 creeping close under a hay-rick, detennined to lie therC; till 
 morning, He felt Irightened at first, for the wind moaned dis- 
 mally oyer the empty fields : and he was cold and hungrj', and 
 more alone than he had ever felt before. Being very; tired with 
 his walk, however, lie soon fell asleep and forgot his troubles. 
 
 Jie felt cold and stiff, when he got up next morning, and 
 so hungry tha!t ' he was obliged to exchange the penny for a 
 small loaf, in the very first village through which he passed. 
 He had walked no more than twelve miles, when night closed 
 in again. His feet were sore, and his legs so weak that they 
 trembled beneath him. Another night passed in the bleak 
 damp air, made him worse ; when he set forward on his jour- 
 ney 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 thley got to the top of the hill, and then \ 
 let them see how far he could run for a halfpenny. 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 i 
 the outsides saw this, they put their halfpence back into their 
 pockets again, declaring that he was an idle young dog, and i 
 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 : warn- 
 ing all persons who begged within the district, that they would 
 be sent to jail. This frightened Oliver very much, and made 
 hirn glad to get out of those villages with all possible expe- 
 dition. In others, he Would stand about the inn-yards, and 
 look mournfully at every one who passed : a proceeding which 
 generally terminated 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 some- 
 thing. If he begged at a fanner's house, ten to one but they 
 threatend 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 into his mouth, — very often the only thing hp 
 had there, for many hours together. 
 
58 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 In fact, if, it had. not been for a good-hearted turnpike- 
 man, and a benevolent old lady, Oliver's troubles would have 
 been ahortened by the very same process which had put an 
 end to his mother's; in other words, lie would most assuredly 
 have fallen deadvpon the .king's highway. But tlie turnpike- 
 man gave him a meal of bread and cheese; and the old lady, 
 who had a shipwrecked grandson, wandering, barefoot in some 
 distant part of the earth, took pity upon the poor orphan, and 
 gave him what, little she could afford— a:nd more — with such 
 kind and' gentle words, and such tears of sympathy and com- 
 passion^ that they sank deeper into .Oliver's soul, tlian all the 
 sufferings he had ever undergone:. . . 
 
 Early on the sevejith morning after he h^ left his native 
 place, Oliver limped slowly into the little, town of Bamet. 
 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 its splendid beauty ; but the light only served 
 to show, the boy his own lonesomeness and desolation, as he 
 sat, with bleedirig feet and covered with dust, upoii a 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 moment or two, or turned 
 round to stare at him as they hurried by ; but none relieved 
 him, or troubled themselves to inquire how he came there. 
 He had no heart to beg. And there he sat. 
 
 He had been crouching on the step for some time : won- 
 dering at the great number of public-houses (every other house 
 in Bamet was a tavern, large or small), 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 determination 
 beyond his years to accomplish i when he was roused by 
 observing that a boy, who had passed Mm carelessly some 
 minutes before, had returned, and was now surveying him 
 most earnestly from tlie opposite side of the way. He took 
 little heed of this at first ; but the boy remained in the same 
 attitude of close observation so lorig, 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 the queerest looking boys 
 that Oliver had ever seen. He was a snub-nosed, flat-browed. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 55 
 
 Gommon-faced boy enough ; and as dirty a juvenile as one 
 would wish to see ; but he had about him aU the airs and 
 manners of a man. He was short of his age : with rathei 
 bowrlegs, and little, sharp, ugly eyes. His hat was stuck on 
 the top of his head so lightly, that it threatened to fall oflE 
 every moment — and would have done so, very of teri, if tlie 
 wearer had not had a knack of every now and then giving hisJ 
 head a sudden twitch, which brought it biack to its old place 
 again. He wore a man's coat, which reached nearly to his 
 heels. He had turned the cuffs back, half-way up his arm, to 
 get his hands out of the sleeves : apparently with the ultimate 
 view of thrusting them into the pockets of his. corduroy trous- 
 ers ; for there he kept them. He was, altogether, as royster- 
 ing and swaggering a young gentleman as ever stood four 
 feet six, or something less, in his bluchers. 
 
 " Hullo, my covey ! What's the row ? " said this , strange 
 young gentleman to Oliver. 
 
 . "4, am very hungry and tired,'' repljed Oliver : the: tears 
 standing in his eyes as he spoke. " I have walked a long 
 way. I have been walking tliese seven days." 
 
 "Walking for sivin. days!" said the young gentleman. 
 "Oh, I see. Beak's order, ehl But," he added, noticing 
 Oliver's look of sui^rise, " I suppose you don't know what a 
 beak is, my flash com-pan-i-on." 
 
 Oliver mildly replied,, that, he had always heard a bird's 
 mouth described by the term in question. 
 
 "My eyes, how greep ! " exclaimed the young gentleman. 
 "Why, a beiak's a,raadgst'rate ; and. when you walk by a beak's 
 order, it's not straight forerd, but always agoing up, andiniver 
 a coming down agin. Was you never on the mill .' " 
 
 " What mill I " inquired Oliver. 
 
 " What mill ! Why, iAe mill — ;the mill as takes up so little 
 room that it'll work inside a Stone Jug j and alv^ays.gqes 
 better when the wind's low with people, than when it's high ; 
 acos then they can't get worknien. But come," said the young 
 gentleman; "you want grub, and you shall have it, I'm at low- 
 water-mark myself — only one bob and a magpie ; but, as far 
 as it goes, I'll fork out and stump. Up with you on your pins. 
 There ! Now then ! Morrice t " 
 
 .AssiS(titng Oliver to rise, the young gentleman took him to 
 an adjacent chandler's shop, where he purchased a sufficiency 
 of ready-dressed ham and a half -quartern loaf, or, as he him- 
 self expressed it, "a fpurpenny bran I" the ham being kept 
 
6o OLIVER rWIST. 
 
 clean and preserved from dust, by the ingenious expedient of 
 making a hole in the loaf by pulling out a portion of the 
 crumb, and stuffing it therein. Taking the bread under hi4 
 arm, the young gentleman turned into a small piublic-house. 
 and led the way to a tap-room in tlie rear of the premises. 
 Here, a pot of beer was brought in, by direction of the mys- 
 terious 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 concluded. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Got any lodgings ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Money?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 The strange boy whistled ; and put his arms into his pock- 
 ets, 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 in to-night, don't you?" 
 
 "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 'spectable old genelman as lives there, wot'U give you lodg- 
 ings foir nothink, and never ask for the change^^that is, if any 
 gehelman he knows interduces you. ' And dotf t he know me ? 
 Oh, no ! Not in the least ! By no means. Certaiiily not ! " 
 
 The young gentleman smiled, as if to intimate that the 
 latter fragments of discourse were playfully ironical ; and fin- 
 ished the beer as he did so. 
 
 This unexpected offer of shelter was too tempting to be re- 
 sisted ; especially as it Was immediately followed up, by the as- 
 surance that the old gentleman referred to, would doubtless 
 provide Oliver with a comfortable place, without loss of time. 
 This led to a more friendly- and confidential dialogue; from 
 which Oliver discovered that his friend's name was Jack Daw- 
 kins, and that he was a peculiar pet zxiA protege of the elderly 
 gentleman before mentioned. 
 
 ' Mr. Dawkins's appearance did not say a vast deal in f ayor 
 of the comforts -which his patron's interest obtained for those 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 6, 
 
 whom he took undef his protecfion ; but, as he had a rather 
 jSighty and dissolute mode of conversing, and furthermore 
 avowed that affibiig" his intimate friends he was better known 
 by the sobriquet of " The artful Dodger," Oliver conclude4 
 that, being of a dissipated and careless turn, the moral pre- 
 cepts of his. benefactor had hitherto been thrown away upon 
 hirh. Under this impression, he secretly rfesolved to cultivate 
 ■ t,he good opinion of the old gentleman as quickly as possible ; 
 andj if he found the Dodger incorrigible, as he more than half 
 suspected he should, to decline the honor of his farther ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 As John DawTcins objected to their entering 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 Sfidler'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 Hockley-in-the-H"ole ; thence into Little 
 Saffron Hill ; and so into Saffron Hill the Great : along which 
 t|ie 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 leader, he could not help bestowing a few 
 hasty glances on either side of the way, as he passed along. 
 A dirtier or more wretched place he had never seen. The 
 street was very narrow and muddy, and the air was impreg- 
 nated with filthy odors, There were a good many small 
 shops ; but the only stock in trade appeared 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 were wrangling with might and main. Co\ ered ways 
 and yards, which here and there diverged from the mam 
 street, disclosed little knots of houses, where drunken men and 
 women were positively wallowing in filth ; and from several 
 of the door-ways, great ill-looking fellows were cautiously 
 emerging, bound, to all appearance, on no very well-disposed 
 or harmless errands. 
 
 Oliver,, w^s just considering whether he hadn't better, run 
 away, when they reached the bottom of the hill. His con- 
 ductor, catching him by the arm, pushed open the door of 'a 
 
62 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 house near F,iftld Lane ; and, drawing , him into the passage, 
 closed, it behind thqni. 
 
 "Now tKen!" cried a voice from below, in reply to a 
 whistle iErom the Dodger. 
 
 ." Plummy and slam ! " was the reply. 
 
 This seemed to be some watchword or signal that all was 
 right ; for the light of a feeble candle gleamed on the wall at 
 the remote end of the passage ; and a man's face peeped out, 
 from where a balustrade of the old kitchen staircase had been 
 broken away. 
 
 " There's two on you," said the man,' thrusting the candle 
 farther out, and shading his eyes with his hand. " Who's 
 t'other orie? " 
 
 " A new pal," replied jack Dawkins, pulling Oliver for- 
 ward.' 
 
 " Where did he come from ? " 
 
 " Greenland. Is Fagin up stairs ? " 
 
 " Yes, he's a sortin' the wipes. Up with you ! " The 
 candle was drawn back, and the face disappeared. 
 
 Oliver, groping his way with one hanc^ and having the 
 other firmly grasped by his companion, ascended with much 
 difficulty the dark and broken stairs : which liis conductor 
 mounted with: an ease and expedition 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 gge and dirt. There was a deal table before the fire : 
 upon wl;iich were a candle, stuck in a ginger-beer bottle, two 
 or three pewter pots, a loaf and butter, q.nd a plate. In a 
 frying-pan^ wljich was on the fire, and which was secured to 
 the maatelshelf by a string, some sausages were cooking ; and 
 standing over them, with a toasting-fork in his hand, was a 
 very old shrivelled Jew, whose villainous-looking and repulsive 
 face was obscured by a quantity of matted red hair. He was 
 4resseci in a greasy flannel gown, with his tKroat bare ; and 
 seemed, to be, dividing his attention between the frying-pan 
 and a clothes-horse, over which a great number of silk hand- 
 kerchiefs were hanging. Several rough beds made of old 
 sacks, were huddled side by side on the floor. Seated round 
 the table were four or five boys, none older than the Dodger^ 
 smoking long clay pipes, and drinking spirits with the air of 
 middle-aged men. These all crowded about their associate 
 as he whispered a few words to the Jew ; and then turned 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 63 
 
 round and grinned at Oliver. So did, the Jew himself, toast- 
 ing-fork in hand. 
 
 " This is him, Fagin," said Jack Dawkins ; " my friend 
 Oliver Twist." . 
 
 The Jew grinned ; and, making a low obeisance to Oliver, 
 took him by the hapd, and hoped he should have the honor 
 of his intimate acquaintance. Upon this, the young gentle- 
 men, 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, him- 
 self, when he went to bed. These civilities would probably 
 have been extended much farther, but for a liberal exercise of 
 the Jew's toasting-fork on the heads and shoulders of the 
 affectionate 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-handker- 
 chiefs ! eh, my dear ! There are a good many of 'em, ain't 
 there ? .We've just looked 'em out, ready for ,the wash.: that's 
 all, Oliver) that's all. Ha !' ha ! ha ! " 
 
 The latter part of this speech, was hailed by a boisterous 
 shout from all the hopeful 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 glsfss 
 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, immediately afterwards he felt himself 
 gently lifted on to one of .the sacks; and then he sunk into a 
 deep sleep. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. ' 
 
 CONTAINING FURTHER PARTICULARS CONCERNING THE PLEAS- 
 ANT OLD GENTLEMAN, AND HIS PUPILS. 
 
 It was late next morning when Oliver awoke, from a 
 sound, long sleep. There was no other person in the room 
 
64 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 but the old Jew, wJio was boiling some coflfee 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 thorouglily awake. There is a drowsy 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 con- 
 ception of its mighty powers, its bounding from earth and spum- 
 ing time and space, when freed from the restraint of its cor- 
 poreal associate. 
 
 Oliver was precisely in this condition. He saw the Jew 
 with his half-closed eyes ; heard his low whistling ; and re- 
 cognized the sound of the spoon grating against the saucepan's 
 sides ; and yet the self-same senses were mentally engaged, 
 at the same time, in busy action with almost everybody he 
 had ever known. 
 
 When the coffee was done, the Jew drew the saucepan to 
 the hob. Standing, then in an irresolute attitude for a few 
 minutes, as if he did not well know how to employ him- 
 self, he turned round and looked at Oliver, and called him 
 by his name. He did not answer, and was to all appearance 
 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 carefully 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 jewels. 
 
 " Aha ! " said the Jew, shrugging up his shoulders, and 
 distortmg every feature with a hideous grin. " Clever dogs ' 
 Clevei' dbgs ! ' Staunch to the last ! Nevet told the old par- 
 son 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 fellowsJ 
 Finefellows!" 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 6| 
 
 With these and other muttered reflections 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 surveyed with equal pleasure ; 
 besides rings, brooches, bracelets, and .other articles of jew- 
 elry, of such magnificent materialsti and costly workmanship, 
 that Oliver had no idea, even of their names. .j, ," 
 
 Having replaced these trinkets, the Jew took out -another 
 so small'tiiat it lay in the palm of his hand. There seemed 
 to be some very minute inscription on it ; for the Jew laid it 
 flat uf/on the table, and, shading it with his hand,, pored oyesr 
 it, long and earnestly. At length he put it down, as if de- 
 ispairing of success; and, ieafi»g_ back in : his chair^ mut- 
 tered : - ■ '• V , :..-, fffe. , 
 
 "What a fine thing capital punishment is ! Dead men 
 never repent ; dead men nevepj bring awkward stories to 
 light. Ah, it's a fine thing for the trade! Five of 'em 
 sti^ng 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 curiosity ; and 
 although the recognition was only for an instant-:— for the brief- 
 est ■ space of time that can possibly be conceived — ^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 cduld see that the knife quivered in the air. 
 ■ " What's that ? " said the Jew. " What do you watch me 
 for.' Why are you awake ? • What haVe. you seen? Speak 
 out, bdyi' 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,, scowl- 
 ing fiercely on the boy. ;. , 
 ■ '"No ( No, indeed'! " replied Oliver. 
 
 " Are you sure ? " cried the Jew : with a still fiercer look 
 than before : ahd a threatening attitude.^ : l. 
 
 " " Upon my word I was not, sir," replied Oliver, eaniestly, 
 " I was not, indeed j sir." i •. 
 
 " Tush^ tush, my dear I " said the Jew abruptly resuming 
 his old manner, and playing with the knife a little, before he 
 
 S 
 
66 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 laid it down ; as if to induce the belief that he had caught it 
 up, in 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, Oliver ! " The Jew rubbed his hands with a 
 chuckle, but glanced 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, sir," 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. Duly 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 deferen- 
 tial look at the Jew, and asked if he might get up. 
 
 " Certainly, my dear,, certainly,'' replied the old gentleman. 
 " Stay. There's a pitcher of water in the corner by the door. 
 Bring it here ; and I'll give you a basin to wash' in, ray dear." 
 
 Oliver got up ; walked across the room ; and stooped for 
 an instant to raise the 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 Jews directions, -when the Dodger returned : accompanied 
 by a very sprightly young friend, whom Oliver had seen smok- 
 ing on the previous night, and who was now formally intro- 
 duced to him as Charley Bates. The four sat down-to break- 
 fast, on the coffee, and some hot rolls and ham which the 
 Dodger had brought' home rin the crown of his hat. 
 
 "Well," said the Jew, glancing slyly at Oliver, and address- 
 ing himself to the: Dodger, " I hope you've been at work this 
 morning, my dears I " 
 
 " 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 gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 " Lined ? " inquired the Jew, with eagerness. 
 
 " Pretty well," rejplied the Dodger, producing two pocket- 
 books ; one green, and the other red. ■ 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 67 
 
 '■'"" Not-i'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, Oliver?" 
 '■'"Wfery, indeed, sir," said Oliver. At which Mr. Charles 
 Bates'laTighed uproariously ; 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 pro ■ 
 ducing four po'cket-handkerchiefs. 
 
 " 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^ll teach Oliver how to do it; Shall us, Oliver, 
 eh? Ha! ha! ha!" 
 
 " If you please, sir," said Oliver. 
 
 " You'd like to be able to make pocket-handketchiefs as 
 easy as Charley Bates, wouldn't yott, my dear ? " said the Jew. 
 
 " Very much, indeed, if you'll teach me, sir," replied 
 Oliver. . 
 
 Master Bates saw something so exquisitely ludicrous in 
 this reply, that he burst into another laugh; which laugh, 
 meeting the coffee he was drinking, and carrying it down 
 some Wrong channel, very nearly terminated in his premature 
 suflocation. ■ '- . 
 
 ■" He is so jolly green ! " Said Charley when he recovered, 
 as an'ipblogy to the company for his unpolite behavior. 
 
 The Dodger said nothing, but he smoothed Oliver's hair 
 over his eyes, arid said he'd kno* better, by arid by; upon 
 which the old gentleman, observing Oliver's color 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 wondered how they could possibly have found time 
 to be so very induStHous. 
 
 When the break fist was cleared aWay, the merry old gen- 
 tleman and the two boys played at a very curious and 
 uncommon gahie, which was performed in this way. The 
 nierry old gentleman, placing a snuff-box in one pocket of his 
 trousers, a note-case in the 'other, and ai watch iri his waistcoat 
 pocket, with a guard-chain round his neck, and sticking a 
 
68 OLIVER TWIST 
 
 mock diamond pin in his shirt.: butloned his coat tight round 
 him, and putting. his speetaclercase and handkerchief in his 
 pockets, trotted up and down the room with a stick, in imi- 
 ta,tbn of the manner in which old gentlemen walk about the 
 streets any hour in the day. Sometimes, he stopped at the 
 fire-place, and sometimes at the door, making believe 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 would 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 dow^n 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 impossible to follow their motions. At last, the 
 Dodger trod upon his toes, or ran upon his boot accidentally, 
 while Cfiarley Bates stumbled up against him behind ; and in 
 that one moment they took from him, with the. most extraor- 
 dinary rapidity, ^nuffl-box, note-case, watcRrguard, chain, shirt- 
 pin,, pocket-handkerchief, even the; spectacle case. If the pld 
 gentleman felt a hand'in any one of his pockets, he cried out 
 where it was ; and then the game began all over again. 
 
 When this game had been played a great many "times, a 
 couple of yo.ung, ladies called to see the .young -gentlemen ; 
 one of whom was named Bet, and the other 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, peirhaps ; but they had a great deal 
 of color in their faces, and lpoke4 quite stout and hearty. 
 Being remarkably free and agreeable in their manners, Oliver 
 thought them, very nice girls indeed. As there is no doubt 
 they-.were. 
 ~ ""ThesersvisitoiB stopped a long time. Spirits were pro- 
 duced, in; consequence of one of the young ladies complaining 
 of a coldness in her inside ; and tlie conversation took a very 
 convivial and improving turn. At length, Charley Bates 
 expressed his opinion that it was time to pad the hoof. This, 
 it occurred to Oliver, must be French fgr going out ; for 
 directly, afterwards, the Dodger, and Charley, and the' two 
 young ladies, went away together, having been kindly fur- 
 nished by the amiable old Jpw with money to spend. 
 
 " There, my dear," said .Fagin. " That's a pleasant life,, 
 isn't it ? They have gone out for the day." 
 
 " Have they done work, sir ? " inquired Oliver. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. gt) 
 
 " Yes," said the Jew ; " that is, unless they should unex- 
 pectedly 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," tapping the 
 fire-shovel on the hearth to add force to his words ; " do 
 everything they bid you, and take their advice in all matters — 
 especially the Dodger's, my dear. He'll be a great man 
 himself, and will make you one too, if you take pattern by 
 him. — Is my handkerchief hanging out of my pocket, my 
 dear?" 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 hold it, and drew the handkerchief 
 lightly out of it with the other. 
 
 " Is it gone ? " cried the Jew, 
 
 " Here it is, sir," said Oliver, showing it in his hand. 
 
 " You're a clever boy, my dear," said the pla3rful old gen- 
 tleman, 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'll, be the greatest man of the time. And now 
 come here,: and I'll 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, he followed him quietly to the table, and was soon 
 deeply involved in his new study. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 OLIVER BKCOMES BETTER ACQUAINTED WITH THE CHARACTERS 
 OF HIS NEW ASSOCIATES; AND PURCHASES EXPERIENCE 
 AT A HIGH PRICE. BEING A SHORT, BUT VERY IMPORTANT 
 CHAPTER, IN THIS HISTORY. 
 
 For many days, Oliver remained in the Jew's roprn,, 
 picking the marks out of the pocket-handkerchiefs (of whicji 
 a great number were brought home), and sometimes taking 
 4 
 
7° 
 
 OLIVSR TWIST. 
 
 part in the game already described : which the two boys and 
 the Jew played, regularly, every morning. At length, he be- 
 gan to languish for fresh air, and took mamy occasions of 
 earnestly entreating the old gentlemin to allow him to go out 
 to work, with his two companions. 
 
 Oliver was rendered the more anxious to.be actively era- 
 ployed, by what he had seen of the stern morality of the old 
 gentleman'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 would enforce upon them the necessity of an active life, 
 by -sending them supperless to bed. On one occasion, indeed, 
 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 dirmers had been 
 rather meagre. Perhaps these were reasons for the old 
 gentleman's giving his assent ; but, whether they were or no, 
 he told Oliver he might go, and placed him under the joint 
 guardianship of Charley' Bates, and his friend the Dodger. 
 
 The three boys sallied oiit ; the Dodger with his coat- 
 sleeves tucked up, and his hat cocked, as usual ; Master 
 Bates sauntering along.' with his hands ill 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 Oliver soon began; to think his com- 
 panions 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 pilfering 
 divers apples and onions from the stalls at the kennel sides, 
 and thrusting them into pockets which were so surprisingly 
 ciapacious, that they seemed to undermine his whole suit of 
 j clothes in every direction. These things- looked so bad, that 
 Oliver was on the point of declaring his intention of seekin<^ 
 his way back, in the best way he could ; when his thoughts 
 were suddenly directed into another channel, by a very 
 mysterious change of behavior on the part of the Dodger. 
 
 They were just emergitig from a narrow court not far from 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 71 
 
 the Open sqtiare in Clerkenwell, which is yet called, by some 
 strange perversion of terms," The Grfien :" when the D.odger 
 made a sudden stop ; and, laying his finger on his I'ip, drew 
 his companions back again, with the greatest caution arid cir- 
 cumspection. 
 
 "What's the mattfer? " demanded Oliver. 
 
 " Hush ! " replied the Dodger. " Do you see that old cove 
 at the book-stall ? " 
 
 " The old gentleman over the way ? " said Gliver. " Yes, 
 I see him." 
 
 "■ He'll do," said the Dodger. 
 
 "A prime plant," obseiryed' Master Charley Bates. 
 
 Oliver looked from one to the other, with the greateist 
 surprise ; but he 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 directed. Oliver walked a few' papes after them ; 
 and, not knowing whether to advance or retire, stood looking 
 on in silent amazement. 
 
 The old gentleman was a very respectable-looking per- 
 sonage, with a powdered head and gold spectacles. He Was 
 diressed in a bottle-green coat with a Hack velvet collar ; wore 
 white trousers ; and carried 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 his elbow-chair, 
 in his own study. It is very possible that he fancied himself 
 there, indeed • for it was plain, from his 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 leaf 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 theyj 
 would possibly go, to see the Dodger plunge his hand inta 
 the old gentlemaii's pocket, and draw from thence a hand- 
 kerchief ! To see him hand the same to Chariey Bates ; and 
 finally to behold them, both, running awky round the corner 
 at full speed 1 
 
 In an instant the whole mystery of the hiandkerchiefs; and 
 the watches, and the jewels, and the Jew, rushed upon the 
 boy's mind. He ^stood, for a moment, with the blood so 
 
72 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 tingling through all his veins froni terTor» that he ielt as if he 
 were in a burning fire ; then, confuseH and frightened, he took 
 to his heels; and, not knowing what hp did, made off; ^s fast 
 as he, ppuLd lay his feet to the ground. 
 
 This was all done ' in a ininute's space. In the . very 
 instant when Oliver began to run, the olfj gentleman, putting 
 h]s hand to his,p.ocket, and missing ,l^is handkerchief, turned 
 sharp round. Seeing the boy scudding away at such a rapid 
 pace, he very naturally concluded liim.to ]be the depredator; 
 and, shouting " Stop thief ! " with all his might, made off after 
 him, book in hand. ^ 
 
 But the old gentleman was npt the only persoiiwho raised 
 the. h.ue-and-cry. The Dodger an4JVI^l;ef, Bates, unwilling to 
 attract public attention by running do^yn the open street, had 
 merely retired into the yei;y first doorway, round the corner. 
 They no sopner heard ^he cry, and saw Oliver running, than, 
 guessing exactly hpw the matter stood, they issued forth with 
 great prompitude ; and, shouting " Stop tliief ! " too, joined 
 in the pursuit like good citizens. 
 
 Although Qliver had been brought up by philosophers, he 
 was not theoretically acquainted with the beautiful axiom that 
 self-preservation is the first law of nature. If ' he had been, 
 perhaps he ■vypuld have been, prepared for this. Not being 
 prepared, 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 thief ! Stop thief ! " . There is a magic in die 
 sound. The tradesman leaves his counter, and the carman 
 his, wagon ; the butcher throws down his tray ; tlie baker his 
 basket ; the milkman his pail ; the errand-boy his parceb.; 
 the sqhpol-boy his .mantles ; tli^, pavior his pickaxe ; the 
 child his,battledpre. Away they run, pell-mell, helter-skelter, 
 slap-dash: tearing, yelling, 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 crj- is taken up by a 
 hu,ndred voices, and the crowd accumulate at every turning. 
 Away jthey fly, splashing through the mud, and rattling along 
 the pavements : up go the windows, out run thie people, on- 
 vyafd^fcear the mpb, a whole audience desprt Punch in the 
 very thickest pf the plot, and, joining the rushing throng, 
 swell the shout, aiid lend fre^h vigor tS the cry, "Stop thief j 
 Stop thief!" 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 73 
 
 " Stop thief ! Stop thief 1 " There is a passion_/^A- hunt- 
 ing something deeply implanted in the human breast. One 
 wretched breathless child, pantirig with exhaustion ; terror in 
 his looks ; agony in his eyes ; large drops of perspiration 
 streaifling down his face ; strains every nerve to make ■ head 
 upon his- pursuers ; and as they follow 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. He is 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 ! "- "Is this the boy, sir ! " "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 gehtleman was officiously 
 dragged and pushed into the circle by the foremost of the 
 pursuers. ■ ■' . . i ■ ■ 
 
 "Yes," said the gentleman, "I am afraid it is the boy." 
 
 " Afraid ! " murmured the crowd. " That's a goOd 'un ! " 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " said the gentleman, " he has hurt him- 
 self." 
 
 "/did that, sir," said a great lubberly fellow, stepping 
 forward ; " and preciously I cut niy knuckle agin' his mouth, 
 /stopped him, sir." 
 
 The fellow touched his hat with a grin, expecting some- 
 thing for his pains ; but, the old gentleman, eyeing him with 
 an expression of dislike, looked anxiously round, as if he 
 contemplated running away himself ; which it is very possible 
 he might have attempted to do, and thus have afforded an- 
 other chase, had not a police officer (who is generally 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, indeed, it was two 
 other boys," said Oliver, 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 
 
74 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 Bates had filed off down the first convenient court they came 
 to. " Come, get up ! " 
 
 "Don't hurt him," said the old gentleman, compassien- 
 ately, 
 
 . " 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 t " 
 
 Oliver, who could hardly stand, made a shift to raise him- 
 self on his feet, and was at once lugged along the streets by 
 the jacket-collar, at a rapid pace. The gentlemen walked on 
 with them by the officer's side ; and as many of the crowd as 
 could achieve the feat, got a little a^head, and stared back at 
 Oliver from time to time. The boys shouted in triumph ; and 
 on they went. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 TREATS OF MR. FANG THE POLICE MAGIgTRATE ; AND FUR- 
 NISHES A SLIGHT SPECIMEN OF HIS MODE OF ADMINISTER- 
 ING JUSTICE. 
 
 The offence had been committed within the district, and 
 indeed in the immediate neighborhood of, a very notorious 
 metropolitan police office. The crowd had only the satisfac- 
 tion 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 justice, by the backway. It was a small paved 
 yard into which they turned ; and here they encountered a 
 stout man with a bunch of whiskers on his face, and a bunch 
 of keys in his hand. 
 
 " 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, sir .? " 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 would 
 rather not press the case." 
 
OLIVER TWIST. yt^ 
 
 "Must go before the magistrate now, sir," replied tlie 
 man. "His worship will be .disengaged in half a minute. 
 Now, young gallows ! " ; 
 
 This was an invitation for Oliver to enter through a door 
 which he unlocked as Ihe^ spoke, and which led into a stone 
 cell. Here he was searched ; and nothing being found upon 
 him, locked up. 
 
 This cell was in shape and size something like an area 
 cellar, only not so light. It was most intolerably dirty ;. for 
 it was Monday morning ; and 'it had been tenanted by six 
 drunken people, who had been locked up, elsewhere, since 
 Saturday night. But this is little. In our station-houses,' 
 men and women are every night confined on the most trivial 
 charges^Ah& word is worth noting — in dungeons, compared 
 with which, those in Newgate, occupied by the most atrocious 
 felons, tried, found guilty, and under sentence of death, are 
 palaces. Let any one who doubts this, compare the two. 
 
 The old gentleman looked ,almost as rueful as Oliver 
 when the key grated in the lock. He turned with a sigh to 
 the book, which had been the innocent cause of all this dis- 
 turbance. 
 
 " There is something in that boy's face," said the old gen- 
 tleman to himself as he walked slowly away, tapping his chin 
 with the cover of the book, in a thoughtful manner ; " some-'\ 
 thing that touches and interests me. Can he be innocent? j 
 He looked likie.-^By the bye, ".exclaimed the old gentlemen, / 
 halting very abruptly, and staring up into the sky, "Bless my 
 soul!: Where have I seen something like that look b^r 
 fore-^^ 
 
 After musing for some minutes, the old gentleman walked, 
 with. the same meditative face, into a back ante-room opening 
 from the yard ; and there, retiring, into a corner, called up be- 
 fore his mind's eye a vast ajBlphiflieatre of faces over which a 
 dusky curtain had hung for many years. "No," said the old 
 gentleman, shaking his head ; " it must be imagination." 
 
 He wandered over them again. He had 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 inr 
 trusively from the crowd ; there were the faces of young and 
 blooming girls that were now old women ; there were faces 
 that the grave had changed and closed upon, but which the 
 mind, superior to its power, still dressed in their old fresh 
 
76 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 ness 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 heightened, and taken from earth only to 
 be set up as a light, to shed a soft and gentle glow upon the 
 path to Heaven. 
 
 But the old gentleman could recall no one countenance of 
 which Oliver's features bore a trace. So, he heaved a sigh 
 over the recolFections he had awakened ; and being, happily 
 for himself, an absent old gentleman, buried them again in the 
 pages of the musty book. 
 
 He was roused by a touch on the shoulder, and a request 
 from the man with the keys to follow him into the office. He 
 closed his book hastily ; and was at once ushered into the 
 imposing presence of the renowned Mr. Fang. 
 
 The crffice was a front parlor, 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 lean, long-backed, stiff-necked, middle-sized 
 man, with no great quantity of hair, and what he had, grow-, 
 ing on the back and sides of his head. His face was stem, 
 and much flushed. If he were really not in the habit of drink- 
 ing rather more than 'was exactly good for him, he might have 
 ^brought an action against his countenance for libel, and have 
 Irecovered 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 another polite and gentlemanly incli- 
 nation 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 hundred and fiftieth time, to the special and 
 particular notice of the Secretary of State for the Home De- 
 partment. He was out of temper ; and he looked up with an 
 angry scowl. 
 
 " Who are you ? " said Mr. Fang. 
 
 The old gentleman pointed, with some surprise, to his card. 
 
 " Officer ! " said Mr. Fang, tossing the card contemptur 
 ously away with the newspaper. " Who is this fellow ? " 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 11 
 
 , " My.tiame, sir," said the old geatliema.n, sp^sking h'ke a 
 gentleman, " my name sir, is Brownlow. Permit' me- to 
 inquire the name of the ms^istrate who offers a gratuitous and 
 unprovoked insult to a respectable person, uijder the protect- 
 ion of the bench." Saying this, Mn BrdWnlow looked round 
 the office as if in search of s6me person who would afford him 
 tlie required information. 
 
 " Officer 1 " said Mr. Fang, throwing the papef on one side 
 " what's this fellow charged with ? " 
 
 " He's not charged at all, your worship," replied the offi- 
 cer. " 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, survey- 
 ing Mr. Brownlow contemptuously 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 really never, without 
 actual experience, could have believed — " 
 
 " Hold your tongue, sir ! " said Mr. Fing, peretnptorily, 
 
 " I will not, sir ! '' replied the old gentleman. 
 
 " Hold your tongue this instant, or I'll have you turned 
 out of the office ! " said Mr. Fang. " You're an insolent, im- 
 pertinent fellow. How dare you bully a magistrate ! " 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed the old gentlefman, reddeijing. 
 
 " Swear this person 1 " said Fang to the clerk. " I'll not 
 hear another word. Swear him.'' 
 
 Mr. Brownlow's indignation was greatly roused; but 
 reflecting perhaps, that he might only injure the boy by giving 
 vent to it, he suppressed his feelings and submitted to be 
 sworn at once. 
 
 " Now," said Fang, " What's the charge against this boy .' 
 What have you got to say, sir ? " 
 
 " I was standing at a bookstall — " Mr. Brownlow began. 
 
 " Hold your tongue, sir," said Mr. Fang. " Policeman ! 
 Where's the policeman ? Here, swear this policeman. Now, 
 policeman, wJhat. is this ? " ■ 
 
 The policeman, with becoming humility, related how he 
 h3.d 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 ? " inquired Mr. Fang. 
 
 " None, your worship," replied the policeman. 
 
78 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 Mr. Fang sat silent for some minutes, and then turning 
 roujid to the prosecutor, said in a towering passion. 
 
 ' Do you mean to state what your complaint against this 
 boy is, man, or do you not ? You have been sworn. Now, if 
 you stand there, refusing to give evidence, I'll punish you for 
 disrespect to the bench ; I will, by — " 
 
 By what, or by whom, nobody knows, for the clerk and 
 jailor cougljed very loud, just at the right moment ; and the 
 former dropped a heavy book upon the floor, thus preventing 
 the word from being heard-r-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 hopis that, if the 
 magistrate should believe liim, although, not actually the tliief, 
 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 con- 
 clusion. " And I fear," he added, with great energy, looking 
 towards the bar," I really fear that he is ill." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, I d^re say ! " said Mr. Fang, with a sneer. 
 " Come, none of your tricks here, youi young vagabond ; they 
 won't do. What's your name ? " 
 
 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 ? " demanded 
 Mr. Fang. " Officer, what's his name ? " 
 
 This was addressed to a bluff old fellow, in a striped 
 waistcoat, who was standing by the bar. He bent over Oliver, 
 and repeated the inquiry ; but finding him really incapable of 
 understapding.the question; and knowing that his not reply- 
 mg 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 thief-taker. 
 
 " Oh, he won't speak out, won't he ?" said Fang. "Very 
 well, very well. . W'here does he live ? " 
 
 " Where he can, your worship," replied the officer ; again 
 pretending to receive Oliver's answer. 
 
 " Has iie any parents ? " inquired Mr. Fang. 
 
 " He says they died in his infancy, your worship," replied 
 the officer ; hazarding the usual reply. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 79 
 
 At this point of the inquiry, Oliver raised his head ; and, 
 looking round with imploring eyes, murrtiured 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, i : 
 
 "Take care of him, officejr," said the old gentleman, rais- 
 ing his hands instinctively' ; ": he'll fall down."' 
 
 " Stand away, officer," cried Fang ; "let him if he likes." 
 
 Oliver availed himself of the kind permission, and iell 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 in- 
 contestable proof of the fact. "Let him lie there ; he'll- soon 
 be tired of: that". 
 
 "How do you propose to deal with the case, sir?" in- 
 quired the clerk in a low voice. 
 
 " Summarily," replied Mr. Fang. " He stands committed 
 for three months — hard labor of course. Clear the office.^' 
 
 The door was opened for this purpose, and a couple of 
 pien were preparing to carry the. insensible boy to his cell; 
 when an elderly man of decent but poor appearance, clad in 
 an old suit Of black, rushed hastily iiito the office, and advan- 
 ced towards the bench. 
 
 " Stop, stop ! Don't take him away 1 For Heaven's sake 
 stop a moment ! " cried the new-comer, breathless with: haste. 
 
 Although the presiding Genii in such an office as this, ex- 
 ercise a summary and arbitrary power over the liberties, the 
 good name, the character, almost the lives, of Her Majesty's 
 subjects, especially of the poorer class ; and although, within 
 suqh wails, enough fantastic tricks are daily played to make 
 the angels blind with weeping ; they are closed to the public, 
 save through the medium of the daily press.* Mr. Fang was 
 consequently not a little indignant to see an unbiddeh guest 
 enter in such irreverent disorder. 
 
 " What is this ? Who is this ? Turn this man out. Clear 
 the office ! " cried Mr. Fajag. 
 
 " 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, 
 
 • Or were virtually, then. 
 
So OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 I will not be put down. Mr. Fang, you must hear me. You 
 must not refuse, sir." 
 
 The man was right. His manner was determined ; and 
 the matter was growing rather too serious to be hushed up. 
 
 " Swear the man," growled Mr. 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 com- 
 mitted by another boy. I saw it done ; and I saw that this 
 boy was perfectly amazed and stupefied by it." Having by 
 this time recovered a little Breath, the worthy book-stall 
 keeper proceeded to relate, in a more coherent manner, the 
 exact circumstances of the robbery. 
 
 "Why didn't you come here before.'" said Fang, after a 
 pause. 
 
 " I hadn't a soul to mind the shop," replied the man. 
 " Everybody who 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?" inquired Fang, 
 after another pause. 
 
 " Yes," replied the man. " The very book he has in his 
 hand." 
 
 " Oh, that book, eh ? " said Fang " Is it paid for ? " 
 
 " No, it is not," replied the man, with a sipile. 
 
 " Dear me, I forgot all about it ! " exclaimed the absent 
 old gentleman, innocently. 
 
 " A nice person to prefer a charge against a poor boy ! " 
 said Fang, with a comical effort to look humane. "I con- 
 sider, sir, that you have obtained possession of that book, 
 under very suspicious and disreputable circumstances; and 
 you may think yourself very fortunate that the owner of the 
 property dechnes to prosecute. Let this be a lesson to you, 
 my man, or the law will overtake you yet. The boy is dis- 
 chargedi Clear the office." 
 
 " D— n me ! " cried the old gentleman, bursting out with 
 rage he had kept down so long, " d — n me ! I'll ." 
 
 " Clear the office ! " said the magistrate. " Ofincers do 
 you hear ? Clear the office ! " ' 
 
 The mandate was obeyed ; and the indignant Mr. Brown- 
 low was conveyed out, with the book in one hand, and the 
 bamboo cane in the other ; in a perfect phrenzy of rage and 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 8 1 
 
 defiance. He reached the yard ; and his passion 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 con- 
 vulsing his whole frame. 
 
 " Poor boy, poor boy ! " said Mr. Brownlow, bending 
 over him. " Call a coach, somebody, pray. Directly ! " 
 
 A coach was obtained^ and Oliver, having been carefully 
 laid on one seat, the old gentleman got ih and sat himself on 
 the other. ' 
 
 " May I accompany you ? " said the book-stall keeper, 
 looking in. . 
 
 " Bless me, yes, my dear sir," said Mr. Brownlow quickly. 
 " I forgot you. Dear, dear ! I have this unhappy book still ! 
 Jump in. Pooj fellow ! There's no time to lose." 
 
 The book-stall keeper got into the coach • and away they 
 drove. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 IN WHICH OLIVKR IS TAKEN BETTER CARE OF THAN HE EVER 
 WAS BEFORE, AND IM WHICH THE NARRATIVE REVERTS TO 
 THE MERRY OLD GENTLEMAN ANt) HIS YOUTHFUL FRIENDS. 
 
 The coach rattled away, over nearly the same ground as 
 that which Oliver had traversed when he first entered London 
 in company with the Dodger; and, turning a different way 
 when it reached the Angel at Islington, stojJped at length be- 
 fore a neat house, in a quiet shady street near Pentonville. 
 Hei-e, a bed was prepared, without loss of time, in which Mr. 
 Brownlow saw his young charge carefully and comfortably 
 deposited; and here, he was tended with a kindness and so- 
 licitude that knew no bounds. 
 
 But, for many days, Oliver remained insensible to all the 
 goodness of his new friends. The sun rose and sank, and 
 rose and sank again, and many times after that ; and still the 
 boy lay stretched on his uneasy bed, dwindling away beneath 
 the dry and wasting heat of fever. The worm does not his 
 work more surely on the dead body, than does this slow 
 creeping fire upon the living frame. 
 
 6 
 
8a OUVER TWIST. 
 
 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, witli his head resting on his trem- 
 bling arm j he looked anxiously around. 
 
 " What room is this ? Where have I been brought to ? " 
 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. The curtain at 
 the bed's head was hastily drawn back, and a motherly old 
 lady, very neatly and precisely 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 j there's a dear ! ". With those words, the old lady very 
 gently placed Oliver's head upon the pillow ; and, smootliii^. 
 back his hair from his forehead, looked so kindly and lovingly 
 in his face, that he could^not help placing his little withered 
 hand in 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 ; " perhaps she has sat by me. I almost 
 feel as if she had." 
 
 " That was the fever, my dear," said the old lady mildly. 
 
 "I suppose it was," replied Oliv', " because heaven is a 
 long way off ; and they are too ha;;py there, to come down to 
 the bedside of a poor boy. Bui if she knew I was ill, she 
 must have pitied me, even there ; for she was very ill herself 
 [Before ghe died. She can't know anything about me though," 
 added Oliver after a moment's silence. " If she had seen me 
 ijurt, it would have made her sorrowful ; and her face has al- 
 ways looked sweet and happy, when I have dreamed of her." 
 
 The old lady made no reply to this ; but wiping her eyes 
 first, and her spectacles, which lay on the counterpane after- 
 wards, as if they were part and parcel of those features, 
 brought some cool stuff for Oliver to drink ; and then, patting 
 him on the cheek, told him he must lie very quiet, or he would 
 be ill again. 
 
 So, Oliver kept very still ; partly because he was anxious 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 83 
 
 to obey the kin^_Qld_lady.iii all things; and partly, to tell the 
 truth, beeauSSne 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, being brought 
 near the bed, showed him a gentteinian- with a very large and 
 loud-ticking gold watch in his hand, who felt his pulse, and 
 • said he was a great deal better. 
 
 " You are a great deal better, are you riot, my dear ? " 
 said the gentleman. 
 
 " Yes, thank you, sir," replied Oliver. 
 
 " Yes, I know you are," said the gentleman : " You're hun- 
 gry 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 : look- 
 ing very wise. 
 
 The old lady made a respectful inclination of the head, 
 which seemed to say that she thought the doctor was a very 
 clever man. The doctor appeared much of the same opinion 
 himself. 
 
 " You feel sleepy, don't you, my dear ? " said the doctor. 
 
 " No, sir," replied Oliver. 
 
 " No," said die doctor, with a very shrewd and satisfied 
 look. " You're not sleepy. Nor thirsty. Are you ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir, rather thirsty," answered Oliver. 
 
 "Just as I expectfed, Mrs. Bedwin," said the doctor. " It's 
 very natural that he should be thirsty. 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 careful that: you 
 don't let him be too cold ; will you have the goodness ? " 
 
 The old lady dropped- a curtsey. The doctor, after tast- 
 ing the cool stuff, and expressing a qualified approval of it, 
 hurried away : his boots creaking in a very important and 
 wealthy manner as he went down stairs. 
 
 Oliver dozed off again, sOon after this ; 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 wo- 
 man, after telling Oliver that she had come to sit up with him, 
 drew hei' chair close to the fire and went off into a series of 
 short naps, chequered at frequent intervals with sundry tum- 
 
84 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 blings forward, and divers moans and chokings. These, how- 
 ever, had no worse effect tlian 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 thei deep stillness of' the room were 
 very solemn ; 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 . gloorti and dread of his awful 
 presence, he turned his face upon the pillow, and fervently 
 prayed to Heaven. 
 
 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 tlie struggles and turmoils of 
 life ; to all its cares for the present ; its anxieties for: the fu- 
 ture ; more than all, its weary recollections of the past ! 
 
 It had been bright day, for hours, when Oliver opened liis 
 eyes ; he felt chee'rfvii and happy. The crisis of the disease 
 was safely past. He belonged to the world again. 
 
 In three .days' time he was able to sit in an easy-chair, 
 well propped up with pillows ; and, as he was still too weak 
 to walk, Mrs, Jledwin had him carried down stairs into the 
 , little housekeeper's room, whiehbelonged to her. Having him 
 set, hercj by the fireside,, the good old lady sat herself down 
 too ; and, being in a state ot 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, very kind to me, ma'am," said Oliver. 
 
 " Well, never you mind that, my dear," said the old lady ; 
 that'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 warming up, in a 
 little saucepan, a basin full of broth : strong enough, Oliver 
 thought, to furnish an ample dinner, when reduced to the reg- 
 ulation strength, for. three hundred and fifty, paupers, at the 
 lowest computation. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. ftj 
 
 " Are you fond of pictures, dear ? " inquired the old lady, 
 seeing that Oliver had fixed his eyes, most intently, on a por- 
 trait which hung against the wall ; just opposite his chair. 
 
 " I don't quite know, ma'am," ^aid Oliver, without taking 
 his eyes from the canvas ; " I have seen so few that I hardly 
 know. What a beautiful, iiiild face that lady's is ! " 
 
 "Ah!" said the old lady, "painters always make ladies 
 out prettier than they are, or they wouldn't get any custom, 
 child. The man that invented the machine for taking like- 
 nesses might have known that would never succeed ; it's a 
 deal too honest. A deal," said the old lady, laughing very 
 heartily at her own acuteness. 
 
 " Is — is that a likeness, ma'am ? " said Oliver. 
 
 " Yes," said the old lady, looking up for a moment from 
 the broth ; " that's a portrait." 
 
 " Whose, ma'am .? " asked Oliver. 
 
 " Why, really, my dear, I don't know," answered the old 
 lady in a good-humored manner, " It's not a likeness of any- 
 body that you or I know, I expect. It seems to' strike your 
 fancy, dear." 
 
 " It is so very pretty," replied Oliver.' 
 
 "Why, sure you're not afraid of it ?" said the old lady : 
 observing, in great surprise, the look of awe with which the 
 child regarded the painting. . 
 
 " Oh no, no," returned Oliver quickly ; "but the eyes Ioom 
 so sorrowful ; and where I sit, they seem fixed upon me. Iti 
 makes my heart beat/' added Oliver in a low voice, "as if itI 
 was alive, and wanted to speak to me, but couldn't." J 
 
 " 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 position ; but he thought it better not to worry 
 the kind old lady; so he. smiled gentiy 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. He had scarcely 
 swallowed the last spoonful, when there came a soft rap af 
 the door. " Come in," said the old lady ; and in walked Mr 
 Brownlow. 
 
86 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 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 dressingrgown to 
 take a good long look at Oliver, than his countenance under 
 went a very great variety of odd contortions. Oliver looked 
 very worn and shadowy from sickness, and made an inef- 
 fectual 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 ordinary old gentlemen of 
 humane, disposition, forced a supply of tears into his eyes^by 
 some hydraulic process which we are not sufficiently philo- 
 sophical to be in a condition to explain. 
 
 "Poor boy, poor boy !" said Mr. Brownldw, 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 
 havehadj has been well aired, sir." 
 
 " I don't know, Bedwin. I don't know," said Mr. Brown- 
 low ; " I rather think I had a damp napkin at dinner-time yes- 
 terday ; but never mind that.* IHowTdCTyou feel, my dear? " 
 
 " Very happy, sir," replied Oliver. " And very grateful in- 
 deed, sir, for your goodness to me." 
 
 " Good boy," said Mr. Brownlow, stoutly. " Have you 
 given him any nourishment, Bedwin ? Any slops, eh ? " 
 
 " 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 intimate that between 
 slops, and broth well compounded, there existed no affinity 
 or connection whatsoever. 
 
 " Ugh ! " said Mr. Brownlow, with a slight shudder : " a 
 couple of glasses of port wine rvvGuld have done him a great 
 deal more good. Wouldn't they, Tom White, eh ? " 
 
 "My name is Oliver, sir," replied the little invalid: with 
 a look of great astonishment. 
 
 "Oliver," said Mr. Brownlow; "Oliver what? Oliver 
 White, eh?" 
 
 " No sir. Twist, Oliver Twist." 
 
 " Queer name ! " said the old gentleman. " What made 
 you tell the rnagistrate your name was White ? " 
 
 " 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 
 
OLIVER TWIST. gy 
 
 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 steadily at Olivqr no longer exiatedj tlie 
 old idea of the resemblance between his features and some 
 familiar face came upon him so strongly, that he could not 
 withdraw his gaze. 
 
 " I hope you are not ai\gry with me, sir ? " said Oliver, 
 raising his. eyes beseechingly. 
 
 "No, no," replied the old gentleman. "Why! what's 
 this? Bedwin, look there ! " 
 
 As he spoke, he pointed hastily to the picture above Oli- 
 ver's head, and then to the boy's- face. There was its living 
 icopy. The eyes, the head, the mouth ; every feature was the 
 same. The expression was, for the instant, so precisely alike, 
 that the minutest line seemed copied with startling accuracy ! 
 
 Oliver knew not the cause of this sudden exclamation ; 
 for, not being strong enough to bear the start it gave him, he/ 
 fainted away. A weakness on his part, which affords the nar-- 
 rative an opportunity of relieving the reader from suspensd, 
 in behalf of tlie two young pupils of the Merry Old Gentle- 
 man ; and of recording — 
 
 That when the Dodger, and his accomplished friend Mas- 
 ter Bates, joined in the hue-and-cry whicljr was raised at Oli- 
 ver's heels, in consequence of . their executing an illegal con- 
 veyance of Mr. Brownlow's personal property, as has been 
 already described, they were ax;tua,ted by a very laudable and 
 becoming regard for themselves ; and forasmuch as the free- 
 dom of die subject and the liberty of the individual are 
 among the first and proudest bpast&of a true-hearted English- 
 rtian, so, I need hardly beg the reader to observe, that this 
 action should tend to exalt them in the opinion of all 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 main-springs of all Nature's deeds and actions : 
 the said philosophers very wisely reducing the good l^-dy's 
 proceedings to matters of maxim and theory : and, by a very 
 neat and, pretty compliment to her exalted wisdom and under- 
 standing, putting entirely out of sight any considerations of 
 heart, , or gjsnerous impulse and feeling. For,, these are mat- 
 ters totally beneath a female who is acknowledged by univer- 
 
88 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 sal admission to be far above the' numerous little foibles and 
 weaknesses of her sex. _ ' 
 
 If I wanted any further proof of the strictly philosophical 
 nature of the conduct 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 quit 
 ting the pursuit, when the general attention was fixed upon 
 Oliver ; and making immediafety for their home by the short- 
 est possible cut. Although I do not mean to assert that it is 
 usually the practice of renowned and learned sages, to shorten 
 the road to any great conclusion (their course indeed being 
 rather to lengthen the distance, by various circumlocutions 
 and discursive staggerings, like unto those in which drunken 
 men utider the pressure of a too mighty flow of ideas, are 
 prone to indulge) ; still, I do mean to say, and do say dis- 
 tinctly, that it is the invariable practice of many mighty phi- 
 losophers, in carrying out their theories, to evince great wis- 
 dom and foresight in providing against every possible contin- 
 gency which can be supposed af ' 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, -mil justify; 
 the amount of the right, or the amount of the wrong, or in- 
 deed the distinction between the two, being left entirely to 
 the philosopher concerned, to be settled and determined by 
 his clear, comprehensive, and impartial view of his own par- 
 ticular case. 
 
 It was not until the two boys had scoured, with great ra- 
 pidity, thrbugh a most intricate maze of narrow streets and 
 courts, that they ventured to halt beneath a low and dark 
 archway. Having remained silent here, just long enough to 
 recover breath to speak, Master Bates uttered an exclamation 
 of amusement and delight ; and, bursting into an uncontrol- 
 lable fit of laughter, flung himself upon a door-step, and rolled 
 thereon in a transport of mirth. ' ' 
 
 "What's the matter ? " inquired the Dodget: 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! " roared Charley Bates. 
 
 " Hold your noise," remonstrated the Dodger, looking 
 cautiously round. " Db'you want to be grabbed, stupid ? " 
 
 " 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 again 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 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 8g 
 
 imagination of Master Bates, presented the scene before him 
 in too strong colors. As he arrived at this apostrophe, he 
 ■again rolled upon the door-step, and laughed louder than be- 
 fore. , ■ . 
 
 " What'll Fagin say ? " inquired the Dodger ; taking ad- 
 vantage o^ the next interval of brei^thlessness on the part of 
 his friend to propound the question. 
 
 "What?" repeated Charley Bates. 
 
 "Ah, Wliat? " said the Dodger. 
 
 " Why, what should he say ? " inquired Charley : stopping 
 rather svuldenly in, his merriment j for the Dodger's manner 
 was impressive. "What should he say .i"' 
 
 Mr. Dawkins whistled for a couple of minutes; then, 
 taking off his .hat, scratched his head, and nodded thrice. 
 
 " What do you mean 1 " said Charley. 
 
 " Toor ml, }pl loo, ■ gammon and spinnage, the frog he 
 wouldn't, and high cockolorum," said the Dodger: with a 
 slight sneer on his intellectual countenance. 
 
 ■ This was explanatory, but not satisfactory. Master Bates 
 felt it so ; and again said, " What do you mean ? " 
 
 The Dodger niade no reply ; putting his hat on again, and 
 gathering the skirts of his long-tailed coat under his arm, 
 thrupthi^ tongue into his cheek, slapped the bridge of hi? 
 nose some half-dozen times in a familiar but expressive, man- 
 ner, and turning on his heel, slunk down the court; Maste> 
 Bates fglloiyed, with, a thought^ijl countenance. 
 
 The noise of footsteps on the creaking, stairs, a few min- 
 utes after the occurrence of this conversation, roused tlie 
 merry old gentleman as he sat over th/e fire with a saveloy arid 
 a small loaf in his left hand ; a pocketrknife in his right ; and 
 a pewter pot on th^, trivet. : There was a rascally smile onJiis 
 white face as he turned round, and, looking sharply out from 
 under his thick red eyebrows, bent his ear towards the door, 
 and listened. 
 
 " Why, ho>»'s this ?"• muttered the Jew : changing coun- 
 tenance ;, "only two of 'em .? Where's the, third ? They can't 
 have got into trouble. Hark ! " 
 
 Tlje footsteps approached nearer ; they reached the land- 
 ing. . The 4oor was ■ slowly opened ; and the Dodger and . 
 Caariey Bates entered, closing it behind them. 
 
go OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 SOME NEW ACQUAINTANCES ARE INTRODUCED TO THE IN 
 TELLIGENT READER, CONNECTED WITH WHOM, VARIOUS 
 PLEASANT MATTERS ARE RELATED, APPERTAINING TO THIS 
 HISTORY. 
 
 "Where's Oliver? " said the Jew, rising with a menacing 
 look. " Where's the boy ? " 
 
 . The young thieves eyed their preceptor as if Ihey were 
 alarmed at his violence ; and looked uneasily at each other. 
 But they made no reply. 
 
 "What's become of the boy?" said the Jew, seizing the 
 Dodger tightly by the collar, and threatening him with horrid 
 imprecations. " Speak out, or I'll throttle 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 who conceived it by no means improbable 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 a mad bull and a speaking, trumpet. 
 
 "Will you speak?" thundered the Jew: shaking the Dod- 
 ger so much that his keeping in the big coat at all, seemed 
 perfectly miraculous. 
 
 " Why, tlie traps have got him, and that's all about it," 
 said the Dodger, sullenly. " Come, let go o' me, will you ! " 
 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 gentlemail's 
 waistcoat ; which, if it had taken effect, would have let a little 
 more merriment out, than could have been easily replaced. 
 
 The Jew Stepped back in this emergency, with more agility 
 than could have been anticipated in a man of his apparent 
 decrepitude ; and, seizing up the pot, prepared 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. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. gi 
 
 I might have know'd, as nobody but an infernal, rich, plunder- 
 ing, thundering old Jew could afford to throw away any drink 
 but water — and not that, unless he done the River Company 
 every quarter. Wot's it all about, Fagin ? D — me, if my neck- 
 handkercher 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-thirty, in a black velveteen coat, very 
 soiled drab breeches, lace-up half boots, and gray cotton 
 stockings, which inclosed a bulky pair of legs, with large 
 swelling calves ; — the kind of legs, which in such costume, al- 
 ways look in an unfinished 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. He disclosed, 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? " growled this engaging rufiian. 
 
 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 yoii. 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 comer' very 
 quietly, without uttering a sound, and winking his ■ very ill- 
 looking eyes twenty times in a minute, appeared tO' occupy 
 himself in taking a survey of the apartment. 
 
 " What are you up to ? Ill-treating the boys, you eovetbus,' 
 avaricious, in-sa-ti-a-ble old fence?" 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' after-' 
 wards, for you're fit for nothing but keeping as a cariosity of 
 ugliness in a glass bottle, and I suppose they don't blow glass 
 bottles large enough." 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! Mr. Sikes," said the Jew, trembling ; " don't 
 sj[)eak so loud." 
 
g2 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " 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 
 huDfiility. "You seem out of humor, BUI." 
 
 " Perhaps I am," replied Sikes, "I should think you was 
 rather out. of sorts too, unless you mean as little harm when 
 you throw pewter pots about, asyou.do whert you blab and — " 
 
 " Are you mad ? " said, the Jew, catching 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 
 shoulder; a piece of dumb show ; which the Jew appeared to 
 understand perfectly. He then, in cant terms, with which his. 
 whole conversation was plentifuliy besprinkled, but which 
 would be quite unintelligible 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 tlie cupboard, hC; might have thought the caution not 
 wholly unnecessary, or the wish {at all events) to improve 
 upon the distiller's ingenuity not yery far from the old gentle- 
 man's luerry heart. 
 
 After swallowing two or three glasses of spirits, Mr. Sikes 
 condescended to take some notice of the young gentlemen ; 
 which graqious 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 appeared most advisable under the circumstances. 
 
 " 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 blowed upon, Fagin." 
 
 "And I'm afraid, you see," added the Jew, speakijng 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 round upon the Jew. But 
 
OLIVER TWIST. gj 
 
 the old gentleman's shoulders were shragged up to his ears ; 
 and his eyes were vacantly staring on the opposite Wall. 
 
 There was a Ibng pause. Every member of the respefctable 
 coterie appeared plunged in his own reflections ; not excepting 
 the dog, tmo by a certain hialicious licking of his lips seemed 
 to be meditating an attack upon the legs of the first gentleman 
 or lady he might encounter in the streets When he went out. 
 
 "Somebody must find out wot'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 committed, there's no fear 
 till he comes out again," said Mr. Sikes, " and then he must 
 be taken care on. Yon 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. This was, that the Doflger, and Charley 
 Bates, and Fagin, and Mr. William Sikes, happened, one and 
 all, to entertain a violent and deeply-rooted antipathy to 
 going near a police-office on any ground or pretext whatever. 
 
 How long they iriight have sat and looked at each other, 
 in a state, of uncertainty not the most pleasant of its kind, it 
 is difficult to guess. It is not necessary to make any guesses 
 on the subject, however ; for the sudden entrance of the two 
 young ludies 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 ? " 
 
 " Wheres ? " inquired the young lady. ' 
 
 " Only jiist up to the office, my dear," said the Jew coax- 
 ingly. 
 
 It is due to the young lady to say that she did not pos- 
 itively affirm that she would not, but that she merely expressed 
 an emphatic and earnest desirfe tobe " blessed " 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 which cannot bear to inflict iipon a felldw-creatiire, 
 the pain of a direct and pointed refusal. 
 
 The Jew's countenance fell. He turned from this young 
 lady, who was gayly, riot to say gorgeously attired, in a red 
 gown, green boots, arid yellow curl-papefs, to the other 
 Female. 
 6 
 
54 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 "Nancy, my ^dear," said. the Jew in a soothing manner; 
 " what do you say? " • « 
 
 " That it won't do ; so it's no use a-tiying it on, Fagin,' 
 replied Nancy. 
 
 " What do you 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. Nancy in 
 the same composed manner, " it's rather more no than yes 
 with me. Bill." 
 
 " She'll go, Fagin," said Sikes. 
 
 " No, she won't, Fagin," said Nancy. 
 
 " Yes she will, Fagin," said Sikes. 
 
 And Mr. Sikes was right. By dint of alternate threats, 
 promises, and bribes, the "lady in question was ultimately pre- 
 vailed upon to undertake the commission. She was not, 
 indeed, withheld by the same considerations as her agreeable 
 friend, for, having recently removed into the neighborhood of 
 Field Lane from the remote but genteel suburb of Ratcliff, 
 she was not under the same apprehension of being recognized 
 by any of her numerous acquaintance. 
 
 Accordingly, with a clean white apron tied over her gown, 
 and her curl-papers tucked . up under a straw bonnet, — both 
 articles of dress being, provided 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 
 respectable, my dear." 
 
 " Qive her a door-key to carry in her t'other one, Fagin," 
 said Sikes ; " it looks real and genivine like." i 
 
 " Yes, yes, my dear, so it does," said the Jew, hanging a 
 large, street-door key on the forefinger of the young lady's 
 right hand. " There ; very good ! Very good indeed, my 
 dear ! " said the Jew, rubbing his hands. . 
 
 " Oh, my brother 1 My poor, dear, sweet, innocent little 
 brother ! " exclaimed Nancy, bursting into tears, and wringing 
 the little basket and th^ street-door key in an agony of distress. 
 " What has become of him ! Where have they taken him to ! 
 Oh, do have pity, and teU me what's been done with the dear 
 boy, gentlemen ; do, gentlemen, if .you please, gentlemen ! " 
 
 Having uttered these words in a most Tamentable and 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 95 
 
 heart-broken tone : %o 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," said the Jew, turning 
 round to his young friends, and- shaking his head gravely, as 
 if in mute admonition to them to follow the bright example 
 they had just beheld. 
 
 " She's a honor 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 Nancy, that young lady made the best of 
 her way to the police-office ; whither, notwil5istanding a little 
 natural timidity consequent upon walking through the streets 
 alone and unprotected, she arrived in perfect safety shortly 
 afterwards. 
 
 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 ? " 
 
 There was nobody inside but a miserable 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 Correc- 
 tion for one month ; with the appropriate and amusing remark 
 that since he had so much breath to spare, it would be more 
 wholesomely expended on the treadmill than in a musical in- 
 strument. 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 Nancy passed on to the next cell, 
 and knocked there. 
 
 " Well ! " cried a faint and feeble voice. 
 
 " Is there a little boy here "i " inquired Nancy, with a pre- 
 liminary sob. 
 
 " No," replied the voice ; " God forbid." 
 
 This was a vagrant of sixty-five, who was going to prison 
 for nof 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 license ; thereby doing some- 
 thing for his living, in defiance of the Stamp-office. 
 
96 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 But, as neither of these criminals ans'v?ered to the name of 
 Oliver, or knew anything about him, Nancy niade 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. 
 
 " /haven't got him, my dear," said the old man. 
 
 "Where is he?" screamed Nancy, in a distracted man- 
 ner. 
 
 "Why, the gentlieman's got him," replied the officer. 
 
 " What gentlemaa? Oh, gracious heavens ! Wliat gentle- 
 man ? " exclaimed Nancy. 
 
 In reply to this incoherent questioning, the old man in- 
 formed the deeply affected sister that Oliver bad 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 caTried him away, 
 in an insensible condition, to his own residence : of and con- 
 cerning which, all the informant knew was, that it was some- 
 where at Pentonville, he having heard that word mentioned in 
 the directions to the coachman. - 
 
 In a dreadful state of doubt and uncertainty, the agonized 
 young woman staggered to the gate, and then, exchanging her 
 faltering walk for a swift 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 account of the expedi- 
 tion delivered, than he very hastily called up the white dog, 
 and, putting on his hat, expeditiously departed : 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 I 
 Nancy, my dear, I must have liim found. I trust to you, my 
 dear, — to you and the Artful for everything! Stay, stay," 
 added the Jew, unlocking a drawer with a shaking hand ; 
 there's money, my dears. I shall , shut up the shop to-night. 
 You'll 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 from its place of concealment the box which he had un- 
 
OLIVER TWIST. gy 
 
 intjentionally disclosed to Oliver. Then, he hastily proceeded 
 to dispose the watches and jewelry beneath his clothing. 
 
 A rap at the :door startled him in this occupation. " Who's 
 there ? " he crieid in a shrill tone. 
 
 " Me ! " replied the voice of the Dodger, through the key- 
 hole; 
 
 " What now ? " cried the. Jew impatiently. 
 ' " Is he to be kidnapped to the other ken, Nancy says ? " 
 inquired the Dodger. 
 
 " Yes," replied the Jew, "wherever she lays hands on him. 
 Find him, find him out, that's all ! I shall know what to do 
 next; never fear." 
 
 The boy murmured a reply of intelligence; and' hurried 
 down stairs after his companions. 
 
 " He has not peached so far," said the Jew as he pursued 
 his occupation. "If he means ito blab us among his new 
 friends, we may stop his mouth yet." , 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 COMPRISING FTJRTHER PARTICIULARS 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 recovering from, the fainting-fit into which 
 Mr. Brownlow's abrupt 'exclamatiOn had thrown him, the sub- 
 ject of the picture was carefully avoided, both by the old gen- 
 tleman and Mrs. Bedwin, in the cofiversation that ensued : 
 which indeed bore no reference to Oliver's history or pros- 
 pects, but was confined to such topics as rnight amuse with- 
 out exciting him. H^ was still too weak to get up to breakr 
 fast ; but, when he came' down into the housekeeper's room 
 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 expectations were disappointed,: however, for the picture 
 had been removed. 
 
 "Ah!" said the housekeeper, watching the direction of 
 Oliver's eyes.. " It; is gone, you see;" : 
 
g8 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " I see it IS, ma'am," replied Oliver. " Why have they 
 taken it away ? " 
 
 " It has beetl taken down, child, because Mr. Brownlovr 
 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-humoredly ; " you 
 get well as fast ks ever you can, dear, and it shall be hung up 
 again. There ! I promise you that ! Now, let us talk about 
 something else." 
 
 This was all the information Oliver could obtain about 
 the picture at that time. As the old lady had been so kind 
 to him in his illness, he endeavored to think no more of the 
 subject just then ; so he listened attentively to a great many 
 stories she told him, about an amiable and handsome daugh- 
 ter of hers, who was married to an amiable and handsome man, 
 and lived in the country; and about 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 merits 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. 
 After tea she began to teach Oliver cribbage : which he learnt 
 as quickly as she could teach : and at which game they played 
 with great interest and gravity, until it was time for the in- 
 valid to have some warm wine and water, with a slice of dry 
 toast, and then to go cosily to bed. 
 
 They were happy days, fliose of Oliver's recovery. Every- 
 thing was so quiet, and nealt, and orderly; everybody was 
 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 provided 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 
 fkihd to hiln; 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 parlor window, and saw the Jew roll 
 them up in his bag and walk away, he felt quite delighted to 
 
OLIVER TWIST. pg 
 
 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 Jiad never 
 had a new suit before; 
 
 One evening, about a week after the affair of the picture, 
 as he was sitting talking to Mrs. Bedwiri, there came a mes- 
 sage down from Mr. Brownlow, that if Oliver Twist felt pretty 
 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," said Mrs. Bedwin. 
 " Dear 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 handsome, despite that important per- 
 sonal advantage, 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 no- 
 tice, to have made much difference in him for the better. 
 
 Thus encouraged, Oliver tapped at the study' door. On 
 Mr. Brownlow calling to him to come in, he found himself in 
 a little back room, quite full of books, with a window, looking 
 into some pleasant little gardens. There was a table drawn 
 up before the window, at which Mr. Brownlow was seated 
 reading. When he saw Oliver, 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 
 '\o make the world wiser. Which is still a marvel to more 
 experienced people than Oliver Twist, every day of their lives. 
 ' " There are a good many books, are there hot, my boy ? " 
 said Mr. Brownlow, observing the curiosity with which Oliver 
 surveyed the shelvesthat 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 >ivill' like that, better than look- 
 ing at the outsides, — ^thatis,in some cases; because there 
 are books of which the backs and covers are by far the best 
 parts." 
 
jQO OLIVER TWIST, 
 
 *' 1' suppose they are those heavy ones, sir," said Oliver, 
 pointing to some lai-ge quartos, with a good deal of gilding 
 about the j)inding. . , ,■:,,. 
 
 "Not always those," said the old gentleman, pattmg 
 Oliver on the head, and smiling as he did so ; " there are 
 other equally heavy ones though of a much smaller size. 
 How shpuld 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 likjS to be a book-writer ? " said the 
 old gentleman. 
 
 Oliver considered a little while ; and at last said, he should 
 think it would be a much better thing to be a book-seller,; 
 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 rknew what it was. 
 
 "Well, well," said the old gentleman, composing his 
 features. " Don't h% afraid ! We won't make an author of 
 you, while there's an honest trade to be learnt, or brick-mak- 
 ing to turn to." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said Oliver. At the earnest manner of 
 his reply, the old gentleman, laughed again ; and said some- 
 thing aboTjt a curious, instinct, which Oliver, not understand- 
 ing, 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, 
 thanOliver had known him assume, 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 understand me, as many older persons would be." 
 
 " Oh, don't tell me you are going to send me away, si^ 
 pray ! " exclaimed Oliver,' alarmed at the serious tone of the 
 old gentleman's commencement J " 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 } " 
 
 " My_ dear , child," said the old gentleman, rnoved 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 snot," rejoined the old gentleman. " I do not 
 tliink you ever will. I have been deceived, before, in tlie ob- 
 jects whom I have endeavored to benefit j but I feel strongly 
 
OUVER TWIST. loi 
 
 disposed to trust you, nevertheless j and I am more interested 
 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 tlieir graves ; but, although the happiness and delight 
 of ray life lie buried there, too, I have not made a coffin of my 
 heart, and sealed it up, for isver, on my best affections. Deep 
 affliction has but strengthened and refined them." 
 
 As the old gentleman sadd this in a low voice : more to 
 himself than to his companion : and as he remained silent for 
 a short time afterwards ; Oliver sat quite siill. 
 
 " Well, well ! " said the old gentleman at length, in a more 
 cheerful tone, " I only say this, because you have a young 
 heart ; and .knowing that I have suffered great pain and sor- 
 row, you will be more careful, perhaps, ndt to wound me 
 again. You; say you are an orphan, without a friend in the 
 world ; all the inquiries I have been able to make, confirm the 
 statement. Let me hear your story ; where you come from ; 
 who brought yoii. up ; and how you got into the company in 
 which I found you. Speak the t»uA, and you shall not be 
 friendless while I live." ' 
 
 Oliver's sobs checked his utterance for some minutes ; 
 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. Btimble, a pecuHarly impatient little double-knock was 
 heard at the street-door : and the servant, running tip stairs, 
 announced Mr. Grimwig. 
 
 " Is he coming up ? " inquired Mr. Brownlow. 
 
 "Yea, 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. Brawnlow smiled ;, and, turning to Oliver, Said that 
 Mr. Gnmwig was an old friend of his, and hieTOust not mind 
 his being a little rough in his manners ; for'lie was a worthy 
 creature at bottom, as he had reason to know. 
 
 " Shall I go down stairs, sir.? " inquired Oliver. 
 
 "No," replied Mr. Brownlow, "I would rather you re- 
 mained 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 dressjed in a blue coat, striped waistcoat, 
 nankeen breeches and gaiters, and a broad-brimmed white 
 hat, with the sides turned up with greert. A Very small- 
 plaited shirt frill stuck out from his waistcoat ; and a \'ery 
 
102 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 long steel . watch-chain, with nothing but a key at the end, 
 dangled loosejy 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 manner of screwing his head on 
 one side when he spoke ; and of looking out of the comers of 
 his eyes at the same time : which irresistibly' reminded the 
 beholder of a parrot. In this attitude, he fixed himself, the 
 moment he made his appearance ; and, holding out a smail 
 piece of orange-peel at arm's length, exclaimed, in a growling, 
 discontented voice. 
 
 " Look here ! do you see this ! 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 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'll be content to eat my own head, sir ! " 
 
 This was the handsome offer with which Mr. Grimwig 
 backed and confirmed nearly every assertion he made ; and it 
 was the more singular in his case, because, even admitting 
 for the sake of argument, the possibility of scientific improve- 
 ments being ever brought to that pass which will enable a 
 gentleman to eat his own liead 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'll eat my head, sir," repeated Mr. Grimwig, striking his 
 stick upon the ground. " Hallo ! what's that ! " looking at 
 Oliver, and retreating a pace or two. 
 
 "This is young Oliver Twist,, whom we were speaking 
 about," said Mr. Brownlow. 
 
 Oliver bowed. 
 
 " You don't mean to say that's the boy who had the fever, 
 I hope ? " said Mr. Grimwig, recoiling a little more. " Wait 
 a minute ! Don't speak! Stop — "continued Mr. Grimwig, 
 abruptly, losing all dread of the fever in his triumph at tho 
 disepvery ; " that's the boy who had the orange ! If that's 
 not the boy, sir, who had the orange, and threw this bit of 
 peel upon the staircase, I'll eat my head, and his too." 
 
 " No, no, he has not had one," said Mr. Brownlow, laugh- 
 ing. " Come ! Put down your hat ; and speak to mv young 
 friend." 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 103 
 
 ■ "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-light. ' Don't go 
 to him,' I cal'kd out of the window, 'he's an assassin! A 
 man-trap!' So he is. If he is not " Here the iras- 
 cible old gentleman gave a great knOck on the ground with 
 his stick ; which was always understood, by his friends, to 
 imply the customary offer, whenever it was not expressed in 
 Words. Theii, still keeping his stick in his hand, he sat 
 down J and, opening a double eye-glass, which he wore at- 
 tached to a broad black riband, took a view of Oliver ; wbo, 
 seeing that he was the object of inspection, colored, and 
 bowed again. 
 
 " That's the boy, is it ? " said Mr. Grimwig, at length. 
 
 " That is the boy," replied Mr. Brownlow. 
 
 " How are you, boy ? " said Mr. Grimwig. 
 
 "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 Mr. Grimwig pettishly. 
 
 "Don't know?" 
 
 " No. I don't know. I never see any difference in boys. 
 I only know two sorts of boys. Mealy boys, and beef-faced 
 boys." 
 
 " And which is Oliver ? " 
 
 " Mealy. I know a friend who has 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 limbs 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 charac- 
 teristics of young Oliver Twist ; so he needn't excite youi 
 wrath." 
 
104 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 "They are not," replied Mr. Grimwig. "He may have 
 
 worse." . ' J 
 
 Here, Mr. Brpwnlovif coughed impatiently, which appeare4 
 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 js ,he ? He 
 has had a fever. What of, that? Fevers are not peculiar to 
 good people ; are they ? Bad people have fevers sometimes ; 
 .haven't they, eh ?■ J. know a man who was hung in Jamaica 
 for murdering his master, i He had had a fever six times ; 
 he wasn't recommended to rnercy on that account. Booh ! 
 nonsense ! " 
 
 Now, the fact was, that in the inmost recesses of his own 
 heart, Mr. Grimwig was strongly disposed to admit that 
 Oliver's appearance and manner were unusually prepossessing ; 
 but he , had strong appetite for contradiction, sharpened on 
 this occasion by the finding of the orange-peel j and, inwardly 
 detepmining tha(t no rnan shojald 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 coiild he yet return a satisfactory answer ; 
 and that he had pqstponed any investigation into Oliver's pre- 
 vious history until he thouglitthe boy was strong enough. to 
 bear it; Mr. Grimwig chuckled maliciously. And h^ de- 
 manded, wit;h 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 — and so forth. 
 
 All this, Mr. Brownlow, although; himself somewhat of an 
 impetuous gentleman : knowing his friend's peculiarities, bore 
 with great good . humor ; as Mr. Grimwig, at tea, was gra- 
 ciously pleased to express his entire approval of the inufi|ns, 
 matters went on very smoothly ; and Oliver, who made one of 
 the party, began to feel more at his ea^e thauhe had yet done 
 in the fierce ol,d gentleman's presence. 
 
 " Arjd when are you going to hear a full, true, and partic 
 ular account rof ; the -lifs and a^dventures of Oliver Twist?" 
 asked Grimwig fpf Mr, Brownlow, at. the conclysion of the 
 nieal ij 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, ^t ten o'clock, my dear." . • 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied Oliver. He answered with some hes- 
 
OLIVER TWIST, 
 
 lOS 
 
 itation, because he was confusi^d by, Mr. Grimwig's looking 
 so. hard at him. , : - ; :•> i; - :■ , ■ .,!:,aijii; " 
 
 " I'll tell you what," whispered that gentleman to Mr, 
 Br9wnlovv ; " he won't come up to you to-morrow morning. I 
 saw him. hesitate. ■ He is deceiving you, my good friend." 
 
 " I'll swear l^e is not," replied Mr. Brownlow, warmly. 
 
 "If he is not," said Mr. Grimwig, "I'll " and down 
 
 went the stick. , ; 
 
 " I'll answer for that boy's truth with my life ! " said Mr. 
 Brownlow, knocking thp table. / . 
 
 " Ajcid I for his falsehood with my .h^d,! " rejoined Mr. 
 Grimwig, knocking the table also. 
 
 "We shall- see," said Mr. Brownlow, checking his rising 
 anger. , ■ ■ 
 
 "We will," replied Mr. Grimwig, with a provoking smile; 
 "we will." , ' !■ , 
 
 ASj^te wQuid— 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 bookstall-keeper, 
 who has already figured in this history ; having laid them on 
 the table, she prepared to leave th;e room. 
 
 "Stop the boy, Mrs. Bedwin! "said Mr., Brownlow; "there 
 is something to go back." 
 
 " He has. gone, sir," replied Mrs. Bedwin. 
 ; 1 "Call after, him," said Mr. .Brownlpw ; " it's particular. 
 lie is a poor man^ and they are not paid for. There are som^ 
 books to Jtje tak^n back, too." ■ ,, ; 
 
 Tlie street door. was open. Oliver ran one way ; and, the 
 girl ran another; and ,MiS.>,Bedwin stood oa the step and 
 screamed for the boy ; but there was no boy in gight. OUver 
 and the girl returned, in a breathless state, to report that ther;e 
 were no, tidings of him. , , nui ' 
 
 " Dear me, I am very sorry for that," exclaimed Mr. 
 Brownlow ; " I particularly wished Jhosie books to be retu-rned 
 to-iiight." . ; 
 
 "Send, Oliver with i them," said Mr., Grimwig, .with an 
 ironical smile; "lie will be sure to deliver them safely, you 
 
 know." -■ . ;, ;',.;., 
 
 " Yes; do let me take them, if you please,, sir," said Oliver. 
 " I'll fun all the way, sir." 
 
 I The old gentleman was ji^st going to say that Oliver shoujd 
 not go out on any account; w^ien, a most malicious cough 
 from .Mr. Grimwig determined liim.thait he ^ould; and that. 
 
Io6 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 by his prompt discharge of the commission he should prove 
 to*him the injustice of his suspicions ; on this head at least : 
 at once. 
 
 " You j/4fl!// 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 
 Grim wig ; " you are to say that you have brought those books 
 back ; and that you havei 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 shilling change." 
 
 "I won't be ten mintues, sir," replied Oliver, eagerly. 
 Ha;ving buttoned up tile bank-note in his jacket pocket, and 
 placed the books carefully under his arm, he made a respect- 
 ful 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 understood. Having su- 
 peradded many injunctions to be sure and not take cold, the 
 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 gayly 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'll be back in twenty minutes, at the 
 longest," said Mr. Brownlow, pulling out his watch, and plac- 
 ing it on the table, " It will be dark by that time." 
 
 " Oh ! you really expect him to come back, do you ? " in- 
 quired Mr. Grimwig. 
 
 " Don't' you ? " asked Mr. Brownlow, smiling. 
 
 The spirit of contradiction was strong in Mr. Grimwig's 
 breast, at the moment ; and it was rendered stronger by his 
 friend's confident smile. 
 
 " No," he said, smiting the table with his fist, " I do not. 
 The boy has a new suit of clotlies on his back, a set of valu- 
 able books under his arm, and a five pound note in his pocket. 
 He'll join his old friends the thieves, and laugh at you. If 
 ever that boy returns to this house, sir, I'll eat my head." 
 
 With these words he drew his chair closer to the table ; 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 107 
 
 and there the two friends sat, in silent expectation, with the 
 watch between them. 
 
 It is worthy of remark, as illustrating the importance we 
 attach to our own judgments, and the pride \*ith which we 
 put forth our most rash and hasty conclusions, that, although 
 Mr. Grimwig was not by any means a bad-hearted man, and 
 though he would have 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. 
 
 It grew so dark, that the figures on the dial-plate were 
 scarcely discernible ; but there the two old gentlemen con- 
 tinued to sit, in silence, with the watch between them. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 SHOWING HOW VERY FOND OF OLIVER TWIST, THE MERRY OLD 
 JEW AND MISS NANCY WERE. 
 
 In the obscure parlor of a low public-house, 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, im- 
 pregnated with the smell of liquor, a man in a velveteen coat, 
 drab shorts, half boots and stockings, whom even by that 
 dim light no experienced agent of police would have hesitated 
 to recognize as Mr. William Sikes. At his feet, sat a white- 
 coated, red-eyed dog ; who occupied himself, 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 result 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 un- 
 offending animal to allay them,' is matter for argument aiid 
 consideration. Whatever was the cause, the effect was a kick 
 and a curse, bestowed upon the dog simultaneously. 
 
igS OtIVBR TWIST. 
 
 Dogs are not generally apt to revenge injuries inflicted 
 upon them by their masters; but Mr. Sikes's dog, having 
 faults of temper in common with his owner, and laboring, 
 perhaps, at this moment, under a powerful sense of injury, 
 made no more ado but at once fixed his teeth in one of the 
 half-boots. Having given it a liearty shake, he retired, 
 growling, under a form ; just escaping the pewter measure 
 which Mr. Sikes levelled at his head. , 
 
 " You would, would, you ? " said Sikes, seizing the pokei 
 in one hand, and deliberately opening with the other a large 
 clasp knife, which he drew from his pocket. " Come here, 
 J ou born devil ! Coine here ! D'ye hear?" 
 
 The dog r(o. doubt heard ; because Mr. Sikes spoke in the 
 very harshest key of a very harsh voice ; but, appearing to 
 entertain 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 ; who, 
 dropping on his knees, 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 stru^e 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 tKfe clasp-knife in his hands. 
 
 There must alwa5>s be two parties to a quarrel, says the 
 old adage. Mr. Sikes, being disappointed of the dog's par- 
 ticipation, at once transferred his share in the quarrel to the 
 new-comer. 
 
 "What the devil do you come in between me and my dog 
 for ? " 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 ? " 
 
 " Not a sound of it, as I'm a living man, Bill," replied the 
 Tew. 
 
 " Oh no ! You hear nothing, you don't," retorted Sikes 
 with, a fierce sneer. " Sneaking in and out, so as nobody 
 hears, how you come or go ! I wish you had been the dog, 
 F^gin, half a minute ago." 
 
 " Why,? ■' inquired the Jew with a forced smile. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 1 05 
 
 ," '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 
 a dog how he likes," replied gikes, shutting up the knife with 
 a very expressive look ; "that's, why." 
 
 The Jeyv rubbed his hands ; find,, sitting down at the table, 
 affected to laugh at the pleasantry of his friend. He was ob- 
 viously very ill. at ease, however, 
 
 " Grin away," ^aid Sikes, replacing the poker, and survey- 
 ing him with savage contempt ; " grin away. You'll 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'll 
 keep it. There ! If I go, you go ; so take care of me." . 
 
 "Well, well, ipy dear,", said the Jew, " I know all that; 
 we — ^we — have a mutual interest, Bill, — a mutugil interest" 
 
 " Humph," said Sikes, as if he thought the interest lay 
 rather more on the Jew's side than on his. " Well, wha^t have 
 you got to say to me ? " 
 
 " It's all passed safe through the melting-pot," replied 
 Fagin, " and this is your share. It's rather more than it 
 ought to be, rriy dear ; but as I know you'll do me a good 
 turn another time, and — : " 
 
 " Stow that gammon,'' interposed the robber, impatiently. 
 
 " Where is it ? 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 handkerc^f froni his breast, 
 and untying a large knot in one corner, produced, a small 
 brown-paper packet. ;§ikes, snatching it from, him, hastily 
 opened it ; and proceeded to count the sovereigns it con- 
 Mined. 
 
 "This is all, is it.' " inquired Sikes. 
 
 " All," replied the Jew. 
 
 "You havep't opened the parcel and swallpwed one or 
 two as you come along, have you ? " inquired Sikes, sus- 
 piciously. "Don't put on an injured look at the question; 
 you've done it many a time. Jerk the tinkler." 
 
 These words, in plain, English, conveyed an iivjunction to 
 ring the bell. It was answered by another Jew : younger 
 than Fagin, but. nearly as vile. and repulsive in appearance. 
 
 Bill Sikes merely pointed to tfee empty measu;:e. Th^ 
 Jew, perfectly understanding the hint, retired to fill it;: pre- 
 viously exchanging a remarkable look with Fagin, who raised 
 his eyes for an ipstant, as if in expectation of it and shook 
 
no OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 his head in reply ; so slightly that the action would have been 
 almost imperceptible to an observant 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 ob- 
 served the brief interchange of signals, he 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. , 
 
 " 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 Barney. 
 
 " Nancy ! " exclaimed S.ikes. " Where ? Strike me blind, 
 if I don't honor that 'ere girl, for her native talents." 
 
 " 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, ushering in Nancy ; who 
 was decorated with<j|fae bonnet, apron, basket, and street-door 
 key, complete. 
 
 " You are on the scent, are you, Nancy ? " inquired Sikes, 
 proffering the glass. 
 
 " Yes, I am, Bill," replied the youiig 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 — " 
 
 " Ay, Nancy, dear ! " said Fagin, looking up. 
 
 Now, whether a peculiar contraction of the Jew's red eye- 
 brdws, 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 minutes' time, 
 Mr. Fagin was seized with a fit of coughing ; • upon which 
 Nancy pulled her shawl over her shoulders, and declared it 
 was time to go. Mr. Sikes, finding that he was walking a 
 
OLIVER TWIST. l,X 
 
 short part of her way himself, expressed his intention of ac- 
 companying her ; they went away together, followed, at a Httle 
 distance, by the dog, who slunli 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 it ; looked after him as he walked up the dark pas- 
 sage ; shook his clenched fist ; muttered a deep curse ; and 
 then, with a horrible grin, re-seated himself at the table ; 
 where he was soon deeply absorbed in the interesting pages 
 of the Hue-aiid-Cry. 
 
 Meanwhile, Oliver Twist, little dreaming that he was within 
 so very short a distance of the merry old gentleman, was on his 
 way to the book-stall. When he got into Clerkenwell, he ac- 
 cidentally turned down a by-street which was not exactly in his 
 way; but not discovering his mistake until 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 con- 
 tented he ought to feel ; and how much he would give for 
 only one look at poor little Dick, who, starved and beaten, 
 might be weeping bitterly at that very moment ; 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 ? What are you stopping me for ? " 
 
 The only reply to this, was a great number of loud lamen^ 
 tations from the young woman who had embraced him ■, and 
 who had a little basket and a street-door key in her hand. 
 
 " Oh my gracious ! " said the young woman, " I've found 
 him ! Oh ! Oliver ! Oliver ! Oh you naughty boy, to make 
 me suffer sich distress on your account! Come home, dear, 
 come. Oh, I've found him. Thank gracious goodness hea- 
 vins, 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, whether he didn't 
 think he had better run for the doctor. To which, the 
 butcher's boy : who appeared of a lounging, not t0 say indo- 
 lent disposition : replied, that he thought mot. 
 
H3 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 "Oh, no, no, never mind," said the young woman, grasp 
 ing Oliver's band ; " I'm better now. Come home directly, 
 you cruel boy ! Come ! " 
 
 " What's the matter, ma'am ? " inquired one of the women. 
 
 " Oh,, ma'am,": replied the young woman, " he ran away, 
 nnar a month ago, from his parents, who are hard-working 
 and respectable people ; and went and joined a set of thieves 
 ind bad characters ; and almost feroke his mother's heart;" 
 
 " Young wretch ! " said one woman. 
 
 "Go home, do, you little brute," said the Other. 
 
 "I am not," replied Oliver, greatly alarmed. " I don't 
 know her. I haven't any sister, or father and mother either. 
 I'm an orphan; I live at Pentonville." 
 
 "Only hear him, how he braves it out ! " cried the young 
 woman. 
 
 " Why, it's Nancy ! " exclainaed Oliver ; who now saw her 
 face for the first time ; and started back, in irrepressible as- 
 ionishment. 
 
 " You see he knows me ! "' cried Nancy, appealing to the 
 bystanders. " He can't help himself. Make him comfe home, 
 there's good people, or he'll kill his dear mother and father, 
 and break my heart ! " 
 
 " What the devil's this "i " 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 1 Come 
 home directly." 
 
 " I don't belong to them. I don't know them. Help ! 
 help ! " cried Oliver, struggling in the man's powerful grasp. 
 
 " Help ! " repeated Ihe man. " Yes ; I'll help you, you 
 young rascal ! " . What books are these ? You've been a 
 stealing 'em, have you ? Give 'em here." With these words, 
 the man tore the volumes from his grasp, and struck him on 
 fhe head. 
 
 " That's right 1 " cried a looker-on, from a garret-window. 
 "That's tlie only way of bringing him to his senses ! " 
 
 " To be sure ! " cried a sleepy-faced carpenter, casting an 
 approving look at the garret-window. 
 
 "It'll do him good ! " said the two women. 
 
 " And he shall have it, too ! " rejoined the man, adminis-" 
 taring another, blow, and seizing Oliver by the collar. " Come 
 Oil, you young villain ! Here, Bull's-eye, mind him, boy ! 
 Mind him |!" 
 
 Weak with recent illness ; stupefied by the blows and the 
 
OLIVER tV^/ST. ir^ 
 
 suddenness of the attack ; terrified by the fierce growling of 
 the dog, and the brutality of the man '; overpowered by the 
 conviction of the bystanders that he really was the hardened 
 little wretch he was described to be ; ivhat could one poor 
 child do ! Darkness had set in ; it was a low neighborhood ,• 
 no help was near ; resistance was useless. In another mo- 
 mentj hfe'was dragged into a labyrinth of dark narrow courts, 
 aind was forced along them at a pace which rendered the few 
 cries he dared to give utterance to, unintelligible. It was of 
 little moment, indeed, whether they were intelligible or no ; 
 for. there was nobody to care for them, had they 'b^6ri ever so 
 plain. / 
 
 * * * *. '^.f 
 
 The gas-lamps were lighted ; Mrs. Bed-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 
 parlor, with the watch between them. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 RELATES WHAT BECAME Ot OLIVER TWIST, AFTER HE HAD 
 BEEN CLAIMED BY NANCY. 
 
 The narrow streets and courts, at length, terminated. in a 
 Ikfge open space ; scattered about which, were peins for beasts, 
 and other indications of a cattle-market. Sikes slackened his 
 pace when they reached this spot; the girl being quite Unable 
 to support any longer, the rapid rate at which they had hith- 
 erto walked. Turning td Oliver, he roughly coinmanded hiro. 
 to take hold p.f Nancy's hand. 
 
 " Do you hear ? " growled Sikes, as Oliver hesitated, and 
 looked round. 
 
 They were in a dark comer, quite out of the track of pas- 
 sengers. Oli'v^er 'sawy but too plainly, that resistance would 
 be' of no avail. He held out his hand, which Nancy clasped 
 tight in Jiers. 
 
 '-'" Give me the other," said Sikes, sei^ng Oliver's unocqu- 
 oiedhand. " Here, Bull's-eye 1" ' ; 
 
 The dog looked up and growled. 
 
,1^ OLIVER rivisr. 
 
 " See here, boy ? " said Sikes, putting his other hand to 
 Oliver's throat ; " if he speaks ever so soft a word,- hold him ' 
 D'ye mind ! " 
 
 The dog grpwled again ; and licking his lips, eyed Olivei 
 as if he were anxious to attach himself to his windpipe with- 
 out delay. 
 
 " He'^ as willing as a Christian, strike me blind if he 
 isn't ! " said Sikes, regarding the animal with a kind of grim 
 and ferocious approval. " Now, you know what you've; got 
 to expect, master, so call away as quick as you like; the dog 
 will soon stpp that game,. Get on, young 'un ! " 
 
 Bull's-eye wagged his tail in acknowledgment of this, un- 
 usually endearing form of speech ; and, giving vent to another 
 admonitory growl for the benefit of Oliver, led the way on- 
 ward. 
 
 It was Smithfield that they were crossing, although it 
 might have been Grosvenor Square, for anything Oliver knew 
 to the contrary. The night was dark and foggy. The lights 
 in the shops could scarcely struggle 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 it, can't 
 I ? " replied Sikes. 
 
 " I wonder whether they can hear it," said Nancy. 
 
 " Of course they can," replied Sikes. " It was Bartlemy 
 time when I was shopped ; and there wam't a penny trumpet 
 in the fair, as t couldn't hear the squeaking on. Arter I was 
 locked up for the night, the row and din outside made the 
 thundering 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." 
 
OLIVER TWIST. nj 
 
 With this consolation,, Mr. Sikes appeared 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, it 
 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 ? " inquired the unsenti- 
 mental Mr. Sikes. " Unless you could pitch over a file a.nd 
 twenty yards of good stout rope, you might as well be walking 
 fifty mile off, or not walking at all, for all the good it would 
 do me. Come on, and don't stand 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- 
 lampt saw that it had turned a deadly white. 
 : , .They walked on, by little-frequented and dirty ways, for a 
 fullrh^lf'hour : meeting very few people, and those appearing 
 from their looks to hold much the same position in society as 
 Mr. Sikes himself. At length they turned into a vejry filthy 
 narrow street, nearly full of old-clothes shops ; the dog run- 
 ning forward, as if conscious that there was no further occa- 
 sion for his keeping on guard, stopped before the door of a shop 
 that was closed and apparently untenanted ; the house was 
 in a ruinous condition, and on the door was nailed a board, 
 intimating that it was to let : which looked as if it had hung 
 there for many years. 
 
 " All right," cried Sikes, glancing cautiously 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 mornents under a lamp. A noise, 
 as if. a sash window were gently raised, was heard ; and soon 
 afterwards the door softty opened. Mr. Sikes then seized 
 the terrified boy by the collar with very little ceremony ; and 
 all three were quickly inside the house. 
 
 The passage was perfectly dark. They waited, while the 
 person who had let them in, chained and barred the door. 
 
 " Anybody here ? " 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 precious down in the 
 
ji5 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 mouth hfe has been. Won't he be glad to see you ? Oh, 
 no!" 
 
 The style of this reply, as well as the voice which delivered 
 it, s^enied familiar to Oliver's ears : but it was irapossibte 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 treading on the dog. Look after your kgfS 
 if you do ! " 
 
 " Stand still a moment, and I'll get you one," replied the 
 voice. The receding footsteps of the speaker were heard ; 
 and, in another minute, the form of Mr. John Dawkins, other- 
 wise the artful Dodger, appeared. He bore 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 open- 
 ing the door of a low earthy-smelling room, which seemed 
 to have been built in a small back-yard, were received with a 
 shout of laughter. 
 
 " 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, Fagiii, look at him ! FSgin, 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 live min- 
 utes, inan ecsta.sy of facetious joy. Thenjumpingtohis feet,he 
 snatched the cleft stick from the Dodger ; and, advancing to 
 Oliver, viewed him round arid round ; while the Jew, talking 
 off his nightcap, made a great number of low bows to the be- 
 wildered boy. The Artful, meantime, who was of a rather 
 saturnine disposition, and seldom gave way to merriment when 
 it interfered with business, rifled Oliver's pockets with steady 
 assiduity. 
 
 " Look at his togs, Fagin ! " said Charley, putting the light 
 so -close to his 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 Mnbther suit, my dear, for fear ytJu should spoil that 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 "? 
 
 Sunday one. Why didn't you write, my dear, and say you 
 were coining ? 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 instant, it is 
 doubtful whether the sally or the discovery awakened his merri- 
 ment. 
 
 " Hallo ! what's that ? " 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 shallhave the books." 
 
 " If that ain't mine ! " said Bill Sikes, putting on his hat 
 with a determined air ; " mine and Nancy's, that is ; I'll take 
 the boy back again." 
 
 The Jew started. Oliver started too, though from a very 
 different cause ; for he hoped that the dispute might really 
 end in his being taken back. 
 
 " Come ! Hand over, will you ? " said Sikes. 
 
 "This is hardly fair, Bill; hardly fair, is it, Nancy?" in- 
 quired the Jew. 
 
 " Fair, or not fair," retorted Sikes, " hand 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 ? Give it here, 
 you avaricious old skeleton, give it here ! " 
 
 With this gentle rertionstrance, 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, neither. You may keep the books, if you're 
 fond of reading. If you a'n't, sell 'em." 
 
 "They're very pretty," said Charley Bates: who, with 
 sundry grimaces, had been affecting to read one of the vol- 
 umes in question : " beautiful writing, isn't it, Oliver ? " 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 ecstasy, more boisterous than 
 the first. 
 
 " They belong to the old gentleman," said Oliver, wringins 
 
 his hands ; " to the good, kitid 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 
 
 G 
 
Ii8 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 books and money. Keep me here all my life Iptig.; bujt pray, 
 pray send them back. He'll think I stole them : titie old lady : 
 all of them who were so kind to me : will think I stole them. 
 Oh, do have mercy upon me, and send them back ! " 
 
 With those 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 perfect desperation. 
 
 " The boy's right," remarked Fagin, looking covertly 
 round, and knitting his shaggy eyebrows into a hard knot. 
 " You're riglit, 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 
 under his arm. It's all right enough. They're soft-hearted 
 psalm-singers, or they wouldn't have taken him in at all ; and 
 they'll ask no questions after 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, while these words 
 were being spoken, as if he were bewildered, and could scarcely 
 understand what passed ; but when BUI Sikes concluded, he 
 jumped suddenly to his feet, and tore wildly from the room : 
 uttering shrieks for help, which made the bare old house echo 
 to the roof. 
 
 "Keep back tlie dog. Bill ! " cried Nancy, si^inging before 
 the door, and closing it, as the Jew and his two pupils darted 
 out in pursuit. " Keep back the dog; he'll te^r the boy to 
 pieces," 
 
 " Serve him right ! " cried Sikes, struggling to disengage 
 himself from the giri's grasp. " Stand off from me, or I'll split 
 your head againsit the wall." 
 
 " I don't care for that. Bill, I don't care forthat," 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. " I'll scon do 
 that, i£ you don't keep off." 
 
 The housebreaker flung the giri 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 Fagin, 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." 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 119 
 
 " Then keep quiet, will you ? " said the Jew, with a threat- 
 ening look. 
 
 "No, I won't do that, neither," replied Nancy, speaking 
 very loud. " Come ! What do you think of that t " 
 
 Mr. Fagin was sufficiently well acquainted with the manners 
 and customs of that particular species of humanity to whjch 
 Nancy belonged, to feel tolerably certain that it would be 
 rather unsafe to prolong any conversation with her, at present. 
 With the view of diverting tlie 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 fireplace ; "eh?" 
 
 Oliver made no reply. But he yfatched the Jew's motions^ 
 and breathed quickly. 
 
 " A^aiited to get assistance ; called for the police ; did yoH ? " 
 sneered the Jew, catching the boy by the arm. "We'll cure 
 you of that, my young master." 
 
 The Jew inflicted a smart blow on Oliver's shoulders with 
 the club ; and was raising it for a second, when the girl, rush- 
 ing forward, wrested it from his hand, She 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, Fagin," cried the girl. 
 " You've got the bpy, and what more would you have ? — Let 
 him be — let him be — or I shall put that 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, looked alternately at the Jew and the other 
 robber : her face quite colorless 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 another 
 in a disconcerted manner / " you — you're more clever than, 
 ever to-night. Ha ! ha ! my dear, you are acting beautifully." 
 
 " Am I ! " said the girl. " Take care I don't overdo it. 
 You will be the worse for it, Fagin, if I do j and so I tell yru 
 in good time to keep clear of me." 
 
 There is something about a roused woman : , especially il 
 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 
 
I20 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 mistake regarding the reality of Miss Nancy's rage.; and, 
 shrinking involuntarily 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 influence interested in the immediate 
 reduction of Miss Nancy to reason ; gave utterance to about 
 a couple of score of curses and threats, the rapid production 
 of which reflected great credit on the fertility of his invention. 
 As they produced no visible effect on the object against whom 
 they were discharged, however, he resorted to more tangiJDle 
 arguments. 
 
 " What do you mean by this ? " 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 that it is Uttered 
 below, would render blindness as common a disorder as 
 measles : " what do you mean by it ? Bum my body ! Do 
 you know who you are, and what you are ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, I know all about it," replied the girl, laughing 
 hysterically ; and shaking 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 accustomed to use when addressing his dog, " or 
 I'll quiet you for a good long time to come." 
 
 The girl laiughed again : even less composedly 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 hei 
 with a contemptuous air, " to take up the humane and gen — 
 teel 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 passion- 
 ately ; " and I wish I had been struck dead in the street, or 
 had changed places with them we passed so near to-night, be- 
 fore I had lent a hand in bringing him here. He's a thief, a 
 liar, a devil, all that's bad, from this night forth. Isn't that 
 enough for the old wretch, without blows ? " 
 
 " Come, come, Sikes," said the Jew, appealing 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 giri, whose passion was frightful 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 12 1 
 
 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 in the same service, for twelve years since. Don't 
 you know it ? Speak out ! Don't you know it ? " 
 
 " Well, well," replied the Jew, with an attempt at pacifica- 
 tion ; " and if you have, it's your living ! " 
 
 " Ay, it is!" returned the girl; not speaking, but pour- 
 ing 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'll 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, tearing her hair and dress 
 in a transport of passion, made such a rush at the Jew as 
 would probably have left signal rriairks of her revenge upon 
 him, had not her wrists been seized by Sikes at the right mo- 
 ment ; upon which, she made a few ineffectual struggles, andr 
 fainted. ' 
 
 "She's all right now," said Sikes, laying her down in a 
 corner. " She's, uncommon strong in the arms, when she's 
 up in this way." 
 
 The Jew wiped his forehead : and smiled, as if it were a re- 
 lief to have the disturbance over ; but neither he, nor Sikes, 
 nor the dog, nor the boys, seemed to consider it in any other 
 light than a common occurrence incidental to business. 
 
 " It's the worst of having to do with women," said the Jew, 
 replacing his club ; ." but they're clever, and we can't get on, in 
 our line, without 'em. Charley, show Oliver to bed." 
 
 " I suppose hei'd better not wear his best clothes to-morrow, 
 Fagin, had he ? " inquired Charley Bates. 
 
 " Certainly hot," replied the Jew, reciprocating the grin 
 with which Charley put the question. 
 
 Master Bates, apparently much delighted vvith his commis- 
 sion, took the cleft 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 clothe^ 
 which Oliver had so much congratulated himself upon leaving] 
 ofE at Mr, Brownlow's ; and the accidental display of whichJ 
 
122 OLIVER TWI&T. 
 
 to Fagin, by the Jew who purchased them, had been the very 
 'ijfirst clue received of his whereabout. 
 
 " Pull off the smart ones," said Charley, " and I'll give 'em 
 to Fagin to take care of. What fun it is ! " 
 
 Poor Oliver unwillingly complied. Master Bates rolling 
 up the new clothes under his arm, departed from the 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, 
 and perform other feminine offices for the promotion of her 
 recovery, might have kept many people awake under more 
 happy circumstances than those in which Oliver was placed. 
 But he was sick and weary ; and he soon fell sound asleep. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 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 murderoTis mel- 
 odramas, to present the tragic and the comic scenes, in as 
 regular alternation, as the layers of red and white in a side 
 of streaky bacon. The hero sinks upon his straw bed, weighed 
 down by fetters and misfortunes ; in the next scene, his faith- 
 ful but unconscious squire regales the audience 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, drawing forth her dagger to preserve the one 
 at the cost of the other; and just as our expectations are 
 wrought up to the highest pitch, a whistle is heard;' and we 
 are straightway transported to the great hall of the castle: 
 where a gray-head6d 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 perpetually. 
 
 , Such changes appear absurd ; but they are not so urmat- 
 jural as they would seem at first sight. The transitions in real 
 I life, from well-spread boards to death-beds, and from mourn- 
 'ing-weeds to holiday garments, are not a whit less startling ; 
 only, there, we are busy actors, instead of passive lookers-on. 
 
OLIVER TiVlif. 123 
 
 which jnakes a vast difference. The actors in the mjmic life 
 of the theatre, are blind to violent transitions and abrupt im- 
 pulses bf passion or feeling, which, presented before the eyes 
 of mere spectators, are at once condemned as outrageous and 
 preposterous. 
 
 As sudden shif tings of the scene, and rapid changes of 
 time and space, are not oiily sanctioned in books by long 
 usage, but are by many considered as the great art of atithor- 
 ship : an author's skill in his Craft being, by such critics, / 
 chiefly estimated with relation to the dilemmas in wfiich he/ 
 leaves his characters at the end of every chapter : this brief 
 introduction to the present one rnay perhaps be ;defemed un- 
 necessary. If so, let it be considered a delicate intimaJ;ion 
 on the part of the historian that he is going back to the town 
 in which Oliver Twist was born ; the reader taking it for 
 granted that there are good and substantial reasons for jrnak- 
 ing, the journey, or he would not be invited to proceed upon 
 such an expedition. 
 
 Mr. Bumible emerged at early morning from the work- 
 house-gate, and walked with portly carriage and, commanding 
 steps, up the High Streiet. He was in the full bloom and 
 pride of beadlehood ; his cocked hat and coat were dazzling 
 in the morning suri ; he clutched his ca,ne with the vigorous 
 tenacity of health and power. Mr. Bumble always carried his 
 head high ; but this rnprning if was higher than usual. There 
 was an abstraction in liis; eye, an, elevation in his air, ,wliich 
 might have warned an observant stranger that thoughts were 
 passing in the beadle's mind, too great for utterance.. 
 
 Mr. Bumble stopped not to converge with the small shop- 
 keepers and others who spoke to hirn deferentially, as he 
 passed along. He merely returned their salutations with a 
 wave of his hand, and relaxed not in his dignified pace, until 
 he reached the farm where Mrs. Mann tended the infant, pau- 
 pers with parochial care. 
 
 "Drat that beadle !" said Mrs. Mann, hearing the well- 
 knowh shaking at the garden-gate. " If it isn't him at this 
 time in the morning! Lauk, Mr, JBumble, only think of its 
 bfeihg you' ! Well, dear me, it is a pleasure, this is ! Come 
 into the parlor, sir, please." 
 
 The first sentence was addressed to Susaji ; and the ex- , 
 clarnatrons" of delight were uttered to Mr. Bumble : as, the 
 godd lady unlocked the garden , gate : and ^hpwed him,, with 
 great attention and respect, into' the hoiisei 
 
,24 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " 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 beadle. " A porochial 
 life is not a bed of roses, Mrs. Mann." 
 
 " Ah, that it isn't indeed, Mr. Bumble," rejoined the lady. 
 
 And all the infant paupers might have chorused the re- 
 joinder with great propriety, if they had heard it. 
 
 " A porochial life, ma'am," continued Mr. Bumble, strik- 
 ing the table with his cane, " is a life of worrit, 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 of the public character ; who, re- 
 pressing a cottlplacent smile by looking sternly at his cocked 
 hat, said, 
 
 " Mrs. Mann, I am a going to London." 
 
 " Lauk, Mr. Bumble ! " cried 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 
 quarter-sessions at Clerkinwell. And I very much question," 
 added Mr. Bumble, drawing himself up, " whether the Clerk- 
 inwell Sessions will not find themselves in the wrong box be- 
 fore they have done with me." 
 
 " Oh, you nnustn't be too hard upon them, sir,'' said Mrs. 
 Mann coaxingly. 
 
 "The Clerkinwell Sessions have brought it upon them- 
 selves, ma'am," replied Mr. Bumble ; " and if the Clerkinwell 
 Sessions find that they come off rather worse than they ex- 
 pected, 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, 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 125 
 
 " You're gcnng by coach, sir ? I thought it was always 
 usual to seiid them paupers in carts." 
 
 " That's when they're ill, Mrs. Mann," said the beadle. 
 " We put the sick paupers into open carts in the rainy weather, 
 to prevent their taking cold." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Mrs. Marin. 
 
 "The opposition coach contiracts 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 theyjf 
 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." 
 
 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 acknowledgment 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, wicious, bad-disposed porochial 
 child that," said Mr. Bumble angrily. " Where is he ? " 
 
 " I'll bring him to you in one minute, sir," replied Mrs. 
 Mann. " Here, you Dick! " 
 
 After some calling, Dick was discovered. Having bad 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, thfe. livery 
 of his misery, hung loosely on his feeble body ; and his young 
 limbs had wasted away, like those of an old man. 
 
 Such was the little being who stood trembling beneath Mr. 
 Bumble's glance ; not d-aring to lift his eyes from the floor ; 
 and dreading even to hear the beadle's voice. 
 
J 26 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 "Can't you look at the gentleman, you obstinate boy?" 
 said Mrs. Mann. 
 
 The child meekly raised his eyes, and encountered those 
 of Mr. Bumble. 
 
 " What's the matter with you, porochial Dick J " inquired 
 Mr. Bumble, with well-timed jocularity. 
 " Nothing, sii-," replied the child faintly. 
 " I should think not," said Mrs. Mann, who had of course 
 laughed very much at Mr. Bumble's humor. " You want for 
 nothing, I'm sure." 
 
 " I should like — " faltered the child. 
 
 " Heyday ! " interposed Mrs. Mann, " I suppose you're 
 going to say that you do want for something, now ? 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 puf a few words down for me on a piece of paper, 
 and fold it up and seal it, and keep it for jne^ after I am laid 
 in the ground." 
 
 " Why, what does the boy mean ? " exclaimed Mr. Bumble, 
 on whom the earnest manner and waii aspect of the child had 
 made some impression : accnstomed 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 wandering about in the 
 ' dark nights with nobody to help him. And I should like to 
 tell him," said the child, pressing his small hands together, 
 and speaking with great fervor, " that I was glad to die when 
 I was very young ; for, perhaps, if I had lived to be a man, 
 and had gfown old, my little sister who is in Heaven, might 
 forget 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 astonishment ; and, turning to his com- 
 panion, said, "They're all in one story,. MrS. Mann. That 
 out-dacious Oliver has demogalized them all ! " 
 
 "- 1 couldh't have believed it, sir ! " said Mrs. Mann, 
 I holding up her hands, and looking malignantly at Dick. " I 
 1 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." ' 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 127 
 
 " I ^ hope the gentlemen will understand that it isn't ihy^ 
 fault, sir ? " said Mrs. Mann, whimpering pathetically. 
 
 , " They shall understand that, ma'an;i j they shall be ac 
 quainted with the true state of the case," said Mr. Bumble. 
 " There; take him away, I can't bear the sight on him." / 
 Dick was immediately taken away, and locked up in the 
 coal-cellar. Mr. Bumble shortly afterwards took himself off, 
 to prepare for his journey. 
 
 At six o'clock next morning, Mr. Bumble, having ex- 
 changed 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, accompanied by the criminals 
 whose settlement was disputed ; with whom, in due course of 
 time, he arrived in London. He experienced no other crosses 
 on the way than those which originated in the perverse,! 
 behavior of the two paupers, who persisted in shivering, and 
 Gojnplaining of the cold, in a manner which, Mr. Bumble de- 
 clared, caused his teeth to chatter in his head, and made him 
 feel quite uncomfortable ; altjbjough^ he had a great-coat on. 
 
 Having disposed of these, .evil-tflinded persons for the 
 night, Mr. Bumble ,sat hiniself down in the house at which the 
 coach stopped ; and took a temperate dinner of steaks, oyster 
 sauce, and porter. Putting a glass of hot gin-and-water on 
 the :chimney-piece, he drew his chair to the, fire; and, with 
 sundry moral reflections on the too-prevalent sin of discontent 
 and complaining, composed himself to read the paper. 
 
 The very first paragraph upon which Mr. Bumble's eye 
 rested, was the following advertisement. 
 
 FIVE GUINEAS REWARD. 
 
 " Whereas a young boy, named Oliver Twist, absconded, 
 or was enticed, on Thursday evening last, from his home, at 
 P«ntonville ; and has not sirice been heard of. , The above 
 reward will be paid to any person who will give such 
 information as will lead to the discovery of the said Oliver 
 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 : \^ith the name and 
 address of Mr. Brawnlpw at full length. 
 
 Mr. Bumble opened . his eyes ; read the advertisement, 
 slowly and carefully, three several times ; and in something 
 
128 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 more than five minutes was on his way to Pentonville : having 
 actually, in his excitement, left the glass of hot gin-and-water, 
 untasted. 
 
 " 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 Olivei^s name, in explanation 
 of his errand, than Mrs. Bedwin, who had been listening at 
 the parlor door, hastened into the passage in a breathless state. 
 
 " Come in, come in," said the old lady : " I knew we should 
 hear of him. Poor 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 parlor again ; and seating herself on a sofa, burst into 
 tears. The girl, who was not quite so susceptible, had run 
 up stairs meanwhile ; and now returned with a request that 
 Mr. Bumble would follow her immediatiely : which he did. 
 
 He was shown into the little back study, where sat Mr. 
 Brownlow and his friend Mr. Grimwig, with decanters and 
 glasses before them. The latter gentlenian at once burst into 
 the exclamation : 
 
 " A beadle ! A parish beadle, or I'll eat my head." 
 
 "Pray don't interrupt just now," said Mr. Brownlow. 
 " Take a seat, will you ? " 
 
 Mr. Bumble sat himself down, quite confounded by the 
 oddity of Mr. Grimwig'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 ? " 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. A beadle all over ! " 
 
 Mr. Brownlow gently shook his head to impose silence on 
 his friend, and resumed : 
 
 " Do you know where this poor boy is now ? " 
 
 " No more than nobody," replied Mr Bumble. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 129 
 
 " Well, what do you know of. him ? " inquired the old gen- 
 tleman. " Speak out, my friend, if you have anything to say. 
 What do you know of him .' " 
 
 " You don't happen to know any good of him, do you ? " 
 said Mr. Grimwig, caustically ; after an attentive perusal of 
 Mr. Bumble's features. 
 
 Mr. Bumble, catching at the inquiry very quickly, shook 
 his head with portentous solemnity. 
 
 "You see ?" said ,: Mr. Grimivig, looking triumphantly at 
 Mr. Brownlow. 
 
 Mr. Brownlow looked apprehensively at Mr. Bumble's 
 pursed-up countenance; and requested him to communicate 
 what he knew regarding Oliver, in as few words as possible. 
 
 Mr. Bumble put down his hat ; unbuttoned his coat ; 
 folded his arms ; inclined his head in a retrospective manner ; 
 and, after a few moments' reflection,, commenced his story. 
 
 It would be tedious if given, in the beadle's words : occu- 
 pying, 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. That he had, from his birth, 
 displayed no better qualities than treachery, ingratitude, and 
 malice. That he had .terminated his brief career in the place 
 of his birth, by making a sanguinary and cowardly attack on 
 an unoffending lad, and running away in the night-time from 
 his master'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. Folding his arms again, he 
 then awaited Mr. Brownlow's observations. \ 
 
 " I fear it is all too true," said the old gentlemari sorrow- 
 fully, after looking over the papers. "This is not much for 
 your tintelligence ; but I would gla,dly have given • you treble 
 the money, if it had been favorable to the boy," 
 
 It is not improbable that if Mr. BumlDle had been possessed 
 of this information at an earlier period of the interview, he 
 might have imparted a very different coloring to his little his- 
 tory. 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 houses 
 keeper appeared; " that boy, Oliver, is an impostor." 
 
J30 dLlVnR TWIST. 
 
 " It can't be, sir. It cahfiot be," Said the old lady ener- 
 getically. 
 
 " I tell you he is," retorted the old gentleman. " What 
 do you meaii by can't be ? We have just heard a full account 
 of him from his birth ; and he has been a thorough-paced 
 little villain, all his life." 
 
 " I never will believe it, sir," replied the old lady, firmly. 
 "Never!" 
 
 " You old women never believe anything but quack-doctors, 
 and lying story-books," growled Mr. Grimwig. " I knew it 
 all along. Why didn't you take my advice in the beginning ; 
 you would, if he hadri't had a fever, I suppose, eh ? He was 
 interesting, wasn't he ? Interesting! Bah!" And Mr. Grim- 
 wig poked the fire with a flourish. 
 
 " He was a dear, gratefiil, 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. 
 As it extorted nothing from that gentleman but a smile, the 
 old lady tossed her head, and smoothed down her apron pre- 
 paratory to another speech, when she was stopped by Mr. 
 Brownlow, 
 
 " Silence ! " said the old gentleman, feigning an anger he 
 was far from feeling. "Never let me hear the boy's name 
 again. I rang to tell you that. Never. Never, on any pre- 
 tence, mind ! You may leave the room, Mrs. Bedwin. Re- 
 member ! I am in earnest." 
 
 There were sad hearts at Mr. Brownlovs^'s that night. 
 
 Oliver's heart sank within him, when he thought of his 
 good' kind friends ; it was well for him that he could not 
 know what they had heard, or it might have broken outright. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 HOW OLIVER PASSED HIS TIME IN THE IMPROVING SOCIETY OF 
 HIS REPUTABLE FRIENDS. 
 
 ABOtrt noon next day, when the Dodger and Master Bates 
 had gone Out to pursue their customary avdcStions, Mr. Fagin 
 took the Opportunity of reading Oliver a long lecture on the 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 131 
 
 crying sin of ingratitude : of which he clearly demonstrated 
 he had been guilty, to no ordinary extent, in wilfully absent- 
 ing himself from the society of his anxious friends ; and, still 
 more, in endeavoring 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 he related the dismal and 
 affecting history of a yoiing lad whom, :in his philanthropy, he 
 had Succored under parallel circumstances, but who, proving 
 unworthy of his confidence and evincing a desire to communi- 
 cate with the police, had unfortunately come to be hanged at 
 the Old Bailey one morning. Mr. Fagin did not seek to con- 
 ceal his share in the catastrophe, btit lamented with tears in 
 his eyes that the wrong-headed and treacherous behavior of 
 the young person in question, had rendered it necessary that 
 he should becojne the victim of certain evidence for the crown : 
 which, if it were not precisely tnie^was indispensably neces- 
 sary 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 manner, expressed his • anxious hopes that 
 he might never be Obliged to submit Oliver Twist to that un- 
 pleasant operation. 
 
 Little Oliver's blood ran cold, as he listened to the Jew's 
 words, and imperfectly comprehended the dark -threats con- 
 veyed in them. That it' was possible even for justice itself td 
 confound the innocent with the guilty when they were in icci-t 
 dental companionship, he knew already ; and that deeply^laidj 
 plans for the destruction of inconveniently knowing or over- 
 communicatiyepersons, had "been really devised and carried 
 out bylhe old J ew on more occasions than one, he thought by 
 no means_un|ikely, when he recollected the general nature of 
 the altercations between that gentleman andMr. Sikes : which 
 seemed to bear reference to some foregone conspiracy of the 
 kind. As he glanced timidly up, and Inet the Jew's searching 
 look, he felt that his pale face and trembling limbs were 
 neitiier unnoticed nor unrelished by that wary old gentleman. 
 
 The Jew, smiling hideously, patted Oliver on the head, and 
 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 with an old patched great- 
 co'at, he went out; and locked the room-door behind him. 
 
132 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 And so Oliver remained all that day, and for the greater 
 part of many subsequent days, seeing nobody, between early 
 morning and midnight, and left during the long hours to com- 
 mune with his own thoughts. Which, never failjng to revert 
 to his kind friends, and the opinion they must long ago have 
 formed of him, were sad indeed. 
 
 After the lapse of a week or so, the Jew left the roorn-door 
 unlocked : and he was at liberty to wander about the house. 
 
 It was a very dirty place. The rooms up stairs had great 
 high wooden chimney-pieces and large doors, with panelled 
 walls and cornices to the ceilings ; which, although they were 
 black with neglect and dust, were ornamented in various ways. 
 From all of these tokens Oliver concluded that . a long time 
 ago, before the old Jew was born, it had belonged to better 
 people, and had perhaps been quite gay and handsome : dis- 
 mal 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 
 would remain there, listening and counting the hours, until the 
 Jew or the boys returned. 
 
 In all the rooms, the mouldering shutters were fast closed : 
 the bars which held them were screwed tight into the wood ; 
 the only light which was admitted, stealing its way through 
 round holes at the top : which made the rooms more gloomy, 
 and filled them with strange shadows. There was a back- 
 garret window with rusty bars outside, which had no shutter ; 
 and out of this, 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 chim- 
 neys, and gable-ends. Sometimes, indeed^ a 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 nailed 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 lived inside the ball of St. Paul's 
 Cathedral. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 133 
 
 One afternoon, the Dodger and Master Bates being en- 
 gaged out that evening, the first-named young gentleman took 
 it into his head to evince some anxiety regarding the decora- 
 tion of his person (to do him justice, this was by no means an 
 habitual weakness with Jiim) ; and, with this end and aim, he 
 condescendingly cpmmanded Oliver to assist him in his toilet, 
 straightway. 
 
 Oliver -^as but too glad to make himself useful ; too happy 
 to have some faces, however bad, to look upon ; too desirous 
 to conciliate . those about him when he could hpnestl y do so :^^ 
 to throw any objection in the way of this proposal. So he atr» 
 once expressed his readiness ; and, kneeling on the floor, .^ 
 while the Dodger, sat upon the table so that he could take his ,/ 
 feot in his lap, he applied himself to a process which Mr. Daw- \ 
 k*ns, designated as "japanning his trotter-cases." The phrase, .^ 
 rendered into plain English, signifieth, cleaning his boots. ' . 
 
 Whether it was the sense of freedom and independence / 
 which a rational animal 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 resflec- 
 tions ; or whether it was the goodness of the tobacco that 
 soothed the feelings 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 
 \o his general nature. He looked down on Oliver, with a 
 thoughtful countenance, for a brief space ; and then, raising 
 Ws head, and heaving a gentle sigh, said, half in abstraction, 
 md 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. They both smoked, for some seconds, in 
 silence. 
 
 " I suppose you don't even know what a prig is ? " said 
 the Dodger mournfully. 
 
 "I think I know that," replied Oliver, looking up. "It's 
 a th — ; you're one, are you not ? " inquired Oliver, checking 
 himself. 
 
 " I am," replied the Dodger. " I'd scorn to be anything 
 else." Mr. Dawkins gave his hat a ferocious cock, after de- 
 
124 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 liveritig this sentiment, and looked at Mr. Bates as if to de 
 note that he would feel obliged by- his saying anything to the 
 contra;ry. 
 
 "I am," repeated the Dodder.' " So'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 bne of the lot ! " 
 
 •' And the least given to peaching," added Charley Bates. 
 
 " lie woiildn't so much as bark in a witness-box, for fear 
 of committing himself ; no, not if you tied him up in one, and 
 left him ' there without wittles for a fortnight," said the 
 Dodger. 
 
 "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 a^ ain't of his breed ! 
 Oh, no!" 
 
 " He's an out-atid-oUt Christian," said Charley. 
 
 This was merely intended as a tribute to the animal's 
 abilities, but it was an appropriate remark in anothfer sense, if 
 Master Bates had only known it ! for there are a good many 
 ladies and gentlemen, claiming to be out-ahd-out Christians, 
 between whom, and Mr. Sikes' dog, there exist strong and 
 singular points of resemblance. 
 
 "Well, well," said the Dodger, recurring to the point from 
 which they had strayed ; with that mindfulness of his profes- 
 sion which influenced all his proceedings. " 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, Oliver ? " 
 
 " Arid make your fortun* out of hand ? " added the Dodger, 
 with a grin. 
 
 "And so be able to retire on your property, and dp. the 
 gen-teel : as I m^an to, in the very next leap-year but four 
 that ever Comes, arid the forty-secotid Tuesday in Trinity- 
 week," said. Charley Bates. 
 
 "I don't like it," rejoihed Olivet, timidly; " I wish they 
 would let me go, I — I-^would rather go." 
 
 " And Fagin Would rdther not ! " rejoined Charley. 
 
 Oliver knew thi^ too well ; but thifiking it might be "dan- 
 gerous to express his feelings more openly, he only sighed, 
 arid went on with his boot-cleaning. 
 
 "Go!*' exclaimed' the Dodger.' "Why, where's youi 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 13, 
 
 spirit ? Doh't you take ahy pride out of yourself ? Would 
 you go and be dependent on your friends ? " 
 
 "Oh, blow that!" said Master Bates: drawing two 01 
 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,'' said Oliver with a 
 half smile ; " and let them be punished for what you did.'' 
 
 "That," rejoined the Dodger, with a wave 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 
 the retollection of Oliver's flight came so suddenly upon him, 
 that the smoke he was inhaling got entangled with a ]augh, 
 and went up into his head, and down into his throat: and 
 brought on a fit of coughitig and stamping, about five minutes 
 long. 
 
 " Look here ! " said thfe Dodger, drawing forth a handful 
 of shillings and halfpe.nce. " Here's a jolly life ! What's the 
 odds where its comes from ? Here, catch hold ; there's f)lenty 
 more where . they were tobk from. You won't, Vvon't you ? 
 Oh, you precious flat ! " 
 
 " It's naughty, ain't it, Oliver 1 " inquired Charley Bates. 
 " He'll come to be scragged, won't he ? " 
 
 " I don't know what that means," replied Oliver. 
 
 " Something in this way, old feller," said Charley. As he 
 said it. Master Bates caught up an end of his neckerchief; 
 and, holditig it erect in the air, dropped his head on his 
 shoulder, and jerked a curious sound through his. teeth ; 
 thereby indicating, by a lively pantomimic repreisentation, 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 pritne company as that 
 'ere boy ; he'll be the death of me, I know he will." Master 
 Charles Bates, having laughed heartily again, resumed his 
 pipe with tears in his eyes. 
 
 " You've be6n brought Up bad," said the Dodger, survey- 
 ing his boots with much satisfaction when Oliver had polished 
 them. " Fagin will make something of you, though, or you'll 
 be the first he ever had that turned out unprofitable. You'd 
 
I,g OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 better begin at once ; for you'll 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 ad- 
 monitions of his own : which, being exhausted, he and his 
 friend Mr. Dawkins launched into a glowing- description of 
 the numerous pleasures incidental to the life they led, inter- 
 spersed with a variety of hints to Oliver that the best thing he 
 could do, would be to secure Fagin's favor without more de- 
 lay, by the means which they themselves had employed to 
 gain it. 
 
 " And always putthis in your pipe, Nolly," said the Dodger, 
 as the Jew was heard unlocking the door above, " if you don't 
 takes fogies and tickers — " 
 
 "What's the good of talking in that way?" interposed 
 Master Bates : " he don't know what you mean." 
 
 " If you don't take pocket-handkechers 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 1 ha ! ha ! He 
 understands the catechism of his trade." 
 
 The old man rubbed his hands gleefully together; as he 
 corroborated the Dodger's reasoning in these terms ; and 
 chuckled with delight at his pupils proficiency. 
 
 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 niade his appearance. 
 
 Mr. Chitling was older in years than the Dodger ; having 
 perhaps numbered eighteen winters j but there was a degree 
 of deference in his deportment towards that young gentleman 
 which seemed to indicate that he felt himself conscious of a 
 slight inferiority in point of genius and professional acquire- 
 ments. 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 truti, rathei; 
 
OLIVER TWIST. . 13^ 
 
 out of repair; but he excused himself to the company by sta- 
 ting that his "time '.' was only out an hour before ; and that, in 
 consequence 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 re- 
 mark he considered to apply to the regulation mode of cut- 
 ting the hair : which he held to be decidedly unlawful. Mr. 
 Chitling woundup his observations by stating that he had not 
 touched a drop of anything for forty-two mortal long hard- 
 working days j and that he " wished he might be busted if he 
 wam't as dry as a lime-basket." 
 
 "Where do you think the gentteman has come from, 
 Oliver?" 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 Oliver. 
 
 " Who's that ? " inquired Tom Chitling, casting a con- 
 temptuous 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'll bet a crown ! " 
 
 At this sally, the boys laughed. After some more jokes 
 on the same subject, they exchanged a few short whispers 
 with Fagin ; and withdrew. 
 
 After some words apart between the last comer and Fagin. 
 they drew their chairs towards the fire ; and the Jew, telling 
 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 proficiency of the Dodger, 
 the amiability of Charley Bates, and the liberality of the Jew 
 himself. At length these subjects displayed signs of being 
 thoroughly exhausted ; and Mr. Chitling did the same : for the 
 house of correction becomes fatiguing after a week or two. 
 Miss Efetsy accordingly 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 improvement or Oliver's, Mr. Fagin best 
 knew. At other times the old man would tell them stories of 
 
];38 OLIVER 7'WIST. 
 
 robberies he had committed 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 iii 
 spite of all his. better feeiings. 
 
 In short, the wily old Jew had the boy in his toils. Having 
 prepared his. mind, by solitude and gloom, to, prefer any so- 
 ciety to the companionship of his own sad thoughts in such a 
 ! dreary place, he was now slowly instilling into his soul the 
 / poison which h^ hoped would blacken it, and change its hue 
 \for ever. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 IN WHICH A NOTABLE PLAN IS DISCUSSED AND DETERMINED ON. 
 
 It was a chill, damp, windy night, when the Jew, button- 
 ing his gieatrcoat tight round his shrivelled body, and pulling 
 the collar up over his ears so as completely 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 Ohver had been conveyed, was in the 
 neighborhpod of Whitechapel. The Jew stopped for an in- 
 stant ^.t' the corner of the street; and, glancioog^suspiciously 
 round, cresssed the road, and struck off in the direction of 
 Spitalfields. , . 
 
 The mud lay thick upon the stppes,; and a black mist hung 
 over the streets ; the raip fell sluggishly down, and everything 
 , felt qold and clammy to the touch. It seemed just the night 
 \ when It befitted, such a being as the Jew to be abroad^ As 
 i he glided stealthily along, creeping beneath the shelter of the 
 wails and doorways, 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 nar- 
 row ways, until he reached Bethnal Green ; then, turning sud 
 
OUVMR TWIST. I3P 
 
 denly off tp the Mt, he soon became inYplyed in a maze of the 
 mean and dirtj' streets -which abound in that close and densely 
 populated quarter.. , 
 
 The Jew lyas evidently too familiar with the ground he 
 traversed to be at all bewildered, either by the darkness ,of the 
 night, or the intrica,cies of the way. He hurried through sev- 
 eral alleys and streets, and at length ti^rned into one lighted 
 only by a single lamp at the farther end. At the door of a 
 house in this street, he knocked ; having exchanged a few 
 muttered words with the person who opened it, he walked up 
 stairs. 
 
 A dog growled as he torched the handle of a room-door ; 
 and a man's voice jdemanded, who was there. 
 
 " Only me, Bill; only rae, my dear," answered the Jew, 
 looking in. 
 
 " Bring in your body then," said SikeSj " Lie down, you 
 stupid brute ! Don't you know the devil when he's got a 
 great-coat on ? " 
 
 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 comer 
 from which he had, risen, wagging his tail as he went, to 
 show that he was as well satisfied as it was iti his nature to be. 
 ^,"WelU":a?iid&ke9. 
 
 "Well, my dear," replied the Jew. — "Ah! Nancy." 
 
 The latter recognition was, uttered with just enough of em- 
 barrassment to imply a doubt of its reception ; fpr Mr. Fagin 
 and his young friend had not met since she had interfered in 
 behalf oLpiivter- All doubts upon the subject, if he had any, 
 were s^geedily removed, by the youpg lady's behavior. She 
 took her feet off the fender,. pushed back her chair, and bade 
 Eagia draw up his, withowt saying more about it : for it was a 
 cold night and no mistake. - , 
 
 " It is cold, Nancy dear," said the Jew, as h^ warmed his 
 skinny hands over the fire. '•' It seems to go right through 
 one," added the old man touching his side. 
 
 " It n^iust be a piercer, if it finds its way through your 
 heart," said Mr. Sikes. ";Give him something to drink, 
 Nancy. Bum my body, make haste ! It's enough tp turn a 
 man, ill, to see his. lean old carcase 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 
 
14.0 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 their appearance, were filled with several kinds of liquids. 
 Sikes pouring out a glass of brandy, bade the Jew drink it off. 
 
 " Quite enough, quite, thankye. Bill," replied the Jew, put- 
 ting 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 threw the remainder of its contents into the ashes : 
 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 suspicious manner habit- 
 ual to him. It was a meanly furnished apartment, with noth- 
 ing but the contents of the closet to induce the belief that its 
 occupier was anything but a working man ; and with no more 
 suspicious articles displayed to view than two or three heavy 
 bludgeons which stood in a corner, and a " life preserver " that 
 hung over the chimney-piece. 
 
 " There," said Sikes, smacking his lips. " Now I'm ready." 
 
 " For business ? " 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 in a very low voice. 
 
 " Yes. Wot about it," inquired Sikes. 
 
 " Ah ! you know what I mean, my dear,'' said the Jew. 
 " He knows what I mean, Nancy ; don't he ? " 
 
 " 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 ; Hon't sit there winking and blinking, and talking to 
 me in hints, as if you wam't the very first that thought about 
 the robbery. Wot d'ye mean ? " 
 
 " Hush, Bill, hush ! " said the Jew who had in vain at- 
 tempted 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, on 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 
 Cheytsey ; when is it to be done, Bill, eh ? When is it to be 
 done ? Such plate, my dear, such plate ! " said the Jew ; 
 
OLIVER TWIST. ,4^ 
 
 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 expected." 
 
 " 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 ? 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 year ; 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 woman can't be got over?" 
 
 " Not a. bit of it," replied Sikes. 
 
 " Not by flash Toby Crackit ? " saidthe 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 miistaclies and a pair of military 
 trousers, my dear," said the Jew. 
 
 " So he did," rejoined Sikes, " and they warn't of no more 
 use than the other plant." •■ • 
 
 The Jew looked blank at this information. After rumina- 
 ting for some minutes with his chin sunk on his breast, he 
 raised his head and said, with a deep sigh, that if flash Toby 
 Crackit reported aright, he feared the game was upi • 
 
 " 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 
 /' 7 ' 
 
142 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 time to time. Nancy, apparently fearful ot 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 p^fsMft ? " 
 
 " Yes," said the Jew, as suddenly rousing himself. 
 
 " Is it a bargain ? " inquired Sikes. 
 
 "Yes, my dear, yes," rejoined the Jew; his eyes glisten- 
 ing, and every muscle in his face working, with the excitetnent 
 that the inqiiiiy had awakened. 
 
 " Then," said -Sikes tJirusting aside the J«w's hand, with 
 some disdain, "let it come off as soon as you like. • Toby and 
 me were over the garden- wall the night afore last, sounding the 
 ]f)anels of the door and shutters. The crib's barred up at night 
 like a jail ; but there's one part we can crack, safe and softlyl" 
 
 " Which is that. Bill ? " asked the Jew eagerly. 
 
 " Why," whispered Sikes, " as you cross the lawn " 
 
 " Yes ? " said the Jew, bending his head forward, with his 
 eyes almost starting out of it. 
 
 " Umph ! " cried Sikes, stopping short, as the girl, scarcely 
 moving her head looked suddenly round, and pointed for an 
 instant to ,tji0 Jew'srface. " 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. "Is 
 there no help wanted, but yours and Toby's ? " 
 
 " None," said Sikes. " 'Cept a centre-bit and a boy. The 
 first lye've both got ; the second you must find us." 
 
 " A boy ! " exclaimed the Jew. " Oh ! then it's 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 o'lly 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 
 flelinquent Society comes, and takes the boy away from a 
 trade where he was arriing money, teaches hira 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, " sp they go on ; and, if they'd gat money enough 
 (which it's a Providence they haven't,) we shouldn't have 
 half-a-dozen boys: left in the whole trade, in a yearor two." 
 
OLIVER TJV/Sr. 143 
 
 , " No more we should,^' aoquiesced the Jew, who had been 
 considering during this speech, and had only caught the last 
 sentence. " Bill ! " 
 
 " Wha,t now ? " inquired Sikes. 
 , The Jew nodded his head towards Nancy, who was still 
 gazing at the fire ; and' intimated, by a sign, that he would 
 have her told to leave the room, Sikes shrugged his shoul- 
 iders impatiently, as if he thought the precaution unnecessary ; 
 but complied, nevertheless, by requesting Miss Nancy to fetch 
 him a jug of beer. 
 
 " Yqu don't want any beer," said Nancy, folding her arms, 
 and retaining her seat very composedly. 
 
 " I tell you. I do ! " replied Sikes. 
 
 "Noijsense," rejoined the girl coolly. "GoonFagin. I 
 know what he's going to say. Bill ; he needn't mind me." 
 
 The Jew still :hei5itated. : Sikes looked from one to the 
 fflther in some surprise. 
 
 " Why, you don't mind tlie 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?" 
 
 "/ should think not!" replied the young lady : drawing 
 her chair up to the table, and putting her elbows upon it. 
 
 " Nq, no, my dear, I know you're not," said the Jew; 
 "but " and again the old man paused. 
 
 " But wot .' " inquired Sikes. 
 
 "J didn't koow whether' she mightn't p'r'aps be otit of 
 sorts, you know, my dear, as she was the other night," replied 
 the Jew. 
 
 At thist confession. Miss Nancy burst into a loud laugh ; 
 and swallowing a glass of brandy, shook her head with ari air 
 of defiance, and burst intosurrdry exclamations of " Keep the 
 game si-going ! " "Never say diel" and the like. These 
 seemed to have the effect of r£-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 Nancy with a 'teugh. "Tell Bill at 
 once, about Oliver 1 " 
 
 " Ha ! you're a clever one,- my dear ; the sharpest girl I ever 
 saw ! " ^aid the Jew, patting her on the neck. " It was about 
 Oliver I wasigoing to speak, sure enough; Ha ! ha ! ha !" 
 
 " What about him ? " demanded Si^s. 
 
 " He's th«i boy for you, my dear," replied the j€w in a 
 
14,4 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 hoarse whisper ', laying his finger on the side of his nose, and 
 grinning frightfully. 
 
 " He ! " exclaimed Sikes. 
 
 " Have him, Bill ! " said Nancy, " I wouldj if I was in 
 your place. He ma,yn'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, rumi- 
 nating. 
 
 " And will do everything you want. Bill, my dear,'' inter- 
 posed the Jew ; "he can't help himself. That is, if you 
 frighten him enough." 
 
 " Frighten him ! " echoed Sikes. " It'll be no sham fright- 
 ening, mind you. If there's anything queer about him when 
 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 seiid him. Mark my words ! " said the robber, poising a 
 crowbar, which he had drawn from under the bedstead. 
 
 " I've thought of it, all," said the Jew with energy. " I've — 
 I've had my eye uponhim, my dears, close — close. Once let hiih 
 ifeel 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 
 ihis arras upon his breast ^andjr'drawing his head and shoulders 
 up 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 
 cnuckle. " Mine, if you like, .Bill." 
 
 "And wot," said Sikes, sc6wling fiercely 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 everyihight, as you might pick and choose 
 from?" 
 
 " Because they're of no use to me, my dear," replied the Jew, 
 with some confusion, " not worth taking. Their looks convict 
 'em when they get into trouble, and I Jose 'em all. With this 
 bpy, properly managed, my dears^ 1 could do what I couldfl't 
 with twenty of them. Besides," said the Jew, recovering his 
 Belf-possession, " he has us now if he could only give us leg- 
 \bail again ; and he-.musi be in the same boat with us. Never 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 145 
 
 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 ? " 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, 
 iBill ? " 
 
 '■ I pianned with Toby, the night arter to-morrow," rejoined 
 Sikes in a surly voice, " if he heerd nothing from me to the 
 contrairy." 
 
 " Good," said the Jew ; " there's no moon." 
 
 "No," rejoined Sikes. 
 
 " It's all arranged about bringing off the swag, is it ? " 
 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. I shall get off the stones an hour arter day- 
 break. . Then you hold your tongue, and keep the melting-pot 
 ready, and that's all you'll 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 
 disinclination to the task, he would be more willing to accom- 
 pany the girl who had so recently interfered in his behalf, than 
 anybody else. It was also- solemnly arranged that poor 
 Oliver should, for the purposes of the contemplated expedi- 
 tion, 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 re- 
 sponsible by the Jew for any mischance or evil that might 
 befall him, or any punishment with which it might be neces- 
 sary to visit him ; it being understood that, to render the com- 
 pact in this, respect binding, any representation made by Mr. 
 Sikes on his return should be required to be confirmed and cor- 
 roborated, in all important particulars, by thiS testimony of 
 flash Toby Crackit. 
 
146 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 These preliminaries adjusted, Mr. Sikes proceeded to drink 
 brandy at a furious rate, and to fiourisli the crowbar in an 
 alarming manner ; yelling forth, at the same time, most un- 
 musical snatches of song, mingled with wild execrations , At 
 length, in a fit of professional enthusiasm, he insisted upoc; 
 producing his box of housebreaking tools : which he had no 
 sooner stumbled in with, and opened for the purpose of ex- 
 plaining the nature and Jjroperties of the various implements if 
 contained, and the peculiar beauties of their construction, than 
 he fell over the box 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 scrutinized her, narifowly. 
 There was no flinching about the girl. She was as true and 
 earnest in the matter as Toby Crackit himself could be. 
 
 The Jew again bade her good-night, and, bestowing a siy 
 kick upon the prostrate form of Mr. Sikes while her back was 
 turned, groped down stairs. 
 I " Always the way ! " muttered the Jew to himself as he 
 I turned homeward. " The worst of these women is, that a 
 very little thing serves to call up some long-forgotten 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 wendted his way, through mud and mire, to his gloomy 
 abode : where the Dodger was sitting up, impatiently awaiting 
 his return. 
 
 '' Is Oliver a-bed ? I want to speak to him," was his first 
 remark as they descended the stairs. 
 
 " Hours ago," replied the Dodger, throAving 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 coffin, 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 tile gross air of the world has not 
 had time to breathe upon the changing dust it hallowed. 
 j " Not now," said the Jew, turning softly away. " To-mor 
 \row. To'morrow." 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 147 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 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 shoes 
 had been removed. At first, he was pleased with the dis- 
 covery ; hoping that it might be the forerunner of his release ; 
 but such thoughts were quickly dispelled, on his sitting down 
 to breakfast along With the Jew,- who told him, in a tone and 
 maimer which increased his alarm, that he was to be taken to 
 the reisidence of Bill Sikes that night. 
 
 " To — to — stop there, sir ? " asked Oliver, anxiously. 
 
 " No, no, my dear. Not to stop there," replied the Jew. 
 " We shouldn't like to lose you. Don't be afraid, Oliver, ytiu 
 shall come back to us again. Ha ! ha ! ha 1 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 cbuld. 
 
 " I suppose," said the Jew, fixing his eyes on Oliver, 
 " you want to know what you're going to Bill's for — eh, my 
 de^r?" 
 
 Oliver colored 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? " inquired Fagin, parrying the ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " Indeed I don't know, sir," replied Oliver. 
 
 " Bah ! " said the Jew, turning aWaly with a disappointed 
 countenance from a close perusal of the boy's face. " Wait 
 till Bill tells you, then." 
 
 The Jew seemed much vexed by Oliver's not expressing 
 any greater curiosity on the subject-; but the truth is, that, 
 although Oliver felt very- aniiouSj he was too much confused' 
 by the earnest cunning of Fagin's looks; and his own specula- 
 tions, to make any further inqiiirifes just then. He ha:d no 
 
148 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 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 ! " replied Oliver,. softly. ; 
 
 The Jew walked to the door ; looking over his shouldei 
 at the boy as he went. Suddenly stopping, he called him by 
 hio name. 
 
 Oliver looked up ; the Jew, pointing to the candle, mo- 
 tioned him to light it. He did so ; and, as he placed the 
 candlestick 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 1 " said the old man, 
 shaking his right hand before 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 1 " 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 leaned his head upon his. hand when the old man 
 disappeared, and pondered, with a trembling heart, on the 
 words he had just heard. The more he thought of the Jew's 
 aamonition, the more he was at a loss to divine its real pur- 
 U)ose 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 medi- 
 tating 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, arid had 
 suffered too much where he was, to bewail the prospect of 
 change very severely. He remained lost in thought for some 
 minutes ; and then, with a heavy sigh, snuffed the candle, 
 and, taking up the book which the Jew had left with him, 
 began to read. 
 
 He turned over the leaves. Carelessly at first ; but, light- 
 ing on a passage which attracted his attention, he soon be- 
 came intent upon the volume. It was a history of the lives 
 and trials of great criminals ; and the pages were soiled and 
 tljumbed with use. Here, he read of dreadful crimes that 
 ma(}e the blood run cold j of secret murders that had been 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 149 
 
 COHiniitted by the lonely wayside ; of 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, had 
 - been , tempted (so they said) and -led on, by their own bad 
 thoughts, to such dreadful bloodshed as it made the flesh 
 creep, and the limbs quail, to think of. The terrible descrip- 
 tions were so real and vivid,: that the sallow pages seemed to 
 turn red with gore ; and the weirds upon them, to be 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 j and rather to will 
 that he ■ should die at once, than be reserved for crimes, so 
 fearful and appalling. By degrees, he grew more cailm, and 
 beaought, in a low and broken voice, that he might be 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 kindred, it might come to him now, when, 
 desolate and deserted, he stood, alone in the midst of wicked- 
 ness and guilt. 
 
 He had concluded his prayer, but still remained with his 
 head buried in his hands, when a rustling noise aroused 
 him. 
 
 " What's that ! " he cried, starting up, and catching sight 
 of a, figure standing by the door. " Who's there ? " 
 
 " Me. Only me," replied a tremulous voice. 
 
 Oliver raised the candle above his head : arid looked to- 
 wards 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 this." 
 
 " Has anything happened ? " asked Oliver. " Can I help 
 you ? I will if I can. I willi indeed^" 
 
1 2 o OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 She rocked herself to and. fro ; caught her throat^; and 
 uttering a gurgling sound, gasped for breath. 
 
 " Nancy ! " cried Oliver, " What is it ? " 
 
 The girl beat her hands upon her knees, and her feet 
 upon the ground ; and, suddenly stopping, drew her shawl 
 close around 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 she, 
 affecting to busy herself in arranging her dress ; " it's this 
 damp dirty room, I think. Now, Nolly, dear, are you ready?" 
 
 " Am I to go with you ? " asked Oliver. 
 
 " Yes. I have come from Bill," replied the girl. " You 
 are to go with me." 
 
 " What for ? " asked Oliver, recoiling. 
 
 " What for ?" echoed the girl, raising her eyes, and avert- 
 ing them again, the moment they encountered the boy's face. 
 '^Oh! For 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 some power over the girl's 
 better feelings, and, for an instant, thought of appealing to her 
 CQmpassion for his helpless state. But,i then, the thought 
 parted across his mind that it was barely eleven o'clock ; and' 
 that many people were still in the streets : of whom surely 
 some might be found to give credence to his tale. As the 
 reflection oc<;urred to him, he stepj)ed forward : and said> 
 somewhat hastily, tliat he was ready. 
 
 Neither his brief consideration, nor its purport, was lost 
 on his companion. She eyed him narrowly, while he spoke J 
 and cast upon him a look of intelligence which sufficiently 
 showed that she guessed what had been passing in' 'his 
 thoughts. 
 
 " Hush !" said the girl, stooping over him^ and pointing to 
 
 the docjr as she looked cautiously round. "You can't help 
 
 I yourself. I have tried hard for you, but all to no purpose. 
 
 ; You are hedged round and. round. If ever 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 ; 
 
OLIVER TWIST. tji 
 
 her countenance was white and agitated ; and she trembled 
 with vety earnestness. 
 
 " I have saved ypu from being ill-used once, and I will 
 agahi, and I do now," continued the girl atoud ; " 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 hot, you will only do harm to 
 yourself and me -foo, and perhaps be my death. See here ! 1 
 have borne all this for you already, as true as God sees me 
 show it " 
 
 She pointed, hastily, to some livid bruises on her neck and 
 arms ; and cotitinuedj with great rapidity : 
 
 " Remember this ! And don't let me suffer 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 ; whatever they make 
 you do, is no fault of yours. Hush ! Every word from you 
 is a blfaw for me. Give me your hand. Make haste ! Your 
 hand!" 
 
 She caught the hand which Oliver- instinctively 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 was as quickly closed, when they had 
 pissed out. A hackney-cabriolet was in waiting; 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 directions, but lashed his horse 
 mto full speed, without the delay of an instant. 
 
 The gill still held Oliver fast by the hand, and continued 
 to pour into his ear, the warnings and assurances she had 
 already imparted. All was so quick and hurried, that he had 
 scarcely tiine to recollect where he was, or how he catne there, 
 when the carriage stopped at the house to which tlie' Jew's 
 steps had been directed on the previous everiingi 
 
 For one brief moment, Oliver cast a huirried glance along 
 the empty street, and a cry for help hung upon his lipS. But 
 the girl's voice was in his ear, beseeching him in such tones 
 of agon}' to remember her, that he had not the heart to-ut±er 
 it. While he hesitated; the opportunity was gone ; he was 
 already in the house, and the door was shut. 
 
 " This way,'* said the girl, releasing her hold for the first 
 time "Fill!" 
 
 "Hallo!" replied Sikes : appearing at the head of the 
 stairs, with % candle. "Oh! That's the time of day. Come on!" 
 
 This was a very strong expression of approbation, an 
 
^52 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 nncommonly hearty welcome, from a person of Mr. Sikes 
 temperament. Nancy, appearing much gratified thereby, 
 saluted him cordially. 
 
 " Bull's-eye's gone home with Tom;" observed Sikes, as he 
 lighted them up. " He'd have been in the way." 
 
 "That's right," rejoined Nancy. 
 
 " So you've got the Md," 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, looking 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 pupil, Mr. Sikes pulled off 
 Oliver's cap and threw it into a corner ; and then, taking 
 him by the shoulder, sat himself down by the table, and stood 
 the boy 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 pow- 
 der ; that 'ere's a bullet ; and this is a little bit of a old hatfoi 
 waddin'." 
 
 Oliver murmured his comprehension of the different bodies 
 referred to ; 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. 
 
 "Well," said the robber,, grasping Oliver's wrist, and put- 
 ting the barrel so close to his temple that they touched ; at 
 which moment the boy could not repress a start ; " if you 
 speak a word when you're out o' doors with me, except when 
 I speak to you, that loading 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 object of this warning, 
 to increase its effect, Mr. Sikes continued. 
 
 " As near as I know, there isn't anybody 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 me ? " 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 15 j 
 
 "The short and the long of what you mean," said Nancy ; 
 speaking very emphatically, and slightly frowning at Oliver 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'll 
 prevent his ever telling tales afterwards, by shooting him 
 through the head, and will take your chance of swinging for 
 it, as you dp for a great many other things in the way of bus- 
 iness, every month of your life." 
 
 " That's it ! " observed Mr. Sikes, .approvingly ; " 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 before starting." 
 
 In. pursuance of this request, Nancy quickly laid the cloth j 
 disappearing for a few minutes, she presently returned with 
 a pot of porter and a dish of sheep's he^ds : which gave occa- 
 sion to several pleasant witticisms on the pa,rt of Mr. Sikes, 
 founded upon the singular coincidence of "jemmies" being a 
 cant name, common to them,. and. also to an ingenious impler 
 ment much used in his profession. Indeed, the worthy gen- 
 tleman, stimulated perhaps by the immediate prospect of 
 being on active service, was in great spirits and good humor ; 
 in proof whereof, it maybe here remarked, that he humor- 
 ously drank all the beer at a draught, and did not utter, on a 
 rough calculation, more than four-score oaths during the whole 
 progress of the meal. 
 
 Supper being ended^-^-it may be easily conceived that 
 Oliver had no great appetite for it — Mr. Sikes disposed of a 
 couple of glasses of spirits and water, and threw himself on 
 the bed ; ordering Nancy, with many imprecations in case 
 of failure, to callium atfrye precisely., Oliver stretcjbed him- 
 self in his clothes, by command of the same authority, on a 
 ipattress upon the floor ; and the girl, mending the fire, sat 
 before it, in readiness to rouse them at the appointed time. 
 
 For a long time Oliver lay awake, thinking it not impossi- 
 ble that Nancy might seek that opportunity of whispering 
 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. Nancy 
 was busily engaged in preparing breakfast. It was not •^''X 
 
rS4 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 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 ; " halt- 
 past five ! Look sharp, or you'll get no breakfast ; for it's 
 late as it is." 
 
 Oliver was not long in making his toilet; having taken 
 some breakfast, he replied to a surly inquiry frbm Sikes, by 
 saying that he was quite ready. 
 
 Nancy, scarcely looking at the boy, threw hifti a hand-- 
 kerchief to tie round his throat ; Sikes ^ve hiin a large rough 
 cape to buttort over his shoulders. Thus attired, he gave his 
 hand to the robber, who, merely pausing to show him with a 
 menacing geistiire that he had that same pistol in a side-pocket 
 of his great-coat, clasped it firmly in his, and, exchanging a 
 farewell with Nancy, led him away. 
 
 Oliver turned, for an instant, when they reached the door, 
 in thehope of meeting a look from the girl. But she had re- 
 sumed her old seat in front of the fire, and sat, perfectly mo*- 
 tionless, before it. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 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 vfery wet : large pools of water 
 had collected in the road : and the kennels were overflowing. 
 There was a faint glimmering of the coining day in the sky ; 
 but it rather aggravated than relieved the gloom of the scene : 
 the sombre light 6nly serving to pale that which the street 
 laitips afforded, without shedding any warmer or iDrighter 
 tints upon the wet housetops, and dreary Streets. There ap- 
 peared to be nobody stirring in that quarter of the town ; the 
 windows of tbe houses were all closely shut ; and the streets 
 through which they passed, were noiseless and empty. 
 
 By the time they had turned into the Betlinal Green Road, 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 'SS 
 
 the day had fairly begun to break. Many of the lamps were 
 already extinguished ; a few country wagons were slowly 
 toiling on, towards London ; now and then, a stage-coach, 
 covered with mud, rattled briskly by : the driver bestowing, as he 
 passed, an admonitory lash upon the heavy wagoner who, by 
 keeping on the wrong side of the road, had endangered his 
 arriving at the ofSce, a quarter of a minute after his time. 
 The public-houses, with gas-lightb burning inside, were 
 already open. By degrees, other shops began to be unclosed, 
 and a few scattered people were met with. Then, came 
 straggling groups of laborers going, to their work ; then, men 
 and women with fish-baskets on their heads ; donkey-carts 
 laden with vegetables ; chaise-carts tilled with live-stock or 
 whole carcasses of meat ; milk-women with pails ; an unbroken 
 concourse of people, trudging out with various supplies to the 
 eastern suburbs of the town. As they approached the City, 
 the noise and traffic gradually increased ; when they threaded 
 the streets between 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 came on again, and the busy morning 
 of half the London population had b^^n. 
 
 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 so into Smith- 
 field j' from which latter place arose a tumult of discordant 
 sounds that filled Oliver Twist with amazement. 
 
 It was market-morning. The ground was covered, nearly 
 ankle-deep, with filth and mire ; a thick steam, perpetually 
 rising from the reeking bodies of the catde, 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 pens as could be Crowded into the 
 vacant space, were filled with sheep ; tied up to posts by the , 
 gutter side were long lines of beasts and oxen, three or fouri 
 deep. Countrymen, butchers, drovers, hawkers, boys, thieves, 1 
 idlers, and vagabonds of every low grade, were mingled to- ' 
 gether in a mass; the whistling of drovers, the barking of 
 dogs, the bellowing and plunging of oxen, the bleating of 
 sheep, the grunting and squeaking of pigs, the cries of hawk- 
 ers, the shouts, oaths, and quarrelling on all sides ; the ring- ^ 
 ing of bells and roar of voices, that issued from every public- 
 house ; the crowding, pushing, driving, beating, whooping, and ' 
 yelHng; the hideous and discordant din that resounded from 
 
ijft OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 every corner of the market; and the unwashed, unshaven, 
 squalid, and dirty figures constantly running to and fro, and 
 bursting in and out of the throng ; rendered it a stunning and 
 bewildering scene, which quite confounded the senses. 
 
 Mr. Sikes, dragging Oliver after him, elbowed his way 
 through the thickest of the crowd, and bestowed very little 
 attention on the numerous sights and sounds, which so aston- 
 ished 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 througli Hosier Lane into 
 Holborn. 
 
 " Now, young un ! " said Sikes, 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 jerk at his little 
 companion's wrist ; Oliver, quickening his pace into a kind of 
 trot, between a fast walk and a run, kept up with the rapid 
 strides of the housebreaker as well as he could. 
 
 They held their course at this rate, until they had passed 
 Hyde Park corner, and were on their way to Kensington : 
 when Sikes relaxed his pace, until an empty cart which was 
 at some little distance behind, came up. Seeing " Houns- 
 low " written on it, he asked the driver with as much civility 
 as he could assume, if he would give them a lift as far as 
 Isleworth. 
 
 " Jump up," said the man. " Is that your boy ? " 
 
 " Yes ; he's my boy," replied 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 ? " inquired the driver : seeing that Oliver was out of 
 breath. 
 
 " Not a bit of it," replied Sikes, interposing. " He's used 
 to it. Here, take hold of my hand, Ned. In with you ! " 
 
 Thus addressing Oliver, he helped, him into the cart j and 
 the driver, pointing to a heap of sacks, told him to lie down 
 there, and rest himself. 
 
 As they passed the differeiit, mile-stones, Oliver wondered, 
 rnore and more, where his companion meant to take him. 
 Kensington, Hammersmith, Chiswick, Kew Bridge, Brentford, 
 were all passed j and yet they went on as steadily as if they 
 had only just begun their journey. At length, they came to 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 ^S7 
 
 a pubKc-house called the, Coach and Horses: a little way 
 beyond which, another road appeared to turn off. And here, 
 thd cart stopped. 
 
 Sikes dismounted with great precipitation, holding Oliver 
 by the hand all the while; and lifting him down, directly, 
 bestowed a furious look upon him, and rapped the side-pocket 
 with his fist, in a significant manner. 
 
 "Good-by, 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 until he had fairly gone ; and then, telling 
 Oliver he might look about him if he wanted, once again led 
 him onward on his journey. 
 
 They turned round to the left, a short way past the public- 
 house ; and then, taking a right-hand road, walked on for a 
 long time : passing many large gardens and gentlemen's, 
 houses on both sides of the way, and stopping for nothing but 
 a little beer, uiitil they reached a town. Here against the 
 wall of a house, Oliver saw written up in pretty large letters, 
 " Hampton." They lingered about, in the fields, for some 
 hours. At length, they came back into the town ; and, turn- 
 ing into an old public-house with a defaced sign-board, 
 ordered some dinner by the kitchen fire. 
 
 The kitchen was an old, low-roofed room; with a great 
 beam across the middle of the ceiling, and benches, with high 
 backs to them, by the fire ; on which were seated several 
 rough men in smock-frocks, drinking and smoking. They 
 took no notice of Oliver ; and very little of Sikes ; and, as 
 Sikes took very little notice of them, he and his young com- 
 rade sat in a corner by themselves, without being much 
 troubled by their company. 
 
 They had some cold meat for dinner, and sat so long aftei 
 it, while Mr. Sikes indulged himself with three or four pipes, 
 that Oliver began to feel quite certain they were not going 
 any further. Being much tired with the walk, and getting up 
 so early, he dozed a little at first ; then, quite overpowered 
 by fatigue and the fumes of the tobacco, fell asleep. 
 
 It was quite dark when he was awakened by a push from 
 Sikes. Rousing hunselfsufficiently to sit up and look about 
 him, he found that worthy in close fellowship and communica- 
 tion with a laboring man, over a pint of ale. 
 
Ijg OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " So, you're going on to Lower Hallif ord, are you ? " 
 inquired Sikesi 
 
 " Yes, I am," replied the man, who seenled a little the 
 worse — or better, as the case might be — for drinking ; " and 
 not slow a;bout it neither. My horse hasn't got a toad 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, pushing the ale towards his new friend. 
 
 " If you're going directly, I can," replied the man, look- 
 ing out of the pot. " Are you going to Halliford ? " 
 
 " Going on to Sheppertori," replied Sikes. 
 
 " I'm your man, as far as I go," replied the other. " Is all 
 paid, Becky ? " 
 
 " Yes, the other gentleman's paid," replied the girl. 
 
 " I say! " said the man, with tipsy gravity; "that won't 
 do, you know." 
 
 "Why not? " rejoined Sikes. "You're a-going to accom- 
 modate us, and wot's to prevent my standing treat for a pint 
 or so, in return ? " 
 
 The stranger reflected upon this argument, with a very 
 profound face ; having done so, he seized Sikes by 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 whont he belonged, having lingered for a minute 
 or two " to bear him up," and to defy the hostler and the 
 world to produce his equal, mounted also. Then, the host- 
 ler was told to give the horse his head -^ and, his head being 
 given him, he made a very unpleasant use, of it: ■tossing it 
 into the air with great disdain, and running into the parlor 
 windows over the way ; after performing those feats, and sup- 
 porting himself for a short time on his hind-legs, he started off 
 at great speed, and rattled out of the town right gallantly. 
 
 The night was very dark. A damp mist rose over the 
 
OLIVER TWIST. I tfii 
 
 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 conversa- 
 tion. Oliver sat huddled together, in a corner of the caft ; 
 bewildered with alarm and apprehension ; and figuring strange 
 objects in the gaunt trees, whose branches wayed grimly to 
 and fro,- as if in some fantastic joy at the desolaltion 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, andthrew into more sombre shadow 
 a dark yew-tree with graves beneiath 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 quiet 
 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, took Oliver by the hand, arid they 
 once again walked on. 
 
 They turned into no house at Shepperton, as the weary 
 boy had expected ; but still kept walking on, in mud and 
 darkness, through gloomy lanes and over cold open wastes, 
 until they came within sight of the lights of 'a town at no great 
 distance. On looking intently forward, Oliver saw ■ that the 
 water was just below them, and that they were coming to the 
 foot of a bridge. 
 
 Sikes kept straight on, until they were close upon the 
 bridge ; then turned suddenly down a bank upon the left. 
 
 "The water!" thought Oliver, turning sick with fear. 
 " He has brought me to this lonely place to murder me ! " 
 
 He was about to throw himself on the ground, and make 
 one struggle for his young life, when he saw that they stood 
 before a solitary house : al ruinous and decayed. There was 
 a window on each side of the dilapidated entrance ; and one 
 story above ; but no light was visible. The house was dark, 
 dismantled : and, to all appearance, uninhabited. 
 
 Sikes, with Oliver's hand still in his, softly approached the 
 low porch, and raised the latch. The door yielded to the 
 pressurej and they passed in together. 
 
l6o OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIL 
 
 THE BURGLARY. 
 
 " Hallo 1 " cried a loud, hoarse voice, as soon as they 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 ; wake up first, if 
 convenient." 
 
 The speaker appeared to throw a boot-jack, or some such 
 article, at the person he addressed, to rouse him from his 
 slumbers : for the noise of a wooden body, falling violently, 
 was heard ; and then an indistinct muttering, as of a man be- 
 tween asleep and awake. 
 
 " Do you hear ? " 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 thoroughly ? " 
 
 A pair of slipshod feet, shuffled, hastily, across the bare 
 floor of the room, as this interrogatory was put ; and there 
 issued, from a door on the right hand : first, a feeble candle : 
 and next, the form of the same individual who has- been here- 
 tofore described as laboring under the infirmity of speaking 
 through his nose, and officiating as waiter at the public-house 
 on Saffron hill. 
 
 " Bister Sikes ! " exclaimed Barney, with real or counter- 
 feit 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, with Jiis legs much higher than his head, a man was 
 reposing at full length, smoking a long clay pipe. He was 
 dressed in a smartly-cut snuff-colored coat, with large brass 
 buttons ; an orange neckerchief ; a coarse, staring, shawl- 
 pattern waistcoat ; and drab breeches. Mr. Crackit (for he it 
 
OLIVER TWIST. i6i 
 
 was) had no very great .quantity of hair, either upon his head 
 or face ; but what he had, was of a reddish dye, and tortured 
 into long corkscrew curls, through which he occasionally 
 thrust some very dirty fingers, ornamented with large common 
 rings. He was a trifle above the middle size, and apparently 
 rather weak in the legs ; but this circumstance by no means 
 detracted from his own admiration of his top-boots, which 
 he contemplated, in their elevated situation, with lively satis- 
 faction. 
 
 " Bill, my boy ! " said this figure, turning his head towards 
 the door, " I'm glad to see you. I was almost afraid -you'd 
 gi\ en it up : in which case I should have made a personal 
 wentur. Hallo ! " • 
 
 Uttering this exclamation in a tone of great surprise, as 
 his eye rested on Oliver, Mr. Toby Crackit brought himself 
 into a sitting posture, and demanded who that was. 
 
 "The boy. Only the boy !" replied Sikes, drawing a 
 diair towards the fire. : 
 
 " Wud of Bister Fagid's lads," exclaimed Barney, with a 
 grin. ■ J . 
 
 " Fagin's, eh ! " exclaimed Toby, looking at Oliver. " Wot 
 an itiwalable boy that'll make, for the old ladies' pockets in 
 chapels ! His mug is a fortun' to him." 
 
 "There — ^there's enough of that," interposed Sikes, im- 
 patiently; and stooping over his recumbent- friend, he 
 whispered a few words in his ear : at which Mr. Crackit 
 laughed immensely, and honored Oliver with a long stare of 
 astonishment. 
 
 "Now," said Sikes, as he resumed his seat, " if you'll give 
 us something to eat and drink while we're waiting, you'll put 
 some heart in us ; or in me, at all events. Sit down by the 
 fire, younker, and rest yourself ; for 5-ou'll have to go out with 
 us again to-night, though not very far off." 
 
 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 frag- 
 ments of food, and a bottle upon the table, "success to the 
 crack ! " He rose to honor the toast ; and, carefully de- 
 positing his empty pipe in a corner, advanced to the table, 
 filled a glass with spirits, and drank off its contents. Mr. 
 Sikes did the same. 
 
1 62 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " A drain for the boy," said Toby, haift^ffing a wine glass. 
 "Down with it, innocence." 
 
 " Indeed," said Oliver, looking piteously 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 ? Tell him to drink it. Bill." 
 
 " He had better ! " said Sikes, clapping his hand upon his 
 pocket. " Burn my body, if he isn'l 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 -im- 
 mediately fell into a violent fit of coughing : whidh delighted 
 Toby Crackit and Barney, and even drew a smile from the 
 surly 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 short nap. Oliver retained his stobl by the fire ; Barney, 
 wrapped in a blanket, stretched himself on the floor ; close 
 outside the fender. 
 
 They jlept, or appeared to sleep, for some time ; nobody 
 stirring but Barney, who rose once or twice to throw coals 
 upon the fire. Oliver fell into a heavy doze : imagining him- 
 self straying along the gloomy lanes, or wandering about the 
 dark churchyard, or retracing some one or other of thie scenes 
 of the past day ; when he was roused by Toby Crackit 
 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 
 companion enveloped: their necks and diins in large dark 
 shawls, and drew on their great-coats ; Barney, opieiaBg a cup- 
 board, brought forth several articles, which he hastily crammed 
 into the pockets. 
 
 " Barkers for me, Barney," said Toby Crackit. 
 ; " Here they are," replied Barne)', producing a pair of 
 pistols. " You loaded them yourself." 
 
 • "All right!" replied Toby, stowijig them away. "The 
 persuaders ? " ^ 
 
 " I've:got 'em," replied Sikes.' 
 
 " Crape, keys, centrcbitSj darkies — nothing forgotten ? 
 inquired Toby : fastening a small crowbar to a loop inside the 
 skirt of his coat. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 163 
 
 • "All rig-ht," rejoiaed his companion. " Bring them bits of 
 timber, Barney. That's the time of day." 
 
 : With these words, he took a thick stick from Barney's 
 hands, who, having delivered another to Toby, busied himseli 
 j,n fastening on Oliver's cape. 
 
 " Now then ! " said Sikes, holding out his hand. 
 
 Oliver, who was completely stupefied by the unwonted 
 exercise, and the air, and the drink which 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 returned to announce that 
 all was quiet. The two robbers issued forth with Oliver 
 between them. Barney, having: made .aU fast, rolled himself 
 up as before, and was soon asleep again. 
 
 It was now intensely dirk. The fog was much heavier 
 than it had been in the early part pf the night ; and the at- 
 mosphere 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 tow- 
 ards the lights which he had seen before. They were at no 
 great distance off ; and, as they walked pretty briskly, they 
 soon arrived at Chertsey. 
 
 "Slap through the town," whispered Sikes; "there'll be 
 nobody in the way, to-night, to see us." 
 
 Toby acquiesced ; and they hurried through the main 
 street of the little town, which at that late hour vvas wholly 
 deserted. A dim light shone at intervals from some bed- 
 room window ; and the hoarse barking of dogs occasionally 
 broke the silence of the night. . But there was nobody abroad. 
 They had cleared the town, as the church-bell struck twp.. ' 
 
 Quickening tlieir 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 ; J'll catch 
 hold of him." 
 
 Before Oliver had time to look round, Sikes had caught 
 him under the arms ; and in three or four seconds be and 
 Toby were lying on the grass on the;.)Other side. Sikes 
 
ifi^ OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 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 involuntarily uttered a subdued exclam- 
 ation of horror. A mist came before his eyes ; the cold 
 \pweat stood upon his ashy face ; his limbs faile.d him ; and 
 he sank upon his knees. 
 
 " Get up ! " murmured Sikes, trembling with rage, and 
 drawing the pistol from his pocket ; " Get up, or I'll strew 
 your brains upon the grass." 
 
 " Oh ! for God's sake let me go ! " cried Oliver ; " let me 
 run away and die in the fields. I will never come near 
 London ; never, never ! Oh ! pray have mercy on me, and 
 do not make me steal. For the love of all the bright Angels 
 that rest in Heaven, have mercy upon me ! " 
 
 The man to whom this appeal was made, swore a dreadful 
 oath, and had cocked the pistol, when Toby, striking it from 
 his grasp, placed his hand upon the boy's mouth, and' dragged 
 him to the house. 
 
 " Hush ! " cried the man ; " it won't answer here. Say 
 another word, and I'll do your business myself with a crack 
 on the head. That makes no noise, and is quite as certain, 
 and more genteel. Here, Bill, wrench the shutter open. 
 He's game enough now, I'll engage. I've seen older hands 
 of his age took the same way, for a minute or two, on a cold 
 night." '' 
 
 Sikes, invoking terrific imprecations upon Fagin'shead 
 for sending Oliver on such an errand, plied the crowbar vig- 
 orously, but with little noise. After some delay, and some 
 assistance from Toby, the shutter to which he had referred, 
 swung open on its hinges. 
 
 It was a little lattice window, about five feet and a half 
 'above the ground, at the back of the house : which belonged 
 to a scullery, or small brewing-place, at the end of the pass- 
 age. The aperture was so small, that the inmates had proba- 
 bly not thought it worth while to defend it more securely ; 
 but it was large' enough to admit a boy of Oliver's size, never- 
 theless. 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," whispered Sikes, drawing 
 
OLIf^ER TWIST, 165 
 
 ft 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 ; unfasten 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 the hall chairs. 
 There are three there. Bill, with a jolly large blue unicorn 
 and gold pitchfork on 'em : which is the old lady's arms." 
 
 " Keep quiet, can't you ? " replied Sikes, with a threaten- 
 ing 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 scarcely audible whis- 
 per, 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 ; then by 
 planting himself firmly with his head against the 'wall beneath 
 the window, and his hands upon his knees, so as to make a 
 step of his back. This was no sooner done, than Sikes, 
 mounting upon him, put Oliver gently through the window 
 with his feet first ; and without leaving Jiold of his collar, 
 planted him safely on the floor inside. 
 
 " Take this lantern," said Sikes, looking into the room. 
 " You see the stairs afore you ? " 
 
 Oliver, more dead than alive, gasped out, " Yes." Sikes, 
 pointing to the street-door with the pistol-barrel, briefly ad- 
 vised him to take notice that he was within shot all the way ; 
 and that if he faltered, he would fallidead 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 1 " whispered tlie other man. 
 
 They listened intently. 
 . " Nothing," said Sikes, releasing his hold of Oliver. 
 "Now!" . 
 
 In the short time he had to collect his senses, the boy] 
 had firmly resolved that, whether he died in the attefnpt orj 
 not, he would make one effort to dart up stairs from the hall,, 
 and to alarm the family. Filled with this idea, he advance(^' 
 at once, but stealthily. ' 
 
 S 
 
1 66 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " Come back ! " suddenly cried Sikes aloud. " Backt 
 back!" 
 
 Scared by the sudden breaking of the dead stillness of 
 the place, and by a loud cry which followed it, Oliver let his 
 lantern fall, and knew not whether to advance or fly. 
 
 The cry was repeated — a light appeared — -gl vision of two, 
 terrified half dressed men at the top of the stairs swam before 
 his eyes — a flash — a loud noise — a smoke — a crash some- 
 where, but where he knew not, — and he staggered back. 
 
 Sikes had disappeared for an instant ; but he was up 
 again, apd had him by the collar before the smoke had cleared 
 away. He fired his own pistol after the men, who were al- 
 ready 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 ! How the boy bleeds ! " 
 
 Then came the loud ringing of a bell, mingled with the 
 noise of fire-arms, and the shoutk of men, and the sensation 
 of being carried over uneven ground at a rapid race. And 
 then, the noises grew c6nfused in the distance ; and a cold 
 deadly feeling crept over the boy's heart,; and he saw or 
 heard no more. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 WHICH CONTAINS THE SUBSTANCE OF A PLEASANT CONVJift* 
 SATION BETWEEN Mil. BUMBLE AND A LADY; AND SHOWS 
 THAT EVEN A BEADLE MAY BE SUSCEPTIBLE ON SOME 
 POINTS. 
 
 The night was bitter cold. The snow lay on the ground, 
 frozen into a hard thick crust,, so that only the- heaps that had 
 drifted into by-ways and corners were affected by the shajl 
 wind that howled abroad : which, as if expending increased 
 fury on such prey as it found, caught it savagely up in clouds, 
 and, whirling it into a thousand misty eddies, scattered it 
 in air. Bleak, dark, and piercing cold, it was a night for the 
 well-housed and fed to draw round the bright fire and thank 
 God they were at home ; and for the homeless, standng 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 167 
 
 wretch 10 lay. him .down-and: die. Many hunger-worn outcasts 
 cfeseTiheir eyes in our bare streets, at such times, who, let 
 their crimes have been what they may, can hardly open them 
 in a more bitter world. 
 
 Such was the aspect of out-of-doors affairs, when Mrs. 
 Corney, the matron of the workhouse to which our readers 
 have been already introduced as the Ijirthplace of Oliver 
 Twist, sat herself down before a cheerful fire in her own little 
 room, and glanced, with no small degree of complacency, at 
 a small round table, on which stood a tray of corresponding 
 size, furnished with all necessary materials for the most grate- 
 ful meal that matrons enjoy. In fact, Mrs. Corney. was 
 about to solace herself with a cup of tea. 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, in- 
 deed, that Mrs. Corney smiled. 
 
 "Well ! " said the matron, leaning her elbow on the table, 
 and looking reflectively at the fire ; " I'm sure we have all on 
 us a great deal to be grateful for ! A great deal, if we did 
 but know it. Ah ! " 
 
 Mrs. Corney shook her head BioUtHftllly, as if deploring 
 the mental blindness of those paupers who did not know it ; 
 and thrusting a silver spoon (private property) into the inmost 
 recesses of a two-ounce tin tea-caddy, proceeded to make 
 the tea. 
 
 How slight a thing will disturb the equanimity of our 
 frail minds f The black teapot, being very small and easily 
 filled, ran over while Mrs. Corney was moralizing j and the 
 water slightly scalded Mrs. Corney's hand. 
 
 " Drat the pot ! " said the worthy matron, setting it 
 down very hastily on the hob ; "a little stupid thing, that 
 only holds a couple of cups ! What use is it of, to anybody ! 
 Except," said Mrs. Corney, pausing, " except to a poor deso- 
 late creature like me. Oh dear ! " 
 
 With these words the matron dropped into the chair, and, 
 once more resting her elbow on the table, thought of her 
 solitary fate. The small teapot, and the single cup, had 
 awakened in her mind sad recollections of Mr. 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 jget another — ^like him." 
 
Kjg OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 Whether this remark bore reference to the husband, oi 
 the teapot, is uncertain. It might have been the latter ; tor 
 Mrs. Corney looked at it as she spoke ; and topk it up after- 
 wards. She had just tasted her first cup, when she was dis- 
 turbed by a soft tap at the room-door 
 
 " Oh, come in with you ! " said Mrs. Comey, sharply. 
 \" Some of the old women dying, I suppose. They always 
 die when I'm at meals Don't stand there, letting the cold 
 / air in, don't. What's amiss now, eh ? " 
 ' " Nothing, ma'am, notliing," replied a man's voice. 
 
 " Dear me ! " exclaimed the matron, in a much sweeter 
 tone, "is that Mr. Bumble?" 
 
 "At your service, ma'am," said Mr, Bumble, who had 
 been stopping outside to rub his shoes clean, and to shake 
 the snow off his coat; and who now made his appearance 
 bearing the cocked hat in one hand and a bundle in the other. 
 " Shall I shut the door, ma'am ? " 
 
 The lady modestly hesitated to reply, lest there should be 
 any impropriety in holding an mterview with Bumble, with 
 closed doors. Mr. Bumble taking advantage of the hesitation, 
 and being very cold himself, shut it without permission. 
 
 " Hard weather, Mr. Bumble,", said the matron. 
 
 " Hard, indeed, ma'am," replied the beadle. "Anti-poro- 
 chial 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," 
 
 " Qf course not. When would they be, Mr. Bumble ? " 
 said the matron sipping her tea. 
 
 " When, indeed, ma'am ! " rejoined Mr. Burnble. "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 cop- 
 per fajrthing's wgrth of it ! What does he do, ma'am, but ask 
 for a few coals'; if it's only a pocket handkerchief full, he 
 says 1 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'll come back for another, the day after 
 to-morrow, as trazen as alabaster." 
 
 The matron expressed her entire concurrence in this intel- 
 ligible simile ; and the beadle went on. 
 
 " I never," said Mr. Bumble, " see anything like the pitch 
 
OLIVER TWIST. l6g 
 
 it's got to. The day afore yesterday, a man — ^you have been 
 a married woman, ma'am, and I may mention it to you — a 
 man, with hardly a rag upon his back (here Mrs. Corney 
 looked at the floor), goes to our overseer's door when he has 
 got company coniing to dinner ; and says, he must be relieved, 
 Mrs. Corney. As he wouldn't go awaj', and shocked the com- 
 pany very much, our overseer sent him out a pound of pota- 
 toes and half a pint of oatmeal. 'My heart!' says the un- 
 grateful 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'll die in the streets ! ' says the vagrant. 
 ' Oh no, you won't,' says our overseer." 
 
 "Ha ! ha ! That was very gOod ! So like Mr. Grannett, 
 wasn't it ? " interposed the matron. " Well, Mr. BuiriBle ? '' 
 
 "Well, ma'am," rejoined the beadle, "he went away; and^ 
 he did die in the streets. There's a obstinate pauper for 
 you ! " ' 
 
 " It beats anything I could have believed'," observed the 
 matron einphatically. " But don't you think out-of-door relief 
 a very bad thing, any way, Mr. Bumble ? You're a gentleman 
 of experience, and ought to know. Come." 
 
 "Mrs. Corney," said the beadle, smiling as men smile who 
 are conscious of superior information, " out-of-door relief, 
 properly managed : properly managed, ma'am : is the poro- 
 chial safeguard. 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. Bum- 
 ble, " that's the great principle : and that's the reason why, 
 if you look at any cases that get into them owdacious news- 
 psipers, you'll al-ways observe that sick families have been re- 
 lieved with slices, of cheese. That's the rule flow, Mrs. Cor- 
 ney, all over the country. But, however," said the beadle, 
 stopping to unpack his bundle, "these are official secrets, 
 ma'am ; not to be spoken of ; except, as I may say, among 
 the porochial officers, such as ourseilves. This is the port 
 wine, ma'am, that the board ordered for the infirmary ; real, 
 fresh, genuine port wine ; only out of the cask this forenoon' ; 
 clear as a bell ; and no sediment ! " 
 
 Having held the first bottle up to the light, and shaken it 
 
lyo OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 well to test its excellence, Mr. Bumble placed them both on 
 the top of a chest of drawers ; folded the Ijajidkerchief in 
 which they had been wrapped ; put it carefully in his pocket ; 
 and took up his hat, as if to go. 
 
 " You'll have a very cold walk, Mr. Bumble," said the 
 matron. 
 
 " It blows, ma'am," replied Mr., Bijmble, turning up his 
 coat-collar, " enough to cut one's ear3 off." 
 
 The matron looked, frorn the little- kettle, to the beadle, 
 who was moving towards tlae door ; and as tjie beadle coughed, 
 preparatory to bidding her good-night, bashfuUy inquired 
 whether — whether he wouldn't take a cup of tea ? 
 
 Mr. Bumble instantaneously turned back his collar again ; 
 laid his hat and stick upon a chair J and drew another chair 
 up to the table; As he slowly seated himself, he looked at 
 the lady. She fixed her eyes upon the little tea-pot 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 colored, and applieid herself 
 to the task of making his tea. Again Mr. Bumble coughed, 
 — louder this time than he had coughed yet. 
 
 " Sweet ? Mr. Bumble ? " inquired the matron, taking up 
 the sugar-basin. 
 
 "Very sweet, indeed, raa'arn," 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 
 crumbs from, sullying die splendor of his shorts, began to eat 
 and drink ; varying these amusements, occasipnally, by fetch- 
 ing 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, glanc 
 ing 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," re- 
 plied the rnatron. " They're so happy, so frolicsome, and so 
 cheerful, that they are quite companions for me." 
 
 " Very nice animals, ma'am " replied Mr. Buipble, approv- 
 ingly ;" so very d<?pie§tip." 
 
OLIVER TWIST. lyi 
 
 " 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. Bumble, slowly, and 
 marking the time with his teaspoon, "I mean to say this, 
 ma'am; that any cat, or kitten, that could live with you, 
 ma'am, and not be fond of its home, must be a ass, ma'am." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Bumble ! " remonstrated Mrs. Corney. 
 
 " It's of no use disguising facts, ma'am," said Mr. Bumble, 
 slowly flourishing the teaspoon with a kind of amorous dignity 
 which made him doubly impressive ; " I would drown it my- 
 self, 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. Bumble. " Hard t " 
 Mr. Bumble resigned his cup without another word ; squeezed 
 Mrs. Comey's little finger as she took it ; and inflicting two 
 open handed slaps upon his laced waistcoat, gave a mighty 
 sigh, and hitched his chair a very little morsel farther from 
 the fire. 
 
 It was a round table ; and as Mrs. Corney and Mr. Bura^ 
 ble had been sitting opposite each other, with no great space 
 between them, and fronting the fire, it will be seen that Mr. 
 Bumble, in receding from the fire, and still keeping at the 
 table, increased the distance between himself and Mrs. Cor- 
 ney ; which proceeding, some prudent readers will doubtless 
 be disposed to admire, find to consider an act of great hero- 
 ism 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 dig- 
 nity of judges of the land, members of parliament, ministers 
 of state, lord mayors, and other .great public functionaries, | 
 but more, particularly beneath the stateliness and gravity of a , 
 beadle : who (as is well known) should be the sternest and 
 most inflexible among them all. 
 
 Whatever were Mr Bumble's intentions, however (and no 
 doubt they were of the best), it unfortunately happened, as 
 has been twice before remarked, that the table was a round 
 one ; consequently Mr. Bumble, moving his chair by little and 
 little, soon began to diminish the distance between himself 
 and the matron ; and, continuing to travel round the outer 
 edge of the drcle, brought his chair, in time, close to that in 
 
TJ2 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 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 
 wduld have been scorched by the fire ; and if to the left, 
 she must have fallen into Mr. Bumble's arms ; so (being a dis- 
 creet matron, and no doubt foreseeing these consequences 
 at a glance) she remained where she was, and handed Mr. 
 Bumble another cup of tea. 
 
 " Hai-d-hearted, Mrs. Corney ? " said Mr. Bumble, stirring 
 his tea, and looking up into the matron's face ! " are you 
 hardhearted, Mrs. Corney ? " * 
 
 " Dear me ! " exclaimed the matron, " what a very curious 
 question from a single man. What can you want to know for, 
 Mr. Bumble ? " 
 
 The beadle drank his tea to the last drop; finished a 
 piece of toast ; whisked the crumbs off his knees : wiped his 
 lips ; and deliberately kissed the matron. 
 
 " Mr. Bumble ! " cried that discreet lady in a whisper; for 
 
 the fright was so great, that she had quite lost her voice, 
 
 / " Mr, Bumble, I shall scream ! " Mr. Bumble made no reply ; 
 
 but in a slow and dignified manner, put his arm round the 
 
 matron's waist. 
 
 As the lady had stated her intention of screaming, of 
 course she would have screamed at this additional boldness, 
 but that the exertion was rendered unnecessary by a hasty 
 knocking at the door : which was no sooner heard, than Mr. 
 Bumble darted, with much agility, to the wine bottles, and 
 began dusting them with great violence : while the matron 
 sharply demanded who was there. It is worthy of remark, as 
 a curious physical instance of the efficiency of a sudden sur- 
 prise in couiiteracting the effects of extreme fear, that her 
 jvoice had quite recovered all its official asperity. 
 / " If you please, mistress,' said a withered old female pau- 
 iper, hideously ugly ; putting her head in at the door, " Old 
 Sally is a-going fast." 
 
 " Well, what's that to me ? " angrily demanded the ma- 
 tron. " I can't keep her alive, can I ? " 
 
 " No, no, mistress," replied the old woman, " nobody can ; 
 she's far beyond the reach of help. I've seen a many people 
 die ; little babes and great strong men ; and I know when 
 death' s a-coming, well enough. But she's troubled in her 
 mjnd : 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 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 ^73 
 
 to tell, which you must hear. She'll ne\-er die quiet till yoU 
 come, mistress." 
 
 At this intelligence, the worthy Mrs. Corney muttered a| 
 variety of invectives against old womehwho couldn't even die; 
 without purposely annoying their betters ; and, muflfling her-i 
 self in a thick shawl which she hastily caught up, briefly re- 
 quested Mr. Bumble to stay till she came back, lest anything 
 particular should occur. Bidding the messenger walk fast, 
 and not be all night hobbling up the stairs, she followed her 
 from the room with a very ill grace, scolding all the' way. 
 
 Mr. Bumble's conduct on being left tp himself, was rather 
 inexplicable. He opened the closet, counted the teaspoons,^ 
 weighed the sugar-tongs, closely inspected a silver milk-pot to 
 ascertain that it was of the genuine metal, and, having satis- 
 fied his curiosity on these points, put on his cocked hat cor- 
 ner-wfse, and danced with much gravity four distinct times 
 round the table. Having gone through this very extraordi- 
 nary performance, he ' took off the cocked-hat again, and 
 spreading himself before the tire with his back towards it, 
 seemed to be mentally engaged in taking an exact inventory 
 of the furniture. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 TREATS OF A VERY POOR SUBJECT. BUT IS 'k . SHORT ONE, 
 AND MAY BE FOUND OF IMPORTANCE IN THIS HISTOSY. 
 
 It was no unfit messenger of death, who had distiirbed 
 the quifet of the matron's i-oom. Her body was bent by age ; 
 her limbs trembled with palsy ; her face, distorted into a 
 mumbling leer, resembled more the grotesque shaping of some 
 wild pencil, than the work of Nature's hand. 
 
 Alas! How few of Nature's faces are left alone to glad- 
 den us with their beauty ! The cares, and sorrows, and hun- 
 gerings, of the world, change them as they change hearts ; and 
 it is only when those pdssions sleep, and have lost their hold 
 for ever, that the troubled clouds pass off, and leave Heavenlj; 
 surf ace clear. It Is a common thirigfor the countenance o_t 
 the dead,' even in that fixed and 'rigid state, to subside into 
 
til 
 
 174 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 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 child- 
 hood, kneel by the coffin's side in awe, and see the Angel 
 even upon earth. 
 
 The old crone tottered along the passages, and up the 
 stairs, muttering some indistinct answers to the chidings of 
 her companion ; being at length compelled to pause for 
 breath, she gave the light into her hand, and remained behind 
 to follow as she might ; while the more nimble superior made 
 her way to the room where the sick woman lay. 
 
 It was a bare garret-room, with ^ dim light burning at the 
 farther end. There was another old woman watching by the 
 bM ; the parish apothecary's apprentice was standing by the 
 fi^, making a toothpick out of a quill. 
 
 " Cold night, Mrs. Corney^" said this young ^ntleman, as 
 lie matron entered,. 
 
 " Very cold, indeed, sirj" replied, the misfifess, in her most 
 civil tones, and dropping a curtsey, as shespok^,, 
 
 " You should get better coals out of your cpntractors," 
 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 ahoosing, 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 tlie young, man, turning his face towards the 
 bed, as if he had previously quite fprgQtten the patient, " it's 
 all U. P. there, Mrs. Corney." 
 
 "It is, is it^ sii::.?_" asked- the matron. 
 
 " If she lasts a couple of hours, I shall be surprised," said 
 the apothecary's apprentice, intent upon the toothpick's point. 
 " It's a break-up of the system altogether. Is she dozing, 
 old'lady?" '' 
 
 The, g,ttenda.fltr stooped over the bed, to ascertain j and 
 nodded in the .ajHirmative. 
 
 " Then perhaps she'll go pfl in .that way, if you: don't make 
 a row," said the young man. " Put the light on the floor. 
 She won't see it there." 
 
 • The attendant did as she was told : shaking her head 
 meanwhile^ to intimate that the woman would not .die sa 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 175 
 
 easily ; having done so, she reswmed her seat by the .side of 
 the other nurse, who had by this tune returned. The mis- 
 tress, with an expression of impatience, wrapped herself in 
 her shawl, and sat at the foot of the bed. 
 
 The apothecary's apprentice, having completed tlie manu- 
 facture of. the toothpick, planted himself in front of the fire 
 and made good use of it for ten minutes or so : when appar- 
 ently growing rather dull, he wished Mrs. Corney joy of her 
 job, and took himself off on tiptoe. 
 
 When they, had sat in silence fcr 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 ugli- 
 ness appear terrible, as, in this position, they began to con- 
 verse in a low voice, 
 
 " Did she say any more, Anny dear, while I was gone ? " 
 inquired the messenger. 
 
 ." Not a word," replied the other. " She plucked and tore 
 at her arms for a little time ; h^t 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 go weak for an old woman, al- 
 though I.am on parish allowance ; no, no ! " 
 
 " Did she drink the hot wine the doctor said she was to 
 have ? " demanded the first. 
 
 " I tried to get it down," rejoined the ; other. " But. her 
 teeth were tight set, and she clenched the mug 50 hard' that 
 it was as much as. I could do to get. it back again. So / 
 dr^tnk it ; and it did me good !" 
 
 Looking cautiously round, to ascertain that they were not 
 overheard, the two hags t;ow;ered nearer tp the fire, and 
 chuckled heartily. .. ' 
 
 " i mind the time," said the firfet spea}cer, " when she 
 would have done the same, and made rare fun of it after- 
 wards.'' 
 
 . "Ay, that she would," rejoined the other ; "she ha,d a merry 
 heart. A many, many, beautiful corpses she laid put, as nice 
 and neat as wax-work. My old eyes have seen them: — ;ay, and 
 those old hands touched them, too ; for I have helped her, 
 scores of -tiroes." 
 
 Stretching forth her trembling fingers as she spoke, the) 
 old creature shook them exultingly before her face, and fum^ 
 Wing in her pocket, brought out an ojd time-discolpred ti^ 
 s];iuf{-box. from which sheshppk a few grains into the oijt- 
 
J -6 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 Stretched {)alm of her companion, and a few more into her own. 
 While they -vyere thus employed, the matron, who had been 
 impatiefntly watching until the dying woman should awaken 
 from her stupor, joined them by the fire, and sharply asked 
 how long she was to wait ? 
 
 " Not long, mistress," replied the second woman, looking 
 up into her face. "We have none of us long to wait for 
 rfeath. Patience, patience ! He'll be here soon enough foi 
 us all." 
 
 " Hold your tongue, you doting idiot \ " said the matron, 
 sternly. " You, Martha, tell me ; has she been' in this way 
 before?" 
 
 " Often," answered the first woman, 
 
 " But will never be again," added the second one ; " that 
 is, she'll never wake again but once — and mind, mistress, 
 that won't be for long ! " 
 
 " Long or short," said the matron, snappishly, "she won't 
 find me' here when she does wake ; take care, both of jt)u, 
 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, yxm impudent old harridans. If yoH 
 make a fool of me again, V\\ soon cure you, I warrant you ! " 
 
 She was bouncing away, when a cry from the two women, 
 who had turned towards the bed, caused her to look round. 
 The patient had raised herself upright, and was stretching her 
 arms towards then". 
 
 " Who's that ? " she cried, in a hollow voice. 
 
 " Hush, hush ! " said one of the women, stooping over her. 
 " Lie down, fie down \" 
 
 " I'll never lie down again alive ! " said the woman, strug- 
 gling. " I a//// tell her ! Come here ! Nearer ! Let me 
 whisper in your ear." 
 
 She clutched the matron by the arm, and forcing her into 
 a chair by the bed-side, was about to speak, when looking 
 round, she Caught sight of the two old women bending for- 
 ward in the attitude of' eager listeners. 
 
 "Turn them away," said the woman, drowsily; "make 
 haste ! make haste ! " 
 
 The two old crones, chiming in together, began pouring 
 otit many piteous lamentati&ns that the poor dear was 
 too far gone to know her best friends ; and were uttering 
 sundry protestations that they would never leave her, when 
 the superior pushed them from the room, closed the door, 
 
OLIVER TWIST. jy^j 
 
 and returned to the bed-side. On being excluded, the old 
 ladies changed their tone, and cried through the keyhole that 
 old Sally was drunk ; which, indeed, was not unlikely ; since, 
 in aiddition to a moderate . dose of opium prescribed by the 
 apothecary, she was laboring under the effects of a final taste 
 of gin-and-water which had been privily administered, in the 
 openness of their hearts, by the worthy old ladies themselves. 
 
 "Now listen to me," said the dying woman aloud, as if 
 making a great effort to revive one latent spark of energy. 
 " In this very room — in this very bed — I once nursed a pretty 
 young creetur', that was brought into the house with her feet 
 cut and bruised with walking, and all soiled with dust and 
 blood. She gave birth to a boy, and died. Let me think — 
 what was the year again ! " 
 
 " Never mind the year," said the impatient auditor ; 
 " what about her ? " 
 
 "Ay," murmured the sick woman, relapsirig into,, her for- 
 mer drowsy state, "what about her? — what about — I know !" 
 she cried, jumping fiercely up : her face flushed, and her eyes 
 starting from her head — " I robbed her, so I did ! STie wasn't 
 cold — J 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 lier bosom. It was gold, I tell you ! Rich gold, 
 that might have saved her life I " 
 
 " Gold ! " echoed the niatron, bending eag'erly over the 
 woman as she fell back. " Go on, go on — ^yes — what of it ? 
 Who was the mother .■" When was it ? " 
 
 "She charged me to keep it safe," replied the woman 
 with a groan, " and trusted me as the only woman about her. 
 I stole it in my heart when she'first showed it me hanging 
 round her neck ; and the child's death, perhaps, is on me be- 
 sides ! 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, ram-\ 
 bling 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 Iamb ! Wait ; there's^ 
 more to tell. I have not told you all, have I ? " '"*j 
 
lyS OLIVER TWIST- 
 
 " No, no,'' replied the matron, inclining her head to catcft 
 the words, as they came more faintly from the dyiijg woman. 
 " Be quick, or it may be too late ! " ' ■ - C» ■__... ! 
 
 "The mother," said the woman, making a more violent 
 effort than before ; "the mother, wh^n the pains of death first 
 came upon her, whispered in my ear that if her baby was bom 
 alive, and thrived, the day might come wheji it would not feel 
 so much disgraced to hear its poor young mother named. 
 ' And oh, kind Heaven ! ' she said, folding her thin hands to- 
 gether, ' whether it be boy pr girl, raise up some friends for 
 : it in this troubled world, and take pity upon a lonely desolate 
 child, abandoned to its mercy ! '" 
 
 "The boy's name.'' " demanded the matroii, 
 
 " They called him Oliver," replied the woman, feebly. 
 " The gold J. stole was " 
 
 " Yes, yes — -vAvsX ? " cried the other. 
 
 She was bending eagerly over thp . woman to hear her re- 
 ply; but drew back, instinctively, as she once again rose, 
 slowly and stiffly, into a sitting posture ; then, clutching the 
 coverlid with both hands, muttered some indistinct sounds in 
 her throat, and fell lifeless on the bed. 
 
 * * ' * * * * * 
 
 " Stone dead! " said one of the old women, hurrying in as 
 soon as the door was opened. 
 
 " And nothing to tell, after all," rejoined the matroii, walk- 
 ing carelessly away. 
 
 The two crones, to all appearance, too busily occupied in 
 the preparations for their dreadful duties to rnalje 3,ny reply, 
 were left alpjje, hovering about the body. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 WHEREIN THIS HISTORY REVERTS TO MR. FAGIN AND 
 COMLPANY. 
 
 While these things were passing In the country workhouse, 
 Mr. Fagin sat in the old den — the same from which Oliver 
 had been removed by the girl — brooding over a dyll, smoky 
 fire. He held a pair of bellows upon his knee, with which h,e 
 
OLTVEK TWIST. 179 
 
 had apparently been endeavoring to rouse it into more cheer- 
 ful action; but be had fallen into deep thought ; and with his 
 arms folded on them, and his chin resting on his thumbs, fixed 
 his eyes, abstractedly, on the rugty bars. 
 
 ,At a table behind him sat the Artful 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 countenance of the first-named gentleman, 
 peculiarly intelligent at all times, acquired great additional in- 
 terest 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 uppn his neighbor'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 betwe^ his. teeth, 
 which he only removed for a brief space when he deemed it 
 necessary to apply for refreshrnent to a quart pot upon the ta- 
 ble, which stood ready filled with gin-and-water for the accom- 
 modation of the conjpany. 
 
 plaster Bates was also attentive to the play ; but being of 
 a more excitable nature than his accomplished friend, it was 
 observable tjiat he more frequently applied himself to the gin- 
 and-water, and moreover indulged in many jests and irrelevant 
 remarks, all highly unbecoming a scientific rubber. Indeed, 
 the Artful, presuming upon their close attachment, more than 
 once took occasion to reason gravely with his companion upon 
 these improprieties : all of whiqh remonstrances. Master Bates 
 received in extremely good part ; merely requesting his friend 
 tp be " blowed," or to insert his head iri a sack, or replying 
 with some other neatly-turned witticism of a similar kind, the 
 happy application of which, excited considerables admiration 
 in the mind of Mr. Chitling. It was remarkable that the lat- 
 ter gentleman and his partner invariably lost ; and that the 
 circumstance, so far from angering Master Bates, appeared 
 to afford him the highest amusement, inasmuch as he laughed 
 most uproariously at the end of every deal, and protested that 
 he had never seen such a jolly game in all his bprn days. 
 
 "That's two ; doubles and. the rub," said iVIr. Chitling, 
 with a very long face, as he drew half-a-crown from his waist- 
 coat-pocket. "I never see such a feller as you. Jack ; you 
 win everything, ^veq when we've good cards, Charley and I 
 can't m^e,!aothing.of 'em." 
 
l8o OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 Either the matter or the 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 Artfiil and dum." 
 
 " Ay, ay ! " said the Jew, with a grin, which sufficiently 
 demonstrated that he was at no loss to understand the reason. 
 " Try 'eih again, Tom ; try 'em again." 
 
 " No more of it for me, thankee, Fagin," 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 morning, to win against the Dodger!" 
 
 "Morning!" said Charley 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 
 /»>«." 
 
 Mr. Dawkins received these handsome compliments with 
 much philiasophy, and offered to cut any gentleman in cora- 
 pany,'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 ; whistling, 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 .? " 
 
 " How should I know, my dear ? " replied the Jew, looking 
 round as he plied the bellows. "About his losses, maybe ; or 
 the little retirement in the country that he's just" left, eh? 
 Ha ! ha ! Is that it, my dear ? " 
 
 " Not a bit of it," replied the Dodger, stopping the sub- 
 ject of digcoarse 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 a-blush- 
 ipg ! Oh, my eye ! here's a merry-go-rounder ! Tommy Chit- 
 ling's iti love I Oh, Fagin, Fagin ! what a spree ! " 
 
 Thoroughly overpowered with the notion of Mr. Chitling 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 18 1 
 
 being the victim of the tender passion, Master Bates threw 
 himself back in his chair with such violence, that he lost his 
 balance, and pitched over upon the floor ; where (the accident 
 abating nothing of his merriment) he lay at full length unti/ 
 his laugh was over, when he resumed his former position, and 
 began another laugh. 
 
 " Never mind him, my dear," said the Jew, winking at Mr. 
 Dawkins, and giving Master Bates a reproving tap with the 
 nozzle of the bellows. " Betsy's a fine girl. Stick up to her, 
 Tom. Stick up to her." 
 
 "What I mean to say, Fagih," replied Mr. Chitling, very 
 red in the face, "is, that that isn't anything to anybody bere." 
 
 "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 will make your for- 
 tune." 
 
 "So I do do as she bids me," replied Mr. Chitling; " I 
 shouldn't have been milled, if it hadn't been for her advice. 
 But it turned out a good job for you ; didn't it, Fagin ! And 
 What's six weeks of it ? It must come, some time or another, 
 an5 why not in the winter time when you don't want to go 
 out a-walking so much ; eh, Fagin ? " 
 
 " 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," replied Tom, angrily. 
 " There, now. Ah ! Who'll say as much as that, I should like 
 to know ; eh, Fagin ? " 
 
 ■ " 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 de^r." 
 
 " I might have got clear off, if I'd split upon her ; mightn't 
 I, Fagin ? " angrily pursued the poor half-witted dupe. " A 
 word from me would have done it ; wouldn't it, Fagin ? " 
 
 "To be sure it would, my dear," replied the Jew. 
 
 " But I didn't blab it ; did I, Fagin ? " demanded Tom, 
 pouring question upon question with great volubility. 
 
 " No, no, to be sure," replied the Jew ; " you were too 
 stout-hearted for that. A deal too stout, my dear ! " 
 
 "Perhaps I was," rejoined Tom, looking round ; "and if 
 I was, what's to laugh at, in that ; eh, Fagin ? " 
 
 The Jew, perceiving that Mr. Chitiing was considerably 
 
l82 • OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 roused, hastened to assure him that nojbody was laughing; and 
 to prove the gravity of the company, appealed to Master Bates, 
 the principal offender. But, unfortunately, Charley, in open- 
 ing his mouth to reply that he was never more serious in his 
 life, was unable to prevent the escape of such a violent roar, 
 that the abused Mr. Chitling, without any preliminary cere- 
 monies, rushed across the room and aimed a blow at the offen- 
 der ; who, being skilful in evading pursuit, ducked to avoid it, 
 and chose his thne so well that it lighted on the chest of the 
 merry old gentleman, and caused him to stagger to the wall, 
 where he stood panting for breath, while Mr. Chitling looked 
 on in intense dismay. 
 
 " Hark ! " cried the Dodger at this moment, " I heard the 
 tinkler." Catching up the light, lie crept softly up stairs. 
 
 The bell was rung again, with some impatience, while the 
 party were in darkness. After a short pause, the Dodger re- 
 appeared, and whispered Fagin mysteriously. 
 
 " What ! " cried the Jew, " alone ?-" 
 
 The Dodger nodded in the affirmative, and, shading the 
 flame of the candle vyith his hand, gave Charley Bates a pri- 
 vate intimation, in dumb show, that he had better not be fufiny 
 just then. Having performed this friendly office, he fixed his 
 eyes on the Jew's face, and awaited his directions. 
 
 The old man bit his yellow fingers and meditated for some 
 seconds ; his face working with agitation the while, as if he 
 dreaded somethings 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 the mute inquiry ; " bring 
 him down. Hush! Quiet, Charley ! Gently, Tom, i Scarce, 
 scarce ! " ' 
 
 This brief direction to Charley Bates, and his recent 
 antagonist, was softly and immediately obeyed. There was no 
 sound of their whereabout, when the Dodger descended the 
 stairs, bearing the light in his hand, and followed by a man in 
 a. coarse smock-frock ; who, after casting a hurried gl^ce 
 round the room, pulled off a large wrapper which had con- 
 cealed the lower portion of his face, and disclosed: all 
 haggard, unwashed, and unshorn : the features of flash Toby 
 Crackit. 
 
 " How are you, Faguey ? " said this worthy, nodding to the 
 
OLIVER TWIST. ,83 
 
 Jew. " Pop that shawl away in my castor, Podger, so that I 
 may know where to find it when I cut ; that's the time of day ! 
 You'll be a fine young craksman afore the old file now." 
 
 With these words he milled ; up the smock-frock ; and, 
 ^finding it round his middle, drew a chair to the fire, and 
 placed his feet upon the hob. 
 
 "See there, Faguey, he said,; pointing disconsolately to 
 his top-boots ; " not a drop of Day and Martin since you know 
 »!hen ; not a bubble of blacking, by Jove ! But don't look at 
 me in that way, man. All in good time. I can't talk about 
 business 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 die Dodger to place what eatables 
 there were, upon the table ^ and, seating himself opjDOsite the 
 housebreaker, waited his leisure. 
 
 To judge from appearanpes, Toby was by no means in a 
 hurry to open the conversation At first, the Jew contented 
 himself with patiently watching his comitenance, as if . to gain 
 from its expression some clue to the intelligence he brought ; 
 but in vain. He looked tired and worn, but there was the 
 same complacent xep.Qse 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 do.vn the 
 room, meanwhile, in irrepressible excitement. It was all of no 
 use. Toby continued to eat with the utmost outward indiffer- 
 ence, until he could eat no more ; then, ordering the Dofiger 
 out, he closed the door, mixed aglass of spirits and water, and 
 composed himself for talking. 
 
 "First and foremost, Faguey," said Toby. 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " interposed the Jew, drawing up his chair. 
 
 Mr. Crackit stopped to take a draught of spirits and water, 
 and to declare that the gin was excellent ; then placing his 
 feet against the low mantlepiece, 50 as to bring his boots to 
 about the level of his eye, he quietly resumed, 
 ' "First and foremost, Faguey," said the housebreaker, 
 "how's Bill?" 
 
 " What ! " screamed the Jew, starting from his seatv 
 
 "Why, you don't mean to say " began Toby, turning 
 
 pale. 
 
 " Mean ! " cried the Jew, stamping furiously on the ground. 
 
j84 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " Where are they ? Sikes and the boy ! Where are they ? 
 Where have they been ? 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 ? " 
 
 "They fired and hit the boy. We cut over the fields at the 
 back, with him between us — straight as the crow flies — through 
 hedge and ditch. They gave chase. Damme ! the whole 
 country was awake, and the dogs upon us." 
 
 "The boyf" 
 
 " Bill had him on his back, and scudded like the wind. 
 We stopped to take him between us ; his head hung down, 
 and he was cold. They were close upon our heels j every 
 man for himself, and each from" the gallows! We parted 
 ', company, and left the youngster lying in a ditch. Alive or 
 jdead, that's all I know about him." 
 
 : The Jew stopped to hear no more ; but uttering a loud 
 lyell, and twining his hands in his hair, rushed from the room, 
 and from the house. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 IN WHICH A MYSTERIOUS CHARACTER APPEARS UPON THE 
 SCENE ; AND MANY ' THINGS, INSEPARABLE FROM THIS . 
 HISTORY, ARE DONE AND PERFORMED. 
 
 The old man ha4 gained the street corner, before he beg^n 
 to recover the effect of Toby Crackit's intelligence. He had 
 relaxed nothing of his unusual speed ; but was still pressing on- 
 ward, 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. Avoiding, as much as possible, all the main 
 Streets, and skulking only through the byways and alleys, he 
 at length emerged on Snow Hill. Here he walked even faster 
 than before ; nor did he linger until he had again fufned into 
 a court ; when, as if conscious that he was now iiThisgrgper 
 element, he fell into his usual shuffiing pace, and seemed to 
 breathe more freely. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 1S5 
 
 Near to the spot on which Snow Hill and Holborn Hill 
 meet, there opens, upon the righrEanS as you come out of the 
 City, a narrow and dismal alley leading to Saffron, Hill. In 
 its filthy shops ai-e exposed for sale huge bunches of second- 
 hand silk handkerchiefs, of all sizes and patterns ; for here re- 
 side the traders who purchase them from pickpockets. Hun- 
 dreds of these handkerchiefs hang dangling from pegs outside 
 the windows or flaunting from the door-posts ; and the shelves, 
 within, are piled with them, Confined as the limits of Field 
 Lane are, it has its barber, its coffee-shop, its beer-shop, and 
 its fried-fish ware-house. 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-parlors, and who go as strangely as they come. Here, 
 the clothesman, the shoe-varaper, and the rag-merchant, dis- 
 play their goods, as sign-boards to the petty thief ; here, 
 stores of old iron and bones, and heaps of inildewy frag- 
 ments of woollen-stuff and linen, rust and rot in the grimy 
 cellars. 
 
 It was into this place that the Jew turned. He was well 
 known to the sallow denizens of the lane ; for such of them as 
 were on the look=5Ut to buy or sell, nodded, 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 per- 
 son into a child's chair as the chair would hold, and was 
 smoking a pipe at his warehouse door. 
 
 " Why, the sight of you, Mr. Fagin, would cure the hopn 
 talmy ! " said this respectable trader, in acknowledginent of 
 the Jew's inquiry after his health. 
 
 "The neighborhood was a little too hot. Lively," said Fa- 
 gin, elevating his eyebrows, and crossing his hands upon his 
 shoulders. 
 
 " Well,- I've heerd that complaint of it, once or twice be- 
 fore," replied the trader ; " but it soon cools down again ; 
 don't you find it so ? " 
 
 Fagin nodded in the affirmative. Pointing in the direction 
 of Saffron Hill, he inquired whether any one was up yonder 
 to-night, 
 
 " At the Cripples ? " inquired the man. 
 
 llie Jew podded. 
 
 " Let me see," pursued the merchant, reflecting. " Yes, 
 
1 86 OLIVER TWISt >. 
 
 there's some half-dbzeti of 'em gone in, that I knows. I don't 
 think your friend's there." 
 
 " ^ikeS is not, I suppose ? " inquired the Jew, with a dis- 
 appointed countenance. 
 
 "Nan istwehtus, as the lawyers say," replied the little man, 
 shaking his head, and looking amazingly sly. " Hiveyougot 
 anything in my line to-night ? " 
 
 " Nothing to-night," said the Jew, turning away. 
 
 "Are you going up to the Cripples, Fagin ?•" cried the 
 little man, dallihg after him. " Stop! I don't mind if I have 
 a drop there with you ! " 
 
 But as the Jew, looking back, waved his haiid to intimate 
 that he preferred being alone ; and, moreover, as the little 
 man could not very easily disengage himself from the chair ; 
 the sign of the Cripples was, for a time, bereft of the advan- 
 tage of Mr. Lively's presence. By the time he had gdt upon 
 his legs, the jew had disappeared ; so Mr. Lively, after inef- 
 fectually standing on tiptoe, iii the hope of catching sight of 
 him, again forced himself into the little chair, and, exchanging 
 a shake of the head with a lady in the opposite shop, in which 
 doubt and mistrust were plainly mingled, resumed his pipe 
 with a grave demeanor. 
 
 The Three Cripples, or rather the Cripples': which was 
 the sign by which the establishment was familiarly known to 
 its patrons : was the public-house in which Mr. Sikes and his 
 "dog have already figured. Merely making a sign to a man at 
 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 sortie particular person. ' 
 
 The room was illuminated by two gas-iights ; 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 color from being injured by the 
 flaring of the lamps ; and the place was so full of" dense to- 
 bacco smoke, that at first it was scarcely possible to discern 
 anything more. By degrees, however, as some of it cleared 
 away through the open door, ail assemblage of heads, as con- 
 fused as the noises that greeted the ear, might be made out ; 
 and as the eye grew more accustomed to tlie scene, the spec- 
 tator 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 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 187 
 
 office in his liand ; while a professional gentleman, with a 
 bluish nose, and his face tied up for the benefit of a toothache, 
 presided at a jingling piano in a remote corner. 
 
 As Fagin stepped softly in, the professional gentleman, 
 running over the keys by way of prelude, occasioned a general 
 cry of order for a song ; which, having subsided, a young 
 lady proceeded to entertain the company with a ballad in four 
 verses, between each of which the accompanyist played the 
 melody all through, as loud as he could. When this was over, 
 the chairman gave z. sentiment, after which, the professional, 
 gentlemen on the chairman's right and left volunteered a duet, 
 and sang it, with great applause. 
 
 It was curious to observe some faces which, stood out 
 prominently from among the group. There was the chairman 
 himself, (the landlord of the house,) a coarse, rough, heavy 
 built fellow, who, while the songs were proceeding, rolled his 
 eyes hither and 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 applying themselves, in 
 turn, to a dozen proffered glasses of spirits and water, tendered 
 "by their more boisterous admirers ; whose countenances, ex- 
 pressive 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 fading as 
 you looked ; others with every mark and stamp of their sex 
 utterly beaten Out, and presenting -but one loathsorne 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' einotions, 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 oc- 
 cupied the -chair, he beckoned to hiin slightly, and left the 
 room, as quietly as he had entered it. 
 
 " What can I do for you, Mr. Fagin ? " inquired the man, 
 as he followed him out to the landing. " Won't you join us ? 
 They'll be delighted, every one of 'em." 
 
 • The Jew shook his head impatiently, and said in a whis- 
 per, " Is he here ? " 
 
l88 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " No," replied the man. 
 
 " And no news of Barney ? " inquired Fagin. 
 • " None," replied the landlord of the Cripples ; for it was 
 he. " He wofi't stir till it's all safe. Depend on it, 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'll pound, it, that Barney's man- 
 aging properly. Let him alone for that.'' 
 
 "Will he he. here to-night?" asked the Jew, laying the 
 same emphasis on the pronoun "as before. 
 • " Monks, do you mean ? " ii\ aired 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. it you'll wait 
 ten minutes, he'H be " 
 
 "No, no," said the Jew, hastily; as though, however de- 
 sirous 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 ? " 
 
 " Not a word now," said the Jew, descending the stairs. 
 
 " I say," said the other, looking over the rails, and speak? 
 ing in a hoarse whisper ; " 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 PhilBarker'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 meriy lives — while they last. Ha ! ha ! 
 ha!" ■ 
 
 The landlord reciprocated the old man's laugh ; and re- 
 turned to his guests. The Jew was no sooner alone, than 
 his countenance resumed its former expression of anxiety and 
 thought. After a brief reflection, he called a hack cabriolet, 
 and bade the man drive towards Bethnal Green. He dis- 
 missed him within some quarter of a mile of Mr. Sikes's resi- 
 dence, andperfbrmed the short remainder of the. distance on 
 foot. • 
 
 " Now," muttered the Jew, as he knocked at the door, if 
 there iS any deep play here, I shall have it out of you, my 
 girl, cunning as you arc." 
 
 She was in her room the woman said. Fagin crept 
 
OLIVER tWIS'I. 189 
 
 softly up stairs, and entered it without any previous Ceremony. 
 The girl was alone; lying with her head upon the table, and 
 hair straggling over it. 
 
 " She has been drinking," thought the Jew, coolly, " or 
 perhaps She is only miserable." 
 
 The old man turned to close the door, as he made this re- 
 flection j the noise thus occasioned, roused the girl. She 
 eyed his crafty face narrowly, as she inquired whether there 
 was 'any news, and as she listened to his recital of Toby 
 Crackit's story. When it was concluded, she sank into her, 
 former attitude, but spoke hot a word. She pushed the can- 
 dle impatiently away ; and once or twice as she feverishly 
 changed her position, shuiSSed her f^et upon the ground ; but 
 this was all. 
 
 During the silence, the- Jew looked restlessly about the 
 room, as if to assure himself that there were no appearances of 
 Sikes having covertly returned. Apparently satisfied with his 
 Jhspfection, he coughed twice or thrice, and made as many ef- 
 forts 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 
 conciliatory tone, 
 
 " And where should you think Bill was now, my dear ? " 
 
 The girl moaned out some half intelligible reply, that 
 she cpuH not tell; and Seemed from the smothered noise that 
 escaped her, to be crying. 
 
 "And the boy, too," said the Jew, straining his eyes to 
 catch a' glimpse of her face. " Poor leetle child ! Left in a 
 ditch, Nince ; only think 1 " 
 
 " 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 
 Tjones niay rot there." 
 
 " What ! " cried the Jew in amazement. \ 
 
 " Ay, I do," returned 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." 
 
 "Am I ? " cried the girl, bitterly. "It's no fault of yours, 
 if I am not ! You'd never have me anything else, if you' had 
 your will, except now; — the humor doesn't suit you now, 
 doesn't it ? " 
 9 
 
igo 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " N© ! " rejoined the Jew, furiously. . " It does not" , 
 
 " GRange it, then !" responded the girl, with a laugh, 
 
 " Change it ! " exclaimed the jew, exasperated beyond all 
 bounds by his, companion's^ unexpected obstinacy, and the 
 vexation of the night, " I will change it ! Listen to me, you 
 drab. Listen to me, who with six words, can strangle Sifces as 
 surely as if I bad his bull's throat between my fingers now. If 
 he comes back, and leaves the boy behind him ; 3 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 la,te ! " 
 
 " What is. all this? " cried the girl involuntarily. 
 
 "What is it ?" pursued Fagin, mad with rage. "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 
 pi ! And me bouiid; too, to a born devil that only wants the 
 (•willv and has the power to, to " 
 
 Panting for breath, the old man stammered for a word ; 
 and -in that instant checked the torrent of his wrath, and 
 changed his whole demeanor. A moment before, his clenched 
 hands had grasped the air ; his eyes had dilated ; and his 
 face grown Kvid with passion ; but now, he shrunk into a 
 chair, andj, cowering togedier, trembled with the apprehension 
 of having himself disclosed some hidden villainy. After a 
 short silence, he .ventured to look round at his companion. 
 He appeared somewhat reassured, on beholding her in the 
 same listless attitude from which he had first roused her. 
 
 " Nancy, dear," croaked the Jew in his usual voice.: " Did 
 you mind me, dear? " 
 
 " Don't i.woriy me now, Fagin ! " replied the girl, raising 
 her head languidly. " If Bill has not done it this time, h^ 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 j so no 
 more about that." 
 
 "Regarding this boy, my dear?" said the Jew, rubbing 
 the palms of his, hands nervously together. 
 
 " The boy must take his chance with the rest," interrupted 
 
 Nancy, hastily ; " and I say again, I hope he is dead, and out 
 
 of harm's way, and out of yours, — that is, if Bill comes to no 
 
 . harm. And if Toby got clear off. Bill's pretty sure to be safe ; 
 
 for Bill's worth two of Toby any time." 
 
OLIVER TWJST. igi 
 
 '* And about what I was saying, my dear ? " observed the 
 Jew, keeping his glistening eye steadily upon her.. 
 
 " You must say it all over again, if it's anything you want 
 me to do," rejoined Nancy ; " and if it is, you had better wait 
 till t07morrow. You put me up for a minute ; but now I'm 
 stupid again." 
 
 Fagin put seveiril other questions ; all with the same drift 
 of ascertaining whether the girl had profited by his unguarded 
 hints ; but, she answered them so readily, and was withal so 
 utterly unmoved by his searching, looks, that his original im^ 
 pression of her being more than a trifle in liquor, was con- 
 firmed. Nancyy indeed, was not exempt from a failing iwhich 
 was very common among the Jew's female pupils \ and in 
 which, in their tenderer years, they were rather encouraged 
 than checkedi .Her disordered appearance, and a wholesale 
 perfume of Geneva which pervaded the apartment, adforded 
 strong confirmatory evidence of the justice of the Jew's sup- 
 position ; and when, after indulging in the temporary display 
 of violence above described, she subsided, first into dulnessj 
 and iftetwards into a compound of feelings :: under the influ' 
 ence 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 atnount of the 
 odds so long as a lady or gentleman was happy, Mr. Fagin, 
 who had had considerable experience of such matters in his 
 time,, saw, with great satisfaction, that she was very far gone 
 indieed. . , ■ , ; ; •: ■ 
 
 Having eased his mind by this discovery ; and having ac- 
 complisihed his, twofold '.object of imparting to the girl what he 
 had, that night, heard, and of ascertaining, with his own eyesj 
 that Sikes had not returned, Mr. Fagin again; itumed his face 
 homeward : leaving his young friend asle^; with her head 
 upon the, table. 
 
 It was within an hour of raidni^t. . The weather being 
 dark, and piercing eold^ he had no great temptation to loiter. 
 The sharp wind that scoured the streets, seemed to have 
 cleared them of passengers, as of dust and mud, for few peo- 
 ple were abroad, and they were to all appearance hastening 
 fast home. It blew from the right quarter for the Jew, how^ 
 ever, and straight before it he went ; trembling and shiveringj 
 as every fresh gust drove him rudely on his way. 
 
 He had reached the corner of his own street, and was 
 already fumbling in his pocket for the door-key, when a dark 
 
1 92 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 figure emerged from a projecting entrance which lay in deep 
 shadow, and, crossing the road, glided up to him unper- 
 ceived. 
 
 " Fagin ! " whispered a voice close to his ear. 
 
 "Ah!" said the Jew, turning quickly round, "is 
 that " 
 
 "Yes!" interrupted the stranger. "I have been linger- 
 
 { ing here these two hours. Where the devil have you been ? " 
 
 ! " On your business, my dear/' replied the Jew, glancing 
 
 , uneasily at his companion, and slackening his pace as he 
 
 spoke. " On your business all night" 
 
 " Oh, of course ! " said the stranger, with a sneer. " Well ; 
 and what's come of it ? " 
 
 " Nothing g'ood," said the Jew. 
 
 " Nothing bad, I hope 'i " said the stranger, stopping 
 short, and turning a startled Jook on his companion. 
 
 The Jew ' shook his head, and was about to reply, when 
 the stranger, interrupting him, motioned to the house, before 
 which they had by this time arrived: remarking, that he had 
 better say what he had got to say, under cover ; for his blood 
 was chilled with standing about so long, and the wind blew 
 through him. 
 
 Fagin looked as if he could have willingly excused himself 
 from taking home a visitor at that unseasonable hour ; and, 
 indeed, muttered something about having no fire; but his 
 companion repeating his request in a peremptory manner, he 
 unlocked the door, and requested him to close it softly, while 
 he got a light. 
 
 "It's as dark' as the grave," said the man, groping for- 
 ward a few steps. . " Make haste ! " 
 
 "Shut the door," whispered Fagin from the end of the 
 passage; As he spoke, it closed with a loud noise. 
 
 " That wasn't my doing," said the other man, feeling his 
 way. " The wind blew it to, or it shut of its own accords one 
 or the other. Look sharp with the light, or I shall knock my 
 brains out against something in this confounded hole." 
 
 Fagin stealthily descended the kitchen stairs. After a 
 short absence, he returned with a lighted candle, and tiie in- 
 telligence that Toby Crackit was asleep in the back room 
 below, and that the boys were in the front one. Beckoning 
 the man to follow him, he led the way up stairs. 
 
 " We can say the few words we've got to say in here, my 
 dear," said the Jew, throwing open a door on the first floor ; 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 153 
 
 " and as there are holes in the shutters, and we never show 
 lights to our neighbors, we'll set the candle on the stairs; 
 There!" 
 
 With those words, the Jew, stooping down, placed the 
 candle on an upper flight of stairs, exactly opposite to the 
 room door. This done, he led the way into the apartment ; 
 wluch was destitute of all movables save a broken arm-chair, 
 and an- old couch or sofa without covering, which stood be- 
 hind the door. Upon this piece of furniture, the stranger sat 
 himself with the air of a weary man ; and the Jew, drawing 
 up the arm-chair opposite, they sat face to face. It was not 
 quite dark ; the door Was partially, open ; and the candle out- 
 side, threw a feeble reflection on the opposite wall. 
 
 They conversed for some time in whispers. Though 
 nothing of the conversation was distinguishable beyond a few 
 disjointed words here and there, a listener might easily have 
 perceived that Fagin appeared to be defending himself 
 against some remarks of the stranger ; and that the. latter was 
 in a state of considerable irritation. They might have been 
 talking, thus, for a qua,rter of an hour or more, when Monks) 
 — ^by ;which name the Jew had , designated the strange mart 
 several; times in -the course of their colloquy — said, raising 
 his voice a little, 
 
 "I tell you again, it was badly planned. Why not have 
 kept him here among- the rest, and made a sneaking, snivel- 
 ling pickpocket of, him at once 1 " 
 
 : . " 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 ? " demanded Monks, sternly. " Haven't 
 you done it, with other boys, scores of times ? If you had 
 had patience for a twelvemonth, at most, couldn't; you have 
 got him convicted, and sent safely oat of the kingdoni ; per- 
 haps for life ? " 
 
 " Who's turn would that have Served, my dear ? " inquired 
 the Jew humbly. 
 
 " Mine,'' replied Monksj 
 
 " But not mine," said the Jew< submissively. " He might 
 have become of use to me. When there are two parties to a 
 bargain, it is only reasonable that the interests of both should 
 be consulted ; is it, my good friend .? " 
 
 ^' What then ? " demanded Monks. 
 
 " I saw it was not easy to train him to the business," re- 
 
jg^. OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 plied the Jew,; "he was not like other boys in the same^^eiF .. 
 cumstances." -,->-----. " ; 
 
 " riurse him, no ! " muttered the man, " or he would have 
 been a thief, long ago." 
 
 " I had no hold upon him to make him worse," pursued 
 the Jew, anxiously watching the countenance of his compan 
 ion. " His hand was not in. I had nothing to frighten him 
 with ; which we always must have in the beginning, or we la- 
 bor in vain. What could I do ? Send him out with the 
 Dodger and Charley ? We had enough of that, at first, my 
 dear ; I trembled for us all." 
 
 " That was riot my doing," observed Monks. 
 
 " No, no, my dear ! " renewed- the Jew. " And I don't 
 quarrel with it now ; because, if it had never happened, you 
 /rnight never have clapped eyes upon the boy to notice him, 
 I and so led to the discovery that it was him you were looking 
 I for. Well ! I got him back for you by means of the girl 
 I and then she begins to fav-or him." 
 
 " Throttle the girl ! " said Monks, impatiently. 
 
 "Why, we can't afford to do that just now, my dear," 
 replied the Jew, smiling ; " and, besides, that sort ' of thing is 
 not in our way ; or, one of these days, I might be glad to have 
 it done. I know what these "girls are, Monksj well. As soon 
 as the boy begins to harden, she'll care no more for him, than 
 for a block of wood. You want him made a thief. K he is 
 alive, I can make him one from this time ; and if — if — " said 
 the Jbw, drawing nearer to^tiie other, — " It's not likely,' mind, 
 -Jjut if the worst comes to the worst, and he is dead-^" 
 { *' It's no fault of mine if he is ! " interposted the other man, 
 jwith 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 told you from the first. I Won't 
 shed blood ; it's always found out, and haunts a man besides. 
 If they shot him dead, I was not the cause ; do you hear me ? 
 Fire it}iis infernal den ! What's that ?" 
 
 " What ! " cried the Jew, grasping the coward round the 
 body, with both arms, as he sprungto His feet. ^" Where? " 
 
 ■i'YondeT!" replied the man, glaring at the opposite wall. 
 '' The shadow ! I saw the shadow of a woman, in a cloak and 
 bonnet, pass along the wainscot like a breath ! " 
 
 The Jew released his hold, and they rushed tumultuously 
 from the room. The candle, wasted by the <lraug!at, was 
 standing where it had been placed. It showed them only the 
 
OLIVER TWIST. ig^ 
 
 empty Staircase, and their own white faces. They listened 
 intently : a profound silepce reigned throughout the hpuse. 
 
 "It's your fancy," said the Jew, taking up the light and 
 turning to his companion, 
 
 " I'll swear I saw it!" replied Monks, trembling. " It 
 was bending forward ■yvhen I saw it first j. and when I spoke, 
 it darted away." 
 
 The Jew gl3.nced contemptuously at the paleface of his 
 iassociate, and telling him he could follow, if he pleased, 
 ascended tfaestairs. They lociked into all the rooms ; they were 
 cold, bare, and' empty. They descended into the passage, 
 and thence into the cellars belpw. The green damp hung upon 
 the low walls ; the tracks of the snail and slug glistened in 
 the light of the candle ; but all was still as death. 
 
 "What do you think now ? " said the Jew, when they had 
 regained the passage, " Besides ourselves, there's not a crea- 
 ture in the house except Toby and the boys ; and they're safe 
 enough. See here ! " 
 
 As a proof of the fg,ct, the Jew, drew forth two keys from 
 his pocket ; and explained, that when he first went down 
 stairs, he had locked them in, to prevent any intrusion on the 
 conference. 
 
 This accumulated testimony effectually staggered Mr. 
 Monks. His protestations "had gradually become less and less 
 vehement as they proceeded in their search without making any 
 discovery ; and, now, he gave vent to several very grim laughs, 
 and confessed it could Only have been his excited imagination. 
 He declined any retiewal of the conversation, however, for 
 that night: suddenly remembering that it was past one 
 •o'clock. And so the amiable couple parted. 
 
 CHAPTER XXyU. 
 
 ATONES FOR THE UNPOLITENESS OF. A FORMER CHAPTER ; 
 WHICH DESERTED A LADY, MOST tTNCEREMONIOtJSLY. 
 
 As it would be, by no means, seemly in a humble author 
 to keep so riiighty a personage as a beadle waiting, with his 
 back to the fiire, and the skirts of his coat gathered up under 
 his arms, until such time as it might suit his pleasure to relieve 
 
,g6 OLIVER TWIST, 
 
 him ; and as ft would still less become his station, or his gfil, 
 lantry to ip,volve 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 whispered sweet, words, which, coming 
 from such a quarter, might well thrill the bosom of maid or 
 matron oJE whatsoever degree ; the historian whose pen traces 
 these words— trusting that he knows his place, and ■. that he 
 entertains a. becoming reverence for those upon earth to whom 
 high and important authority is delegated — hastens ; to pay 
 them that respect which their position demands, and to treat 
 them with all that duteous ceremony which their exaked rank, 
 and (by consequence) great virtues, imperatively clainTat^his 
 hands. Towardmhis" end, indeed, he had purposed to in- 
 troduce, in this place, a dissertation toji(AinjfJhe_diYineriglit 
 of b^xUes, and ' elucidative of the position, that aoeadle 
 can do no wrong :, wliich could not fail to have been both 
 pleasurable and profitable to the right-minded reader, but 
 which he Is unfortunately compelled, by want of time and 
 space, to postpone to some more convenient and fitting oppor- 
 tunity ; 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 a parochial workhouse, and attending,, in 
 his official capacity the parochial church: is, in. right and 
 yirtue of his office, possessed pf all the excellences and best qua- 
 lities of humanity ; and that to none of those excellences, can 
 mere companies' beadles, or cburt-of -law beadles, or even chapel- 
 of-ease beadles (save the last, and they in a very slowly and 
 inferior degree), lay the remotest sustainable claim. 
 
 Mr. Bumble had re-counted the tea-spoons, re-weighed the 
 su'gar-toiigs, made z. closer inspection of the milk-po^ and 
 ascertained to a nicety the exact condition of the furniture, 
 down to the very horse-hair seats of the chairs ; and had 
 repeated each process full half-a-dozen times ; before he began 
 to think that it was time for Mrs. Comey to return. Think- 
 ing begets thinking ; as there were no sounds of Mrs. Comey's 
 approach, it occurred to Mr. Bumble that it would be an 
 innocent and virtuous way of spending the time, if he^ were 
 further to allaiy his curiosity by a cursory glance at the interior 
 of Mrs. Corney's chest of draiwers. 
 
 Having listened at the keyhole, to assure himself that 
 nobody was approaching the chamber, Mr. BumbLe, beginning 
 at the bottom, proceeded to make himself acquainted with the 
 contents of the three long drawers : which, being filled with 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 197 
 
 various garments of good fashion and texture, carefully pre- 
 served between two layers of old newspapers, speckled with 
 dried lavender j seemed to yield him exceediiig satisfaction. 
 Arriving, in course of time, at^ the. right-hand corner drawer 
 (in which was the key), aijd beholding therein a small 
 padlocked box, which, being shaken, gave forth a pleasant 
 sound, as of the chinking of coin, ]^. Bumble returned with 
 a stately walk to the fireplace ; and, resuming his olji attitude,: 
 said, with a grave and determined air, " I'll do it!" He 
 followed up this remarkable declaration, by shaking his head 
 in a waggish manner for t^n minutes, as though he were 
 remonstrating with-himself for being such z, pleasant dog ; and 
 then, he took a view of his legs in profile, with much seem- 
 ing pleasure and interest. ' . , 
 
 He was still placidly engaged in this latter survey, when 
 Mrs. Corney, hurrying into the room, threw herself, in a 
 breathless state, on a chair by the fireside, and covering her 
 eyes with one hand, placed the other over her heart, and 
 gasped for breath. 
 
 " Mrs. Corney," said Mr; Bumble, stooping over the 
 matron, "what is this, ma'am? Has anything happened, 
 ma'am ? Pray answer me ; I'm onT^-pn — " Mr. Bumble, in 
 his alarm, could not immediately think of the , word " tenter- 
 hooks," so he said "broken bottles." 
 
 ■ " Oh, Mr. Bumble ! " . cried the lady, " I have been so 
 dreadfully put oiit ! " ; 
 
 " Put out, ma'am 1" exclaimed Mr. Bumble ; "who has 
 dared to — ? I know ! " said Mr. Bumble, checking himself, 
 with native majesty, " this is thena wicioua paupers ! " ^ 
 
 " It '§ dreadful to thiiik of ! " said the lady, shuddering. 
 
 "Then don'i think of it, ma'am," rejoined Mr. Bumble. 
 
 " I can't help it," whimpered the lady. 
 
 " Then take something, ma'am," said Mr. -Bumble sooth- 
 ingly. " A little of the wine ? " 
 
 " Not for the world ! " replied Mrs. Corney. " I couldn't, 
 — oh ! The top shelf in the right-liahd corner — oh ! " Utter- 
 ing these words, the good lady pqiiited, distractedly, to the 
 cupboard, and underwent a convulsion from internal gpasms, 
 Mr. Bumble rushed to th? closet ; and,,sjn^tching a pint green- 
 glass bottle from the shelf thus iilcoherently in4iGated, 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. 
 
igg cliPer twist. 
 
 Mr. Bumble raised his eye^ piously to the ceiling in thank- 
 fulness ; and, bringing them down again to the brim of the cup, 
 lifted it to his nose. 
 
 " Peppermint," exclaimed Mrs. Comey, 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 another taste ; and put the cup down 
 empty. 
 
 " It's very comforting," said Mrs. Corney, 
 " Very much so indeed, ma'am," said the beadle. As, he 
 spoke, he drew a chair beside the matron, and tenderly in- 
 quired what had happened to distress her. 
 
 " Nothing," replied Mrs. Corney. " I am a foolish, ex- 
 citable, weak creetur." 
 
 " Not weak, ma'am," retorted Mr. Bumble,- drawing his 
 chair a little closer. " Are you a weak creetur, !^r^. Corney?" 
 " We are all weak' creetuts," sa;id Mrs. Cprney,- laying 
 down a general principle. 
 
 " So we are," said the beadle. 
 
 Nothing was said," on either side, for a minute or two 
 afterwards. By the expiration of that time, Mr. Btuntle had 
 illustrated the position by removing his left arm from the back 
 of Mrs. Corney's chair, \vhere it had previpusjy rested, to Mrs. 
 Corney's apron-string, round TsrhicTi it gradually became en- 
 twined. 
 
 " We are all weak creeturs," said Mr. Bumble. 
 Mrs. Corney sighed. 
 
 " Don't sigh, Mrs. Comey," said Mr. Bumble. 
 " I can't help it," said Mrs. Comeyl And she sighed again. 
 " This is a very comfortable room, ina'am," said Mr. 
 Bumble looking round. "Another room, and this, ma'am, 
 would be a complete tiling." 
 
 " It would be too much for one,'' murmured the lady. 
 " But not for two, ma'am," rejoined Mr. Bumble, in soft 
 accents. " Eh, Mrs. Corney ? " 
 
 Mrs. Comey drooped her head, when the beadle sa^d this ; 
 the beadle drooped his to get a view of Mrs. Corney's face. 
 Mrs. Comey, with great propriety, turned her heaij away,- and 
 released her hand to get at her pocket-handherchief ; but 
 insensibly replaced it in that of Mr. Bumble. 
 
 ^* The board allow-you coils, don't they, Mrs. Comey?" 
 inquired the beadle, affectionately pressing her hand. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. i^g 
 
 " And candles," replied Mrs. Comey, slightly returning 
 the pressuie. 
 
 " Coals, candles, and house-rent free," said Mr. Bumble. 
 "Oh, Mrs. Comey, what a Angel you are ! " 
 
 The iady was not proof against this burst of feeling. She 
 sank into Mr. Bumble's arms; and that gentleman in his 
 agitation, imprinted a passionate kiss upon her c{}aste nose. 
 
 " Such porochial perfection ! " exclaimed Mr. Bunible, 
 rapturously. "You know that Mr. Slont is worse to-night, 
 my fascinator ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Mrs. Comey, bashfully. 
 
 " He can't liv^ a week, the doctor setys," pursued 'Mr. 
 Butnble. " He is the master of this establishment : his death 
 will cause a wacancy : that waciahcy must be filled up. -Oh, 
 Mrs. Corney^ what a prospect this opens! What a op- 
 portunity for a jihing of hearts and- housekeepings ! " 
 
 Mrs. Comey sobbed. 
 
 " The little word?" said Mr. BumMe, bending over the 
 bashful beauty. " The one little, little, little word, my blessed 
 Comey?" 
 
 " Ye — ^ye — ^yes ! " sighed out the matron. 
 
 " One more," pursued the beadle j " compose your darling 
 feelings for only one more. When is it to come off ? " 
 
 Mrs. Comey twice essayed to speak : and twice failed. At 
 length summoning up courage, she threw her anns 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 satisfactorily arranged, 
 the contract was solemnly ratified in another teacupful of the 
 peppermint mixture ; which was rendered the more necessary, 
 by the flutter and agitation of the lady's spirits. While it was 
 being disposed of, she acquainted Mr. ' Bumble with the old 
 woman's decease. 
 
 " Very good," said that gentleman, sipping his pep- 
 permint ; " I'll call at Spwerberry's as I go home, and tell him 
 to send to-morrow morning. Was it that as frightened you, 
 love?" 
 
 " It wasn't anjrthing particidaT; dear,'' -said the lady eva- 
 sively. 
 
 " It must have been something, love," urged Mr. Bumble. 
 *' Won't you tell your own B. ? " '" 
 
 " Not now," rejoined the lady ; "one of these days. Aftei 
 wie're married, dear." 
 
200 OLIVER TWIST, 
 
 " 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 as any one pf 'em had dared to lift his wulgar eyes to 
 that lovely countenance -" , ; 
 
 " They wouldn't have dared to do it, love," said the lady. 
 , " They had better not ! " said Mr. Bumble, 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 ! " 
 
 • Unejnbfillished by any violence of gesticulation, this might 
 have seemed no very high compliment to the lady s charms ; 
 but, as Mr. Bumble accompanied the threat with rnany warlike 
 gestures, she was much touched with this proof of his de- 
 votion, and protested, with, great admiration, that he was 
 indeed a dove. 
 
 The doye then turned up his coat-collar, and put on his 
 cocked-hat; and, haying exchanged a long and affecfiojaate 
 embrace with his future partner, once again braved the cold 
 wind of the night : merely pausing, for a few minutes, via the 
 male pauper's ward, to abuse them a little, with, the view of 
 satisfying himself that he could fill the office • of workhouse- 
 master with needful acerbity. Assured pf his qualifications, 
 Mr. Bumble left the buildipg with alight heart,, and bright 
 visions of his future promotion : which served to occupy his 
 mind until he reached the shop of the undertaken 
 
 Now, Mr. and Mrs. Sowerberry having gone put tp tea 
 and supper : and Npah Claypple not being at any tirne dis- 
 posed to take upon himself a greater amount of physical ex- 
 .ertion than is necessary to a ,convenient performance of the 
 two functions of eating and drinking, the shop was not closed, 
 although it was past the usual hour of shutting-up, Mr. 
 -Biimble tapped with his cane on the : counter several times ; 
 but, attracting no attentipn,, and . behplding a light shining 
 through the glass-windpw, of; the little parlor at tlie back of 
 the shop, he made bold to peep in and see what was gping 
 forward ; and when he, saw what was going . forward, he was 
 not a little surprised. 
 
 The elpth, was laid, for supper; the. table was covered 
 with bread and butter, plates and glasses ; a pprter-ppt and a 
 wine-bottle. At the upper, end of the.tablp, Mr. Noah^Ciay-- 
 pole lolled negligently in an easy-chair, with his legs thrown 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 201 
 
 over one of the arms : an open clasp-knife in one hand, and 
 a mass of buttered bread in the other. Close beside him 
 stood Charlotte, openii^ oysters from a barrel : which. Mr. 
 Claypole condescended to swallow, with remarkable avidity. 
 A more than ordinary redness in the region of the young gen- 
 tleman's nose, and a kind of fixed wink in his right eye, de- 
 noted that he was in a slight degree intoxicated ; these symp- 
 toms were confirmed by the intense relisl^ with which he took 
 his oysters, for which nothing but a strqng appreciation of 
 their pooling properties, in cases of internal fever, could have 
 sufficiently accoun:J,ed. 
 
 " Here's a delicious fat one, !Noab, 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 uncomfortable ; isn't 
 it, Charlotte ? " 
 
 " It's quite a cruelty," said Charlotte. 
 
 " So it is," acquiesced Mr. Claypole. " A'nt yer fond of 
 oysters ? " 
 
 " Not overmuch," replied Charlotte. " I like to see you 
 eat 'em, Noah dear, better than eating 'em myself." 
 
 " Lor' ! " said No^h,,. reflectively ; " how queer ! " 
 
 " Have another," said Charlotte. " Here's one with such 
 a beautiful, ^elicate beard ! " , ; 
 
 " I can't manage any more," said Noah. " I'm very sorry. 
 Come here, ^arlqtte, and I'll kiss yer." 
 
 ," What !" said Mr. Bumble, bursting into the room. "Say 
 that again, sir." 
 
 Charlotte, uttered a scream, andJiid her. face in her apron. 
 Mr, Claypole, without . making any further change in -his posi- 
 tion than suffering his legs to reach the grpund, gazed at the 
 beadle in drunken terror. 
 
 " Say it again, you wile, owdacious fellow ! " said Mr. 
 Bumble. ;", How. dare you mentipn such a thing,, sir ? And 
 how dare yoii encourage him, you insolent minx ! Kiss her ! " 
 exclaimed Mr. Bumble, in strong indignation. " Faugh ! " 
 
 " I didn't mean to do it ! " said Noah,.blubbering. " She's 
 always a-lcissing of me, whether I like it, or not." 
 
 " Qh, :Noah," cried Charlotte, reproachfully. 
 
 " Yer are, yer know yer are ! " retorted Noah. " She's 
 always a doin' of it. Mr. Bumble, sir j she chucks me under 
 the chill, pleasje, .sir ; and niakes all manner of love ! " . 
 
202 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 "Silence !" cried Mr. Bumble, sternly. "Take yourself 
 down stairs, ma'am. Noaii, you shut up the shop ; say 
 another word till your master comes home, at yoar peril ; and, 
 when he does come home, tell him that Mr. Bumble said he 
 was to send a old woman's shell after breakfast to-morrow 
 ihoniihg. Do you hear, sir? Kissing i" cried Mr. Bumble, 
 holding up his hands. " The sin and wickedness of the lower 
 orders in this pofochial district is frightful i If parliament 
 don't take their abominable courses under consideration, this 
 country's ruined, and the character of the peasantry gone for 
 ever ! " With th?se words, the beadle strode, with a lofty 
 and gloomy iair, froin the undertaker's premises. 
 
 And now that we have accompanied him so far on his 
 road home, and ha\re 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^ sflll lying in 
 the ditch where Tolsy Cr^ckit left him. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 LOOKS AFTER OLIVER, >VJfp. PROCEEDS WITH HIS ADVENTURES. 
 
 "Wolves tear your ihrokts ! " muttered Sites, grihdii^ 
 his teeth. " I wish I was among some of you ; you'd howl 
 the hoarser for it." 
 
 As Sikes growled forth this imprecation, with the most 
 desperate ferocity that his desperate n^iture was capable of, 
 he rested the body of the woiinded boy across his bended 
 knee ; and turned, his head, for aq instant, tolook 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 neighboring dogs, roused by the sound of 
 the alarm bell, resounded jh every direction. ' 
 
 " Stop, you white-livered hound ! " cried the rojjber, shout- 
 ing after Toby Crackit, who, making the best use of his long- 
 legs, was already ahead. " gtop ! " 
 
 The repetition pf the word, brought Toby to a dead stand- 
 still For he Was not quite satisfied that he was beyond the 
 
OLitER TWIST. J03 
 
 range of pistol-shot ; and Sikes was in no jftood to be played 
 with. 
 
 " Bear a hand with the boy," cried Sikes, beckoning furi- 
 ously to his confederate. " Come back ! " 
 
 Toby niade a show of returning, but ventured, in a low 
 voice; "broken for want' of breath, to ihtlmate considerable 
 reluctance as he came slowly along. 
 
 " Quicker ! " cried Sikes, laying the boy in a dry ditch at 
 his feet, and drawing a pistol from his pocket. " Don't play 
 booty with me." 
 
 At this moment the noise grew louder. Sikes, again look- 
 ing roiiiid, could discern that the men ^ho had given chase 
 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's all up, Bill ! " cried Toby ; " drbp the kid, and show 
 'em yourlieels." With this parting advice, Mr. Crackit, pre- 
 ferring the chance of being shot by his friend, to the certainty 
 of -betog taken by his enemies, fairly turned tail, and darted 
 off at full speed. Sikes clenched his teeth ; took one look 
 around ; 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 distract 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 his 
 pistol high into the 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, who, in common with their masters, seenjed to 
 have no particular relish for the sport in which they were 
 engaged, readily answered to the command. Three men, who 
 had by this time advanced some distance into the field, stop- 
 ped to take counsel together. 
 
 "My advice, oi', leastways, I should say, my orders, is," 
 said the fattest man of the 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 : afs 
 frightefted men frequency are. , ' ' 
 
 " I shouldn't wish to appear ill-mannered, gentlemei^," 
 said the third, who had. called the dqgs back. "Mr. Giles 
 coghtto know." ' ' - : :. ■■ 
 
204 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 "Certainly," replied tlie shorter man ; " and whatever Mr. 
 Giles says, it isn't our place to contradict him. No, no, 1 
 know my gitiwation! Thank my stars, I know my sitwation." 
 To tell the truth, the little man did seem to know his situation, 
 and to know perfectly well that it was by.no means a desira- 
 ble one ; for his teeth chattered in his hea,d as he spoke. 
 
 "You are afraid, Brittles," said, Mr. Giles. 
 
 "I a'n't," said Brittles. 
 
 "You are," said Giles. 
 
 " You're a falsehood, Mr. Giles," said Brittles. 
 
 " You're a lie, Brittles," said Mt. Giles. 
 
 Now, these four retorts arose from, Mr. Giles's taunt; and 
 Mr. Giles's taunt had arisen from his indignation ^ having 
 the responsibility of going home ag.ain, imposed updnhimseE 
 under cover of a compliment. The third man brought, the 
 dispute tp a close, ipost philosophically. , • •• 
 
 "I'll 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 andtproper to 
 be afraid, un4sr such circumstances, /am." 
 
 " S9 arn I," said Brittles; " only there's no call to tell a 
 man he is, so bounceably." 
 
 These frank admissions softened ^r. Giles, who at once 
 owned that A? was afraid ; upon whichj they all three 
 faced about, and ran back again with, the completes! unanim- 
 ity, until Mr. Giles (wlio had thg, shortest wind of the party, 
 and was encumbered with a pitchfork) most handsomely in- 
 sisted on stopping, to make an apology for his hastiness of 
 speech. 
 
 " But it's wonderful," sajd Mr. Giles, when he had ex- 
 plained, "what a man will do, when his blood is up. I should 
 have committed murder^T-I :kftpw I should — if we'd caught 
 one of them raspals."- 
 
 As the other two were impressed with a similar presenti- 
 ment ; apd as their blood, Uke his, had all gone down again ; 
 some speculation ensued upon the cause of this sudden change 
 in their temperament. ,. 
 
 " I knbw what it was," said Mr. Giles ; "it, was the gate." 
 
 " I sliouldn't wpiider if it was," excslaimed Brittles, catch- 
 ing at the idea, ,, 1 , 
 
 "You may depeiid upon it," said Giles, " that that gate 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 205 
 
 Stopped the flow of the excitement. I felt all mine, suddenly 
 going awa,y, as I 'was climbing over it." 
 
 By a remarkable coincidence, the other two had been vis- 
 ited with the same unpleasant sensation at that precise mo- 
 ment. It was quite obvious, therefore, ithat 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 instant of 
 its occurrence. 
 
 This dialogue was held between the two men who had sur- 
 prised the burglars, and a travelling tinker, who had been 
 sleeping in an outhouse, and who had been roused, together 
 with his two mongrel curs, to join in the pursuit. Mr. Giles 
 "acted in the double capacity of butler and steward to the old 
 lady of the mansion; Brittles was a lad of all-work: who, 
 haying entered her service a mere child, was treated as a 
 promising young boy still, though he was something past thirty. 
 
 Encouraging each other writh such converse as this, ; but, 
 keeping very close together, notwithstanding, and looking ap- 
 prehensively round, whenever a fresh gust rattled through the 
 boughs ; thJe three men hurried back to a tree, behind which 
 they had left tixeir 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, the 
 light might, have been seen twinkling and dancing in the dis- 
 tance, like some exhalation of the damp and gloomy atmos- 
 phere through which it was swiftly borne. 
 
 The air grew cplder, as day came, slowly on j and the mist 
 rolled along the ground like a dense cloud of snioke. The 
 grass was wet ; the pathways, and low places were all miris 
 and water ; the damp breath of an unwholesome wind went 
 languidly by, with a hollow moaning. Still, Oliver lay motion- 
 less and insensible on the. spot where Sikes had left him. 
 
 Morning drew on apace. The air became more sharp and 
 piercing, as its first dull hue — the death of night, rather than 
 the birOi of jday-r^glimmered faintly in. the sky. The objects 
 which had lopked diin and terrible in the darkness, grew more 
 and more defined, and gradually resolved into their familiar 
 shapes., The rain came down, thick and fast, and pattered 
 noisily among the leafless; bushes. , But, Oliver felt it not, as 
 it beat against him ; for he atiil lay stretched, helpless and 
 unconscious, on his bed of clay. 
 
2o6 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 At length, a low cry of pain broke the stillness that pre- 
 vailed ; and uttering.it, the boy awoke. His left arm, rudely 
 bandaged' in a ?hawl, hung heavy and useless at his side : the 
 bandage was satufated with blood. He was so weak, that he 
 could scarcely raise himself into a sitting posture ; when he 
 had done so, he looked feebly round for' help, and. groaned 
 with piin. Trembling in every joint, from cold and exhaus- 
 tion, he made an effort 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, Oliver : 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 toand fro like a drunken man. 
 But he kept up, nevertheless, and, with his head drooping lan- 
 guidly on his breast, went stumbling onward)' he knew not 
 whither. 
 
 And now, hosts of be'wildering and confused ideas came 
 crowding on his mind. He seemed to be still walking between 
 Sikes and Crackit, ■Who were angrily disputing — ^fot the very 
 words they said, sounded in his ears; and when he caught 
 his own attention, as it were, by making some violent eSfcirt 
 to save hinjself from falling, he found that he was tilking to 
 them. Tlien, he was alone with Sikes, plodding on as on the 
 previous day; and as shadowy people passed them, he felt 
 the robber's grasp upon his wrist. Suddenly, he started back 
 at the report of firearms ; there rose into the air, loud cries 
 and shouts ; lights gleamed befbre Tiis eyes ; all was noise 
 \ and tumult, as some unseen hand bpre him hurriedly away. 
 Through all these rapid visious, there ran an undefined, 
 uneasy Consciousness of pain, which wearied and tormented 
 him incessantly. 
 
 Thus he staggered on, creeping, almost mechanically, be- 
 tween the bars of gates, or through -hedge-gaps as they came 
 in his way, un):il he reached a road. Here the rain began to 
 fall so heavily, that it roused hinX 
 
 He looked about, and saw that at no great distance there 
 was a bouse, which periiaps he could rpac^.. Pitying his con- 
 dition, they might have compassiipn on him ; and if they did 
 not, it would be better, he thought, to die near human beings, 
 than in the lonely open fields.' He summoned up all his 
 strength for one last trial, and bent his filtering steps to* 
 ards it. i . 
 
OLtV'ER TWIST. 207 
 
 As he dr^w nearer this house, a feeling came over, him 
 that he had seen it before. He remembered nothing of its 
 details ; but the shape and aspect oi the building seemed 
 familiar to him. 
 
 That garden wall J On the grass inside, he had fallen on 
 his knees last night, and prayed the twq men's mercy. Jt was 
 the very house they had attem,pted to rob. 
 
 Oliver felt such fear come over him when he recognized 
 the place, that, for the instant^ he forgot the agony pf his 
 wound, and thdught only of flight. Flight ! He could 
 scarcely ^tand : and i£ h6' were in full possession of all the 
 best powers of his slight and youthful frame, whither could 
 he fly ? He pushed against the garden-gate ; it was unlocked, 
 and swung open on its hinges. He tottered across tlje 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. QUes, Brittles, and 
 the tinker, were recruiting 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 top great fam- 
 iliarity the hiimbler 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, ipg.lj;e a,ll men 
 equals; so Mr. Giles sat with his l6gs stretched oiit before the 
 kitchen fender, leaning his left arm on the table, while, with 
 his light, he illustrated & circumstantial, and minute account 
 of the robbery, to ■vyhich his hearers (but especially the cbok 
 and housemaid, who were of the party) listened with ■|)reath- 
 less interest. 
 
 " It was about, half-past two," paid Mr, Giles, " or I 
 wouldn't swear th^t it mightn't have been -a. little nearer three, 
 when I TSrofee up, and, turning round in my' bed, as it might be 
 so, (here Mr. Giles turned round in his chair, jand pulled the 
 comer of the table-cloth over him to imitate Ijed-clothes,) I 
 fanpied I heerd a noise." 
 
 At this poitit of the narrative the cook turned pale, and 
 asked the hpusetnaid to shut the door : who asked Brittles, 
 who asked the tinker, who pretended not to Jiear, 
 
 " — Heerd a noise," continued Mr. Giles, "I says, at 
 first, ' This is illusion ; ' and was composing myself off to sle|ep 
 when I heerd the noise again, distinct." 
 
2o8 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " What sort of a npise ? " asked the cook. 
 
 "Aicind of a busting noise," replied Mr, (?iles, looking 
 round him. 
 
 " More like the noise of powdering a iron bar on a nut- 
 meg-grater," su^ested Brittles. 
 
 " It was, when^yo^ heerd it, sir," rejoined 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 listened." 
 
 The cook and housemaid simultaneously ejaculated " Lor ! " 
 and drew their chairs closer together. 
 
 " I heerd it now, quite apparent," resumed Mr. Giles. 
 " ' Somebody,' I says, ' is forcing of a<l0or, or window ; what's 
 to be done ? I'll call up tha.t poor lad, Brittles, and save him 
 from being murdered 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 Brittles, who fixed his 
 upon the speaker, and stared at him, with his mouth wide 
 open, and his face expressive of the most unmitigated, horror, 
 
 " I tossed off the clothes," said Giles, throwing, away the 
 table-cloth, and looking very hard at the cook and housemaid, 
 " got softly out of bed ; drew on a pair of — " 
 
 " Ladies present, Mr. Giles," murmured th^ 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 
 tiptoes 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 frightened.' " 
 
 " Was he frightened ? "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 m^" 
 observed the Iiousemaid. 
 
 " You're a woman," retorted Brittles, plucking up a little. 
 
 " Brittles is right," said Mr. Giles, nodding his head, ap- 
 provingly ; " from a woman, nothing else was to be expected.- 
 We, being men, took a dark lantern that was standing on 
 Brittles's hob, and groped our way down stairs in the pitch 
 dark,— as it might be so." 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 269 
 
 Mr. Giles had risen from his seat, and taken two steps 
 with his eyes shut, to accompany Ms description with appro- 
 priate action, when he s.tarted violently, in common with the 
 rest of the company, and hurried back to his chair. The cook 
 and housemaid screamed. 
 
 " It was a knock," said Mr. Giles, assuming perfect serenity, 
 " Open the door, somebody." 
 
 Nobody moved. ' ■ ' 
 
 "It seems a strange sort of a thing, a knock coming at 
 such a time in the morning," said Mr. Giles, surveying the 
 pale faces which surrounded him, and looking very blank 
 himself ; "but the door must be Opened. Do you hear, some- 
 body?" ...:.;,, 
 
 Mr. Giles as he spoke, looked at Brittles ; but that young 
 man, being naturally modest, probably considered himself 
 nobody, and so held that the inquiry could not have any ap- 
 plication 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 ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " If Brittles would rather open the door, in the presence 
 of witnesses," said 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 lip 
 stairs ; with the dogs in front. The two' women, who were 
 afraid to stay below, brought up thC' 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 
 master-stroke of policy, originating in the 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 ; the group, peeping timorously over 
 each other's shoulders, 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, valiantly pushing the 
 
2IO OLIVER TWIST- 
 
 tinker into the background. " What's the matter with the — 
 eh ? — Why — Brittles — look here — don't you know ? " 
 
 Brittles, who had got behind the door to open it, no soon- 
 er saw Oliver, than he uttered a loud cry. Mr. Giles, seizing 
 the boy by one leg and one arm (fortunately not the broken 
 limb), lugged him straight into the hall, and deposited him at 
 full length on the floor thereof. 
 
 " Here he is ! " bawled Giles, calling, in a state of great 
 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, applying one hand 
 to the side of his mouth, so that his voice might travel the 
 better. 
 
 The two women-servants ran up stairs to cany the intelli- 
 gence that Mr. Giles had captured a robber ; and the tinker 
 busied himself in endeavoring to restore Oliver^ lest he should 
 die before he; could be^ hanged. In the midst of all this noise 
 and commotionj there was heard a sweet fema,le voice, which 
 quelled it in an instant. 
 
 " Giles ! " whispered the voice from the sta,ir-head. 
 
 " I'm here, miss," replied Mr. Giles. " Don't be frightened, 
 miss ; I ain't much injured. He didn't make a very desperate 
 resistance, miss ! I was soon too many for him." 
 
 " Hush ! " replied the young lady ; " you frighten my aunt 
 as much as the thieves did. Is the poor creature much hurt .'' " 
 
 " Wounded desperate, miss," replied Giles, with indescrib- 
 able complacency. 
 
 " He looks as if. he was a-gpingj miss," bawled Brittles, in 
 the same manner as. before. ." Wouldn't you like to come and 
 look at him, miss, in case he shoukl ? " 
 
 " Hush, .pray ; there's a good man ! " rejoined the lady 
 " Wait quietly only one instant, while I speak to aunt" 
 
 With a footstep as soft and gentle as the voice, the speaker 
 tripped away. She soon retiirjned, with the direction that tlie 
 wounded person was to be carried, carefully, 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 dispatch, with all speed, a constable and doctor. 
 
 " But won't you take one look at him, first, miss ? " asked 
 Mr. 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 ? " 
 
OLIVBR TWIST. 21. 
 
 " Not now, for the world," replied the young ,lady, " Poor, 
 fellow ! Oh.! treat him kindly, Giles,, 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 Oliy^r, he helped tis cany 
 tim up stairs, with the care and solicitude of a woman. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 HAS AN INXRODUCTORY ACCOUNT OF THE INMATES Or THE 
 HOUSE, TO WHICH OLIVER RESORTED. 
 
 In a handsome room : though its furniture had rather the 
 air of old-fashioned comfort, thaa of modern elegance, there 
 sat two ladies at a well-spread breakfast-table. Mr. Giles, 
 dressed with scrupulous care in a full suit of black, was in at- 
 tendance upon them. He had taken his station some half-way 
 betweeil the sideboard and the breakfast-table \ and, with his 
 body dTawn up to its full height, his head thrown back, and 
 inclined the merest trifle on one side, his. left leg advanced, 
 and his right hand thrust, into his waistcoat, while his left hung 
 dtjwii. by his side, grasping a ^n^aiter, looked liked one who 
 labored under a very agreeable sense of his own merits and 
 importance. 
 
 Of the two ladies, one was well advanced in years ; but 
 the high-backed oaken chair in which she sat, was not more 
 upright than she. Dressed with the utmost nicety and pre- 
 cision, in a quaint mixture of by-gone costume, with some 
 slight concessions to the prevailing taste, which rather served 
 to point the old S'tyle pleasantly than to impair its effect, 
 she sat, in a stately manner, with her ha.tid? folded on the 
 table before her. Her eyes (and age had dimmed but little 
 of their brightness) were attentively fixed upon her young 
 companioni 
 
 The ypunger lady was in the lovely bloom and spring-time 
 of womanhood ; at that age, when, if ever angels be for God's 
 gobdi purposes enthroned in mortal forms.; they may be, with- 
 out impiety, supposed to abide in such as hers. 
 
 She was not past seventeen. Cast in so slight and ex- 
 
212 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 quisite a mould ; so mild and gentle ; so pure and beautiful ; 
 that earth seemed not her elementj nor its rough creatures her 
 ■fit companions. The verji' 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 
 expression of sweetness aad good-humor, the thousand lights 
 that played about the face, and left no shadow there ; above 
 all, the smile, the cheerful, happy smile, were made for Home, 
 and fireside peace and happiness. 
 
 She was busily engaged in the little offices of the table. 
 Chancing to raise her eyes as the elder lady was regarding 
 her, she plajrfully put back her hair, which was simply braided 
 on her forehead ; and threw into her beaming look, such an 
 jexpressioTl of affection and artless loveliness, that blessed 
 spirits might have smiled to look upon her. 
 
 " 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 Mt. Giles, 
 referring to a silver watch, which he drew forth by a black 
 ribbon. 
 
 "He is always slow," remarked the old lady: 
 
 " Brittles always was a slow boy, ma'am," replied the at- 
 tendant. And seeing, by the bye, 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 in- 
 dulging in a respectful smile himself, when a gig dro*e up to 
 the garden gate, out of which there jumped a fat gentleman, 
 who ran straight up to the door ; and who, getting quickly 
 into the house by some mysterious process, burst into the 
 room and nearly overturned Mr. Giles and the bresdcfast-table 
 together. 
 
 " I never heard of such a thing ! " exclaimed the fat gen- 
 tleman. " 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,' 
 
OU villi TWIST. 21^ 
 
 said the fat gentleman. "Why didn't you send ? Bless me, 
 my man should; have come in a minute ; and so would I ; and 
 my assistant would have been delighted ; or anybody, I'm 
 sure, under such qircumstances. Dear, dear ! So unex- 
 pected ! In the silence of the 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 
 housebreaking way to transact business at noon, and to make , 
 an appointment, by post, a day or two previous. 
 
 "And you, Miss Rose," said the doctor, 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 handiwork, Giles, I understand.". 
 
 _ . Mr. Giles, who ihad been feverishly putting the teacups to 
 rights, blushed very red, and said that he had had that honor. 
 
 "Honor, eh?" said the doctor: "well, I don't know; 
 perhaps it's as honorable to hit a thief in a back kitchen, as 
 to hit your man at twelve p?ces. Fancy that he fired in the 
 air, and you've fought a duel, Giles." 
 
 Mr. Giles, who thought this light treatment 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 thought it was no joke to the opposite party. 
 
 " Gad that's true ! " said the doctor. " Where is he .' 
 Show me the way. I'll look in again, as I come down, Mrs. 
 Maylie. That's the little window that he got in at, eh ? Well, 
 I couldn't have believed it ! " 
 
 Talking all the way, he followed Mr. Giles up stairs ; and 
 while he is going up stairs, the reader may be informed, that 
 Mr. Losberne, a surgeon in the neighborhood; known through 
 a circuit of ten miles round as " the doctor," had grown fat, 
 more from good-humor than from good living : and was as 
 kind and hearty, and withal as eccentric an old bachelor, as 
 will be found in five times that space, by any explorer alive. 
 
 The doctor was absent, much longer than either he or the 
 ladies had anticipated. A large fiat 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 
 tokens it was justly- concluded that something important was 
 10 
 
J 14 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 going on above. ■ At length he returned ; and in reply to an 
 anxious inquiry after his patient, looked very mysterious, and 
 closed the door, carefully. 
 
 "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 ? " said the old lady. 
 
 "Why, that would' »»^ be ' aii extraordinary thing, under 
 the circumstances," replied the doctor ; " though I don't think 
 he is. Have you seen this thief 1 " 
 
 " No," rejoined the old lady. 
 
 " Nor heard anything about. him ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, ma'am,'' interposed Mr. Giles ; " but 
 I was going to tell you about him when Doctor Losbeme 
 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 very zenith of a brief reputation for un- 
 daunted courage. 
 
 " Rose wished to see the man," said Mrs. Maylie, " but I 
 wouldn't hear of it." 
 
 " Humph ! " rejoined the doctor. " There is nothing very 
 alarming in his appearance. Have you any objection to see 
 him in my presence ? " 
 
 "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 com- 
 fortable now. Allow me — Miss Rose, will you permit me ? 
 Not the slightest fear, I pledge you my honor ! " 
 
OhiVER TWIST. 31^ 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 RELATES WHAT OLIVER'S NEW VISITORS THOUGHT OF HIM. 
 
 With tnany loquacious assurances that they would be 
 agreeably surprised in the aspect of the criminal, the doctor 
 fe^W the young lady's arm through one Of his ; arid offering 
 his disengaged hand to Mrs. Maylie, led them, with mliCh 
 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 don't 
 look at all ferocious notwithstanding. Stop, though ! Let 
 me first see that he is in visiting order." ' , 
 
 Stepping before them, he looked into the room. Motioning 
 thena to advance, he closed the door when they had entered ; 
 and gently drew back the curtains of the bed. Upon it, in 
 lieu of the dogged, black-visaged ruffian they' had expected to 
 behold, there lay a mfere child ; worn with pain and exhaus- 
 tion, and stink into a deep sleep. His wounded arm, bound 
 and splintered up, was crossed upon his breast ; his head re- 
 clined upon the other arm, 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 
 watching the patient thus, the younger lady glided softly past, 
 and seating herself in a chair by the bedside, gathered Oli- 
 ver's hair from his face. As she stooped over him, her tears 
 fell upon his forehead. " 
 
 The boy stirred, and smiled in his sleep, as though these 
 marks of -pity and compassion had awakened some pleasant 
 dream of a love and affection he had never known. Thus, a 
 strain of gentle music, Or the rippling of water in a silent 
 place, or the odor of a flower, or the mention of a familar 
 word, will sometimes call up sudden dim remembrances of 
 scenes that never were, in this life ; which vanish like a breath ; 
 which some brief memory of happier existence, long gone by, 
 would seem to have awakened ; which no voluntary exei'tion 
 of the mittd can ever recall. 
 
ti6 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " 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 
 outside shall not enshrine her ? ?' 
 
 " But at so early an age ! " urged Rose. 
 
 " My dear young lady," 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 victims." 
 
 "But, can you — oh ! can you really believe that this deli- 
 cate boy has been the voluntary associate of the worst out 
 casts of society ? " said Rose. 
 
 The surgeon shook his head, in a manner which intimated 
 that he feared it was very possible ; and observing that they 
 might disturb the patient, led the way into an adjoining apart- 
 ment. \ 
 
 " 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 the comfort of a home ; that ill-usage and 
 blows, or tlie want of bread, may have driven him to herd 
 with men who have forced him to guilt. Aunt, dear aunt, for 
 mercy's sake, think of this, before you let them drag this sick 
 chOd 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. 
 
 "No, surely," said the old lady; "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 ">. " 
 
 " Let me think, ma'am," said tl e doctor ; " let me think." 
 
 Mr. Losberne thrust his hands into his pockets, and took 
 several turns up and down the room ; often stopping, and 
 balancing himself on his toes, and frowning frightfully. After 
 various exclamations of " I've got it now " and " no, I 
 haven't," and as many renewals of the walking and frowning, 
 Ae at length made a dead halt, and spoke as follows; i 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 21"] 
 
 " I think if you give me a full and unlimited commission 
 to bully Giles, and that little boy, Brittles, I can manage, it. 
 Giles is a faithful fellow and an old servant, I know j but you 
 can make it up to him in a thousand ways, and reward him for 
 being such a good shot besides. You don't object to that ? " 
 
 " Unl«ss there is some other way of preserving the child," 
 replied Mrs. Maylie. 
 
 "There is no other," said the doctor. " No other, take 
 my word fgr it." 
 
 " Then my aunt invests you with full power,'' said Rose, 
 smiling through her tears ; " but pray don't be harder upon 
 the poor fellows than is indispensably necessary." . 
 
 "You seem to think," retorted the doctor, "that every- 
 body is disposed to be hard-hearted to-day, except yourself, 
 Miss Rose. I only hope, for the sake of the rising male sex 
 generally, that you may be found in as vulnerable and hard- 
 hearted a mood by the first eligible young fellow who appeals 
 to your commission ; and I wish I were a young fellow, that I 
 might avail myself, on the spot, of such a favorable oppor- 
 tunity for doing so, as the present." 
 
 "You are as great a boy as poor Brittles 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- 
 headed constable-fellow down stairs that h^ mustn'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 he left to his fate, without any farther 
 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 im- 
 possible." 
 
 "Very good,'' retorted the doctor; "then so much the 
 more reason for acceding to my proposition." 
 
 Finally the treaty was entered into ; and the parties there- 
 unto sat down to wait,, with.- some impatience, until Oliver 
 should awake. 
 
2i8 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 The patience of the two Udies was destingd to undergo a 
 longer trial than Mr. Losberne had led them, to expect; fof 
 hour after hour passed on, and still Oliver slumbered heavily. 
 It was evening, indeed, before the kind-hearted doctor brought 
 them the intelligence, that he was at length sufficiently re- 
 stored 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 disclose something, that ; he deemed it better 
 to give him the opportunity, than to insist upon his^ remaining 
 quiet until next morning: which he should otherwise have 
 done. 
 
 The conference was a long one. 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 
 pourtheir after-vengeance on our heads ; if we heard but one 
 instant, in imagination, the deep testimony of dead men's 
 voices, which no power can stifle, and no pride sliut out ; 
 where would be the injury and injustice, the suffering, misery, 
 cruelty, and wrong, that each day's life brings with it ! 
 
 Oliver's pillows was smootlied by gentle 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 for being weak all at once, betook 
 himself down stairs to open upon Mr. Giles. And finding, no- 
 body about the parlors, it occurred to him, that he could per- 
 haps originate the proceedings with better effect in the 
 kitchen ; so into the kitchen he went. 
 
 There were assembled, in 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 remainder 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 he looked 
 as if he had been taking a .proportionate allowance of ale — as 
 indeed he had. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 219 
 
 The adventures of the previous night were still under dis- 
 cussion ; for Mr. Giles was expatiating upon his presence of 
 mind, when the doctor entered; Mn Brittles, with a mug of 
 ale in his hand, was corroborating everything, before his 
 superior said it. 
 
 " Sit still ! " said the doctor, waving his hand. 
 
 " Thank you; sir," said Mr: Giles! "Misses wished some 
 ale to be given out, sir ; and as I felt nb ways inclined for my 
 own little room, sir, and was disposed for company, I am tak- 
 ing unine among 'em here." 
 
 Brittles headed a low murmur, by which the ladies and 
 gentlemen generally were understood to express the gratifica- 
 tion they derived from Mr. Giles's condescension. Mn Giles 
 looked round with a patronizing air, as much as to say that 
 so long as they behaved properly, he would never desert 
 them. 
 
 " How is the patient to-night, sir ? " asked Giles. 
 
 "So-so;" returned the doctor. "lam afraid you have 
 got yourself into a scrape there, Mr. Giles." 
 
 " I hope you don'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 wouldn't cut- a boy off: no, not 
 even Brittles here : not for all the plate in the county, sir." 
 
 "That's not tlie point," said the doctor, 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, " 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 
 
 J little window last night? Out with it! Come! We are 
 
 prepared for you ! " 
 
 The doctor, who was universally considered one of the 
 best-tempered creatures on earth, made this demand in such 
 a dreadful tone of anger, that Giles and Brittles, who were 
 considerably ipuddled .by ale and excitement, stared at each 
 other in a state of stupefaction. 
 
 " Pay attention to the reply, copstable, will you ? " said 
 the doctor, shaking his forefinger with great solemnity of 
 
220 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 manner, and tapping the bridge of his nose withit, to bespeak 
 the exercise of that worthy's utmost acuteness. " Something 
 may come of this before Icing." 
 
 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 aboyjinthe 
 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, these men lay violent hands upon him — by doing. which, 
 they place his life in great danger — and swear he is the thief. 
 Now, the question, is, whether these men are justified by the 
 fact ; if not, in what situation do they place themselves ? " 
 
 The constable nodded profoundly. • He said, if that wasn't 
 law, he would be glad to know what was. 
 
 "I ask you. again," thundered tlie doctor, "are you, on 
 your solemn oaths, able to identify that boy .'' " 
 
 Brittles looked doubtfully at Mr. Giles ; Mr. Giles looked 
 doubtfully at Brittles > the constable put his hand behind his 
 ear, to catch the reply ; the two women and the tinker leaned 
 forward to listen ; 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 message up by the 
 coachman, and I only wonder they weren't here before, sir." 
 
 " You did, did you ? Then confound your — slow coaches 
 down here ; that's all," said the doctor, walking away. 
 
I 
 
 < 
 
 a. 
 
 o 
 ;>■ 
 
 o" 
 o 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 22, 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 INVOLVES A CRITICAL POSITION. 
 
 " Who's that ? " inquired Brittles, opening the door a little 
 way, with the chain up, and peeping out, sha:ding the candle 
 with his hand. 
 
 " Open the door," replied a man outside ; " it's the officers 
 irons Bow Street, as was sent to, to-day." 
 
 Much c.oHifottfed' by this assurance, Brittles opened the 
 door to its full width, and confronted a 'j^oHly man in a great- 
 Coat; Who walked in, without saying lan^hihg more, and 
 wiped his shoes on the mat,^as coolly as if he li'^ed there. 
 
 ''Just send somebody out to relieve my mate, will you, 
 young man?" said the officer; "he's in the gig, a-minding 
 the prad. Have you got a coach 'us here, that you could put 
 it -ttpin, for five or ten minutes ? " 
 
 -"'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 
 tKetti,' in a'state' of ' great admiration; This done, they re- 
 turned to the house, and, being shown into a parlor, took off 
 the?r great-coats and hats, and shoWed like what they wei-e. 
 
 The man who had knocked at the door, was a stout per- 
 sonage of middle height, aged about fifty : with shiny black 
 hair, cropped pretty close ; half-Whiskers, a round face, and 
 sharp eyes. The other was ji, red-headed, bony man, in top- 
 boots; with a rather ill-favored countenance, and a turned-up 
 sinister-looking nose. 
 
 "Tell your governor that Blathers and Duff is here, will 
 you.'" said the stouter man, smoothing down his hair, and 
 laying a pair of handcuffs on the table. "Oh! Good-even- 
 ing, master. Can I have a word or two with you in private, 
 if you please? " •' '■ ■ ■ 
 
 This was addressed to Mr. Losberne, who now made his 
 appearance; that gentleman, motiatting Brittles to retire, 
 brought in the two ladies,' and shut^'the-door. 
 
 "This is the lady of the house," said Mr. Losberne, 
 motioning towards Mrs^ Maylie. 
 
 Mr. Blathers made a bow. Being desired to sit down, he 
 
222 OLIVER Ti^^Sr. 
 
 put his hat on the floor and taking a chair, motioned Duff to 
 do the same. The latter gentleman, who did not appear 
 quite so much accustomed to good society, or quite so much 
 at his ease in it — one of the two — seated himself, after under- 
 going several muscular affections of the limbs, and forced the 
 head of his sticjs into his mouth, with some embarrassment. 
 
 " Now, with regard to this here robbery, master," said 
 Blather^. " What are the circumstances ? " 
 
 Mn.Losberne, who appeared desirous of gaining time, re- 
 counted them at great length, and with much circumlocution. 
 .Messrs,! Blathers and Duff looked very knowing meanwhile, 
 and occasionally, exchanged a nod. 
 
 " I can't say, for certain, till I see the; work, of course," 
 said Blathers ; " but my opinion a.t once is, — I don't niind com- 
 mitting myself to that extent, — that this wasn't done by a 
 yokel; eh. Duff?" 
 
 " 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 countryman ? " said !^jIr. Losberne, with a spiile. 
 
 " That's it, master," replied Blathers. " This is all about 
 the robbery, it it ? " . , . 
 
 " All," replied the doctor. 
 
 " Now, what is this, about this here boy that the servants 
 are a-talking on ? " said Blathers. 
 
 " Nothing at all," replied the doctor. " One of the fright- 
 ened servants chose to take it into his head, that he had 
 something to do with this attempt to break into the house ; 
 but it's nonsense : sheer absurdity." 
 
 " Wery easy disposed of, if it is," remarked Duff. 
 
 " What he says is quite correct," observed Blathers, nod- 
 ding his head in a confirmatory way, and playing carelessly 
 with the handcuff Si as if they were a pairof castanets. " Who 
 is the boy? What account does he give of himself ? Where 
 did he come from? He didn't drop out of the clouds, did he, 
 master?" 
 
 " Of course not," replied the doctor, with a nervous glance 
 at the two ladies. " I- know his whole history : hut: we can 
 talk about that presently. You would like, first, to see the 
 place were the thieves made their attempt, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Certainly," rejoined Mr. Blathers. " Wje had better 
 inspect the premises first, and. examine the servants afterwards. 
 That's the usual way of doing business." 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 223 
 
 Lights were then procured; and Messi!S.: Blathers and 
 Duff, attended by the inative 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 j and afterwards 
 went round by way of the lawn, and looked in at the window ; 
 and after that, had a candle iiknded out to inspect the 
 shutter with; and after that, a lantern to trace the footsteps 
 with; and after that,. a pitchfork to poke the bushes with. 
 This done, amidst the breathless interest of all beholders, 
 they came in again ; a;nd Mr. Giles and Brittles were put 
 though a melodramatic representation of their share in thepre- 
 vioiis night's adventures : which they performed some six times 
 Over : contradicting each other, in not more than one impor- 
 tant respect, the first time, and in not more than a dozen the 
 last. This consummation being arrived at, Blathers and Duff 
 dearedthe room, and held a longcouticii together, compared 
 with which, for secrecy and solemnity, a consultation of grfeat 
 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. 
 
 " Upoti 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, shak- 
 ing his head, " I don'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 run-away. Judged 
 by mere worldly considerations and probabilities, his story is a 
 very doubtful one." 
 ■ " You :believe it, surely ? " interrupted Rose. 
 
 " /believe it, strange as it is ; and perhaps I may oe an 
 old fool for doing so," rejoined the doctor; " but I don't 
 think it is exactly the tale foi- a practised police officer, never- 
 theless." 
 
 " Why not ?" demanded Rose.- 
 
 " Because, my pretty cross-examiner," replied the doctor : 
 " because, viewed with their eyes, there: are fliany ugly points 
 about it ; he can only prove the parts that look ill, and none 
 of Aose that look well. Confound the fellows, they will have 
 the why and the wherefore and will" take nothing for granted. 
 
224 
 
 OLTVEK TWIST. 
 
 On his own showing, you see, he has been the companion of 
 thieves for soiiie time past ; he has been carried .to a poUce- 
 office on a charge of picking a gentleman's pocket ; he has 
 been taken away, forcibly, from that gentleman's housCjito a 
 place which he cannot 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 is put through a 
 window to rob a house ; and then, just at tlie 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, a blundering dog of a half-bred butler, and shoots him ! 
 As if on purpose to prevent his doing any good for himself! 
 Don't you see all this ? " 
 
 " 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, 
 always, the one which first presents itself to them;'' 
 
 Having given vent to this result of experience, the doctor 
 put his hands.into his. pockets, and .walked up and down the 
 room with even greater rapidity than before. 
 
 " The more I think of it," said the doctor, "the more I 
 see that it will occasion endless trouble and difSculty if we 
 put these men in , possession of the boy's real story. I am 
 certain it will not be believed ; and even if they can do noth- 
 ing 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 res- 
 cuing him from misery." 
 
 " Oh ! what is to be, done?," cried Rose. " Dear, dear! 
 why did they send for these people ? " 
 
 " Why, indeed ! " exclaimed Mrs.'Maylie. " I would not 
 have had them here, for the world.",, 
 
 " All I know is," said Mr. Losbeme, at last : sitting down 
 with a kind of desperate calm.nesst " that we must try and 
 carry it off with a bold face. The object is a good one, and 
 that must be our excuse. The boy has strong symptoms of 
 fever upon him, and is in no condition to be talked to any 
 more ; that's one comfort. We must make the best of it ; and 
 if bad be the best, it is no fault of ours. Come in ! " 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 225 
 
 " Well, master," said Blathers, entering the room folio-wed 
 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, turn- 
 ing to them, as if he pitied their ignorance, but had a coii- 
 tempt for the doctor's, "when the servants is in it." 
 
 i " Nobody suspected them, inthis case," said Mrs. Maylie. 
 
 " Werry 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 Buff, in an under 
 tone. ; 
 
 " There was two of 'em in it," continued Blathers j " 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'll see this lad 
 that you 've got up stairs at oncej if you please." 
 
 . ," Perhaps they will take something to dxink first, Mrs. 
 Maylie ? " said the doctor : his face brightening, as if some new 
 thought had occurred to him. 
 
 "Oh ! to be sure!" exclaimed Ro.se,_ eagerly.' "You shall 
 have it immediately, if you will." ':■ 
 
 ."Why, thank you, miss ! " said Blathers,, drawing his coat- 
 sleeve across his mouth ; " it's dry work, this sort of duty. 
 Anythink that's handy, miss ; don't put yourself xiut of the way, 
 on our accounts." ■ 
 
 " What shall it be ? " asked die doctor, following the young 
 lady to the sideboard. 
 
 " A little drop of spirits, master, if it's all the same," re- 
 plied Blathers. "It's a cold ride from London, ma'am ; and 
 I always find that spirits comes home warmer to the feel- 
 ings." 
 
 This interesting communication was addressed to Mrs. 
 Maylie, who received it very graciously. While it was being 
 conveyed to her, tJie doctor slipped out of the room. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Mr. Blathers : not holding his wineglass by 
 the stem, but grasping the bottom between the thumb and 
 forefinger of his left hand : and placing it in front of his chest ; 
 " I have seen a good many pieces, of business like this, in my 
 time, iadies." 
 
426 OLIVER TWSr. 
 
 " That crack down in the back lane at Edmonton, Blath- 
 ers," said Mr. Duff, assisting hjs colleague's memoiy. 
 
 " That was something in this way, warn't it ? " rejoined 
 Mr. Blathers; " tiiat was done by Conkey Ghickweed, that 
 was." - ; 
 
 " You always gave that to him," Tfiplied Diiff. ' " It was 
 the Family Pet, I tell you. Conkey hadn't any more to do 
 with it thahi I had." •: . 
 
 ":Get out I'V retorted Mir. Blathers ;" I know better. Do 
 you mind that time when Conkey was robbed of his motiey, 
 though .? What a start that was ! Better than any novel-book 
 yever see !'' ' 
 
 ; " What was that ?" inquired Rose: anxious to encourage 
 any symptoms of good-humor in the unwelcome visitors: 
 : ' " It was a robbery, miss,- that hardly anybody would have 
 been down upon," said Blathers. " This here Conkey Chick- 
 ^eed—r":' -•■..'-• :■■ ■ "i-: - ■ . , -- 
 
 ' ' " ConkJey means Nosey, ma'am," interposed Duff. 
 
 " Of course the lady knows that, don't she ? " demanded 
 Mr. Blathers.'- "Alwaysiinterrupting, you are, partner ! This 
 heare Camikey Chickw^d^;misSj kept a public-house over Bat- 
 tlebridge-way, and he had acellar, where % good many yomig 
 lords went to see cock-fighting, ' and badger-drawing, and 
 that ; and a wery intellectual mariner 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 iof 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 bl;acfc 
 patch over his eye, who had concealed himself under the bed, 
 and after committing the robbery,.juraped slap out of window ; 
 which was only a story high. He was wary quick about it. 
 But Conkey was • quick, too ; for he was woke by the noise, 
 4nd darting out of bed, he fired a blunderbus arter him, and 
 roused the neighborhood. They set up a hufr^nd-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 off; and there they lost 'erh. 
 However, he had made off with the blunt ; and, consequently, 
 the name of Mr. Chickweed,tiliceased witler; appeared in the 
 Gazette among the other bankrupts ; and all manner of bene- 
 fits alnd subscriptions, and I don't know what all, was got up 
 for the poor ihan, who was in a very low State of mind about 
 his loss, and went up and down the streets, for three or foul 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 227 
 
 days, a puUing his hair off in such a desperate maviner 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, private interview with the magistrate, who, after a deal 
 of talk, rings the bell, arid orders Jem Spyers in, (Jem was a 
 active officer), and tell?: him to go and assist Mr. Chickweed 
 in apprehending the man as robbed his house. ' I see him, 
 Spyers,' said Chickweed, 'pass my house yesterday morning.' 
 ' Why didn't you up, and collar him ! ' says Spyers. 'I was 
 so struck aJl of a heap, that you. might have fractured my skull 
 with a toothpick,' says the '^oor 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' a day or two j and away he goes, and sets him- 
 self down at one of the public-house windows behind thp : lit- 
 tle red curtain, with his hat on, all ready-to bolt out, at a 
 moment's notice. iHe was smoking his pipe here, late at 
 night, when all of a sudden Chickweed roars out ' Here he 
 is ! Stop thief 1, : Murder ! ' Jem Spyers dashes out ; and 
 there he sees C)|Miekweed, a-tearing down the street full cry. 
 Away goes Spyers ; on goes Chickweed ; round turns the 
 people ; everybody roars out, ' Thieves ! ' and Chickweed 
 himself keeps on shouting, all the time, like mad. Spyers 
 loses sight of him a minute as he turns a corner ; shoots 
 round; sees a little crowd.; dives in ;.' Which is the man?' 
 ' D — me ! ' says! Chickweed, ' I've lost him again ! ' It was a 
 remarkable occurrence, but he wam't to be seen nowhere, so 
 they went back to the public-house. 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 couldn't help shutting 'em, to 
 ease em a minute ; and the very moment he did so, he hears 
 Chickweed a-roaring out, ' Here he is ! " Off he starts once 
 more, with Chickweed half-way 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 neighbors gave out that Mr. Chickweed had been robbed by 
 the devil, who was playingtricks with him arterwards ; and the 
 other half, that poor Mt. Chickweed had gone mad with grief." 
 " What did Jemi Spyers say ? " inquired the doctor : who 
 had returned to the room shortly after the commencement of 
 the story. 
 
828 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " 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 business. But, one morning, 
 he walked into the bar, and taking out his snuff-box, says, 
 'Chickweed, I've found out who done this here robbery.' 
 'Have you?' said Chickweed. ' Oh, my dear Spyers, only 
 let me have wengeance, and I shall die contented ! Oh, my 
 dear . Spyerg, where is the villain ! ' ' Come ! ' said Spyers, 
 offering him a pinch of snuff, ' none of that gammon ! You 
 did it yourself.' So he had ; and a good bit of money he had 
 made by it, too; and nobody would never have found it out, 
 if he hadn't been so precious anxious to keep up appear- 
 ances ! " said Mr. Blathers, putting down his wineglass, and 
 clicking the handcuffs together. 
 
 " Very curious, indeed," observed the doctor. " Now, it 
 you please, you can walk up stairs." 
 
 " If you please, sir," returned Mr. Blathers. ' Closely fol- 
 lowing Mr. Losberne, the two oScers ascended to Oliver's' bed- 
 room ; 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 — in fact, without seeming to recollect where he 
 was, or what had been passing. 
 
 "This," said Mr. Losberne, speaking softly, but with great 
 vehemence notwithstanding, "this is the lad, who, being ac- 
 cidentally wounded by a spring-gun in some boyish trespass 
 on Mr. What-d'ye-call-him's grounds, at the back here, comes 
 to the house for assistance this morning, and is immediately 
 laid hold of and mal-treated, by that ingenious gentleman 
 with the candle in his hand : who has placed his life in con- 
 siderable danger, as I can professionally certify." 
 
 Messrs. Blathers and Duff looked at Mr. Giles, as he was 
 thus recommended to their notice. The bewildered butler 
 gazed from them towards Oliver, and from Oliver towards 
 Mr. Losberne, with a most ludicrous mixture of fear and per- 
 plexity. 
 
 " You don't mean to deny that, I suppose ? " said the 
 doctor, laying Oliver gently down again. 
 
 " It was all done 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 inhuman disposition, sir." 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 229 
 
 " Thought it was what boy ? " inquired the senior officer. 
 
 " The housebreaker's boy, sir ! " replied Giles. " They — • 
 they certainly had a boy." 
 
 " Well .' Do you think so now ? " inquired Blathers. 
 
 " Think what, now ? " replied Giles, looking vacantly at 
 his questioner. 
 
 " Think it's the same boy. Stupid-head ? " rejoined Blatl' • 
 ers, impatiently. 
 
 " r don't know ; I really don't know," said Giles, with a 
 rueful countenance. "I couldn't swear to him." 
 
 " What do you think ? " asked Mr. Blathers. 
 
 "I don't know what to think," replied poor Giles. "1 
 don'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 
 Duff, addressing Mr. Giles, with supreme contempt. 
 
 Mr. Losberne had been feeling the. patient's pulse during 
 this short dialogue j 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 adjourned to a neigh* 
 boring apartment, where Mr. Brittles, being called inj 
 involved himself and his respected superior in such a wonder- 
 ful maze of fresh contradictions and impossibilities, as tended 
 to throw no particular light on anything, but the fact of his 
 own strong mystification ; except, indeed, his declarations that 
 he shouldn't know the real boy, if he were put before him 
 that instant ; that he had only taken Oliver to be he, because 
 Mr. Giles had said he was ; and that Mr. Giles had, five min- 
 utes previously, admitted in the kitchen, that he began to be 
 very much afraid he had been a little too Jiasty^ 
 
 Among other ingenious surmises, the question was then 
 raised, whether Mr. Giles had. really hit an)'^body; 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 con- 
 siderable impression on everybody but the doctor, who had 
 drawn the ball about ten minutes before. Upon no one, how- 
 ever, did it make a greater impression than on Mr. Giles him- 
 self j who, after laboring, for some hours, under the fear of 
 
330 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 having mortally wounded a fellow-creature, eagerly caught at 
 this new idea, and favored it to the utmost. Finally, the 
 -officers, without troubling themselves, very much about Oliyer, 
 left the Chertsey constable in the house, and took up their 
 rest for that night in the town; promising to return next 
 1 morning. 
 
 With the next morning, there came a rumor, that two men 
 and a boy were in the cage at Kingston, who had been appre- 
 hended 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 punishable by imprisonment, and is, in the mer- 
 ciful 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 DufE came back again, as wise 
 as they went. 
 
 In short, after some more examination, and a great deal 
 more conversation,, a neighboring magistrate was readily 
 induced to take the joint bail of Mrs. Maylie and Mr, Los- 
 berne for Oliver's appearance 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 tlie circumstances, inclining to the belief 
 that the burglarious attempt had originated with the Family 
 Pet ; and the former being 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. MayUe, JRose, and the kind-hearted 
 Mr. Losberne. If fervent prayers, gushing from hearts over- 
 charged with gratitude, he: heard in, heaven^ — and if they be 
 not, what prayers are ! — the blessings which the orphan child 
 called down upon them, sunk into iSeir souls, diffusing peace 
 and happiness. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 231 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 or THE HAPPY LIFE OLIVER BEGAN TO LEAD WITH HIS KIND 
 FRIENDS. 
 
 Olivers ailings were neither slight nor few. In addition 
 to the pain and delay attendant on a broken limb, his expo- 
 sure to the wet and cold had brought on fever and ague : 
 ■\yhicli hung about him for many weeks, and reduced him sadly. 
 But, at length, he began, by slow degrees, to get better, and 
 to be able to say sometimes, in a few tearful words, how~ 
 deeply he felt the goodness of the two sweet ladies, and how 
 ardently he hoped that when he greiw strong and well again, 
 he could do something to stliow-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 j kindness had not been cast away; 
 but that the poor boy whom their charity had. rescued from 
 misery, or death, was eager to serve them with his whole heart 
 and soul. 
 
 "Poor fellow ! " said Rose, when Oliver had been one day 
 feebly endeavoring to utter the words of -thankfulness that rose 
 to his pale lips : " you shall have many opportunities of serv- 
 ing us, if you will. We are going into the country, and my 
 aunt intends that you shall acicompany us. The quiet place, 
 the pure air, and all the pleasures and beauties of spring, will 
 restore you- in a few days. 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 plea&ure by water- 
 ing your flowers, or watphing 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 trouble to pJease us, 
 
 that you promise now, you will make me very happy indeed." 
 
 " Happy, ma'am ! " cried Oliver ; " How kind of you to 
 «ay so ! " ■ ' : 
 
232 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " You make me happier than I can tell you," replied thfi 
 •younj 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 com- 
 passion was sincerely grateful and attached, in consequence, 
 would delight nie, more than you can well imagine. Do you 
 understand me .? " she inquired, watching Oliver's thoughtful 
 face. 
 
 "Oh yes, ma'am, yes 1" 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 Oliver'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 up 
 with pleasure. " I don't know what I shall do for joy when I 
 see their kind faces once again 1 " 
 
 In a short time Oliver was sufficiently recovered to under- 
 go the fatigue of this expedition. One morning he and Mr. 
 Losberne set out, accordingly, in a little carriage which be- 
 longed to Mrs. Maylie. When they came to Ghertsey Bridge, 
 Oliver turned very pale, and uttered a loud exclamation. 
 
 " What's the matter with the boy .' " 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 win- 
 dow. " That house ! " 
 
 "Yes ; well, what of it ? Stop coachman. Pull up here, ' 
 cried the doctor. "What of the house, my man ; eh ? " 
 
 " 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 t " said a little ugly hump-backed man : opening 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 233 
 
 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 ? " 
 
 " Matter ! " exclaimed the: other, collaring him, without a 
 moment's reflection. "A, good deal. Robbery is the mat- 
 ter." , 
 
 " There'll be Murder the matter, too," replied the hump- 
 backed man, cooly, " if you don't take your hands off. Do 
 you hear me ? " 
 
 " I hear you," said the doctor, giving his captive a hearty 
 shake. " Where's — confound the fellow, what's his rascally 
 name — Sikes ; that's it. Where's Sikes, you thief ? ", 
 
 The hump-backed man stared, as if in excess of amaze- 
 ment and indignation, then,, twisting himself, dexterously, from 
 the doctor's grasp,' growled forth a volley of horrid ;oaths, 
 and retired into the house. Before he could shut the door, 
 however, the doctor had passed into the parlor, without a 
 word of parley. He looked anxiously round ; not an article 
 of furniture ; not a vestige of anything animate or inanimate ; 
 not even the position of the cupboards ; answered Oliver's 
 description. 
 
 " Now 1 " said the hump-backed man, who had watched 
 him keenly, " what do you mean by coming into my_ house, in 
 this violent way ? Do you want to rob me or to murder me ? 
 Which is it ? " 
 
 " Did you ever know a man come out to do either, in a 
 chariot and pair, you ridiculous old vampire?" said the irri- 
 table doctor. 
 
 " What do you want, then ? " demanded the hunchback. 
 " Will you take yourself off, before I do you a mischief ? 
 Curse you ! " 
 
 " As soon as I think proper," said Mr. Losbernej looking 
 into the other parlor; which, like the first, bore no resem- 
 blance whatever to Oliver's account of it. " I shall find you 
 -out, some day, my friend." 
 
 "Will you?" sneered the ill-favored cripple. " If you 
 ever want me, I'm here. I havn'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 
 mis-shapen little demon set up a yell, and danced upon the 
 ground, as if wild with rage. 
 
 " Stupid enough, this," muttered the doctor to himself; 
 " the boy must have made a mistake. Here ! Put that ii? 
 
J34 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 youf pocket, and shut yourself up again:" With these words 
 he fluftg the hunchback a piece of money and returned to 
 the carriage. 
 
 The man followed to the chariot door, uttering the wild- 
 est imprecations and curses all the way; but as Mr. Los- 
 berne turned to speak to the driver, he looked into the car- 
 riage, attd eyed Qliver for an instant with a glance so sharp 
 and fierce and at the same time so furious and vindictive, that, 
 waking or sleeping, he could not forget it for months after- 
 wards. He continued to utter the most fearful imprecations, 
 until the driver had resumed his seat ; and when they were 
 once more on their way, they could see him some distance 
 behind : beating his feet upon the ground, and tearing his 
 hair, in transports of real or pretended rage. 
 
 " I am an ass ! " said the doctor, after a long silence. 
 " Did you know that before, Oliver t " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Then don't forget it another time." 
 
 "An ass," said the doctor again, after a further sUence 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.'' And if I had had assistance, I see no good that I 
 should have done, except leading to my own exposure,.- and an 
 imavoidable 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 on impulse. It might have done me good." 
 
 Now the fact was that the excellent doctor had never 
 acted upon anything but impulse all through his life, and it 
 was no bad coiiipliment to the nature of the impulses which 
 governed him, that so far from being involved in any peculiar 
 troubles or misfortunes, he had the warmest respe'ct and 
 esteem of all who knew him. If the truth must be told, he 
 was a little out of teftiper for a minute or two, at being dis- 
 appointed in procuring corroborative evidence of 01iver!s 
 story on tlae very first occasion on which he had a chance of 
 obtaining any. He soon came round again, Jiowever ; and find- 
 ing Oliver's replies to his questions, were still as straightforward 
 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 credence to them, from that time forth. 
 
 As'OliVer knew the name of the street in which Mr. Brown- 
 low resided, they were enabled to drive straight thither. 
 
OLIVER TWIST: 235 
 
 When the coach turned into it, his heart beat so; violently, that 
 he could scarcely draw his breath. 
 
 "Now, my boy, which house is it?" inquired Mr. Lps- 
 berne. 
 
 " That ! That ! " replied Oliver, pointing eagerly put of 
 the window. , " The white house. Oh • make haste ! ; Pray 
 make haste;! I feel as i£ 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." 
 
 The coach rolled on. It stopped. No; that was the 
 wrong house ; the next door. It went on a few paces, and 
 stopped 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, takirf§ 
 Oliver's arm in his. ," What has become of Mr. Brownlow, 
 who used to live in the adjoining house, do you know ? " 
 
 The servant did not know ; but would, go and inquire. 
 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 backward. 
 
 " Has his housekeeper gone, too ? " inquired Mr. Losberne,; 
 after a moment's pause. 
 
 "Yes, sir;" replied the servant. "The old gentleman,; 
 the housekeeper, and a gentleman who was a friend of Mr. 
 Browhlow's, all went together." 
 
 " Then turn towards home again," said Mr. Losberne to 
 the driver; " and don't stop to bait the hor$es,,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 eertainly 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 impulse,' 
 home they went. 
 
 This bitter disappointmetit caused Oliver much sorrow and 
 
236 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 grief, even in the midst of his happiness ; for he had pleased 
 himself, many times during his illness, with thinking of all 
 that Mr. Brbwnlow and Mrs. Bedwin would say. to him : 
 and what delight it would be to tell them how many long 
 days and nights he had passed in reflecting on what 
 they had done for him, and in bewailing his cruel separ- 
 ation from them. The hope of eventually clearing himself 
 with them, too, and explaining 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 
 so far, and carried with them the belief that he was an im- 
 postor and a robber-^a belief which might remain uncontra- 
 dicted to his dying day — ^was almost more than he could bear. 
 
 The circumstance occasioned no alteration, however, in 
 the behavior 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 blos- 
 soms, they made preparations for quitting the house at Chert- 
 sey, for some months. Sending the plate, which had so ex- 
 cited Fagin's cupiditj^, to the banker's ; and leaving Giles and 
 another servant in care of the house, they departed to a cottage 
 at some distance in the country, and took Oliver with them. 
 
 Who can describe the pleasure and delight, the peace of 
 mind and soft tranquillity, the sickly boy felt in the balmy air, 
 and among the green hills and rich woods, of an inland vil- 
 lage ! Who can tell how scenes of peace and quietude sink 
 into the minds of pain-worn dwellers in close and noisy places, 
 and carry their own freshness deep into their jaded hearts ! 
 Men who have lived in crowded, pent-up streets, through 
 lives of toil, and who have 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 seemed to 
 pass at once into a new state of being. Crawling forth, from 
 day to day, to some green sunny spot, they have had such 
 memories wakened up within them by the sight of sky, and 
 hill and plain, and glistening water, that a foretaste of heaven 
 itself has soothed their quick decline, 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 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 237 
 
 before, faded from their dim and feeble sight ! The niemories 
 ■which peaceful country scenes call up, are not of this world, 
 por of its thoughts and hopes. Their gentle influence rnay 
 leach us how 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 beneatii all this, there lingers, in 
 the .least reflective mind, a vague- and half -formed conscious- 
 ness of having held such feelings long before, in some remote 
 and distant- time, which calls up solemn thoughts of distant 
 times; to come, and bends down pride and worldliness be- 
 neath it. 'u; 
 
 It was a lovely spot to which they repaired. Oliver, whose 
 days had been spent among squalid crowds, and in the: midst 
 of noise and brawling, seemed to enter : on a hew existence 
 there. The rose and honeysuckle clung to the cottage walls ; 
 the ivy crept round the trunks of the trees ; and the garden- 
 flowers perfumed the air with delicious odors. Hard by, was a 
 little church-yard \ not crowded with tall unsiglitly 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 mother lay, would sometimes sit him dOiWniand sob 
 unseen ; but, when he raised his eyes to the deep sky over- 
 head, he would cease to think of her as lying in the ground, 
 and v/ould weep for her, sadly, but without pain. 
 
 It was a happy time. The days were peaceful and serene ; 
 the nights brought with them> neither fear nor care ; no Ian- 
 guishitig in a wretched prison, or associating with wretched : 
 men ; nothing but pleasant and happy thoughts. Every 
 morning he w'ent to a white-headed old gentleman, v/ho lived, 
 near the little church : who taught him to read better, and to 
 write: and who 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 boola ; or perhaps sit near them, in some shady place, and 
 listen whilst the young lady read : which he could have done, 
 until 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 Httle room which looked into the garden, till 
 evening cajne 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 flov/cr that he could 
 climb to reach, or had forgotten anything he could run to 
 11 
 
233 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 fetch : that he could never be quick enough about it. When 
 it became quite dark, and they returned home, the youpg lady 
 would sit down to the piano, and play some pleasant air, or 
 sing, in a low and gentle voice, some old song which it 
 pleased her aunt to hear. There would be no candles lighted 
 at such tiines as these ; and Oliver would sit by one of the 
 windows, listening to the sweet music in a perfect rapture. 
 
 And when Sunday eanie, how differently the day was 
 spent, from any way in wliich 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 &iilging 
 without: and the sweet-smelling air rstealing in at the low 
 porch, and filling the homely building:. wiSi its fragrance.. 
 The poor people were so neat and clean,^ and knelt so rever- 
 ently in prayer, that it seemed a pleasure, not a tedious duty, 
 their assembling there together ; and though the singing might 
 be rude^it was real, and sounded more musical (to OUver'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 laboring 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 afoot by six o'clock, 
 roaming the fields, and plundering 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 beat advantage, for the embellishment of the 
 brealcfast table. There was' fresh groundsel, too, for Miss 
 Maylie's birds, with which Oliver, who had been studying the 
 subject under the able tuition. of the village clerk, would dec- 
 orate the cages, in the most approved taste. When the birds 
 were all spruce and smart for the day, there was usually some 
 little commission of charity to execute in the village ; or, fail- 
 ing that, there was rare cricket-playing, sometimes on the 
 green ; or, failing that, there was always something to do in 
 the garden, or about the plants, to which Oliver (who had 
 studied this science also, under the same master, who was a 
 gardener by trade,) E^plied himself with hearty goodwill, until 
 Miss Rose made her appearance : when there were a thousand 
 commendations to be bestowed on all he had done. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 239 
 
 So t^MBB* iponths glided away; three months which, in the 
 life, of the ipost blessed and favored of mortals, rpight have 
 been unmingled happiness, and which, in Oliver's, were true 
 felicity. With the purest and most amiable generosity on one 
 side ; and the truest, warmest, soul-felt gratitude on the other j 
 it is no woRder that, by thp end; of that short time, Oliver 
 Twist had become completely domesticated with the old lady 
 and her niece, and that the fervent attachmen,t of hi^ young 
 and sensitive heart, was repaid by their pride in, and attach:^ 
 ment to, himself. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXm, 
 
 WHEREIN THE HAPPINESS OF OLIVER AND HIS FRIENDS, EXPE- 
 RIENCES A SUDDEN CHECK. 
 
 Spring flew swiftly by, giijd suinmer came. If the vil-. 
 lage had been beautiful at first it was now in the full glow 
 and luxuriance gf its richness. The great trees, which had 
 looked shrunken, and baore 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 Eippts into choice nooks, where was a deep and pleas- 
 ant shade from which to look upon the wide prospect, steeped 
 in sunshine, which' lay ^tretcjied. beyond. The earth had 
 donned her mantle of brightest green ; and shed her richest 
 perfumes abroad. It was the prime and vigor.of the year ; all 
 things were glad and flourishing. 
 
 Still, the same quiet life went on at the little cottage, and 
 the same cheerful, serenity 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 hinfi, though they do in the fe,elings of a great many 
 people. He was still the same gentlS) attached, affectionate 
 creature that he had been when pain and su^efing had wasted 
 Ijis strength, and when he was dependent for every slight, at- 
 tention and comfort on those who tended him, 
 
 -Qteeibeajutiful night, they had taken a longer walk, than was 
 customary with thepi j for the day had been unusually warm, 
 
mo OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 and there was a brilliant moon, aiid a light wind hadsprtiiig 
 up, which was unusually refreshing. Rose had been in high 
 spirits, too, and they had walked oil, in merry conversation, until 
 they had far exceeded their ordinary: bounds. Mrs. Maylie 
 being fatigued, they returned more slowly home. ■ The young 
 lady merely throwing off her simple bonnet, sat down to the 
 piano as usual. After running abstractedly over the keys 
 for a few minutes, she fell into a low and very soleHVn air ; and 
 as she' played it, they heard a sound as if she were weeping. 
 
 " Rose, my dear !" said the elder lady. -- ... 
 
 Rose made no reply, but played a little quicker, as though 
 the words. had roused her from some painful thoughts. 
 
 "Rose, my love! " cried Mrs. Maylie,' rtslhg hastily, and 
 bending over her. " What is this ? In tears ! My dear child, 
 what distresses you ? " 
 
 " Nothing, aunt ; nothing," replied the young lady. " I 
 
 don't know what it is ; I can't describe it ; but I feel " 
 
 ■ "Not ill, my love ?" interposed Mrs. Maylie.'- 
 
 "No, no! Oh, ndt ill!" replied Rose: shuddering as 
 though some deadly chillness were passing over her, while she 
 * spoke- "I shall be better presently.' ' Close the window, 
 pray i " ■ - ■ ' 
 
 OliV-er hastened to comply with her reiquest; The young 
 lady, making an effort to recover her cheerftilhess, strove to 
 play sOme livelier'tfirie ; but her fingers dropped powerless on 
 the keys. Covering 'hesTfaCfe- with her hands, she sank upon 
 a sofa, and gaX* vent to the tears which she was now unable 
 to repress. , 
 
 "My child'! " said the elderly lady, fold«ig>'her arms a;bout 
 her, " I never saw you so before." ''''■'•' 
 
 " I would not alarm yoii if I could avoid it;" rejoined 
 Rose ; "but indeed I have tried very hard, and cannot help 
 this. ' I fear \ am ill, aunt." 
 
 ' She was, indeed ; for, when candles were brought, they 
 "saw that in the very short time which ha.d elapsed since their 
 return home, the hue of her countenance had changed to a 
 iTiarble Whiteness. Its expression had lost nothing of its 
 beauty j but 'it- was changed ; and there Was an anxious, hag- 
 gard look about the gentle face, which it had never worn be- 
 fore. Another minute, and it was suffused with a crimson 
 flush : and a heavy wildness came over the soft blue eye. 
 ■Agaiin this disappeared, like the shadow thrown by a passing 
 cloud ; and she was once more deadly palfei : ; ■ - 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 241 
 
 ; Oliver, who watched the. old lady anxiously, .observed that 
 she was alarmed by these appearances ; and so in truth, was 
 he ; i)ut.-seeihg that she affected to make light of them, he en- 
 deavored .to do the same, and they so far succeeded, that 
 when Rose was persuaded by her aunt to retire for the night, 
 she was in .bettJer spirits ; and appeard even in better health . 
 assuring them that she felt certain she should ! rise in: the 
 morning, quite well. 'i^b . '*4 Uiiu jii-m : v\i 
 
 " I hope," Said Oliver, when Mrs. Maylie reltiirned-,; " that 
 nothing is the matter ? She,don't:look well to-night, but " 
 
 The old lady motioned to him not to speak ; and sitting 
 herself down in a dark corner of the roohi, remained silent 
 for some time. At length, she said in a trembling voice : 
 
 "I hope not, Oliver. I have been very happy with her 
 for some years : too happy, perhaps. It may be time that I 
 should meet with some misfortune ; but I hope it is not 
 
 this."^.:- ^ !o: ..., V.,. 
 
 "What?" inquired Oliver; tr -, ' io-- ', 
 
 - "T'he heavy blow," said the old lady, ''of Losing the dear 
 girl who has so long been my comfort and happiness." ■ . 
 
 " Oh ! ■ God forbid ! " exclaimed Oliver, hastily. 
 
 •" Amen Ito that, my child ! " said the old lady, wringing 
 her hands. ■ trt -Ai 
 
 " 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; " arid will 
 be worsej 1 am sure. My dear, dear Rose ! Oh, what should 
 I do without har ! " 
 
 She gave way to such great grief, that Oliver^ suppressing 
 his own emotion, ventured to remonstrate with her ; atid to 
 beg earnestly, that, for the sake of the dear young : lady herr 
 self, she would be more calm. //or 
 
 I '^A-nd consider, ma'am," said Oliver, as the tears forced 
 themselves into his eyes, despite of his efforts to. the contrary, 
 "Ohl -consider how young and good she is, and what pleasure 
 and comfort she gives to all about her. I am sure — certain 
 «-^qnite ;certain-T-that, for your, sake, who are so good your- 
 self ; and for her own ; and for the sake of all she 1 makes, so 
 happy 3. she will pot die... Heaven will : never > let her die so 
 young.": ... • . ; 
 
 " Hush ! " said Mrs. Maylie, laying her hand on Oliver's 
 head. "You think like a child, poor .boy. But you teach 
 me. my duty, notwithstamding. I had foijgotten it fpr a .mo- 
 
242 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 ment, Oliver, bnt I^iope I may be pardoned, for I am old, 
 and have seen enough of illness and death to know the agony 
 of separation from the objects of our love. I have seen 
 enough, too, to know that it is not always the youngest and 
 best who are spared to those that love them ; but this should 
 give us comfort in our sorrow ; for Heaven is just ; and such 
 things teach us, impressively, that there is a br^htei world 
 than this ; and that the p^sage to it is speedy. God's will 
 be done ! I love her ; and He knows how well ! " 
 
 Oliver was surprised to see ±at as Mrs. Maylie said these 
 words, she chedsed her .lamentations as though by one effort ; 
 and drawing herself up as she spoke, became composed and 
 firm. He was still more astonished to find that this firmness 
 lasted; and that, under all the care and watching which en- 
 sued, Mrs. Maylie was ever ready and collected : peifoiming 
 all the duties which devolved upon her, steadily, and, to ^ 
 external appearance, even cheerfully. But he was young, and 
 did not know what strong minds are capable of, under trying 
 circumstances.' How should he, when their possessors so 
 seldom know themselves ? 
 
 An anxious night ensued. 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 be active, Oliver, and not give way to useless 
 grief," said Mrs. Maylie, laying her finger on ber lip, as she 
 looked steadily into his face ; " this letter must be sent, with 
 all possible expedition, to Mr. Losbeme. It must be carried 
 to the market-town : which is not more than four miles ofl^ 
 by the footpath across the fields : and thence dispatched, by 
 an express on horseback, straight to Chertsey. The people 
 at the inn will undertake to do this ; and I can trust to 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 ? "^ inquired Oliver : im- 
 patient to execute his commission, and holding out his trem- 
 bling hand for the letter. 
 
 " No," replied the old lady, giving it to him mechaniGaliy. 
 Oliver glanced at it, and saw that it was directed to Hanj 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 243 
 
 Maylie, Esquire, at some great lord's house m the countiy , 
 where, he could not make out. 
 
 " Shall it go, ma'am ? " asked Oliver, looking up, impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 " I think not," replied Mrs. Maylie, taking it back. " I will 
 wait until to-morrow." 
 
 With these words, she gave Oliver her purse, and he 
 started off, without more delay, at the greatest speed he could 
 muster. 
 
 Swiftly he ran across the fields, and down the little lanes 
 which sometimes divided them : now almost hidden by the 
 high com on either side, and now emerging on an open field, 
 where the mowers and haymakers were busy at their work : 
 nor did he stop once, save now and then, for a few seconds, 
 to recover 1 wreath, until he came, 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 
 were a white bank, and a red brewery, and a yellow town- 
 hall ; and in one comer there was a large house, with all the 
 wood about it painted green : before wlxich was the. sign of 
 " The George." To this he hastened, as soon as it caugKt his 
 eye. 
 
 He spoke to a postboy who was dozing under the gate- 
 way; and who, after hearing wliat he wanted, referred him to 
 the ostler ; who after hearing all he had to say again, referred 
 him to the landlord ; who was a tall gentkman in a blue neck- 
 cloth, a white hat, drab breeches, and boots with tops to match, 
 leaning against a pump by the stable-door, picking his teeth 
 with a silver tpothpick. 
 
 This gentleman walked with much deliberation into 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.^uch' a desperate state of 
 impatience and anxiety, that he felt as if he could have 
 jumped upon the horse himself, ^od ^Itoped 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 liis 
 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. 
 
 As it was something to feel certain that assistance; was 
 
2^4 QLIVEJi TWrST. 
 
 sent for, and that no time :had been lost, Oliver hurried- up 
 the inn-yard, with a somewhat lighter heart. He was turning 
 out of the gateway when he accidentally stumbled against a] 
 tall man wrapped in a cloak, who was at that moment coming, 
 out of the inn. door. 
 
 "■ Hah ! '■' cried the man, fixing his eyes on Oliver, and 
 suddenly recoiling. " What tlie devil's this t" 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," said Oliver ; " I was in a great 
 hurry to get home, and didn't see you were coming." . 
 
 "Death !" muttered the man to himself, glaring at the 
 boy with his large dark eyes. "Who would have thought it ! 
 Grind him to ashes! He'd start up from a stone coffin,. to 
 come in my way ! " 
 
 " I am sorry," stamtnered Oliver, confused by the strange 
 man's wild look. " I hope I have not hurt you ! " 
 
 " Rot youJ " 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 you in a night. 
 Curses on your head, and black death on your heart, you imp ! 
 What are you doing here ? " 
 
 ; The man shook his fist, as he uttered these >wordfe -inco- 
 herently. He advanced towards Oliver, as if with the inten- 
 tion of aiming a blow at him, but fell violently on the ground: 
 writliing and foaming, in a fit. 
 
 Oliver gazed, for a moment, at the struggles of the mad- 
 man .(foi such he supposed him to be) ; and then darted into 
 the house for help. Having seeh him safely carried into the 
 hotel, he turned his face homewards,; running as fast as he 
 could, to make up for lost time : and recalling: with a great 
 deal of astonishment and some fear, the extraordinary be- 
 havior 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 considerations of self 
 completely from his memory.- 
 
 Rose Maylie had rapitlLy, grown worse; before midnight 
 she was delirious. A medical practitioner, who resided on 
 the spot, was in constant attendance upon her;, and; after 
 fiirst seeing the patient, he had take Mrs. Maylie aside, and 
 pronounced 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 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 245 
 
 Stealing out, with noiseless footstep, to .the staircase, listen for 
 the slightest sound from the sick chamber J How oftefl. 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 sometihingtoo dread&il td think of, had even then oc- 
 curred! And what had been the fervency of all "the.- prayers 
 he had ever uttered, dompared with those he poured .fortli, 
 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 ! 
 
 Oh ! the auspeiise, th& fearful, acute suspense, of standing 
 idly by while the life of- one we dearly love, is trembling in 
 the balance ! Oh! the;racking thoughts that crowd upon the 
 mind, and make the heart beat violentlyj and the breath come 
 thick, by the force of the ' imagesithejf conjure up before it ; 
 the desperate anxiety to- be doingsomiihing to relieve the pain, 
 or lessen : the danger, which we have no power to alleviate ; 
 *he sinking of soul and spirit, which, the sad remembrance of 
 our helplessness produces ; what jtortures can equal thesei; 
 ■what reflections or endeavors can, in) the- full tide and fever 
 of *he time, allay them ! 
 
 ■'^Morning came j and the little cottage was lonely and still. 
 People spoke In whispers ; anxious fiices: appeared at the ^ate, 
 ^from time to time ; 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 instaiit to the sick chamber, arid shuddering to see the 
 darkened'window, loolfing as if. death lay stretched inside. 
 Late at night, Mr. Losberne arrived. . "It is hard/' said the 
 good: doctorj turning away as he spoke ; ." so young ; so iiiuch 
 ;beloved ; ifeut there is very little hope/' ; ii 
 
 ■liAnother mornings .The sun shone brightly ; as brightly 
 as if it looked ;lfa»on ;no misery or care.; and, with every, leaf 
 and.ftowes? in fulkbltoom about her ■ wi^h 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 churchyard, and sitting down on one of the^green 
 mounds, wepie and prayed for. her, in silence,' 
 
 There was such peace and beauty in. the scene ; so much 
 of brightiiess and mirth in; the sunny landscape ; such blithe- 
 some music in the songs of , the summer .'bjardsy such freedom 
 in the '-i^a^d flight -of the rook, careering ojiexbead^ so much 
 of life and joyousness in all ; that, when the boy raised' Ws 
 
24:6 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 aching eyes, and looked about, the thought instinctively oc- 
 curred 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 atid cheerless winter : not 
 for sunlight and fragrance. He almost thoBgbt that shrouds 
 were for the old and shrunken ; and that they never wrapped 
 the young and graceful form in their ghastly folds. 
 
 A knell from the church bell broke harshly on these youth- 
 ful thoughts. Another ! Again 1 It was tolliftg for the funeral 
 service. A group of humble mourners' entered the gate : 
 wearing white favors ; for the corpse was young. They stood 
 uncovered by a grave ; aind there was a modier — a mother 
 once — ramong the weeping train. But the sun shone brightly, 
 and the birds sang oui . i 
 
 Oliver turned homeward, thinking on the many kindness&s 
 he had received from' the young lady, and wishing^ that the 
 time could come over again, that he might never cease show- 
 ing her how gratteful and attached he was. He had no cause 
 for self-reproach on the score of neglect, or want of thought, 
 for he had been devoted to her service ; and yet a hundjred 
 little occasions rose up before him, on "which he fancied he 
 might have been more zealous, and more earnest, and wished 
 he had been. We need be careful how -We deal with those 
 about us, when every death carries to some small circle of 
 survivors, thoughts of so much omitted, and so little donS-^ 
 of so many things forgotten, and so many more which might 
 have been repaired! There is no remorse ' so deep as that 
 which is unavailing ; if we would be spared itS tortures, kt us 
 remember this, in time. 
 
 When he reached home Mrs. Maylie was sitting in the lit- 
 tle parlor. Oliver's ,heart sank at sight of her ; for she had 
 never lef* the bedside of her niece ; and he trembled to think 
 what change could have driven her away. Hejearnt that she 
 had fallen into a deep sleep, from which she would waken, 
 either to recovery and life, or to bid them farewell, and die. 
 
 They sat, listening, and afraki to speak, for hours. The 
 untasted meal was removed, with looks which, showed that 
 their thoughts were elsewhere, theiy watched tiie sun as he 
 sank lower and lower, and, at length, cast over sky and earth 
 those brilliant hues which herald his departure. Their quick 
 eats caught the • sound of an approaching footstep. They 
 both involuntarily darted to the door, as Mr. Losberne en 
 =.telr4dv 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 24^ 
 
 " What of Rose ? " cried the old lady. " Tell me at once 1 
 I can bear it j anything but suspense 1 Oh, tell me ! in the 
 name of Heaven \" 
 
 " You must compose yourself," said 4he doctor, support- 
 ing her. " Be calm, my dear ma'am, pray." 
 
 " Let me go, in God's name ! My dear child ! She ia 
 dead! She iS dying I" 
 
 " No ! " cried the doctor, passionately. " As He , is good 
 and merciful, she -wrill live to bless us all, for years to come.'; 
 
 The lady fell upon her -knees, and tried to fold her hands 
 together; but the energy which had supported her so long, 
 fled up to Heaven with her first thanksgiving ; and she saak 
 into the friendly arras which were extended to receive her. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 CONTAINS SOME INTRODUCTORY PARTICULARS RELATIVE ;T0 A 
 YOUNG GEN'1*LEMAN WHO NOW ARRIVES UPON THE SCENE ; 
 AND A NEW ADVENTURE WHICH HAPPENED TO OLrVER. 
 
 It was almost too much happiness to bear. Oliver felt 
 stunned and stupefied by the ■ unexpected , intelligence ; .he 
 could not weep, or speak, or rest. He had. scarcely the 
 power of understanding anything 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 the jojfful 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 home- 
 ward ; laden with flowers which he had culled, with peculiai 
 care, for thie' adornment of the sick chamber. As he walked 
 briskly along the road, he heard behind him, the noise of 
 some vehicle, approaching at a furious pace. Looldng romid, 
 he saw that it was a post-chaise, driven at great speed; and 
 as the hoi^ses were galloping, and the road was harirow, he 
 stood leaning against a gate until it should have passed him. 
 
 As it dashed on, Oliver cg,ught a glimpse of a man in a 
 white nightcap, whose face seemed familiar to him, altiiough 
 
248 OLIVER' TWIST. 
 
 his view was so brief that he could not identify thgi person. 
 In another second or two, the nightcap was thrust out ; off the 
 chaise-window, and a stentorian voice bellow«d. tp i tl^; driver 
 to stop :, which he did, as soon as he could pull up his horses. 
 Then, the nightcap once again appeared ; t aijd the same voice 
 called Oliver by his name.! t 
 
 " Here ! " cried the voice. " Oliver, , What's the news ? 
 Miss Rose !' Master 0-li-ver !'" " ■• 
 
 " Is it youj Giles ? " cried Oliver, running up to the chaise- 
 door. 
 
 Giles popped out his nightcap again, preparatory to 
 making some reply, when he was suddenly pulled baqk by a 
 young gentleman :who oocupi^ the other corner of the chaise, 
 and who eagerly demanded what was the news. 
 
 " In a word ! " cried the gentleman, " better or worse ? " 
 
 " Better — muchrbett-er ! "-replied Oliver, hastily. 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! " exclaimed the gentleman. " You are 
 sure ? " 
 
 "Quite, sir," replied Oliver. •;" The change took place 
 only a few hours ago ; and Mr. Losherne says, that all danger 
 'is 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. 
 
 " You are quite certain? There is:.no possibility of any 
 mistake on your part, my boy, is these ?" demanded , the 
 gentleman in a tremulous voice, ".Do not deceive me,, by 
 awakening hopes that are not to be fulfilled." 
 
 *' I would not for the world, sir," replied Oliver. " Indeed 
 : you may believe me. Mr. Losberne's word^ were, th^j:. slie 
 would live to .blisss us all ifor many years to corap. I heard 
 him&ay so." i < ;:. ;•., ' ,' ,-,7 ,,, ._ , :,..,.i .^ ^. 
 
 The tears stood in Oliver's eyes as he recalled the scejie 
 which was the beginning of so much happji^ejss ; and the 
 gentleman turned his face away, a»d reinainect silent, ;fftr 
 some minutes. Oliijer thought he heard feim, sob, more th^ 
 once ; but he feared to interrupt him by any fresh remark-^ 
 for he could well guess what his feelings werer— and ^0 stood 
 apart, feigning to be occupied with his nosegay., , .; 
 
 ■ All this time, Mr. Giles, with the white nightcap on, h^ 
 been sitting on^ the steps of the chaise, supportipg an elboy 
 on each knee, and wiping his eyes with a blue cotton ppcket- 
 handlcerqhief dotted with white spots. That); thj^ hpnest fellow. 
 
OUVER TWIST 249 
 
 had flot been fe^ning emotion, was alMmdantly'denioiistxated 
 by the very red eyes with which he iGg^xled.the young 
 gentleman, when he turned round and adds^sed him. 
 
 ■• I think you had better go on to my mothers in the 
 chaise, CSfie^" said he. --'' I would rather :nnalk slowly on, so 
 as to gain a little time before I see hssL. . Yon can say I am 
 
 ■ I b^ your-pardoiij Mr. Harry," said Giles ; giving a 
 final polish to his ruffled icountenance with the handkerchi^ ; 
 "but if yoa would leave the posdioy to sibj that, I should be 
 very much obEged to you. It WMiIdn^t be proper for the 
 maids to see me in this state, sir ; I should never have any 
 nH>re anthoiity with them if th^ did." , _— 
 
 "WeU," rejoined Harty Maj-Ue, smiling, '■you can jdQ'as 
 ymi lik&. Let him go on with the It^g^^if you wi^it, and 
 do you follow with ns. Ctoly' first exchange that n^htcap. for 
 some more z^jsoim^e cbve^ng, or we shall be taken for 
 madmen." 
 
 Mr. Giles, reminded of his unbeccanii^ c(»tume, sfiatched 
 t& and pocketed his ni^ttcap ; and sobsijtated.a hat, of g^itve 
 and sober shape, whkji lis took ont of the chaise. Tliis doqg^ 
 the pjis^oy^rpve off > Cites; Mk Mayiie, and Oliver, followed 
 at thOT leisure. l . . . ■ : 
 
 As they walked along, CHiver^^anced from time to time 
 with ~muc^ inters and cmdosily at the new-comer. He 
 seemed about five-and-twenty years of age, aqd' was -of .the 
 middle hei^t : his connteoaoce -was &ank and handsome \ 
 and his demeanor easy arKd,|Hreposses^ng. Notwithstanding 
 the difference between yootfa and ag^ he bore so strong a 
 Ifteness to the old lady, that Oliver would have had no great 
 £fficulty in imagining their relationship, if he had n<>t already 
 ^x>ken (& her as his mothen 
 
 Mrs. Mayiie was ansionsly wailing to receive her - scm 
 when he leacb^i the cottage. The Dieting did not t^e 
 place without great emotion on botb sides. r \ 
 
 " Mother!" whiqjered the young man ;" why did you not 
 write before ? '" 
 
 " I did," replied Mis. Mayiie ; '■ but, on reflection, I de- 
 termined to kf£p back the letter until I had heard Mr. 
 Losben^'s opinion." 
 
 ^ But tdiyj" said the yom^ man, " why run the chance^ 
 that occoiri]^ which so nearly happened 1 If Rcee had — I 
 cannot utter that word sowrr-S ^b^ illness had terminated 
 
250 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 differently, how could you ever have forgiven yourself 1 How 
 could I ever have known happiness again ! " 
 
 "if that ^a^/been the case, Harry," said Mrs. Maylie, "J 
 fear your happiness would haive been effectually blighted, and 
 that your arrival here, a day sooner ©r a day later, would have 
 been of very, very little import." : • 
 
 " And who can wonder if it be so, mother ? " rejoined the 
 youiig man; "or why should I sayj r/? — It, is — it is — you 
 know it, mother — you must know it! f , 
 
 " I know that she deserves the best and purest love the 
 heart of man can offer," said Mrs. Maylie ; " I know that the 
 devotion and affection of her nature require no ordinary re- 
 turn, but one that shall be deep and lasting. If I did not feel 
 ■thisj-and know, besides, that a Changed behavior in one she 
 loved would break her heart, I should not feel my task so 
 difficult of jperformarice, or have to encounter : so many 
 struggles in toy own bosom, when I take what seems to me to 
 be the strict line of duty." 
 
 ' "This is unkind, mother,": said Harry. "Do you. still 
 si^pose that I am a boy ignorant of my own mind, and mis- 
 taking the impulses of my- own soul? " 
 
 '*;! think, my dear son," rettimed Mrs. Maylie, layu^ her 
 hand upon his shoulder, " that youth has many generous im- 
 pulses' which do not last; and that aihonig them are Some, 
 which being gratified, become only die more fleeting. Above 
 all, I think," said the lady, fixing her eyes on her son's face, 
 "that if an enthusiastic, ardent, and ambitious . man marry a 
 wife cin whose name there is a stain, which, though it origiriate 
 in no fault of hers, may be visited by cold and sordid people 
 upon her, and upon his children also : and, in exact propor- 
 tion to his success in the world, be cast in his teeth, and made 
 the subject of sneers against liim : he may, no matter how 
 genetoiis and good his nature, one day repent of the connec- 
 tion he formed in early life. And she may have the pain of 
 knowing that he does so." 
 
 " Mother," said the young - man, imipaiie-iitly, •" he would 
 be a selfish brute, unworthy alike of the name of man and xjf 
 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, wrin^ from 
 hie the avowal to you of a passion which,' as you iwell kno^is^ 
 is not one of yesterday, nor one I have lightly formed. Oh 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 251 
 
 Rose, sweet, Jgentle girl! my heart is set, as firmly as ever 
 heart of man was set on woman. I have no thought, no view, 
 no hope in life, -beyond her ; and if you oppose me in this 
 great stake, you take imy peace and happiness in your 4iands, 
 and cast them to the wind. Mother, think better of this, and 
 of me, and do not disregard the happiness of which you seem 
 to think so little." 
 
 " Harry," said Mrs. Maylie, " it is because I think so much 
 of warm and sensitive 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," interposed 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 " 
 
 " I have considered ! " was the impatient reply ; " mother, 
 i have considered, years and years. I have considered, ever 
 'Since I have been capable of serious reflection. My feeling? 
 remain unchanged, as they ever will ; and why should I suftei 
 the pain of a delay in giving them vent, which can be produc- 
 tive 6f rib earthly good .^ No! Before I leave this place, Rose 
 shall hear me." 
 '■•:■ "She shall," Said Mirs. Maylie. 
 
 "There is something in your manner, which would almost 
 imply that she will hear me coWIy^ mother," said the youngman. 
 
 " Not coldly," rejoined the old lady ; "far from it." 
 
 " How then ?" urged the young man. "She has formed 
 no other attachment ? " 
 
 " No, indeed," rteplied his mother ; " ydu have, or I mis- 
 take, too strong a hold Bn 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 yourself to be carrifed to the highest 
 point of hope; reflect for a fe*' mowfents, my dear child, on 
 Rose's history, Snd 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 tnind, and with that 
 perfect sacrffice of self which, in all matters, great or trifling, 
 -has a.lways been her characteristic." 
 
 "What do you mean ? " 
 
 " That I leave you to discover," replied Mi's. Maylie. " I 
 taust go back to Ker. God bless you ! " 
 
252 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 "I shall see you again to-night?" said the young man 
 eagerly. 
 
 " By and by," replied the lady; "when I leave Rose." 
 ,." You wiU tell her I am here? ".said Harry. 
 
 " Of course," replied Mrs. Maylie. 
 , , ." J^nd say how anxipus,I|have been, and how much I hav« 
 su^ered, and how I long' io see her. You will, not refuse to 
 do this, mqther ? " i w ;i - 
 
 ?' No,'' said the old lady ; " I ,w,ill tell, her; all." And pres- 
 sing her, son's hand, affectionately, she hastened; from the 
 room. 
 
 Mr. Losbqrne and. Oliver had remainecl at another end of 
 the apartment while, thjs, hvrri^d conversation was proceeding. 
 The former now held oiit his hand to Harry Maylie ;jat)^ 
 Jiearty salHtations were exchanged between them. The doctor 
 then communicated, in reply to multifarious questions from 
 his young friend, 3. precise account of ; his p.atieijt's situation ; 
 which, was ,quite as consolatory an4 full of promise, as Oliver's 
 ,st3,ten)ent had, encouraged him to hope j and to the .whole Of 
 jwhich, Mr. Giles, who affectp4 .tp be busy about the luggage 
 listened with greedy ears, 
 
 :' Have you. shot ^ anything particular, lately, fliles?" in- 
 quired the doctor, when he had concluded : . 
 
 "Nothing particular, sir," repliedi Mr. .Giles, coloring up 
 to the eyes. ^ 
 
 . , " Nor catching any thieves, nor identifyiiig any liQvse- 
 breakers?^' said the doctor, 
 
 "None at all, sir," replied Mr, Giles,, with much gravity. 
 
 "Well," said the doctor, "1 am sorry to hear it, because 
 you do that sort of thing admirably. Pray, hpw is Brittles ? " 
 
 " The boy ^s very well, sir," said Mr Giles, recovering his 
 usual, tone of patronage ; " and squds^his respectful duty,, sir." 
 
 "That's well," ?aid tlie, doctor. "Seeing you here, re- 
 minds uje, Mr. Giles, that on die day before that on which I 
 was called away so hurriedly, I executed, at the requ.es.t of 
 yqur good mistress, a|Sn;^all commission in your favor. Just 
 step into this comeT a moment, will you 'i " 
 
 " lilr.; Giles walked into, the corner with much importange, 
 and some wpnder, and was honored ■vyith a short whisperiog 
 conference with tlie doctor, OJ? the termination, of whiqh,;!^ 
 made a great many bows, and retired with steps of unusual 
 ^statelinesa. The stibject matter of this conference was not 
 disclosea in the parlor; but thi?; kitclj^n was .^eedily enlighit- 
 
OLIVER TWIST 253 
 
 ened concerning it ; for Mr. Giles jsalked straiglit thither, and 
 having called for a mug of ale, announced, with an air ot 
 majesty, which was highly effectiveV tiiat it had pleased his 
 mistress, in consideration of his gallant: behavior oh the occa- 
 sion of that attempted robbery, to deposit, in the local savings- 
 ijank^.the sum of five and twenty pounds, ior his sola use' and 
 ben^t. At this, the two wonjen-servants Mif ted up , their 
 hands and eyes, and Isupposed that Mc Giles would begin to 
 bei^uite proud now ; whereunto Mr. Giles, pulling out his 
 slurt-irill, replied, " No, no ; " and that if they observed that 
 he was at; all haughty to his inferiors, 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 favor and applause^ and were, withal, as original and as 
 much to the purpose, as the remarks of great men commenly 
 are. 
 
 • • Above stairs, the remainder of the evenmg passed :cheei> 
 fully: away; for the doctor was in high spirits; and however 
 fatigued or thoughtful Harry Mayliejmight ha\'e been at first, 
 he was not proof against the worthy gentleman's good humor, 
 iwhich displayed itself in a great va/riety of sallies and profes- 
 sional recollections, and an abundance, of small jokes, which 
 struck- Oliver as being the .drollest things he had ever heard, 
 and;catised him to laugh proportionally : to the evident satis- 
 faction of- the doctor, who laughed immoderately at himselfj 
 and made Harry laugh almost as heartily, by the very force 
 of sympathy. So, they were as pleasant a party as, under the 
 BiKaimstances,, they could well. Jiave been, and It was late 
 before they retired, -with light and thankful hearts, to take 
 that rest of which, after the doubt' and suspense they had 
 recently undergone, they stood much in; need. 
 
 Oliver rose next morning, in better heart, and went about 
 hisrusiial early GceupatiDns, with more^ope aiid pleasnire than 
 he had; known for many daya. ^ The birds ;wbre once more 
 hung out, to sing, in their old places ; and the sweetest wild 
 flowers that could be found, were once more gathered to glad- 
 den t-Kose with their beauty. The melancholy which had 
 seertied to the sad eyes of the anxious boy to liang, for days 
 past, over every object, beautiful as all were; was dispelled by 
 m^c. The dew .seemed to sparkle more br^htly on the 
 green. leaves; the air to rustle among them with a sweeter 
 musie , and die sky itself to look moreiilue and bright. Such 
 is the influence which, the .condition of our own thoughts , ex- 
 
2^4 OLIVER TWIST 
 
 ercises, even over the appearance 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 colors 
 are reflections from their own jaundiced eyes and hearts. 
 The real hues are delicate, and need a clearer vision. 
 
 It is worthy of remark, and Oliver did not fail to note it 
 at the time, that his morning 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-passioa 
 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 tliey scoured the 
 country together, and brought home the fairest that blossomed. 
 Th« window of the young lady's chamber was opened now ; 
 for she loved to feel the rich summer air stream m, and revive 
 her with its freshness ; but there always stood in water, 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 flowers were never thrown away, 
 although the little vase was regularly replenished ; nor, could 
 he help observing, that whenever tlie doctor came into the 
 garden, he invariably cast his eyes up to that particular 
 corner, and nodded his head most expressively, as he set forth 
 on his morning's walk. Pending these observations, the days 
 were flying by -, and Rose was rapidly recovering. 
 
 Nor did Oliver's time hang heavy on 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 
 labored so hard that his quick progress surprised even him- 
 self. It was while he vas engaged in diis pursmt, that he was 
 greatly startled and distressed by a most unexpected occur- 
 rence. 
 
 The little room in which he was accustomed 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 clusters of jessamine and honeysuckle, that 
 crept over the casement, and filled the place with their deli- 
 cious perfume. It looked into a garden, whence a wicket- 
 gate opened into a small paddodk , all beyond, was fine 
 meadow-land and wood. There was no other dwelling near, 
 
OLIVER TWIST. a 55 
 
 in that direction ; and the prospect it commanded was very 
 extensive. 
 
 One beautiful evening, when the first shades of twilight 
 were beginning to settle upon the earth, Oliver sat at this 
 ■(irindow, intent upon his books. He had been poring over 
 them for some time ; arid, as the day had been uncommonly 
 sultry, and he had exerted himself a great deal, it is no dis- 
 paragement to the authors, whoever they may have been, to 
 say, that gradually 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 free the mind 
 from a sense of things about ii, and enable it to ramble at its 
 pleasure. So far as an overpowering heaviness, a prostration 
 of strength, and an utter inability to contrcJ our thoughts or 
 power of motion, can be called sleep, this is it j and yet, we 
 have a consciousness of all that is -going on about us, and, if 
 we dream at such a time, words which are really spoken, or 
 sounds which really exist at the moment, -accommodate them- 
 selves with surprisiiig readiness to our visions, until reality 
 and inia^nation become so stran^ly blended that it is after- 
 wards almost matter of impossibility to separate the two. 
 Nor is this, the most striking phenomenon incidental to such 
 a state. It is an undoubted fact, that although our senses of 
 touch and sight be"forthe time dead,yetcur5'leeping thoughts, 
 and the visionary scenes that pass before us, will be influenced 
 and materially influenced, by the mere siletit 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 ; 
 that the sweet air was stirring among the creeping plants out- 
 side. And yet he was asleep. Suddenly, the scene changed ; 
 the air became 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 -hun. 
 
 " Hush, my dear ! " he thought he heard the Jew say ; " it 
 is he, sure enough. Come away." 
 
 " He ! " the other man seemed to answer ; " could I mis- 
 take Mm, think you ? If a crowd of ghosts were to put thens- 
 selves into his exact shape, and he stood amongst them, there 
 
2S6 . OUVER TWIST. 
 
 is somethiug.that would tell me how to point him out If you 
 buried him fifty feet deep, and took me across his grave, I 
 fancy I should know, if th,ere wasn't a mark above it, that he 
 lay buried there?" 
 
 The man seemed to say this, with such dreadful hatred, 
 that Oliver awoke vyith the fear, a^d started up. 
 
 Good Heaven ' what was that, which sent the blood tii^- 
 ling to his heart, and deprived. him of his voice, and of jxjwei 
 to move 1 Therfr— there — at the window- — close before him— 
 so close, that he could have almost touched hiin before he 
 Started back : with hts eyes peering into the roon^ and meeting 
 his : there stood the Jew 1 And beside him, white with rage 
 or fear, or bpth, were the scowling features of the very man 
 who had accosted him. in the inn-ytird. 
 
 It was but an instant, a ^ance, a flash, before his eyes; 
 and they were gone. But they had recognized .1^, and he 
 them ; and their IqpH was as firmly impressed upon his mara- 
 oiy, as if it had been deeply carved in stoiie, and set before 
 him from his birth. lie stood traqsfixed for a moment ; then, 
 leaping from the window iato the .garden, called loudly for 
 help. . . 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 CONTAINING THE UNSATISFACTORY RESULT OF OLIVER'S AD- 
 VENTURE ; AND A CONVERS.ATION OF SOME IMPORTANCE 
 BETWEEN HARRY MAYLIE AND ROSE. 
 
 When the inmates of the house, attracted by Oliver's cne^ 
 hurried to the spot from which they proceeded, they found 
 him, pale and agitated, pqiijting in the direction of the mead- 
 ows 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 Harrj' Maylie, whose perceptions were something 
 quicker, and who had heard Oliver's history from his mother, 
 understood it at once. 
 
 "What direction did he take? " he asked, catching iq) a 
 heavy stidt which was standing in a corner. 
 
OLti^MR TWIST 257 
 
 "That," replted 'Oliver, pointing out the course the man 
 had taken ; " I missed them 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 diffieulty for the others to keep near him. 
 
 Giles followed as 'Well as hfe could; and Oliver followed 
 too ; and in the course of a minute or two, Mr. Losberrte, who 
 had been out Walking and just then returned, tumbled ovef 
 the hedge after them and picking himself up with more agility 
 than Tie could have been supposed to possess, struck into the 
 same course at no Contemptible speed, shouting all the while, 
 most prodigiously, to know what was the matter. 
 
 On they all went ; nor stopped they once to breathbi Until 
 the leader, striking oflf into an angle of the field indicated by 
 Oliver, began to search, narrowly, the diteh and hedge ad- 
 joining j. iwitch afforded time for the remainder of the party 
 to come up 5 and for Oliver to communicate to Mr.Losbeme 
 the circumstances that had led to so vigorous a pursuiU 
 
 'The search was iill in vain. There were not ■ even the 
 traces of teceht footsteps, to be seen. They stood now, on 
 the sutamit of a little hill, commanding the open fields in 
 every direction for three or four miles. - There was the village 
 in the hollow oh the left j but,- in' order to gain that, after 
 jiursuiiig the track Oliver had pointed out, the men must have 
 made a circuit of open ground, which it was impossible they 
 coiild have accomplished in so short a time. A thick- wbod 
 skirted the meadow-land in another direction ; but they could 
 not have gained that covert for the same reason. 
 
 "It -must have been a dream, Oliver," said Harry Maylie. 
 
 "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 hoth as plainly as I see 
 you libw." 
 
 " Who was ' the other ? " inquired Harry and Mr, Los- 
 berne, together. 
 
 " The very same man I told you of, who came so suddenly 
 upon me at the inn," said Oliver. " VVe had our eyes fixed 
 full upon each other ; and I could swear to him." 
 
 " They took ■ this way ? " demanded Harry : " are you 
 sure?" 
 
 "As I am that the men were at the window," replied 
 Oliver, pointing down, as he spoke, to the hedge which divided 
 
2^58 OUVRR TWIST. 
 
 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 direc- 
 tion 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 print of men's shoes, or tlie 
 slightest mark which would indicate that any feet had pressed 
 the ground for hours before. 
 
 " This is strange ' " said Harry. 
 
 " Strange ? " echoed the doctor. " Blathers, and Duff, 
 themselves, could make nothing of it." 
 
 Notwithstanding the evidently useless nature of their 
 search, they did not desist until the coming on of night ren- 
 dered its further prosecution hopeless ; and even then, they 
 gave it up with reluctance. Giles was despatched to the dif- 
 ferent ale-houses in the village, furnished with the best descrip-. 
 tion Oliver could give of the appearance and dress of the 
 strangers. Of these, the Jew was, at all events, sufficiently 
 remarkable to be remembered, supposing he liad been seen 
 drinking, or loitering about ; but Giles returned without any 
 intelligence, calculated to dispel or lessen the mystery. 
 
 On the next day, fresh 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, fruijtless. After a few days, the affair 
 began to be forgotten, as most affairs are, lylien wonder, hav- 
 ing no fresh food to support it, dies away of itself. 
 
 Meanwhile, Rose was rapidly recovering^ She had left 
 her room- was able: to i go out; and mixing once more with 
 the family, carried joy into the hearts of all. 
 
 ..But; although this happy cbjinge had a visible effect on 
 the little circle ; and althou^ cheerful voices, and- merry 
 laughter were once more heard in the cottage; there was at 
 times, an unwonted restraint, upon some tliere :. even upon 
 Rose herself : which Oliver could not fail to remark. Mrs. 
 Maylie and her son were often closeted tpgetjier for a long 
 time ; and more than once Rose appeared with traces ofteara 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 259 
 
 upon her face. After Mr. Losberne had fixed a day for his 
 departure to Chertsey, these symptoms increased ; and it be- 
 came evident that something was ia 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-parlor, Harry Maylie entered ; and, with^ some hesi- 
 tation, begged permission to speak with her for a few mo- 
 ments, 
 
 "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 cher- 
 ished 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 moment of his entrance; 
 but that might have been the effect of her recent illness. She 
 merely bowed ; ^nd bending over some plants that stood near, 
 waited in 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 yish you had." 
 
 " I was brought here, by the most dreadful and agonizing 
 of all apprehensions," said tlae young man ; " the fear of los- 
 ing the one dear being on "whom my every wish and hope are 
 fixed. You had been dying ; trembling between eartli and 
 heaven. We know that when the young, the beautiful, and 
 good, are visited with sickness, their pure spirits insensibly 
 turn towards their bright home of lasting rest ; we know. 
 Heaven help us ! that the best and fairest of our kind, too 
 often fade in bloommg." 
 
 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 seemed as though the outpouring of her 
 fresh, young heart, claimed kindred naturally, with the loveli- 
 est things in nature. 
 
 ''A creature," continued the young man, passionately, 
 " a creature as fair and innocent 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 
 
266 OLIVER Tivrsr. 
 
 tothofeewho linger here; hardly fiyinoW a reasotfWhjf^dH 
 should be; to f eel thit yoiX belonged to that bright -sphferfe 
 whither so many of the fait-est and the best have' winged thei.r 
 early flight ; and yet td Jriy, amid ail these' consolatipfts,';tMf 
 you might be restored to those who loved you — these Were 
 distractions almost too' great to bear. They were mine, by 
 day and flight ; and with them, canite such a rushing torrent 
 of fears, and. apprehensions, and selfish regrets, lest you should 
 die, and never know how devotedly Iloved' yoif, as almost 
 bore down sense and reason in its course;' 'You recovered. 
 Day by day, and, almost hour by hour, some drop of health 
 cariie back, and mingling with the ' spent arid feeble stream of 
 life which circulated languidly within you',' swelled it again to 
 a high ind rushing tide: I have watched you change almost 
 from death, to Iffe, with eyes that turned blind •with their 
 e¥gierness and deep affection. ' Do nbt tell 'me that you wish 
 I had lost tjiis ; for it has softened my heart to all man- 
 kind."'"'^ • 
 
 ' "I did riot mean thatj" said Rose, weeping ; " I only 
 wish you had left here, that yott- miglit have turned to high 
 and ribble jliirsuits again ; io ptifsuits well wbirthy of ychi." 
 
 " There is no piirsuit- more \<roVthy of me . more worthy of 
 the highest natiure that exists : than the 'struggle to win such 
 a heart as ' |^6'urs," said the young man, taking hfer hand. 
 " Rose, 'iri^ own dear Rose !■ For yearsr— for years — I have 
 loved you ; hbping'to' win myWay to fairie, and then come 
 proudly home and tell you it Kald been pursued only for yon to 
 share ; thiriking in my day-dreams, how I would rernind you, 
 in that happy moment, of the many silent token's I had given 
 of a boy's attachment, and clairri'-'your hand, as in redemp- 
 tion of some old inute contract that had be:e?n sealed between 
 us 1 That tifrie has not arrived ; biit-here, with no fame won, 
 and rib young vision realized, I offer you the heart so long 
 ybtir o'wn; and''stake my all iipon the words with which you 
 greet the offer." 
 
 . "Your behavior has ever been kind and noble," said Rose, 
 iriastering the emotions by which she was agitated ' " As 
 you believe that I am not insensible or' ilhgratetul, so hear my 
 answer, ■'' 
 
 "It is that I may endeavor to deserve yoU'; it is, dear 
 Rose?" 
 
 "It is," replied Rose, " that you must endeavor to forget 
 me ; not as your old and dearly-attached companion,- for tha< 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 26 j 
 
 would wound me deeply ; but, as the object of your tove. 
 Look into the world ; think how many hearts you would be 
 proUd to gain, are there. Confide some other passjon to me, 
 if you will ; I will be the truest, warmest, and 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," iie said,^ at length, in a low 
 voice ; " your reasons for this decision 1 " 
 
 "You have a right to know them," rejoined Rose. "You 
 can .say nothing to alter my resolution. It is a duty that I 
 must perform. I owe it, alilce to others, and to myself." 
 
 "Toi yourself ? " 
 
 " Yes, Harry. I owe it to myself, that I, a friendless, por- 
 tionless girl, with a blight upon my name, should not give 
 your friends reason to suspect that I had sordidly yielded to 
 your first passion, and fastened myself, a clog, on all your 
 hopes and projects. I owe it to you and yours, to pre- 
 vent you from opposing, in the warmth of yout 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, coloring: deeply. 
 
 " Then you return my love .■" " said Harry. " Say but that, 
 dear 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. " Do not conceal that from me, at least, Rose." 
 
 " I coiild," said Rose. " Stay ! " she added,: diserigaging 
 hei hand, "why should we prolong this painful interview? 
 Most painful to me, and yet productive of lasting happiness, 
 notwithstanding ; for it wiU be happiness to know I once held 
 the high place in your regajrd which I now occupy, and every 
 iriumph you achieve in life. will animate me with new fortitude 
 and firmness. . Farewell, Hurry I As we have met to-day, we 
 meet no more : but in other relations than those in which this 
 conversation would have placed us, we may be long and happily 
 entwined ; and may every blessing that the prayers of a true 
 and earnest heart can call down from the source of all truth 
 and sincerity, cheer and prosper you ! " 
 13 
 
26j OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 "Another word, Rose," said Harry. "Your reason m 
 your own words. From your own lips, let me hear it ! " 
 
 "The prospect before you," answered Rose, firmly, " is a 
 brilliant one. , All the honors to^ which great talents and pow- 
 erful connections can help men in public life, are in store for 
 you. But those connections are proud; aiid I will neither 
 mingle with- such as may hold in' scorn the mother who gave 
 me life ; or bring disgrace or failure on 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 for- 
 sook her, " there is £i, stain upon my name, which the world 
 visits on innocent heads. I will carry it into no blood but my 
 own ; and the reproach shall rest alone on me." 
 
 " One word more. Rose. Dearest Rose ! one more ! " 
 cried Harry, throwing himself before her ! " If I had been 
 less—less fortunate, 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 
 rny probable advancement to riches and honor, given this 
 scruple birth ? " 
 
 "Do not press me to reply," answered Rose. "The ques- 
 tion does notarise, and never will... Itis unfair, almost unkind, 
 to urge it." 
 
 " If your answer be: what I almost dare to hope it is," re- 
 torted Harry, " it will shed a gleam of happiness upon my 
 lonely way, and light the 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 you beyond all else. Oh, Rose! in the 
 name of my ardent and enduring attachment ; in the name of 
 all I haye suffered for you, and all you doom me to undergo; 
 answer me this- one question \" 
 
 "Then, if yotir 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 any 
 humble scene of peace and retirement, and not a blot and 
 drawback in ambitious and distinguisihed crowds ; I should 
 have been spared this trial. I have every reason to be happy, 
 very happy, now ; but then, Harry, I awn I should have 
 been happier." 
 
 Busy recollections of old hopes, cherished 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 withered ; and they relieved her. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 265 
 
 Maylie are," said the young man ; " aQ4YP.uj;aa*iU/"^ai|3l^ 
 strong^t," 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,-:^! may 
 speak to you again on this subject, for the last lime;" •. 
 
 " Not to press me to alter my right determination," re- 
 plied Rose, -with a melancholy 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 ' adhere 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 imprinting one kiss on her beautiful 
 forehead, hurried from the room. 
 
 • -■•;i.i;.."_;3-u. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 IS A. VERY 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 thebreakfasti-table. "Why, you are not in 
 the same mind or intention two half-hours together ! " 
 r " You will tell me a different tale one of these days," said" 
 Harry, coloring without any perceptible reason. 
 
 "I hope I may have good cause to do so," replied Mr. 
 Ldsberhe ; " though I confess I don't think L shall. . But yester- 
 day morning you had made up your mind, in a great hurry, to 
 stay here, and to accompany yx)ur mother,: like a dutiful son^ 
 to the sea-side. Before noon, you announce that you are 
 going to do me the honor of accompanying 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 con- 
 
26» OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 sequeiiceTjiWiafflr^y Iks^" said Harry. " Your reason 13 
 to his breakfast when he ought to" 'be ranging ithe inedciows 
 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. Mayhe went away, sir," rejoined Oliver. 
 
 " That's a fine fellow," said the doctor ;, "you .shall come 
 and see me when you return. But, to speak seriously, Harry ; 
 has any communication from the great nobs produced thiS; sud- 
 den anxiety on your part to be gone ? " 
 
 " The great "nobs," replied Harry, " under which designa- 
 tion, 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 attendance among themi" 
 
 " Well," said the doctor, "you are a queer fellow. But of 
 course they will get you into pariiajnentat the election before 
 Christmas, and these sudden shiftings and changes are no bad 
 preparation for political life. There's something in that. 
 Good training is al-ways-desirable, whether the race be for 
 place, cup, or sweepstakes." 
 
 Harry Maylie looked as if he could have followed up this 
 short dialbgue by one or two remarks that would have 
 staggered the doctor not a little ; but he contented himself 
 with Sayifig, "We shall see,"^ and pursued the subject no fur-, 
 ther. The post-chaise drove up tqthe door shprtly afterwards ; 
 and Giles coming in for the luggage, the good doctor bustled 
 out, to see it packed. ■,. ._. .; 
 
 " Oliver," said Harry Maylie, in a low voice, " let me speak 
 a word with you." 
 
 Oliver walked into the window-recess to which Mr. May- 
 lie beckoned hirri ; much surprised at the mixture of sadness 
 and boisterous spirits, which his whole behavior displayed. 
 
 " You can write well now ? " said Harry, laying bis hand 
 upon his arm. 
 
 " I hope so, sir," replied Oliver. 
 
 " I shall liot be at home again, perhaps for some, time j I 
 wish you would write to me— say once a fortnight .: every 
 alternate Monday : to the General Post Office in London. 
 Will you ? " 
 
 " Oh ! certainly,, sir ; I shall be proud to do itj" exclaimed 
 Oliver, greatly delighted with the commission. 
 
 " I should like to know how — how my mother and Miss 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 265 
 
 Maylie are," said the youttg 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 i you did not .mention it to them," said 
 Harry, hurrying over his words;" because it might make my 
 piqther .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 honored, bv a sense of his impor- 
 tance, faithfully promised to be secret and explicit in his 
 communications. Mr. Maylit took leave of him, with many 
 assurances of his regard and prptectioq. 
 
 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 g?.rden, looking 
 on.- Harry cast one slight glance at the latticed window, and 
 jumped into the carriage. 
 
 . , " Drive on ! " he cried, " hard, fast, ;full gallop ! Nothing 
 short of flying will keep pace with. me, to-day."; 
 
 " HaJJoa ! " cried the doctor, letting down the front glass 
 in a great hurry, and shouting to the postilion ; ■" something 
 very short ,of flying will keep pace with me. Do you hear ? " 
 
 Jingling and clattering, till distance rendered its noise in- 
 audible, and its. rapid progress only perceptible to theeye, 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, per- 
 mitted. It was not until even the dusty cloud was no longer 
 to be seen, that the gazers dispersed. 
 
 And there was one looker-on, who remained with eyes 
 fixed upon the, spot where the carriage had disappeared, long 
 after it was many miles away ; fgr, behind the white curtair 
 whiph had shrouded her from view when Harry raised his eyes 
 towartjs the window^ sat .Rose, herself. 
 
 " He seems in high spirits and happy," she said, at length* 
 " I ifeared for a. time he might beotherwise. 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 -direGtion, seemed to tell more 
 of .sorrow than of joy. 
 
266 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 IN WHICH THE READER MAY PERClllVE A CON-JRAST, NOT UST- 
 COMMON IN MATRIMONIAL CASES. 
 
 Mr. Bumble sat in the -wdrkhouse parlor, with his feyes 
 mdodily 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 hovered round the 
 gaudy net-work, Mr. Bum'ble would- heave a deep sigh, while a 
 more gloomy shadow overspread his countenance. Mr. Bum- 
 ble was meditating ; -it might be that the insects brought to 
 mind, some painful passage in his own past 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 appearances, and those closely 
 connected with his own person, wliich announced that a great 
 change had taken plaice in the position of his aflfairs. The 
 laced coat, and the cocked-hat ; where were they ? He still 
 Wore knee-breeches, and dark cotton stockings 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 differ- 
 ent ! The mighty cocked-hat was replaced by a modest round 
 one. Mr. Bumble was rio longer a beadle. 
 
 There are some promotions in life; which independent of 
 the more substantial rewards 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 bea:dle of 'his Iiat and 
 lace ; what are they ? Men. Mere men. Dignity, and even 
 holiness too, sometimes, are more questions of coat and waist- 
 coat than some people imagine. 
 
 Mr. Bumble had married Mrs. Comey, and was master of 
 the workhouse. Another beadle had come into power. On 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 267 
 
 him the cocked' hat, gold-laced coat, and staff, had all three 
 descended. ^ 
 
 "And to-morrow two months.it was done!" said Mr. 
 Btimbie, 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, pursuing the same 
 train of reflection, "for six teaspoons, a pair of sugar-tongs, 
 and a milk-pot ; with a small quantity of second-hand furni- 
 ture, and twenty pound in money. 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 inter- 
 esting consort, who, imperfectly comprehending the few words 
 she had oveifheard of his complaint, had hazarded tlie fore- 
 going remark at a venture. 
 
 ■ "Mrs. Bumble, m:a'am ! " said Mr. Bumble, with senti- 
 mental sternness. • 
 
 " 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 anytliing. It is 
 a eye I never knew to fail with paupers. If it fails with her, 
 my power is gone.") 
 
 Whether an exceedingly small expansion of ey? be suffi- 
 cient to quell paupers, who, being lightly fed, are in no very 
 high condition ; or whether the late Mrs. Corney was partic- 
 ularly j)rbof against eagle glances; are matters of opinion. 
 The matter of fact, is, that -the matron was in no way over- 
 powered 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 vfaice of his partner. 
 
 " Are yougoing to sit shoring there, all day ? " inquired 
 Mrs. Bumble. 
 
 " I am going to sit here, as long as I think proper, ma'am," 
 
g6S eLIVMR TWIST. 
 
 rejoined Mr. Bumble ; " and although I was not snorir^, I shall 
 snore, gape, sneeze, laugh, or cry, as the humor strikes me ; 
 such being my prerogative." 
 
 " Your prerogative ! " sneered Mrs. Bumble, with ineffable 
 contempt. 
 
 " I said the word, ma'am," said Mr, Bumble. " The pre 
 rogative of a man is to command." 
 
 " And what's the prerogative of a woman, in the name ot 
 Goodness ?" cried the relict of Mr. Gorney deceased. 
 
 "To obey, ma'am," thundered Mr. Bumble. "Your late 
 unfortunate husband should have taught it you ; and then^ 
 perhaps, 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 allusion to the dead and gone, than she 
 dropped into a chair, and with a loud sdream that Mr. Bum? 
 ble was a hard heairted 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 waterproof. Like washable 
 beaver hats that improve with rain, his nerves were rendered 
 stouter and more vigorous, by showers of tears, v/hich, being 
 tokens lof 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 should cry her hardest ; the exercise being 
 looked upon, by the faculty, as strongly conducive to health. 
 
 " It opens the -lungs, washes the countenance, exercises 
 the eyes, and softens down the temper," said Mr. Bumbla, 
 " So cry away." 
 
 As he discharged himself of this pleasantry, Mr. Bumble 
 took his hat from a peg, and putting it on, rather rakishly, on 
 one side, as a man might, who felt he had asserted his supe- 
 riority 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 troublesome than a manual assault ; but, she 
 was quite prepared to make rrial of the latter mode of pro- 
 ceeding, as Mr. Bumble was not long in discovering. 
 
 The first proof he experienced of the fact, was conve3red 
 in a hollow sound, immediately succeeded by the sudden fly- 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 269 
 
 ing off of his hat to the opposite end of the lOom. This pre- 
 liminafy proceeding laying bare his head, the eatpert lady 
 claspuig liim tightly round the throat with one hand, inflicted 
 a shower of Wows (dealt with singular vigor and dexterity) 
 upon it with the other. This done, she created a little variety 
 by scratching his face, arid tearing his hair ; and, having,. by 
 this time inflicted as much punishment as she deemed neces- 
 sary fof the offence, she pushed him over a chair, which was 
 luckily well situated for the purpose : and defied him to talk 
 ibout his prerogative again, if he dated. 
 
 "Get up!" said Mrs. Bumble, in a. voice of command; 
 " And take yourself 'away from here, unless you want me to 
 do something desperate." 
 
 Mt. Bumble rose with a very rueful countenance: won- 
 dering much what something desperate might be. Picking up 
 his hat, he looked towards the door. 
 
 " Are you going ? " demandedMrs; Bumble. 
 
 "Certainly, my dear, certainly," rejoined Mr. Bumble, 
 tnakihg a quicker motion towards the door. " I didn't intend 
 to — I'm going, my dear ! You are so very violent, that really 
 I_" . ■ 
 
 At this instant, Mrs. Bumble stepped: hastily forward to 
 replace the carpet, which' had been kicked up in' the scuffle. 
 Mr. Bumble immediately darted out of the room,' without be- 
 stowing another thought on his unfinished sentence ; leaving 
 the late Mrs. Corrtey in fiill possession of the field. 
 
 Mr. Bumble was fairly taken by surprise, and fairly beaten. 
 He had a decided propensity for bullying : derived no incon- 
 siderable "pleasure from the exercise of petty cruelty ; and, 
 consequently, was (it'is neediest to say) a icoward: This is 
 by no means a disparagement to his character ; "for many 
 official personages, who are held in high respect and admira- 
 tion, are the victims of similar infirmities. The remark is 
 made, indeed, rather in his favor than otherwise, and with a 
 view of impressing the reader with a just sense of his qualifi- 
 cations for office. 
 
 But, the measure of his degradation was not yet full. 
 After making a" tour of the house, and thinking, f6r the first 
 -time, that the poor-laws really were too hard on people ; and 
 that men who i^n away from their wives, leaviag them charge- 
 able to the parish, ought, in justice, to be visited with .no 
 punishment at all, but tather' rewarded as merit'orioUs individ- 
 uals who had suffered much | Mr. Bunible came to a room 
 
87° 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 where some or the female paupers were usually employed it 
 washing the parish linen : whence the sound of voices m con- 
 versation, now proceeded. 
 
 " Hein ! " said Mr. Bumble,, summoning up all his ua 
 tive dignity. "These women at least, shall continue to -re- 
 spect the prerogative. Hallo! hallo there ! What, do you 
 mean by this noise, you husSies ? " 
 
 With these words, Mr. Bumble opened the door, and 
 walked in with a very fierce and angry; manner : whigh was at 
 once exchanged for a most humiliated and cowering air, as 
 his ey«s unexpectedly rested on the form of his lady wife. 
 
 "My dear," said Mr. Bumble, "I didn'tN know you were 
 here." 
 
 " Didn't know I was here ? " repeated Mrs. Bumble. 
 " What do yott do here ? " 
 
 "I thought they were talking rather toomuchito be doing 
 their work properly, 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. 
 Burnble. "What business is it of yours ? " 
 
 " Whyj my dear — " urged Mr Bumble submissively. 
 
 " What business is it of yours ? " demanded Mrs. Bumble, 
 again. ' : - 
 
 " It's very true, you're matron here, my dear," submitted 
 Mr. Bumble ; " but I thought you mightn't be in the way just 
 then." 
 
 " I'll tell you what, Mr. Bumble,-?' returned his lady. " We 
 don't want any of your interference. You're a great deal too 
 fond of poking your nose into things that don't concern you, 
 making everybody in the house laughj 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 paupers, who were tittering together most 
 rapturously, hesitated for an instant. Mrs. Bumble, whose 
 patience brookied 'no delay, caught up a bo-wl of soap-suds, 
 ind motiOTiing him towards the door, ordered. hiin,instan,tly 
 to depart, on pain of receiving the contents upon his portly 
 person. 
 
 What could Mr. Bumble dp ? He looked dejectedly round, 
 and slunk away ; and as he' rea($ied the door, the titterings of 
 
OLIVER TWIST. zjl 
 
 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 hen-peckery. 
 
 " All in two months ! "- said Mr. Bumble, filled with dismal 
 thoughts. " Two- months ! No more than two months ago, 
 I was not only my own master, but everybody else's, so far as 
 the porochial workhouse was concerned, and now !-^" 
 
 It was too -much. Mr. Bumble boxed the ears of the boy 
 who opened the gate for him (for 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 . revul- 
 sion of feeling made him thirsty. He passed a , great many 
 public-houses ; but, at length psiused before one in a by-way 
 whose j)arlor, as he gathered from a hasty peep over the blinds, 
 was deserted, save by one solitary customer. , It began to 
 rain heavily, at the momenti This determined . him. Mr. 
 Bumble s.tepped. in ; and ordering something to drink, as he 
 passed the bar entered the apartment into wlijich he had . 
 looked from the street. 
 
 The man who was seated there, was tall and dark, and 
 wore a large cloak. He had the air of a stranger ; and seemed, 
 by a certairi haggardness in his look, as well as by the dusty 
 soils on his: dress, to have travelled some distance. , He eyed 
 Mr. Bumble askance, as he entered, but scarcely deigned to 
 hod his head in acknowledgment of his salutation. 
 :_ Mr, BumblCi had; quite dignity enoughior two : supposing 
 even that the stranger had been more familiar : so he drank 
 his gin-and-water in silence, and read tlie|»aper withgreat show 
 of pomp and circumstance. 
 
 It so happened, however : as it will happen very often, 
 when men fall into company under such icircumstanpes :• 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 sojne con- 
 fusion, to find that the stranger was at that moment stealing 
 a look at him. Mr. Bumble's awkw?ardness was enhanced by 
 the very remarkable expression of the stranger's eye, which 
 was l5;een and bright, but shadowed by a sgowl of distrust and 
 suspicion, unlike anything he had ever observed before, and 
 repulsive to behold, h ■ • ' .: ,,.; ; 
 
2^2 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 When they had encountered each other's glance several 
 times in this way, the stranger, in a harsh, deep voice, broke 
 silence. 
 
 "Were youlooking for me," he said, "when you peered m 
 
 at the window ? " 
 
 "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 sup- 
 ply 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. I would recommend 
 you not to ask for it." 
 
 " I meant no harm, young man," observed 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 
 street, 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 had, I doubt not ? " resumed the stranger, looking 
 keenly into Mr. Bumble's eyes, as he raised them in astonish- 
 ment at the question. " Don'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 ^^ngle 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 
 
OLIVER TWIST. ayj 
 
 much as to say, he had not mistaken his man , then rang the 
 hell. 
 
 " Fill this glass again," he said, handing 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. - ' I ■ ,:•;-: 
 
 "You understand what that means, landloi'd ! " said the 
 stranger -dryly. - . , , 
 
 The host smiled, disappeared, and shortly afterwards re- 
 turned with a steaming jorum : of which, the first gUlp brought 
 the water into Mr. Bumble's eyes. 
 
 " Now listen to me," said the stranger, after closiflg the 
 door and Window. ." I 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. I don'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 companion, carefully, as though unwilling that 
 -the chinking of money should be heard without. When 
 Mr. Bumble had scrupulously fexamined the coins, to see that 
 they weregenuine, and had put them up, with much satisfac- 
 tion, in his waistcoat-pocket, he went on : 
 
 " Carry your memory back — ^lettae 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, wherever it was, in which 
 miserable drabs brought fcfrth the life and health so dften de- 
 nied to themselves — ^gave birth to puling children for the 
 parish to rear ; and hid their shame, rot 'em; in the grave ! " 
 
 " The lying-in room, I suppose ?•" said Mr. Bumble, not 
 quite following the stranger's excited description." 
 
 " Yes," said the'Stranger. "A boy was born there.'' 
 
 " A many boys," observed Mr. Bumble, shaking his head, 
 despondingly. 
 
2 74 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 • ■ ■ " A murrain on the young devils ! " cried the stranger; " 1 
 speak of one ; a meek-looking, pale-faced boy, who was ap- 
 prenticed down here, to a eofiin-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 1 Young Twist ! " said Mr. Bum- 
 ble ; " I remember him, of course. There wasn't a obstinater 
 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 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?" 
 
 " Where is she ? "^ 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 ?" demanded the stranger, sternly. 
 
 "That she died. last. winter," rejoined Mr. Bunible. 
 
 The man looked fixedly at him when he had given this 
 information, and .although; he did. not withdraw his eyes for 
 some time afterwards, his gaze gradiually became vacant and 
 abstracted, and he. seemed lost in thought. For some time, 
 he appeared doubtful whether he ought to be relieved or dis- 
 appointed by the intelligence ; but at length he breathed more 
 freely; and withdrawing his eyes, observed that, if was no 
 greafmatteni With that he rose, as if to depart. 
 
 But Mr. Bumble was cunning enough ; and he at once saw 
 that an opportunity was; opened, for tlie lucrative disposal of 
 some secret in the possession of his better half. He well re- 
 membered the night of old Sally's death, which the occurrences 
 J of that day had given him good reason to recollect, as tlie oc- 
 : casion on which he had proposed to Mrs. Coraey ; and although 
 'that lady had never confided to him the disclosure of which 
 ishe had been ithe solitary witness, he had heard enough to 
 know that it related to something that had occuxred in the old 
 woman's attendance, as workhouse nurse, upon the young 
 mother of Oliver Twist. Hastily calling this circumstance to 
 ■mind, he iuforined the stranger^ with an air of mystery, that 
 one woman had been closeted with the old harridan- shortly 
 before she died; and that she could, as he had. reason to be- 
 lieve, throw sorrie light on the subject of his inquiry. 
 
 " How can I find her ? " said the stranger, thrown off his 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 275 
 
 guard ; and plainly showing that all his fears (whatever they 
 were) were aroused afitesh by the intelligence. 
 
 " Only through me," rejoined Mr. Bumble. 
 
 " When ? " cried the stranger, hastily. 
 
 " To-morrow," rejoined Bumble. 
 
 " At nine in the evening/' said the stranger, producing a 
 scrap of paper, and writing down upon it, an obscure address 
 by the water-side, in characters that betrayed his agitation ; 
 " at nine in the evening, bring her to me there. I needn't tell 
 you to be secret. It's your interest." 
 
 With these words, he led the way to the door, after stop: 
 ping to pay for the liquor that had been drunk. Shortly re- 
 marking that their roads were different, hie departed, without 
 more ceremony than an emphatic; repetition of the hour of ap- 
 pointment for the following night. 
 
 On glancing at the address, the parochial functionary ob- 
 served that it contained no name. The stralnger had not gone 
 far, so he made after him to ask it. 
 
 " What do you want ? " cried the man, turning quickly 
 round, as Bumble touched him on the arm. "Following 
 me?" 
 
 " Oiily 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. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 CONTAINING AN ACCOUNT OF WHAT PASSED BETWEEN MR. AND 
 MRS. BUMBLE. AND MR. MONKS, AT THEIR NOCTURNAL IN- 
 TERVIEW. 
 
 It was a dull, close, overcast summer evening. The clouds 
 wjiich had been threatening all day, :^pread out in a dense and 
 sluggish mass of vapor, already yielded large drops of rain, 
 and seerned to presage a violent thunder-storm, -when Mr. 
 and Mrs. Bumble, turning out of th&piain street of the town, 
 directed their course towards a scattered little colony of ruin- 
 ous houses, distant from it some mile and a-tialf, or thereabouts 
 
276 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 and erected on a low unwholesome swamp, bordering upon 
 the river. 
 
 They were both -wrapped in old and shabby outer gar- 
 ments, which might, perhaps, serve the double purpose of 
 protecting their persons from; the rain, and sheltering them 
 from observation. The husband carried a lantern, from 
 which, however, 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 as if to make sure that 
 his helpmate was following; then, discovering that she was 
 close at his heels, he mended his rate of walking and pro- 
 ceeded, at a considerable increase of speed, towards 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 ruf- 
 fians, who, under various pretences of living by their labor, 
 subsisted chiefly on plunder and crime. It was a collection 
 of mere hovels : some, hastily bulk with loose bricks j 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 cot- 
 tages pursued some avocation on the river; but a glance at 
 the shattered and useless condition of the articles thus dis- 
 played, would have led a passer-by, without much difficulty, to 
 the conjecture that they were disposed there, rather for the 
 preservation of appearances, than with any view to their being 
 actually employed. 
 
 In tbe heaift of this cluster of huts ; 'and skirting the river, 
 which its upper stories overhung ; stood a large building, for- 
 merly used as a manufactory of some kind. It had, ih its 
 day, probably furnished employment to the inhabitants of the 
 surrounding 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 liad already sunk down into the water ; 
 while the remainder, tottering and bending over the dairk 
 stream, seemed to wait a favorable opportunity of following 
 its old companion, and involving itself in the same fate. ' ' 
 
OLIVER TWIST. . 277 
 
 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 dawn. 
 
 " 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, Mr, 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'll 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 jou," said the matron : "and 
 be careful to say as little as you can, or you'll betray us at 
 once." 
 
 Mr. Bumble, who had eyed the building with vely rueful 
 looks, was apparently about to express some doubts relative 
 to the advisability of proceeding any further with the enter- 
 prise just then, when he was prevented by the appearance of 
 Monks : who opened a small door, near which they stood, and 
 beckoned them inwards. 
 
 " Come in ! " he cried impatiently, stamping his foot upon 
 the ground. " Don't keep me here ! " 
 
 The woman, who had hesitated at first, walked boldly in, 
 without any other invitation. Mr. Bumble, who was ashamed 
 or afraid to lag behind, followed : obviously very ill at ease 
 and with scarcely any of that remarkable dignity which was 
 usually his chief characteristic. 
 
 " What the devil made you stand lingering there, in the 
 wet .? " said Monks, turning round, and addressing. Bumble, 
 after h€ had bolted the door behind them. 
 
 " We— -we were only cooling ourselves," stammered Bum- 
 ble, looking apptehensivdy 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 
 yourselves so easily ; don't think it !? " 
 
 With this agreeable speech. Monks turned short upon the 
 matron, and bent his gaze upon her, till even she, who was 
 not easily cow;ed, was fain to withdraw her eyes, and turn 
 them towards the ground. 
 
278 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " This is the woman, is it ? " demanded Monks. 
 
 " Hem ! : That is tlie woman," replied Mr. Bumble, mind- 
 ful of his wife's caution, 
 
 " You think women never can keep secrets, I suppose ? " 
 said the matron, interposing, and returning, as she spoke, the 
 searching look of Monks. 
 
 " I know they will always keep one till it's found out," said 
 Monks. 
 
 " And what may that be ? " asked the matron. 
 
 "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 any- 
 body ; not I ! Do you understand, mistress ? '' _ - 
 
 " No," rejoined the matron, slightly coloring as' she spoke. 
 
 " Of course you don't ! " said Monks. " How should 
 you?" ■. - - 
 
 Bestowing something half-way between a smile and a frown 
 upon his two companions, and a:gain beckoning them to follow 
 him, the man hastened across the apartment, which was of 
 considerable extent, but low in the roof. He was preparing 
 to ascend a steep staircase, or rather ladder, leading to an- 
 other floor of warehouses above : when a bright flash of light- 
 ning streamed down the aperture, and a peal of thunder fol- 
 lowed, which shook the crazy building to its centre. 
 
 " Hear it ! " he cried, shrinking back. " Hear it ! Roll- 
 ing and crashing on as if it echoed through a thousand cav- 
 erns where the devils were hiding from it. Ihate the soundl" 
 
 He remained silent for a few moments ; and tlien, remov- 
 ing his hands suddenly from his face, showed, to the unspeak- 
 able discomposure of Mr. Bumble, that it was much distorted, 
 and discolored. - 
 
 "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 for 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 beneath'it. 
 
 " Now," said Monks, when they had alt three seated them- 
 selves, " the sooner we come to our business, the better for 
 all. The woman knows what it is, does she ? " 
 
OLIVER TWIST. i-]^ 
 
 The question was addressed to Bumble ; but his wife an- 
 ticipated the reply, by intimating that she was perfectly ac- 
 quainted with it. 
 
 " He is right in 'sia,ying that yoa were with this hag the 
 night she died ;■ and that, she told you something — " 
 
 ''About the mother of the boy you narned," replied the 
 matron interrupting him. "Yes." 
 
 " The first question is, of what nature was her commu- 
 nication ? "said Monks. 
 
 " That's the second," observed tbe woman, with much 
 deliberation. "The first is, what may the communication be 
 worth?" 
 
 " Who the devil can tell that,- without Jcnowing of what 
 kind it is? " Etsked Monks. 
 
 " Nobody better than you, I am persuaded," answered 
 Mrs. Bumble : who did not want for spirit, as her yokefellow 
 could abundantly testify. 
 
 " Humph J " said Monks significantly, and with a look of 
 eager inquiry ; " there may be money's. worth to get, eh ? " 
 
 " Perhaps there may," was die composed reply. 
 
 " Something that was taken from her," said Monks. 
 " Something that she wore. Something that — " 
 
 " 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. Bmnble, who had not yet been admitted by his better 
 half into any greater share of the secret than he had originally 
 possessed, listened to this dialogjue with outstretched nfeck and 
 distended eyes : which he' directed towards his wife and 
 Monks, by turns, in undisguised astonishment ; increased, if 
 possible, when the latter sternly demanded what sum was re- 
 quired for the disclosure. 
 
 " What's it worth to you ? " asked the woman, as collect- 
 edly as before. 
 
 " It may be nothing ; it may be twenty poimds," replied 
 Monks. "Speak oi:t, 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'll 
 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 
 " It's not a large sum, either." 
 
28 o OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " 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 1 " 
 
 " 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 million, for anything 
 you or I know, who will tell strange tales at last ! " 
 
 " What if I pay it for nothing?" 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 neitlier," submitted 
 Mr. Bumble, in a voice tremulous with fear: "/am here, my 
 dear. And besides," said Mr. Bumble, his teeth chattering 
 as he spoke, "Mr. Monks is too much of a gentleman to 
 attempt any violence on porochial persons.- Mr. Monks is 
 aware that I am not a youing man, my dear, and also that I 
 am a, little run to seed, as I may say ; but he has heerd : I say 
 I have no doubt Mr. Monks has heerd, my dear : that I am a 
 very determined officer, -with very uncommon strength, if I'm 
 once roused. I only want a little rousing ; thcat's all." 
 
 As Mr. Bumble spoke, he made a melancholy feint of 
 grasping his lantern with fierce determination ; and JDlaiTily 
 showed, by the alarmed expression of every feature, that he 
 did want a little rousing, and not a little, prior to making any 
 very warlike 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, eh ? ". ■..-■-. 
 
 " He my husband ! " tittered the matron, parrying the 
 question,- -. 
 
 " I thought as much, whenyou 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 -vsrill 
 between them. ' I'm in earnest. See here ! " 
 
 He thrust his hand into a side-pocket ; and producing a 
 canvas ; bag, told ciut 't-wenty-five sovereigns on the tabl^, and 
 pushed them over to the woman. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 28 1 
 
 " Now," he-said, " gather them up ; arid when this cursed 
 peal of thunder, which I feel is coming up to break over the 
 house-t€>p, is gone, let's hear your story." 
 
 The thundier, 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^facesof 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, encircled by the . 
 deepest gloom and darkness, looked ghastly in the extreme. 
 -/. :'f When .tills woman, that we called old Sally, died,"'the 
 matron b^an, " she and I were alone." 
 
 " Was there no one by ? " asked; Monks, in the same hol^ 
 low whisper ; " no sick wretch or idiot in some other bed ? 
 No one whO: could hear, and might, by possibility, under- 
 stand ? " 
 
 " Not a soulj" replied the woman ; " we were alone. I 
 stood alone beside the body when death came over it." 
 
 " Good," said Monks, regarding her attentively. " Go on." 
 
 " She spoke of a young creature," resumed 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? " said Monks, with quivering lip, and glancing over 
 his shoulder; '?.Blopd ! How things come about ! " 
 
 "The child was the one you named to him last night," 
 said the matron, nodding carelessly towards her husband j 
 ""the mother this nurse had robbed." 
 . , " In life ? "asked Monks. 
 
 , " In death, replied the woman, with something like a 
 shudder. " She 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 ? " cried Monks, with desperate eagerness ; 
 " did she sell it ? Where?' When? To whom ? How long 
 before?"- 
 
 " As she told me, with great difficulty, that she had done 
 this," said the matron, " she fell back and died." 
 
 " Without saymg more ?" cried Monks, in a voice which, 
 from its very suppression, seemed only the more furious. 
 
282 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " It's a lie! I'll not be played with. She said more. I'll 
 tear the life out of you both, but I'll 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, iivhich was partly closed ; and when 
 I saw that she was dead, and so removed the hand by force, 
 I found it clasped a scrap of dirty paper." 
 
 " Which contained — " interposed Monks, stretdiiag for- 
 ward. 
 
 " Nothing," replied the woman ; " It was a pawnbroker's 
 duplicate." 
 
 "For what ?" demanded Monks. 
 
 "In good time I'll tell you," said the woman. " I judge 
 that she had kept the trinket, for some time, in the hope of 
 turning it to better account ; and then had pawned it ; and 
 had saved or scraped togeither 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 redeemed. Nothing had 
 eome 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 ? " asked Monks quickly. 
 
 "There," replied the woman. And,, as if glad to be re- 
 lieved 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 con- 
 tained a little 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 the surname j and 
 then fpUows the date ; which is within a year before the child 
 was born. I found out that." . 
 
 "And this is all ? " 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 
 fiye-3,nd-twenty pounds back again j and now he took courage 
 to wipe off the perspiration which had been trickling over his 
 nose, unchecked, during the whole of the previous dialogue. 
 
 " I know nothing of the story, beyond what I can guess 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 283 
 
 at," said his wife addressing Monies, after a short silence ; 
 " and I want to know nothing.; for it's safer not. But I may 
 ask you two questions, may I ? " 
 
 " You may ask," said Monks, with some show of surprise ; 
 " but whether I answer or not is another question." 
 
 "-i— Which makes three," observed Mr. Bumble, essaying 
 a stroke of facetiousness, , ; 
 
 "Is that what you expected to get from me ? " demanded 
 the matron. 
 
 " It is," replied Monks. " The other question ? " 
 
 " What you propose to do with it .■' Can it be used 
 against me ? " 
 
 " Never," rejoined Monks ; " nor against me either. See 
 here! But don't move a step forward,. or your life is 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 /vhich opened close at Mr. Bumble's feet, and 
 caused that gentleman to retire several paces backward, with 
 great precipitation. 
 
 "Look down," said INfonks, 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, swollen by the heavy rain, 
 was rushing rapidly on below ; and all other sounds were lost 
 in the noise of its splashing and eddying against the green 
 and slimy piles. .There had once been a water-mill beneath ; 
 the tide foaming and chafing round the few rotten stakes, and 
 fragments of machinery that yet remained, seemed to dart on- 
 ward, with a new impulse, when freed from the obstacles 
 which had uraavailirigly 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, recoiling at the thought. 
 
 Monks drew the little packet from, his breast, where he had 
 hurriedly thrust it j and tying it. to a leaden weight, which had 
 formed a part of some pulley and was lying on the floor,- 
 
284 OLIVER TWJST. 
 
 dropped it into the stream. It fell straight, and true as a die;; 
 clove the water with a scarcely audible splash ; and was 
 gone. 
 
 The three looking into each other's faces, seemed to 
 breathe more freely. 
 
 " There ! " said. Monks, closing the trap-door, which fell 
 heavily back into its former position.. " If the sea ever gives 
 up its dead, as books say it will, it will keep its. gold and sil- 
 ver 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 alac- 
 
 " Youll keep a quiet tongue in your head, will you ? " said 
 Monks, with :a: threatening look. "lam not afraid of your 
 wife." 
 
 " You may depend upon me, young man," answered Mr. 
 Bumble, bowing himself gradually towards the ladder, with 
 excessive politeness. " On everybody's account, young man ; 
 on my own, you know, Mr. Monks." 
 
 " I am glad, for your sake, to hear it," .remarked Monks. 
 " Light your lantern ! And get away froitt 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 lieadlong 
 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, de- 
 scended 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 beating 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 onl)' with re- 
 markable care, but with a marvellously light step for a gentle- 
 man of his figure : looking nervously about him for hidden 
 trap-doors. The gate at which they had entered, was softly 
 unfastened and opened by Monks ; 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 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 285 
 
 to a boy who had been hidden somewhere below. Bidding 
 him go first, and bfear the light, he returned to the chamber 
 he had just quitted. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 INTRODUCES SOME RESPECTABLE CHARACTERS WITH WHOM 
 THE READER IS ALREADY ACQUAINTED, AND SHOWS HOW 
 MONKS AND THE JEW LAID THEIR WORTHY HEADS TO- 
 GETHER. 
 
 On the evening following that upon which the three wort- 
 thies mentioned in the. last chapter, disposed of their little 
 matter of business as therein narrated, Mr. William Sikes, 
 awakening from a nap, drowsily growled forth an inquiry 
 what time of night it was. 
 
 The room in which Mr. Sikes propounded this question,, 
 was not one of those he had tenanted, previous to the Chert- 
 sey expedition, although it was in the same quarter 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 apart- 
 ment, of very limited size ; lighted only by one small window 
 in the shelving roof, and abutting on a close, and dirty lane. 
 Nor were there wanting other indications of the good gentle- 
 man'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 small moyables as spare 
 clothes and : linen, bespoke a state of extreme poverty; while 
 the meagre and attenuated condition of Mr. Sikes, himself 
 would have fully confirmed these symptoms, if they Ijad stood 
 in any 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 cadaverous hue 
 of illness, and th^; addition of a soiled nightcap, ai>d a stiff, 
 black beard of a week's growth. The dog sat at the bedside : 
 now eyeing his master with a wistful look, an,d 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. 
 13 
 
286 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 Seated by the window, busily engaged in patching an old 
 waistcoat which' formed 'a portion of -the robber's" of (iinary 
 dress, was a female : 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, bulr for the voice in-which she replied to Mr. 
 Sites' 3 question. 
 
 " Not long gone seven," said the girl. " How do you feel 
 to-night. Bill?" 
 
 "As weak as water," replied Mr. Sikes, with an impreca- 
 tion oh his eyes and limbs. "Here; lend us a hand, and let 
 me get off tliis thundering bed anyhow." 
 
 Illness had not improvdd Mr. Sikes's tempier ; for, as tlie 
 girl raised him up and led him to a chair, he muttered various 
 curses on her awkwardness, and struck her. 
 
 "Whining are you?" said Sikes. " Come ! Don't stand 
 snivelling there. If you can't do anything better than that, 
 cut off altogether. D'ye hear me ? " " 
 
 " I hear you," replied the girl, turning her face aside, and 
 forcing a lau^h, "What fancy have you got in your head 
 now ? " ' ' 
 
 " Oh ! you've thought better of it, have you ? " growled 
 Sikes, marking the tear which trembled in her eye. "All the 
 better for you, you have." 
 
 " \yhy, you don't mean to say, you'd be hard upon me 
 to-night, Bill," said the girl, laying her hand upon his shoulder; 
 
 " No ! " cried Mri Sikes. " M'hy not ? " ■ 
 
 " Such a number of nights," said the girl, with a touch of 
 woman's tenderness, which' communicated something like 
 sweetness of torte, even to her voice : " such a number of 
 nights as I've been patient with you, nursing and Caring for 
 ypii,.as if you had been a child : and this the first that I've 
 seen you like yourself ; you wouldn't liave served me as you 
 did just now, if you'd thought of that, would you ? " Come, 
 come ; say you vvouldn't." . . 
 
 " Well, then," rejoined Mr, Sikes, " I 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 mpd'me. It'll soon be over." 
 
 "What'll be over?" demanded Mr. Sikes in a savage 
 voice. " What foolery are you up to, now, kgain ? Get up 
 and bustle about, and don't come over ine with your woman'^ 
 nonsense." ' 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 287 
 
 At any ©ther time, this remonstranee, and the tone in 
 which it was clelivered, would have had the desired effect ; 
 hut the girl being really vyeak 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 
 sir)nila.r occasions, he was accustomed to garnish his threats. 
 Not knowing, very well, what to do, in this uncommon emer- 
 gency ; for Miss Nancy's hysterics were usually of that violent 
 kind vvhich 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 Fagin, look- 
 ing in. 
 
 , " Lend a hand to the girl, can't you ? " replied Sikes im- 
 patiently. " Don't stand chatting and grinning at me 1 " 
 
 With an exclamation of surprise, Fagin hasjtened 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 
 twinkling \]nith his teeth, and poured a portion of its contents 
 down the patient's throat : previously taking a taste, himself, 
 to prevent 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 petficuts." 
 
 These united restoratives, administered with great energy ; 
 especially that department consigned to Master Bates, who 
 appeared to consider his share in the proceedings, a piece of 
 unexampled pleasantry : were not long in producing the de- 
 sired effect. The girl gradually recovered her; senses ; and, 
 staggering to a chair by the bedside, hid her face upon the 
 pillpw : leaving Mr. Sikes, to confront the new-comers, in some 
 astonishment at their unlooked-for appearance; 
 
 " Why, what evil wind has blowed yofi here ? " he asked 
 Fagin. 
 
 "No evil wind at all, my dear, for evil winds blow nobody 
 any good ; and I've brought something good with, me, that 
 you'll be glad to see. Dodger, my dear, open the bundle ; 
 and give Bill the little trifles that we spent all our money on^ 
 this morning." 
 
288 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 In compliance with Mr. Fagin's request, the Artful untied 
 hiS' bundle, which was of large size, and formed of an old 
 teble-cloth ; and handed the articles it conta,ined, one by one, 
 to Charley Bates : who placed them on the table, with various 
 encomiums on their rarity and excellence. 
 
 " Sitch a rabbit pie. Bill," exclaimed that young gentleman, 
 disclosing to view a h'Uge pasty; "sitch delicate creeturs, 
 with sitch tender limbs, Bill, that the wery bones melt inyoui 
 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 biling water^ it'll go 'nigh to blow the lid of the tea-pot 
 off ; a pound and a-half of moist sugar that the niggers didn't 
 work at all at, afore they got it up to sitch a pitch of good- 
 ness, — oh no ! Two half-quartern brans ; pound of best 
 fresh; piece of double Glo'ster j and, to wind up all, some of 
 the richest sort you ever lushed ! " 
 
 Uttering this last panegyric. Master Bates produced, from 
 one of his extensive pockets, a full-sized wine-bottle, carefully 
 corked ; while Mr. Dawkins, at the same instant, poured out 
 a wineglassful of raw spirits from the bottle he carried; 
 which the invalid tossed down his throat without a moment's 
 hesitation. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Fagin, rubbing his hands with great satisfac- 
 tion. " You'll do. Bill ; you'll do now." 
 
 " Do 1 " 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 .^ " 
 
 " Only hear him, boys ! " said Fagin, shrugging his shoul- 
 ders. " And us come to bring him all these beau-ti-ful things." 
 
 "The things is well enough in their way," observed Mr. 
 Sikes; a little soothed as he glanced over the table; "but 
 what have you got to -say for yourself, why you should leave 
 me here, down in the moiith, health, blunt, and everything 
 else ; and take no more notice of me, all this mortal timCj 
 than if I was that 'ere dog. — Drive him down, Charley ! " 
 
 , " I never see lueh a jolly dog as that," cried Master 
 Bates, doing as he was desired. " Smelling the grub like a 
 old lady a going to market ! He'd make hia fortune on the 
 stage that dog would, and rewive the drajmia besides." 
 
 " Hold your din," cried Sikes, as the dog retreated undiet 
 the bed : still growling angrily. "What have you got to say 
 for yourself, you withered old fence, eh ? " 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 289 
 
 I was away from London^ a week and more, my dear, on 
 a plant," replied the Jew. 
 
 " And what about the other fortnight ? " demanded Sikes. 
 " What. about the other fortnight that you have left me Ijing 
 here, like a sick rat in his hole ? " 
 
 " I couldn't help it, BUI. I can't go into a loi^ explana- 
 tion before company ; but I couldn't help it, upon my honor." 
 
 "Upon your what?" growled- Sikes, with excessive dis- 
 gust "Here! Cut me (&_ a piece .of liiat pie, one of you 
 \Kg&, to take the taste of that out of my mouth, or itil choke 
 me dead." 
 
 " Don't be out of temper, my dear," ur^d Fagin, submis- 
 Mvely. "I have never forgot you,. Bill.; never once." 
 
 "No! I'U pound it that you haven't," replied Sikes, with 
 a bitter grin. " You have been scheming and plotting away, 
 every hour that I have 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 well : and was quite 
 poor enough for your work. If it hadn't been for the girl, I 
 might have died." 
 
 " There now. Bill," remonstrated Fagin, eagerly catching 
 at the word. " If it hadn't been for the girl ! Who but poor 
 ould Fagin was the means of your .having such a handy girl 
 about you ? " 
 
 " He says true enough there ! " said Nancy, coming hastily 
 forward. " 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, 
 b^an to ply her with .liquor : of which, however, she took 
 very sparingly; while F^n,. assuming an unusual flow of 
 sjurits, gradually brought Mr. Sikes .mto a better temper, by 
 aJEecting to regard his threats as a little pleasant banter ; and, 
 moreover, by laughing very heartily at one or two rough jokes, 
 which, after repeated applications to the spirit bottle, he con- 
 descended to make. 
 
 " It's all very weU^" 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,'' letorted Sikes ; '" and I 
 must have some from there." 
 
 " Lots I" cried Fagin, holding up his hands. " I haven't 
 so much as would " 
 
 "I don't know how much you've got, and I dare say yoa 
 
2go OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 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 Fagin, With a sigh, " I'll send the Art- 
 ful round presently." 
 
 "You won't do hothihg 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 perwehted, or 
 anything for an excuse, iJf 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 squabblirtgj Fagin beat 
 down the amount of the required advancd from five pounds 
 to three pounds four and sixpence : protesting with many- 
 solemn asseverations that that would only leave him eighteen- 
 pence to keep house with ; Mr. Sikes sullenly remarking that 
 if he couldn't get any more he must be content with thal;- 
 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 
 homeward, attended by Nancy and the boys ; Mr. Sikes, 
 meanwhile flinging himself on the bed, and coniporfng himself 
 to sleep away the time until the young lady's return. 
 
 In due course, they arrived at Fagin's abode, where they 
 fottnd Toby Crackit and Mr. Chitling intent upon their 
 fifteenth game at cribbage,- which it is scarcely necessary to say* 
 the latter gentleman lost, and with it, his fifteenth and last six- 
 pence : much to the amusemeiit of his young friends. Mr.- 
 Crackit,^ a.pparently somewhat ashamed at being found relax- 
 ing himself with a gentleman so much his inferior in station 
 arid mental endowments, yawned^ and inquiring after Sikes, 
 took up his hat to go. 
 
 " Has nobody been, Toby.' " asked Fagin. 
 
 " Not a living leg," answered Mr. Grackit, pulling up his 
 collar ; " it's been as dull as swipes. You ought to stand 
 somethingi handsome, Fagin,' to recompense me for keeping 
 house so long. Damme, I'm as flat as a- jurymah ; and 
 should! have gone to sleep, as fast as Newgate, if I hadn't had 
 the good natur' to amuse this youngster. Horrid dull, I'm 
 blessed if I an't ! " . 
 
 With these and ot&er ejaculations of the same kind, Mr. 
 Toby Crackit swept up his winnings, and crammed them into 
 lais' waistcoat ^dcbetwith'ahaughty air, as though such small 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 291 
 
 pieces qf silver were wholly beneath the. 1 consideration of a 
 man of, his figure j this dpne, he swaggered out of the: room, 
 with so much elegance and gentility, that Mr. Chitling, be- 
 stowing numerous admiring ,gjances, on his legs aiid boots till 
 they were out of sight, assured the company that he con- 
 sidered his acquaintance cheap at fifteen sixpences an . in- 
 terview, and that he didn't value his losses the: snap of his 
 little finger. 
 
 " Wot a rum chap you ^re, Tom ! " said Master Bates, 
 highly amused by this declaration. 
 
 " Not a bit of it," replied Mr. Chitling. , " Am I, ^Fagin ? " 
 
 "A very clever fellow, my dear," said, Fagin, 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." 
 
 "And it «a creditable thing to have his acquamtance; 
 an't it, Fagin ? " pursued Tom. 
 
 " Very much so, indeed, my dear. They're Only jealous, 
 Tom, because he won't give it to them." ^ 
 
 , "Ah ! ",crJ,eci Tom, triumphg.ntly, " that's where it is ! He 
 has cleaned me out. Bu,t I can go and earn some more, when 
 I like j can't I, Fagin ? " , _, ; ^ 
 
 " To be sure you can, and the sooner you go the better, 
 Tom ; so make- up your loss at once, and don't Ipse any more 
 Ijime. . Dodger! Charley! It's time you were on the lay. 
 Come! It's near ten, and nothing done yet." 
 
 In obedience to this hintj the boys, nodding 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 whpse; conduct, it is but 
 justice to say, there was nothingyery 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 society : and a great number 
 of fine gentlemen (composing the good society aforesaid) who ' 
 established their reputation upon very much the same footingf 
 as flash Toby Crackit. 
 
 "Now," said Fagin, when they had left tlie room, "I'll 
 go and get you that cash, Nancy. This is only the key of a 
 Uttle cupbo£5rd,where I keep.a.few pdd things the boys get, 
 my dear. I never, lock up my rnoney, for I've got none to 
 lock up, my dear — ha ! ha ! ha ! — none fo lock up. It's a poor 
 
2g2 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 trade, Nancy, and no tliauks ; but I'm fond of , seeing the 
 young people about irie ; and I bear it all, I bear it alL 
 Hush!" he said hastily concealing the key in his breast; 
 " who's that ? Listen ! " 
 
 The girl, who was sitting at the table with her arms folded, 
 appeared, in no way interested in the arrival : or to care 
 whether the person, whoever he was, came or wentj 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 remarkably, with the extreme haste and vi6lenc6 of this 
 action: which, however, had been unobserved' by Fagin, who 
 had his back towards her at the time. - 
 
 " Bah ! " he whispered, as though nettled by the interrup- 
 tion ; " 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 miriiiteSj my dear." 
 
 Laying his Skinny forefinger upon his lip, the Jew carried 
 a candle to the door, as a man's step was heard upon the 
 stairs without. He reached it, at the same moment as the 
 visitor, who, coming hastily into the room, was close upon the 
 girl before he observed her. 
 
 It was Monks. 
 
 " Only one of my young people," said Fagin, observing 
 that Monks drew back, on beholding a stranger. " Don't 
 move, Nancy." 
 
 The girl drew closer to the table, and glancing at Monks 
 with an air of careless levity, withdrew her eyes ; but as he 
 turned his towards Fagin, she stole another look : so keen 
 and searching, and full of purpose, that if there had been any 
 bystander to observe the change, he could hardly have be- 
 lieved the two looks to have proceeded from the same person. 
 
 " Any news ? " inquired Fagin. 
 
 "Great." 
 
 " And — and — ^good ? " asked Fagin, hesitating 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 point- 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 3gj. 
 
 ing to her. The Jew : perhapsi fearing she might say some 
 thing aloud about the money,, if he endeavored to get rid of 
 her : pointed upward, and took Monks out of the room. 
 
 " Not that infernal hole we were in before," she could heaj: 
 the man .say as they went up, stairs. Fagin 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 has .eeased to echo 
 through the house, the girl had slipped off. her shoes; and 
 drawing her gown loosely oyer her head, and muffling- her: 
 arras in it, stood at the door, listening with breathless inter- 
 est. The moment the noise ceased, she glided from , the room j 
 ascended the stairs with incredible softness and silence ; and . 
 was lost in the gloom above... 
 
 The room remained deserted for a quarter of an hour or 
 more ; the girl glided back with the: same unearthly tread ; 
 and, immediately afterwards, the two men were heard descend- 
 ing, Monks,)pent at once in^o the street ; and the Jew crawled: 
 up stairs again for the money. .When he returned, 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 hands, 
 as if to look steadily at him. 
 
 " Quite horrible. What have you been doing to your- , 
 self?" 
 
 " Nothing that I know of, except sitting in thi^ close place: 
 fori don't know how; long and all," repliedthe 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. They parted without more conversa- 
 tion, merely interchanging a "good-night." 
 
 When the^girl got into the open street, she sat down upon . 
 a doorstep ; and seemed, for a few moments, wholly bewildered 
 and unable to pursue her way. Suddenly she; arose ; and, 
 hurrying on, in a ■ direc^on quite opposite to that in which 
 Sikes was. awaiting her ireturn^ quickened he,r pace, until it 
 gradually resolved into a violent run. After completely ex- 
 hausting herself, she stopped to take breath : and, as if sud- 
 denly recollecting Jaerself, and deploring her inability to do 
 spijiething she was t^ent upon, wrung her hands, and burst into 
 tears. ' ^■y.■.^.■: . ... •■ > 
 
294 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 It might be that her tears relieved her, or that she Mtth» 
 filll hopelessness of her condition; but she turned back; and 
 hurrying with nearly as great rapidity in the contrary direc 
 tion ; partly to recover lost time, arid partly to keep pacfe with 
 the violent current of her own thoughts: soon reached the- 
 dwelling where she had left the house-brealcer. - 
 
 If she betrayed atiy agitatioifl,- when she presented- herseK 
 to Mr. Sikes, he did not observe it ; for merely inquiring if 
 she had brought the money, and receiving a reply in the af- 
 firmative, he uttered a grbwl of satisfaction, and- replacing his 
 head -upon the pillow, resumed the slumbers which her arrival 
 had interrupted. 
 
 It was fortunate for her that the possession of money oc- 
 casioned him,so much employment next day in the way of eat- 
 ing and drinking; and withal had so beneficial an effect in 
 siiioothing down the asperities of his temper'; that' he had 
 neither time nor inclination to be very critical upon her beha^ 
 vior and depoftmeilt. That she -had all the abstracted and- 
 nervous manner of one who is on the eve of sorrie bold and 
 hazaiklous step, which it has required no common struggle to 
 resolve upon, would have been obvious to the lynx-eyed Fagin, 
 who would most probably .have taken the alarm at once ; but 
 Mr. Sikes lacking the niceties of discriminatioii; and being; 
 troubled with no more subtle misgivings than tliose= -which re- 
 solve themselves into a dogged roughness of behavior towards^ 
 everybody ; and being, furthermore in an unusually' amiable 
 condition, as has been already observed ; saw nothing unusual 
 in her demeanor, and indeed; troubled himself so little about 
 lier, that, had her agitation been far more perceptible than it 
 was, it would have been very unlikely to have awakened his 
 suspicions. 
 
 As that day closed in, the girl's excitement increased ; and 
 when night came on, and she satby, watching until tlie-house- 
 breaker should drink himself asleep, there was an unusual 
 paleness in her cheek, and 'a fire in her eye, that even Sikes 
 observed with astonishment. 
 
 Mr. Sikes ' beirig 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 ojrpse come to life again. What's the matter ? " 
 
... 297 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. " 
 
 -.,, " Matter !" replied tliie girl. "Nothing. What do you 
 look at me so hard, for ?" , 
 
 ; "_^yija,t foolery is this.?" demanded Sikes, grasping hei 
 by tl^e arm, and shaking her roughly.. "What is it? What 
 do you mean ? What are you thinking of ? " 
 ...."Of many things, Bill," replied the girl, ,shiyering, and as 
 s^ did so, pressing her hands upon her eyes. " But, Lord ! 
 What odds in that? " 
 
 The tone of i forced gayety in whiqh 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- haven't caught 
 the fever, and got it comin' on, now, there's; soipething more 
 thkn usual in the wind, and something dangerous too. You're 
 not a-going tO; . No, damme ! you wouldn't do that 1 " 
 
 " Dp what ?■ " asked the girl. 
 
 '^ There ain't," said Sikes^ fixing his eyes upon the girl, and 
 muttering the words to hijxiself; "there ain't a stauncher- 
 hearted girl going, or I'd ha,ve: put her throat three months 
 ago. She's got the fev^r coming: on ; that's it." 
 
 . Fortifying himself with.tliis assurance, Sikes drained the 
 glass to the bottom, and then, with many grumbling oaths, 
 called for ihis^ physic. Th^ girl jumped up, with great alac- 
 rity ; poured it quickly out, but with, her back towards him ; 
 ai)f| lield the vessel to his lips, while bfe drank off the con- 
 tents. ; ,.,_ 
 
 " Now,'' said , the ijobberA " cotne and sit aside, of me, and 
 put on your own face; or I'll alter it so, that you won't 
 know it again when you ^1? want it." - , ; - 
 
 The girl obeyed. Sikes, locking her hand in his, fell back 
 upon thepiHovy: turning, his eyes ,upon \e.r face. They 
 cipsed ; opened again ; closed once ^inpre; agiain, wpened. He 
 shifted his position restlessly; and, after dozing ; again, and 
 ag^in, for, two or three , minutes, and as.pfteh. springing up 
 witl;! a look of terror, and gazii^g vacantly about him, was sud- 
 denly stricken, as. it were, while in the very attitude of rising, 
 into a deep 3>nd heavy sleep. The grasp of his hand- relaxed ; 
 the upraised arm fell. languidly by his side ;and he lay like 
 one in a profound trance. 
 _, " The , Jaujdanum has taken effect at last," murmured the 
 girl, as she rose from the bedside. " I. may be, too late, even 
 
 now;." J i-.j.. I...,...,.-,:, r \'.:l.\ '!.;,. II, 7 ^ :..:..; .U^'-. 
 
 Sfie hastily dressed herself in her bonnet and shawl : look' 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 ing fearfully round, from time to time, as if, despite the sleeping 
 draught she expected every moment to feel the pressure of 
 Sikes's heavy hand upon her shoulder ; then stooping softly 
 over the bed, she kissed the robber's lips ; and then opening 
 and closing the room-door with noiseless touch, hurried from 
 the house. 
 
 A watchman was crying half-past nine, down a dark pas- 
 sage through which she had to pass, in gaining the main 
 thoroughfare. 
 
 " Has it long gbtie the half hour ? " asked the girl. 
 
 " It'll strike the hour in another quarter," said the man, 
 raising his lantern to her face. 
 
 " And I cannot get there in less than an hour or more," 
 muttered Nancy, brushing swiftly past him, and gliding rap- 
 idly down the street. ; : 
 
 Many of the shops wefe already closing in the back lanes 
 and avenues through which she tracked her wayj in making 
 firom Spitalfields towards the West-End of London^ The clock 
 struck ten, increasing her impatience. She tore along'the ri arrow , 
 pavement : elbowing the passengers 'from side to side ; and 
 darting almost under the horses' heads, crossed crowded 
 streets, where clusters of people were eagerly watching their 
 opportunity to do the like. ' ' '"''' 
 
 "The woman is mad ! " said the people, turning to look 
 after her as she rushed away. 
 
 When she reached the' more wealthy quarter of thfe town, 
 the streets were comparatively deserted ; and here her head- 
 long progress excited a still greater curiosity in the strag- 
 glers whom she hurried past; Some quickened their pace be-' 
 hind, as though to see whither she was hastening at such an 
 unusual rate ; a,nd a few made head upon her, and looked 
 back, surprised at her undiminished 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 brilliaiit light of the lamp which burnt 
 before its door, guided her to the spot, the clock' struck 
 eleven. She had loitered for a few paces as thbugh irreso- 
 lute, and making up her mind to advance' ; but the sound' de- 
 termined her and she stepped into the hall. The porter's 
 seat was vacant. She looked round with an air of incerti- 
 tude, and advanced towards the stairs. 
 
 " Now, young woman ! " said a smartly-dressed female. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 297 
 
 looking out from a door behind her, " what do you want 
 hete?" 
 
 " A lady-' who is stopping in this house,'' answered the 
 girl. 
 
 "A lady I" was the reply, accompanied with a scornful 
 look. " What lady ? " 
 
 " Miss Maylie," said Nancy. 
 
 The young woman, who had by this tim,e, noted her ap- 
 pearance, tephed 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." 
 
 " 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 anybody here," she said, looking round, " tliat will 
 see a simple message carried for a poor wretch like me ? " 
 
 This appeal produced an effect on a good-tempered-faced 
 man-cook, who with some of the other servants was looking 
 on, and who stepped forward to interfere. 
 
 " Take it up for. her,- Joe ; can'tyou? "said this person. 
 
 " What's the good ? " replied the man. " You don't sup- 
 pose the young lady will see such as her ; do you ? " 
 
 This allusion to Nancy's doubtful fcKaracter, raised a vast 
 quantity of chaste wrath in the bosonis of four hou^enjaids, 
 who remarked, with great fervor, that the creature was a dis- 
 grace to her sex ; and strongly advocated her being thrown, 
 ruthlessly, into the kennel. 
 
 ' " Do what you like with me," said the girl, turning to the 
 men again ; " tjut do what I ask you first, and I ask you to 
 give this message for God Almighty's sake." 
 
 The soft-hearted cook added his intercession, and the re- 
 sult was that the mail who had first appeared undertook its 
 delivery. '' 
 
 " What's it to be ? " said the mdn, 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 
 
298 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 Hear the first word she has to say^ she will know whether to 
 hear her business, or to have h^r turned out pf doors as an 
 irripostor." • 
 
 " I say," said the man, " you're coming it, strong ! " . 
 
 " You give the inessage," said the girl firmly J " arid let me 
 hear the answer." 
 
 The man ran up stairs. , Nancy remained, pale and almost 
 breathless, listening with quivering lip |p the very audibje ex- 
 pressions of scorn, of \ifhich the chaste housemaids were very 
 prolific; and of which they tjecame 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 
 Jiousemaid. . , , ; 
 
 " Brass can do better thaii the gold what has stood the 
 fire," said the second,, 
 
 The third contented herself with wondering "what ladies- 
 was made pf ; " and the fourth topk tlie first in a quartette of 
 " Shameful ! " with wHch the Dianas concluded. 
 
 Regardless of all this : for she had weightier matters at 
 heart: Nancy followed the man, -with trembling limbs, to a 
 spall antechamber, lighted by a lamp from the ceiling. Here 
 he left hen aiid retired. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 A STRANGE INTERVIEW, WHICH IS A SEQUEL TO THE LAST 
 CHAPTER. 
 
 The girl's, life: had been squandered in the streets, and 
 ambng the most noisome of the stews and dens oif!, London, 
 biit there' was something of the woman's original, nature, left 
 in her still ; and when she heard a. light step, approaqhing the 
 door opposite to that by ^j^hich she 'had entered,, and/ thought 
 of the wide contrast which' the smallroom' would in' another 
 moment contaiti, she felt burdpried with the seinse of her own 
 d^'ep shame,' and shrunk as though' she could scarcely bear 
 the presence of her with whom sh^e had sought, this interview. 
 
 Butstruggling with these better fpelings was pride,Err--tfee 
 vice of the lowest arid most debased creatures no less than 
 
OLIVER TWiST. 299 
 
 of the high ahd self-assUre"dl The miserable companion of 
 thieves and rtiffiaiis, the fallen outcast of low haunts, the as- 
 sociate of the scotiritigs of the jails and hulks, living within 
 the shadow of the gallows itself, — even this degraded being 
 felt too proud to betray a feeblfe' 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 
 so many, many traces when a very child. 
 
 She raised her eyes sufficiently to observe that the figure 
 which presented itself was that of ai slight and beautiful girl ; 
 then, bending them on the ground, she 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 behaved harshly to you," 
 replied Rose. " Do not think of that. 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 absence of any accent of haughtiness or dispFeas- 
 ure, took the girl completely by .surprise, and she burst into 
 tears. 
 
 "Oh, lady,' kdy ! " she' said, clasping her hands passion- 
 ately before her face, " if there was more like you, there would 
 be fejver like me, there would — -there would ! " 
 
 " Sit down," said Rose, earnestly. " If yoQ are in poverty 
 o!r affliction I shall be truly glad to relieve you if I can, — I 
 shall indeed. Sit down." 
 
 " Letme stand, lady," said the girl, still weeping, " and 
 do not speak to me so kindly till you know me better. It is 
 giBWihg late. Is — is — that door shut ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Rose, recoiling a few steps, as if to be nearer 
 assistance in case she should require it. " Why ? " 
 
 " Because," said the girl, " I am about to put my life, and 
 the lives of othets in your hands.' I am the girl that dragged 
 little Oliver back to old Fagiri's, on the night he went out from 
 the house in Pentonville." 
 
 "You ! " said Ro'sfe Maylie. 
 
 "I, lady!" replied the girl. " I ain the infamous crea- 
 tut'e ybu'have heard of, that lives amoiig the thieves, and that 
 never from the first moment I can recollect my eyes and 
 senses opening, on London streets have known any better life, 
 or^Mtt^v^d^tMAthey have given me, so help me God 1 
 
300 OLIKER TWIST. 
 
 Do not mirid shrinking openly from me,, lady. I am youngei 
 than you would think, to look at me, but I am well used to it.. 
 The_ poorest women fall ba,ck, as I make my way along the 
 crowded pavement.". 
 
 "What dreadful things are these ? " said Rose, involun- 
 tarily falling from her strange companion. 
 
 " Thank Heaven upon your knees, dear lady," cried the 
 girl, " that ybii 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 drunkehess, 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 ! " 
 
 " Heaven bl$ss you for your goodness ! " rejoinedthe girl. 
 " If you knew what I arh . sometinies,, you would pity me, in- 
 deed. But I have stolen away from those who would surely 
 murder me, if they knew I had h^^h here, to teir you what I 
 iiaveoverheard. Do you know a man named Monks ? " 
 
 "No," said Rose. 
 
 " He knows you," replied thegirl ; " and knew you were 
 here, for it was by Ijearing him tell the place that. I fomad you 
 out." ..\ .. " 
 
 "I neV^r heard the name," said Rose. 
 
 " Then he goes by some other amongst us," rejoined the 
 girl, "which I rnore thari thought before.; Some time , .ago, 
 arid soon after Oliver was put info your house on the night of 
 the robbery, I — suspecting this man-^ — listened to a conversa- 
 tion , held between him and Fagin in the darli. I. foupd out, 
 from what I heard, that Monljs — the man I asked you about, 
 you know — " 
 
 "Yes,". said Rose,'"! understand." 
 
 " — That Monks," pursued the girl, "had seen him acci- 
 dentally 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 put why. ^ K, bargain 
 was struck with Fagin, that if Oliver was got- back he should 
 have a certain sum : and he wais to have more for making him 
 a thief, which this Mpnks.^ wanted for some purpose of his 
 own." 
 
 " For what purpose ? " asked Rose. 
 
 "He caught sight of my sh,adow on the wall as I listened,. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 301 
 
 In the hope of finding out," said the girl ; " and there are not 
 many people besides me that could have got out b£ their way 
 iri time to escape discovery. But I did; and I saw him no 
 more till last night." 
 
 "And what occurecl then ? " 
 
 " I'll tell you, lady. . Last night he 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 Monies say were these : ' So, the only 
 proofs of the boy's identity lie at the bottom of the 'river, and 
 thp old hag that received them from the mother is rotting in 
 her coffin.' They laughed, and talked of his success in doing 
 this ;' and Monks, talking oil about the boy, and getting very 
 wild, said that thougli he had got the young de\iil's money 
 safely faow, he'd rathet have haclit the other way ;'for, what a 
 game it would have been to have brought down the boast of 
 the father's will, by driving hitn through every jail in town, 
 and riien 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 strange to yours, that if he could gratify his hatred 
 by taking the boy's life without bringing his own heck in 
 tjanger, 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 advantage 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, Oliyer.' " 
 
 " His brother !" exclaimed Rose. 
 
 "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 he 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 yoii not give if 
 you had them, to know who your two-legged spaniel was." 
 
 " You do not mean," said Rose, turning very pale, " to 
 tell me that this was said in earnest ? " 
 
 " He spoke in hard' and angry earnest, if a man ever did,'.' 
 
302 OLIVER TWI^T. 
 
 replied the girl, shaking her head. ." He is, an earnest man 
 when his hatred is up. I know many who dq worse things ; 
 bit I'd rather listen to them alia dozen times, than to th3.t 
 Monks once. It is growing late, a.tid I have to reach home 
 without suspicion of having been on such an errand as this. 
 I miist get back quickly." 
 
 " But what can I dp ? " said Rose. " To what use can I 
 turn this communication without you ? Back ! Why do you 
 wish to return to campariions you paint in such terrible 
 colors ? If you repeat this information to a gentleman whom 
 I can summon in an instant firom the next room, ydu can be 
 consigned to some place of safety without half an hour's 
 delay." _ . . 
 
 "I wish to go back," said the girl. "I niust go back, 
 beiCause — how can I tell such things to aii innocerit lady like 
 you? — because among the men I have toldi you of, there is 
 one : the most desperate among thern all: that I can't leave j 
 no, not even to be saved from the l^e I ani leading now." 
 
 "Your {laving 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 yoii say ; your evident contrition, and 
 sense of shame ; all lead me to believe that you might be yet 
 reclaimed. Oh ! " said the earnest'girl, folding her hands as 
 the tears coursed down hei: face, " do not turn, a deaf ear to 
 the entreaties of one of youi- own sex ;' the first— the first, I 
 do believe, who ever appealed to you in the yoice p'f 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, yoM are the 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 penitence and 
 atonement. , 
 
 " It is," cried ffie girl, writhing in the agony qi her mind ; 
 " I cannot leave Jiim now ! I could npt be his death." 
 
 " Why Should you be ? " asked Rose. 
 
 "Nothing could save hinij" cried the girl. "If I told 
 others what I have told you, and led to their being taken, hft 
 would be sure to die. He is the boldest, and has been so 
 c'ruel 1 " 
 
OLIVER riVIST. 303 
 
 " Is it possible," cried Rose; " that forsuch a man as this, 
 you can resign every future hope, and the certainty of imme- 
 diate rescue? It is madness." 
 
 " I dbh't krioW *hat it is," answered the girl ; " I only 
 know that it is so, and not *itli me dlone; but with hundreds 
 of others is bad and 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 evfery suffering 
 and ill usage ; and I should be, I believe, if l knew that I 
 was to die by his hand at last." 
 
 "What am I to do ? " 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 communication you have made ? " 
 said Rose. " This mystery must be investigated, br how will 
 its disclosure to me, benefit Oliver, whom )'ou are anxious to 
 serve ? " 
 
 " 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 will yoU be walking of 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 ? " 
 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 Lon- 
 don 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 you return to this gang of robbers, and to 
 this man, when a word can save you ? What fascination is it 
 that can take you back, and make you cling to wickedness and 
 
204 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 misery? Oh! is there ,np chord' in your heart that I can 
 touch! , Is there nothing left,, to whicfi I can appeal against 
 this terrible infatuation ! " 
 
 "When ladies as yotjng,. 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 admirers, eveiything, tofillthem. When, such as 
 I, who have no certain roof but the coffinrlid, and mo friend in 
 sickness or death but the hospital nurse, set our rottenhearts on 
 anyman, andlet him fill the place that has beena 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 that turned, by a heavy judgment, from a com- 
 fort and a pride, into a new means of violence, and suffering," 
 
 '.'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 ? " 
 
 " Not a penny," replied the girl, waving her hand. 
 
 "Do not close your heart against all my efforts to help 
 you," said Rose, stepping gently forward. " I wish to serve 
 you indeed." 
 
 " Ypiii- would serve me best, lady," replied the girl^ wring- 
 ing her hands, " if you could take my life at once ; for I have 
 felt mo,re grief to thiiik of what I am, to-night, than I ever did 
 before, and it would be something, not to die in .the hell in 
 which J have lived. God bless you, sweet ,la,dyy and send as 
 much happiness on your head as J have brought shame on 
 mine ! " 
 
 Thus speaking, and soijbing aloud, the unhappy creature 
 turned away ; while Rose Mayli^, overpowered by this extraor- 
 dinary interview, which had more the semblanqe of a rapid 
 dream than an actual occurrence, sank into a chair, and en- 
 deavpred to co^ect her -yy^ndering thoughts. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 305 
 
 1 iiSli:! \'.:\ • 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 CONTAtNING FRESH DISCOVERIES, AND SHOWING THAT SUR- 
 PRISES, LIKE MISFORTUNES, SELDOM COME ALONE. 
 
 Her situation was, indeed, one of no common trial and 
 diiRculfy. While she felt the most eager' and burning desire 
 to penetrate the mystery in which Oliver's: history was en- 
 veloped, she could not but hold sacred the confidence which 
 the miserable woman with whom she Jiad just conyerged, had 
 reposed in her, as a yourlg and guileless girl. Her Words and 
 manner had touched Rose Maylie's heart ; and, mingled with 
 her love for her young charge, and scarcely less intense in its 
 truth and fervor, was her fond wish to win the outcast back to 
 repentance and hope. 
 
 They purposed remaining in London only 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 deterrhine upon, which could be adopted in eight- 
 and-forty hour's ? Or how cduld she postpone the journey 
 without exciting suspicion ? 
 
 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 re-capture, to trust him with 
 the secret, when her representations in the girl's behalf could 
 be seconded by no experienced person. These were all reasons 
 for the greatest caution and most circumspect behavior in com- 
 municating it to Mrs. Maylie, whoSe first impulse would in- 
 fallibly be to hold a conference With the worthy doctor on the 
 subject. ' As to resorting to any legal adviser, even if she had. 
 known how to do so, it was scarcely to be fhoiaght of, for the 
 same reasons. Once the thttught occurred to her of seeking 
 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 slie. pursued this 
 train of reflection — ^he might have by this time leariit to forget 
 her, and to be happier away. ' 
 
 Disturbed by these different reflections ; inclining now to 
 
30^, OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 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. After more com- 
 muning with herself next da)f,shp. arrived at the desperate 
 conclusion of consulting Harry. 
 
 . "If it be, pa,inful to him," .she, thought,, "to epme,bac]|j, 
 here, how painful it ■y?iU be to ipe!. But perliapp he wUl nof 
 come ; he may write, or he may come himself, and studiously 
 abstain- fro;^ ipeeting me— rh,e did,,:wheii he went: away. I 
 hardly thought he would ; but it was better for us bpth." Aitidj 
 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 h.ad t^ken up the game pen, an^ lai,d it dpwn again^ 
 fifty times, and had aqpsidered and reconsidered the first line, 
 of her letter without writing the first word, when Oliver, who^ 
 had b^een walking in the streets, with Mr. Giles, for a. body- 
 guard, entered the room in such breathless haste and .violent 
 agitation, as seeme4, 1^9 betoken some, iiew cau^e of alajrm. 
 
 " What inakes yop look so flurried?" asked Rose, advanc- 
 ing to meet him; 
 
 "I hardly knpvi.hgw; I fpftl as if I s.hQuld be, phoked," 
 replied the boy.';""pli dear !," To thmk that I shojilisee hirn, 
 at last, and you should He' able to know that I have told ybu 
 all the truth!" 
 
 " I never thought you had toldus anything bijjl:. the;. truth,", 
 said Rose, soothing him. " But what is this ? — -of whom dp 
 you speak ? " 
 
 " I have seen the gentleman," replied Oliver, scarcely, able 
 to articulate, " the gentleman who, was so good to nie-^Mr. 
 Brownlow, that we have so offen talked about." 
 
 " Where,' " asked Rpse. ' ' ' 
 
 " Getting out of a coach," replied Oliver, shedding tears 
 of delight, " and going intp a.hpuse. 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 Qjles asked, for 
 me, whetber.he lived there, and they, said he did. Look here," 
 said Oliver, opening a. scrap of paper, ''here it is; here's 
 where he lives— I'm going there directly ! Oh, dear me, dear 
 me ! What shall I do wh^nl come to see him and hear Idm 
 speak again ! " 
 
 With her attention not a little distrapt^d by these and, a 
 great many Qtji.er incoherent, esccliamations of joy, Rose read 
 
OLIVSR TWZS,T. 2,01 
 
 the address, wliich was Craven Street, in the Strand. She 
 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 directly, 
 without a minute's loss dftime.' ,1 will only tell my aunt that 
 we are going out for an hour, and be ready as sdon as you 
 are." ' . ' ' . ■ :. ■ :.:■ 
 
 Oliver needed no prompting to despatch, and in little more 
 than five minutes they were on their way to Craven Street. 
 When they arrived there, Rose left Oliver in the coach,. under 
 pretence of preparing the old gentleman to receive him ; and 
 sending up her card by the servant, requested to see Mr, 
 Brownlow on very pressing business. The servant soon re- 
 turned, to beg that she would walk up stairs ; and following 
 hiiii into an upper room. Miss Maylie was presented to an elder- 
 ly gentleman of benevolent appearance, in a bottle-gjreen coat. 
 At no great distahce iErom, whom, was seated a,nother old gen- 
 tleman, in nankeen breeches . and gaiters ; who did not look 
 particularly benevolent, and who was sitting with Tiis hands 
 clasped on the top of a thick stick, and his chin propped there- 
 upon. 
 
 " Dearme," said the gentleman, in the bottle-gfeen coat, 
 hastiLy rising with great politeness. "I. beg your pardon, 
 young lady. I imagined it was some importunate person who 
 — Ibeg you will excuse' me. Be seated, pray." 
 
 " Mr. Brownlow, I believe, sir ? " said Rose, glancing from 
 the other gentleman to the one who had spoken. 
 
 "That is my name," saict the old. gentjeman. "This is 
 my friend, Mir. Grimwig. Grimwig, will ypu leave us for a'few 
 niinutes ? " 
 
 " I believe," interposed Miss Maylie, " that atthis period 
 of our interview I need not give tha.t gentleman the trouble of 
 goijag. away. If, I ami correctly informed, he is cognizant of 
 the business on which I wish to speak to you," 
 
 Mr. Bjownlpw inclined Jiis head. lylr. Qrimwjg, who had 
 made one very stiff bow, and risen from his chair, rnade an- 
 other very stiff bow, and- dropped into it again. 
 
 "I shall surprise you very much, I have no doubt," said 
 Rose, naturally embarrassed; "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." 
 . ".jhideed ! " said, Mr. Brownlo\vr, 
 
3o8 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " Oliver Twist you knew him as," replied Rose. 
 
 The words no sooner escaped her lips, than Mr. Grimwig, 
 who had been affecting to dip into a large book that lay on 
 the table, upset it with a griat crash, and falling back in his 
 chair, discharged from his features every expression but one 
 of unmitigated wonder, and indulged 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' emit- 
 ted a long deep whistle, which seemed, at last, not to be dis- 
 charged on empty air, but to die away in the innermost re- 
 cesses of his stomach. 
 
 Mr. Browhlow was no less surprised, although his astonish- 
 ment was not expressed in the same eccentric manner. He 
 drew his chair nearer to Miss Maylie's, and said, 
 
 " Do me the favor my dear young lady, to.leave entirely 
 out of the c[uestion that goodness ind benevolence of which 
 you speak, :and of wTiich nobody else knows anything; and if 
 you have it in your power to produce any evidence which will 
 alter the ^Unfavorable 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'll eat my head if he is nota bad one," 
 grdwlfed Mi". Grimwig, speaking by some ventriloquial ' power, 
 without moving a muscle of his face. 
 
 " He is a child of a noble nature and a warm heartj" said 
 Rose, coloring; " and that Power which has thought fit to 
 try him beyond his years; has planted in his breast affections 
 and feelings which' would do honor to many who have num- 
 bered his days six times over." 
 
 " I'm only sixty-ohcj" said Mr. Grimwig, with the same 
 rigid face.- " Arid, as the deviFs in it if this Oliver 'is not 
 twelve years old at least, I don't see the application of "that 
 remark." 
 
 " Do not heed my friend. Miss Maylie," said Mr. Brown- 
 low ; " he does not mean what he says." 
 
 " Yes, he does," growled Mr. Grimwig. 
 
 " No, he does not," said Mr. Brownlow, obviously rising 
 in Wrath as he spoke. 
 
 " He'll eat his head, if he doesn't/' growled Mr.' Grimwig. 
 
 " ifte would deserve to have it knocked off, if he does,!' 
 said Mr. Brownlow. 
 
 "And he'd uncommorily like to see any man offer to 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 309 
 
 do it," responded Mr. Grimwig, knocking his stick upon the 
 floor. 
 
 Having gone thus far, the two old gentlemen severally 
 took sTiufE, and afterwards shook hands, according to their 
 invariable custom. 
 
 " Now, Miss Maylie," said Mr. Brownlow, " 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 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 im- 
 posed upon me, and had been persuaded by his former asso- 
 ciates 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 left Mr. Brownlow's house ; reserving Nancy's in- 
 formation for that gentleman's private ear, and concluding 
 with the assurance that his only sorrow, for some months 
 past, had been the not being able to meet with his former 
 benefactor and friend. 
 
 " Thank God ! " said the old gentleman. " This is great 
 happiness to me, great happiness. 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 gentleman. With which he 
 hurried out of the room, down the stairs, up the coach-steps, 
 and into the coach, without another word. 
 
 When the room-door closed behind him, Mr. Grimwig lifted 
 up his bead, and converting one of the hind legs of his chair 
 into a pivot, described three distinct circles with the assist- 
 ance of his stick and the table : sitting in it all the lime. ■ 
 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 alann 
 at this unusual proceeding. " Don't be afraid. I'm old 
 enough to be your grandfather. You're a sweet girl. 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 tha 
 14 
 
^,o OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 gratification of that moment had been the only reward for all 
 her anxiety and care in Oliver's behalf, Rose Maylie would 
 have been well repaid. 
 
 " There is somebody else who should not be forgotten, by 
 the bye," said Mr. Brownlow, ringing the bell. " Send Mrs- 
 Bedwin here, if you please." 
 
 The old housekeeper answered the summons with all dis- 
 patch ; and dropping a curtsey 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 ! " cried the old lady, embracing 
 him ; " it is my innocent boy ! " 
 
 " My dear old nurse ! " cried Oliver. 
 
 " He would come back — I knew he would," said the old 
 lady, holding him in his arms. " How well he looks, and how 
 like a gentleman's son he is dressed again ! Where' hive you 
 been, this long, long while ? Ah ! the same sweet face, but 
 not so pale ; the same soft eye, but not so sad. I have never 
 forgotten them or his quiet , smile, but have seen them every 
 day, side by side with those of my own dear children, dead 
 and gone since I was a lightsome young creature." Running 
 on thus, and now holding Oliver from her to mark how he 
 had. grown, now clasping him to her and passing her fingers 
 fondly through his hair, the good 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 interview with Nanc)', which 
 occasioned him no little surprise and perplexity. Rose also 
 explained her reasons for not confiding in 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 himself. To afford 
 him an early opportunit)' for the execution of this design, it 
 
OLIVER, TWIST. 3 1 1 
 
 was arranged that he shoyld call at the hotel at eight o'clock 
 that evening,, and that in the meantime Mrs. Maylie should 
 be cautiously informed of all that had occurred. These pre- 
 liminaries adjusted, Rose and Oliver returned home. 
 
 Rose had by no means overrated the measure of the good 
 doctor's wrath. Nancy's history was no sooner unfolded to 
 him, than he poured forth a shower of mingled threats and 
 execrations ; threatened to make her the first victim of the 
 combined iagenuity of Messrs. Blathers and Duff ; and ac- 
 tually put on his hat preparatory to sallying forth to obtain 
 the assistance of those woBthies. And, doubtless, he would, 
 in this first outbreak, have carried the intention into effect 
 without a moment'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 irascible 
 temperament, and partly by such arguments and represen- 
 tations as seemed- best calculated to dissuade him from his 
 hotbrained purpose. 
 
 " Then what the devil is to be done ? " said the impetuous 
 doctor, when they had rejoined the two ladies. " Are we lo 
 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 proceed 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 sending them anywhere is likely to attain the 
 object we have in view." 
 
 " What object ? " asked the doctor. 
 
 " Simply, the discovery of Oliver's parentage, and regain- 
 ing for him the inheritance of which, if this story be true, he 
 has been fraudulently deprived." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Mr. Losberne, cooling himself 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 
 to bring these scoundrels to justice without compromising her 
 safety, what good should we bring about ? " 
 
 " Hanging a few of them at least, in all probability," sug- 
 gested the doctor, " and transporting the rest." 
 
312 OLIVER. TWIST. 
 
 " Very good," replied Mr. Brownlow smiling ; " but no 
 doubt they will bring that about for themselves in the fulness 
 of time, and if we step in to forestall them, it seems to me 
 that we shall be performing a very Quixotic act, in direct 
 opposition 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 extreme diffi 
 culty in getting to the bottom of this mystery, unless we can 
 bring this man, Monks, upon his knees. That can only be 
 done by stratagem, and by catching him when he is not sur- 
 rounded by these people. For, suppose he were apprehended, 
 we have no proof against him. He '\s 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 would be so obsti- 
 nately closed that he might as well, for our purpose, be deaf, 
 dumb, blind, and an idiot. 
 
 " Thten," said the doctor inngetuous]^ " 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 intentions, but really " 
 
 " Do not discuss the point, my dear young lady, pra)'," 
 said Mr. Brownlow, interrupting 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, 
 before we can resolve upon any precise course of action, it 
 will be necessary to see the girl ; to ascertain from her 
 whetlaer she will point out this Monks, on the understanding 
 that he 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 description of his person, as will 
 enable us to identify him. She cannot be seen until next 
 Sunday night ; this is Tuesday. I would surest that in the 
 meantime, we remain perfectly quiet, and keep these matters 
 secret even from Oliver himself." 
 
 Although Mr. Losbeme 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. Brown- 
 loWi that gentleman's proposition was carried unanimously.' 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 313 
 
 "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 twenty years, 
 though whether that is a recommendation or not, you must 
 determine for yourselves." 
 
 " I have no objection 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 ? " 
 
 " That lady's son, and this young lady's — very old friend," 
 said the doctor, motioning towards Mrs. Maylie, and conelud" 
 ihg with an expressive glance at her niece. 
 - Rose bluahed, 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 accord- 
 ingly added to the committee. 
 
 " We stay in town, of course," said Mrs. Maylie, " while 
 there remains the slightest prospect of prosecuting this inqijiry 
 with a chance of success. I will spare neither trouble nor 
 expense in behalf of the object in which we are all so deeply 
 interested, and I am content to remain here, if it be for 
 twelve moftths, so long as you assure me that any hope 
 remains." 
 
 " Good ! " rejoined Mr. Brownlow. "And as I see on 
 the faces about me, a disposition to inquire how it happened 
 that I was not iij the way to corroborate Oliver's tale, and 
 had so suddenly left the kingdom, let me stipulate that I shall 
 be asked no questions until such time as I may deem it expe- 
 dient to forestall them by telling my own story. . Believe me, 
 I make this request with good reason, for I might otherwise 
 excite hopes destined never to be realized, and only increase 
 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 
 sntered into some dark conspiracy to thrust him forth upon 
 tiie world>" 
 
 With these words, the old gentleman gave his hand to 
 Mrs. Maylie^ and escorted her into the supper-room. Mr. 
 Losberne followed, leading Rose; and the council was for 
 the present, effectually broken up. 
 
314 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 AN OLD ACQUAfNTANCE OF OLIVER'S, EXHIBITING DECIDEE 
 MARKS OF GENIUS, BECOMES A PUBLIC CHARACTER IN 
 THE METROPOLIS. 
 
 Upon the night when Nancy, having lulled Mr. Sikes to 
 sleep, hurried on her self-imposed mission to Rose Maylie, 
 there advanced towards London, by the great North Road, 
 two persons, upon whom it is expedient that this history 
 should bestow some attention. 
 
 They were a man and woman; or perhaps they would be 
 better described as a male and female : for the former was 
 one of those long-limbed, knock-kneed, shambling, bony peo- 
 ple, to whom it is difficult to assign any precise age, — looking 
 as they do, when they are yet boys, like undergrown men, 
 and when they are almost men, like overgrown 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 encum- 
 bered with much luggage, as there merely dangled from a 
 stick which he carried over his shoulder, a small parcel wrap- 
 ped in a common handkerchief, and apparently light enough. 
 This circumstance, added to the length of his legs, which 
 were of unusual extent, enabled him *ith much ease to keep 
 some half-dozen paces in advance of his companion, to whom 
 he occasionally turned with an impatient jerk of the head : 
 as if reproaching her tardiness, and urging her to greater ex- 
 ertion. 
 
 Thus, they had 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-coaches which were 
 whirling out of town, until they passed through Highgate 
 archway ; when the foremost traveller stopped and called im- 
 patiently to his companion. 
 
 " Come on, can't yer ? What a lazybones yer are, Char- 
 lotte." 
 
 " It's a heavy-load, I can tell you," said the female, com- 
 ing up, almost breathless with fatigue. 
 
 "Heavv! What are yer talking about? What are yer 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 31^ 
 
 made for ? " rejoined the male traveller, changing his own 
 little bundle as he spoke, to the other shoulder. " Oh, there 
 yer are, resting again ! Well, if yer ain't enough to tire any 
 body's patience out, I don't know what is ! " 
 
 "Is it much farther?" asked the woman resting herself 
 against a bank, and looking up with the perspiration steaming 
 from her face. 
 
 "Much farther! Yer as good as there," said the long-leg- 
 ged tramper pointing out before him. " Look there ! Those 
 are the lights of London." 
 
 " They're a good two mile off, at least," said the woman 
 despondingly. 
 
 "Never mind Whether they're two mile off, or twenty," 
 said Noah Claypole ; 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 impaired by walking. 
 
 " Near, I hope," said Charlotte. 
 
 " No, not near," replied Mr. Claypole. " There ! Not 
 near ; so don't think it." 
 
 " Why hot ? " 
 
 "When I tell yer that I don't mean to do a thing, that's 
 enough, without any why or because either," replied Mr. Clay- 
 pole with dignity. 
 
 " Well,' you needn't be so cross," said his companion. 
 
 " A pretty thing it would be, wouldn't it, to go and stop 
 at the very first public house outside the town, so that 
 Sowerberry, 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 1 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 bouse I can set eyes 
 on. 'Cod, yer may thank yer stars I've got a head ; for if we 
 hadn't gone, at first, the wrong road a purpose, and come 
 back across country, yer'd have been locked up hard and fast 
 a week ago, my lady. And serve yer right for being a fool." 
 
 "I know I ain't as cunning as you are," replied Charlotte ; 
 
-5 1 5 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " 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," rejoined Charlotte; 
 
 " Did I keep it ?" asked Mr. Claypole. . 
 
 " No ; you trusted in me, and let me carry it lik^ a dear, 
 and so you are," said the lady, chucking him under the chin, 
 and drawing her arm through his. 
 
 This was indeed the case ; but as it was not Mr. Claj^ole'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 opportunity of asserting his innocence of any 
 theft, ajid would greatly facilitate his chances of escape. Of 
 course, he entered at this juncture, into no explanation of his 
 motives, and they walked on very lovingly together. 
 
 Ih pursuance of this 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 London 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 
 London. 
 
 Through these streets, Noah Claypole walked, dragging 
 Charlotte after him; now stepping into the kennel to embrace 
 at a glance the whole external character of some small public- 
 house ; now jogging on again, as some fancied appearance 
 induced him to believe it too public for his purpose. At length, 
 he stopped in front of one, more humble ill appearance and 
 more dirty than any he had yet seen ; and, havirig crossed 
 over and surveyed it from the opposite pavement, graciously 
 announced his intention of putting up there, for the night. 
 
 " So give us the buhdle," said Noah, unstrapping it from 
 the woman's shoulders, and slinging it over his own ; " and 
 don't yer speak, except when j-er spoke to. What's the 
 name of the house — t-h-r — three what ? " 
 
OLIVER TWIST. ,1- 
 
 " 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 entered the house, followed by his companion. 
 
 There was nobody in the bar but a young Jew, who, with 
 his two elbows on the counter, was reading a dirty newspaper. 
 He stared very hard at Noah, and Noah stared very hard 
 at him. 
 
 If Noah had been attired in his charity-boy's dress, there 
 might have been some reason for the Jew 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 partic- 
 ular reason for his appearance exciting so much attention in a 
 public house. . 
 
 " Is this the Tlir.ee Cripples ? " asked Noah. 
 
 " That is the dabe of this ouse," replied: the Jew. 
 
 " A gentleman we met on : ih& road, coming up from the 
 country, recommended us here," said Noah, nudging Char- 
 lotte, perhaps to call her attention to this most ingenious de- 
 vice for attracting respect, 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 at- 
 tendant sprite ; " but I'll idquire." 
 
 " Show us the tap, and give us a bit of cold meat and a 
 drop of beer while yer inquiringj will yer ? " said Noah. 
 
 Barney complied by uskering them into a small back-rootn, 
 and setting the required viands before theiB. ; having done 
 whiclj, he informed the travellers that they could be lodged 
 that night, and left tlie amiable couple to their refreshment. 
 
 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 concealed a single 
 pane of glass fixed in the wall of the lastinamed apartment, 
 about five feet from its flooring, could not only look down upon 
 any guests in the back-room without afiy 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, as- 
 certain with tolerable distinctness, their subject of conversa- 
 tion. The landlord of the house had not withdrawn his eye 
 from this place of espial for five minutes, and Batney had only 
 just returned froni making the communication above r&lated. 
 
Jig OLIVER TWrST. 
 
 when Fagin, in the course of his evening's business, came into 
 the bar to inquire after some of liis young pupils. 
 
 " Hush ! " said Barney : " stradegers in the next roob.' 
 
 " Strangers ! " repeated the old man in a whisper. 
 
 " Ah ! Ad rub uds too," added Barney. " Frob the cut- 
 try, but subthig in your way, or I'b bistaked." 
 
 Fagin appeared to receive this communication with great , 
 interest Mounting a stool, he 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 homoeopathic doses of both to Charlotte, 
 who sat patiently by, eating and drinking at his pleasure. 
 
 " Aha ! " he whispered, looking round to Barney, " I like 
 that 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 ' 
 
 He again applied his eye to the glass, and turning his ear 
 to the partition, listened attentively : with a subtle and eager 
 look upon his face, that might have appertained to some old 
 goblin. 
 
 " So I mean to be a gentleman," said Mr. Claypole, kick- 
 ing out his legs, and continliing 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 ain't to be emptied every day, and people to get 
 clear off after it." 
 
 " Tills be blowed ! " said Mr. Claypole ; " there's more 
 things besides tills to be emptied." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " asked his companion. 
 
 " Pockets, women's ridicules, houses, mail-coa:ches, 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 creature 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'll do : don't yer be too affectionate, in case 
 I'm cross with yer," said Noah, disengaging himself with 
 
OLIVER TWIST. gig 
 
 g-reat gravity. " I should like to be the captain of some band, 
 and have the whopping of 'em, and follering 'em about, unbe- 
 known to themselves. That would suit me, if there was good 
 profit ; aild if we could only get in with some gentlemen of 
 this sort, I say it would be cheap at that twenty-pound note 
 you've got, — especially as we don't very well know how to get 
 lid of it ourselves." 
 
 After expressing this opinion, Mr. Claypole looked into 
 the porter-pot with an aspect of deep wisdom ; and having 
 well shaken its contents, nodded condescendingly to Charlotte, 
 and took a draught, wherewith he appeared greatly refreshed'. 
 He was meditating another, when the sudden opening of the 
 door, and the appearance of a stranger, interrupted him. 
 
 The stranger was Mr. Fagin; ; And very amiable he looked, 
 and a ver)- low bow he made, as he advanced, and setting him- 
 self down at the nearest table, ordered something to drink of 
 the grinning Barney. 
 
 " A pleasant night, sir, but (jool for the time of year," said 
 Fagin, rubbing his hands. " From the country, I see, sir? " 
 ■ " How do yer see that ? " asked Noah Claypole. 
 
 " We have not so much dust as that in London," replied 
 Fagin, pointing from Noali's shoes to those of his companion, 
 and from them to the two bundles. 
 
 " Yer a sharp feller," said Noah. " Ha ! ha ! only hear 
 that, Charlotte ! " 
 
 " 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." 
 
 Fagin followed up this remark by striking the side of his 
 nosewithhisrightforefinger,— a gesture which Noah attempted 
 to imitate, though not with complete success, in consequence of 
 his own nose not being large enough for the purpose. How- 
 ever, Mr. Fagin seemed to interpret the endeavor as express- 
 ing a perfect coincidence with his opinion, and put about the 
 liquor which Barney re-appeared with, in a very friendly man- 
 ner. 
 
 " Good s-tufl, that," observed Mr, Claypole, 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 regularly." 
 
 Mr. Cla)rpole no sooner heard this extract from his own 
 remarks than he fell back in his chair, and looked from th» 
 
220 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 Jew to Charlotte with a countenance of ashy paleness and ex- 
 cessive terror. 
 
 " Don't mind me,, my dear,'' said Tagin, 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 hisr chair ; " it was ^ her doing : 
 yer've got it now, Charlotte, yer know yer have." 
 
 " No matter who's got it, or who did it, my dear ! " replied 
 Fagin, glancing, nevertheless, 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 ? " 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 have taken a fancy to you and 
 the young woman ; so I've said the word, and you may make 
 your rninds 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 positions ; eyeing his new 
 friend meanwhile with mingled fear and suspicion^ 
 
 " I'll tell you more," said Fagin, after he had reassured 
 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 ad^'antage would it be to me to be anything else ? " 
 inquired Fagin, shruggfng his shoulders. " Here ! Let me 
 have a word with you outside." 
 
 " There's no occasion to trouble ourselves to move," said 
 Noah, gettiftg his legs by gradual d^fees abroad again. 
 " She'll take the luggage up stairs the while. Charlotte, see 
 to them bundles ! " 
 
 This mandate, which hadbeen 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. . : 
 
OLIVER TWIST. ^2, 
 
 " She's kept tolerably well under, ain't she ? " he asked as 
 he resumed his seat ; in the tone of a keeper who has tamed 
 some wild animal. 
 
 "Quite perfect," rejoined Fagin, clapping 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 Fagin. " If you was to 
 like my friend, could you do better than join him ? " 
 
 "Is he in a good way of business; that's where it is!" 
 tespOnded Noah, winking one of his little eyes. 
 
 " The top of the tree ; employs a power of hands j has the 
 very best society in the profession." 
 
 " Regtilar town^maders ? " asked Mr. Claypole. 
 
 "Not 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 Fagin. 
 
 "Should I hax-e to hand over?" said Noah, slapping his 
 breeches-pocket. 
 
 " It couldn't possibly be done without," replied Fagin, in 
 a most decided manner. 
 
 " Twenty pound, though, — it's a lot of money ! " 
 
 " Nofwhen it's in a note you can't get rid oi" retorted 
 Fagin. "Number and date taken, I suppose? Payment 
 Stopped at the Bank ? Ah ! It's not worth much to him. 
 It'll have to go abroad, and he couldn't sell it for a great deal 
 in the market." 
 
 "When could I see him ? " asked Noah doubtfully. 
 
 " To-morrow morning." 
 
 " Where ? " 
 
 " Here." 
 
 " Um ! " said Noah. " What's the wages ? " 
 
 " Live like a gentleman — board and lodgings, ^ipes and 
 spirits free — half of all you earn, and half of all the young 
 woman earns," replied Mr. Fagin. 
 
 Whether Noah Claypole, whose rapacity was none of the 
 least comprehensive, would have acceded even to these glow- 
 ing terms, had he been a perfectly free agent, is^ very doubt- 
 ful ; but as he recollected 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. 
 
222 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " But, yer see," observed Noah, " as .she will he able to do 
 a good deal, I should like to take softiething very light," 
 . " A little fancy work ? " suggested Fagin. 
 
 " Ah ! something of that sort," replied Noah. " What do 
 you think would suit me now ? Something not too trying foi; 
 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 Fagin. " 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 slowly; 
 " but it wouldn't pay by itself, you know." 
 
 " That's true ! " observed the Jew, ruminating or pretend- 
 ing to ruminate. " No, it might not." 
 
 " What do you think, then ? " asked Noah, anxiously re- 
 garding him. " Something 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 Fagin. 
 " There's a good deal of money made in snatching their bags 
 and parcels, and running round the corner." 
 
 " Don't they holler out a great deal, and scratch some- 
 times ? " asked Noah, shaking his head. " I don't think 
 that would answer my purpose. Ain't there any other line 
 Open ? " 
 
 " Stop ! " said Fagin, laying his hand on Noali's knee. 
 " The kinchin lay." 
 
 " What's that ? " demanded Mr. Claypole. 
 
 "The kinchins, my dear," said Fagin, "is the young 
 children that's sent on errands by their mothers, with sixpences 
 and shillings ; and the lay is just to take their money away — 
 they've always got it ready; in their hands, — ^^then knock 'em . 
 into the kennel, and walk off very slow, as if there were noth- 
 ing else the matter but a child fallen down and hurt itself. 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! " . ' 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! " roared Mr. Claypole, kicking up his legs in 
 an ecstasy. " Lord, 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 neighborhoods like that, where they're always 
 going errands ; and you can upset as many kindiins as you 
 want, any hour in the day. Ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 
OLIVER TWIST. ^2, 
 
 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 re- 
 covered himself, and Charlotte had returned. " What time 
 to-morrow shall we say .' " 
 
 "Will ten do?" asked Fagin, 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, Charlotte ? " 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 Fagin. " 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. Noah Claypole, bespeaking his good lady's attention, 
 proceeded to enlighten her relative to the arrangement he had 
 made, with all that haughtin.ess and air of superiority, becom- 
 ing, not only a member of the sterner sex, but a gentleman 
 who appreciated the dignity of a special appointment on the 
 kinchin lay, in London and its vicinity. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 WHEREIN IS SHOWN HOW THE ARTFUL DODGER GOT INTO 
 
 TROUBLE. 
 
 " And so it was you that was your own friend, was it ? " 
 asked Mr. Claypole, otherwise Bolter, when, by virtue of the 
 compact entered, into between them, he had removed next day 
 to Fagin's house. " 'Cod, I thought as much last night ! " 
 
 " Every man's his own friend, my dear," replied Fagin; 
 
324 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 with his most insinuating grin. " He hasn't 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 
 enemies but their own, yer know." 
 
 " Don't believe that," said Fagin. " When a man's his 
 owti enemy, it's only because he's too much his own friend ; 
 not because he's careful for everybody but himself. Pooh ! 
 pooh ! There ain't such a thing in nature." 
 
 " There oughn't to be, if there is," replied Mr. Bolter. 
 
 " That stands to reason. Some conjurers say that number 
 three is the magic number, and some say number seven. It's 
 neither, my friend, neither. It's number one." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! " cried Mr. Bolter. " Number one for ever." 
 
 " In a little community like ours, my dear," said Fagin, 
 who felt it necessary to qualify this position, " we havfe a 
 general number one ; that is, you can't consider yourself as 
 number one, without considering me too as the same, and all 
 the other yoxmg people." 
 
 " Oh, the devil ! " exclaimed Mr. Bolter. 
 
 " You see," pursued Fagin, affecting to disregard this in- 
 terruption, " we are so mixed up together, and identified in 
 our interests, that it must be so. For instance, it's your ob- 
 ject to take care of numbei: 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 Fagin. " I'm of the same im- 
 portance to you, as you are to yourself." 
 
 "I say," interrupted Mr. Bolter, "yer a very nice man, and 
 I'm very fond of j'er; but we ain't quite so thick together, as 
 all that comes to." 
 
 "Only think," said Fagin, shrugging his shoulders, and 
 stretchmg out his hands; "only comsider. You've done 
 what's a very pretty thing, and what I love you for doing ; but 
 what at the same time would put the cravat round your throat, 
 that's so very easily tied and so very difficult to unloose— in 
 plain English, the halter ! " 
 
 Mr. Bolter put his hand to his neckerchief, as if he felt it 
 mconveniently tight ; and murmured an assent, qualified in 
 tone but not in substance. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 321 
 
 " The gallows," continued Fagin, "the gallows, my dear, 
 is an ugiy. finger-post, which points out a A^ery short and sharp 
 turning that has stopped many a bold fellow's career on the 
 broad highway. To keep in the easy road, and keep it at a 
 distance, is object number one with you." 
 1 " Of course it is," rpplied Mr. Bolter. "What do yfer talk 
 about such things foir?" 
 
 " Only to show you my meaning clearly," said the Jew^ 
 raising his eyebrows. " To. be able to do that, you depend 
 upon me. To keep my little business all snug, I depend 
 upon you. The first is your number 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. "Ohl 
 yer a cunning old codger ! " 
 
 Mr. Fagin saw, with delight, that this tribute to his pow- 
 ers was no mere compliment, but that he had really impressed 
 his recruit with a sense of his wily genius, 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 
 detail, with the magnitude and extent of his operations ; blfend- 
 ii^ truth and fiction together, 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 wholesome fear, which it was highly 
 desirable to awaken. 
 
 "It's this mutual trust we have in each other that consoles 
 me under heavy losses," said Fagin. " My best hand was taken 
 from me, yesterday morning." 
 
 " You don't mean to saty he died ? " cried Mr. Bolter. 
 
 " No, no," replied Fagin, " not so bad as that. Not quita 
 so bad." 
 
 " What, I suppose he was " 
 
 "Wanted," interposed Fagin. "Yes, he was wanted." 
 
 "Very particular ?" inquired Mr. Bolter. 
 
 "No," replied Fagin, "not very. He was charged with 
 attempting to pick a pocket, and they found a silver snuff-box 
 on him,-i-his own, my dear, his own, for he took snuff himself, 
 and was very fond of it. They remanded him till tft-day, for 
 
-•26 OLIVER -nvjsT. 
 
 they thought fhey knew the owner. Ah ! he was worth fifty 
 boxes, and I'd givp. the price of as inany to have him back. You 
 should have known the Dodger, my dear ; you should have 
 known the Dodger." 
 
 " Well, bu'. I shall know him, I hope ; don't yer think so ; " 
 said Mr, Bolter. 
 
 " I'm doubtful abowt i' " replied Fagin, with a sigh. "If 
 they don't get any fresh evidence, it'll only be a summary con- 
 viction, 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'll be a lifer. They'll make the Artful 
 Tiothing 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 I can understand yer." 
 
 Fagin w'is about to translate these mysterious expressions 
 into the vulgar tongue ; and, being interpreted, Mr. Bolter 
 would have been informed that they, represented tliat combi- 
 nation of words, " transportation for life," when the dialogue 
 was cut short by the entry of Master Bates, with his hands in 
 his breeches-pockets, and his face 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 ? " 
 
 " They've found the gentleman as owns the box; two or 
 three more's acoming to 'dentify him ; and the Artful's booked 
 for a passage out," replied Master Bates. " I must have a 
 full suit of mourning, Fagin^ and a hatband, to wisit him 
 in, afore he sets out upon his travels. To tliink of Jack 
 Dawkins — Plummy Jack — the Dodger — the Artful Dodger — 
 going abroad for a common twopenny-halfpenny sneeze- 
 box! I never thought he'd a done it under a gold watch, 
 chain, and seals, at the lowest. Oh, why didn't he rob some 
 rich old gentleman of all his walables, and go out as a gen- 
 tleman, and not like a common prig, without no honor nor 
 glory!" 
 
 With this expression of feeling for his unfortunate friend, 
 Master Bates sat himself on the nearest chair with an aspect 
 of chagrin and despondency. 
 
 " What do you talk about his having neitiier honor nor 
 glory for !" exclaimed Fagin, darting an angry look at his 
 pupil. " Wasn't he always top-sawyer among you all. Is there 
 
OLIVER TIVIST. y,.^ 
 
 one of you that could touch him or come near him on anj 
 scent! Eh?" 
 
 ".Not one," replied Master Bates, in a voice rendered 
 husky, by regret • " not one." 
 
 "Then what do you talk of?" replied .Fagin 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 'dictment ; 'cause 
 nobody will never know half of what he was. How will he 
 stand in the Newgate Calendar ? P'raps not be there at all. 
 Oh, my eye, my eye, wot a blow it is ! " ' 
 
 ." Ha ! ha ! " cried Fagin extending his right hand, and 
 turning to Mr. Bolter in a fit of chuckling which shook him as 
 tiiough he had the palsy ; " see what a pride they take in their 
 profession, my dear. Ain't it beautiful ? " 
 
 Mr. Bolter nodded assent ; and Fagin, after contemplating 
 the grief of Charley Bates for some seconds with evident 
 satisfaction, stepped up to that young gentleman 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'll show it himself, and not disgrace his old. 
 pals and teachers. Think how young he is too ! What a dis- 
 tinction, Charley, to be lagged at his time of life ! " 
 
 " Well, it is a honor that is ! " said Charley, a little con- 
 soled. 
 
 "He shall have all he wants," continued 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. 
 
 " Ay, that he shall," replied Fagin, " 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 papers — ' Artful 
 Rodger — shrieks of laughter — here the court was convulsed' — , 
 eh, Charley, eh ? " 
 
 " Ha 1 ha ! " laughed Master Bates, " what a lark that would 
 be, wouldn't it, Fagin ! I say, how the Artful would bothei 
 'em, wouldn't he ? " 
 
 " Would ! " cried Fagin. " He shall— he will ! " 
 
 " Ah, to be sure, so he will," repeated Charley, rubbing hi* 
 hands. 
 
328 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " 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 
 comfortable as if he was the judge's own son making a speech 
 arter dinner — ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 
 In fact, Mr. Fagin had so well humored his young friend's 
 eccentric disposition, that Master Bates, who had at first been 
 disposed to consider the imprisoned Dodger rather in the 
 light of a victim, now looked upon him as the chief actor in a 
 scene of most uncommon and exquisite humor, and felt quite 
 impatient for the arrival of the time when his old companion 
 should have so favorable an opportunity of displaying his 
 abilities. 
 
 " We must know how he gets on to-day, by some handy 
 means or other," said Fagin. " Let me think." 
 
 " Shall I go ! " asked Charley. 
 
 "Not for the world," replied Fagin. "Are you mad, ray 
 dear, stark mad, that you'd walk into the- very place where — • 
 No, Charley, no. One is enough to lose at a time." 
 
 " You don't mean to go yourself, I suppose ? " said Charley 
 with a humorous leer. 
 
 "That Wouldn't quite fit," replied Fagin shaking his 
 head. 
 
 " Then why don't you send this new cove ? " asked Master 
 Bates, laying his hand on Noah's ann. " Nobody knows 
 him." 
 
 "Why, if he didn't mind — " observed Fagin. 
 
 " Mind ! " interposed Charley. " What should he have to 
 mind ? " 
 
 " Really nothing, my dear," said Fagin, turning to Mr. 
 Bolter, " really nothing." 
 
 " 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 de- 
 partment, that ain't." 
 
 " Wot department has he got, Fagin ? " inquired Master 
 Bates, surveying Noah's lank form with much disgust. " The 
 cutting away when there's anything wrong, and the eating all 
 the wittles when there's everj'thifig right ; is that his branch ? " 
 
 "Never mind," retorted Mr. Bolter; "and don't yer take 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 329 
 
 liberties with yer superiors, little boy, or yer'll 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 incurred no possible dan- 
 ger in visiting. the police-office ; that, inasmuch as no account 
 of the little affair in whicli he had been engaged, nor any de- 
 scription of his person, had yet been forwarded to the metrop- 
 olis, it was very probable that he was not even suspected of 
 having resorted to it for shelter ; and that, if he were properly 
 disguised, it would be as safe a spot for him to visit as any 
 in London, inasmuch 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 representations, but overborne 
 in a much greater degree by his fear of Fagin, Mr. Bolter at 
 length consented, with a very bad grace, to undertake the ex- 
 pedition. By Fagin's directions, he immediately substituted 
 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 
 turnpike tickets ; and a carter's whip. Thus equipped, he 
 was to saunter into the office, as some coimtry fellow from 
 Covent Garden market might be supposed to do for the grati- 
 cation 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 tokens by which to. recognize the Artful 
 Dodger, and was conveyed by Master Bates through dark and 
 winding ways to vyithin a very short distance of Bow Street. 
 Having described the precise situation of the office, and 
 accompanied it with copious directions how 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 — 
 Master Bates being pretty well acquainted with the locality-^ 
 were so exact that he was enabled to gain the . magisterial 
 presence without asking any question, or meeting with any 
 
330 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 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 tlie rest, witli a dock tor the prisoners 
 on the left hand against the wall, a box for the witnesses in 
 the middle, and a desk for the magistrates on the right ; the 
 awful locality 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 admiring friends, while tlie derk 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 repressed an undue tendency to conver- 
 sation 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, half-smoth- 
 ered in the modier's shawl, from some meagre infant The 
 room smelt close and unwholesome ; the walls were dirt-dis- 
 colored ; and the ceiling blackened. There was an old smoky 
 bust over the mantel-shelf, and a dusty clock above the dock 
 — the only thing present, that seemed to go on as it ought ; 
 for the depravity, or povert}', or an habitual acquaintance with 
 both, had left a taint on all the animate matter, hardly less 
 unpleasant 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 several women who would have done very 
 well for that distinguished character's 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 de- 
 scription given him of Mr. Dawkins was to be seen. He 
 waited in a state of much suspense and uncertainty until the 
 women, being committed for trial, went flaunting out ; and 
 then was quickly relieved by the appearance of another pris- 
 oner who he felt at once could be no other than the object of 
 his visit. 
 
 It was indeed Mr. Dawkins, who, shuffling into the office 
 with the big coat sleeves tucked up as usual, his left hand in 
 his pocket, and his hat in his right hand, preceded the jailer, 
 with a rolling gait altogether indescribable, and, taking his 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 33, 
 
 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 ? " s'aid the jaiier. 
 
 "I'm an Englishman, ain't I?" rejoined the Dodger. 
 " Where are my priwileges ? " 
 
 " You'll get your privileges, soon enough," retorted the 
 jailer, " and pepper with 'em." 
 
 " We'll see wot the Secretary of State for the Home Affairs 
 has got to say to the beaks, if I don't," repUed Mr. Dawkins. 
 " Now then ! Wot is this here business ? I shall thank the 
 madg'strates to dispose of this here little affair, and not to 
 keep me while they read the paper, for I've got an appoint- 
 ment with a genelman in the City, and as I'm a man of my 
 word and wery punctual in business matters, he'll go away if 
 I ain't there to my time, and then pr'aps there won't be an 
 action for damage against them as kep me away. Oh no, 
 certainly not ! " 
 
 : ■ At this point, the Dodger, with a show of being very par- 
 ticular with a view to proceedings to be had thereafter, desired 
 the jailer to communicate " the names of them two 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 ? " inquired one of the magistrates. 
 
 " A pick-pocketing case, your worship." 
 
 " Has the boy ever been here before ? " 
 
 " He ought to have been, a many times," replied the jailer. 
 " He has been pretty well everywhere else, /know him weh, 
 your worship." 
 
 " Oh ! you know me, do you ? " cried the Artful, making 
 a note of the statement. "Wery good. That's a case of 
 deformation of character, any way." 
 
 Here there was another laugh, and another cry of silence. 
 
 " Now then, where are the witnesses ? " said the clerk. 
 
 "Ah! that's right," added the Dodger. "Where are. 
 they ? 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 hand- 
 kerchief therefrom, which, being a very old one, he deliber- 
 ately put back again, after trying it on his own countenance. 
 For this reason, fce took the Dodger into custody as soon as 
 
332 OLIVER riv/sr. 
 
 he could get near him, and the said Dodger, being searched, 
 had upon his person a silver snuff-box, with the owner's name 
 engraved upon the lid. This gentleman had been discovered 
 on reference 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 disengaged 
 himself from the crowd before referred to. He had also 
 remarked a young gentleman in the throng, particularly active 
 in making his way about, and that young gentleman was the 
 prisoner before him. 
 
 " Have you anything to ask this witness, boy ? " said the 
 magistrate. 
 
 " I wouldn't abase myself by descending to hold no con- 
 versation with him," replied the Dodger. 
 
 " Have you anything to say at all ? " 
 
 " Do you hear his worship ask if you've anything to say ? " 
 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 redress yourself to me, my 
 man ? " 
 
 " I never see such an out-and-out young wagabond, your 
 worship," observed the officer with a grin. "Do you mean 
 to say anything, you young shaver 1 " 
 
 " No," replied the Dodger, " not'here, for this ain't the shop 
 for justice ; besides which, my attorney is a-breakfastirig this 
 morning with the Wice President of the House of Commons ; 
 but I shall have something to say elsewhere, and so will he, 
 and so will a wery numerous and 'spectable circle of acquaint- 
 ance as'il make them beaks wish they'd never been born, or 
 that they'd got their footmen to hang 'em up to their own hat» 
 pegs, 'afore they let 'em come out this morning to try it on 
 upon me. I'll " 
 
 " There ! He's fully committed ! " interposed the clerk. 
 " Take him away." 
 
 " Come on," said the jailer. 
 
 " Oh ah ! I'll 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. Ybu'// pay for this, my line fellers. I 
 wouldn't be you for something I I wouldn't go free, now, if 
 you was to fall down on your knees and ask me. Here, carry 
 me off to prison ! Take me away ! " 
 
 With these last words, the Dodger suffered himself to be 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 333 
 
 led off by the collar , threatening, till he got into the yard, to 
 make a parliamentary business of it ; arid 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, heivas joitied ■ 
 by that young gentleman, who had prudently abstained from 
 showing himself until he had looked carefully abroad from a 
 snug retreat, and ascertained, 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 himself a glorious reputation. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 THE TIME ARRIVES FOR NANCY TO REDEEM HER PLEDGE TO 
 ROSE MAYLIE. SHE FAILS. 
 
 AiDEPT as she was, in all the arts of cunning and dissimu- 
 lation, the girl Nancy could not wholly conceal the effect 
 which the kpowledge of the step she had taken, wrought upon 
 her mind. She remembered that both the crafty Jew and the 
 brutal Sikes had confided to her schemes, which had been hid- 
 den from all others : in the full confidence that she was trust- 
 worthy and beyond the reach of their suspicion.^ Vile as those 
 schemes were, desperate as were their originators, and bitter 
 as were her feelings towards Fagin, who had led her, step by 
 step, deeper and deeper down into an abyss of crime and mis- 
 ery, whence was no escape ; still, there were times when, even 
 towards him, she felt some relenting, lest her disclosure 
 should bring him within the iron grasp he had so long eluded, 
 and he should fall at last-^tichly 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 itse;lf steadily on one object,, and re- 
 solved not to be turned aside by any consideration. Her 
 fears for Sikes would have been more powerful inducements 
 to recoil while there was yet time ; but she had stipulated that 
 16 
 
334 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 he i: 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 all the guilt and wretchedness that encom- 
 passed her — and what more could she do 1 She was resolved. 
 
 Though all her mental struggles terminated in this conclu- 
 ' sion, they forced themselves upon her, again and again, and 
 left' their traces too. She grew pale and thin, even within a 
 few days. At timesj she' took no heed of what was passing 
 before her, or no- part in conversations where once, she would 
 have been the loudest. At other tittles, 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 htead. upon her bands, while the 
 very e.ffort by which she roused herself, told, more forcibly 
 than even these indications, thaLshe was ill^ ease, and that 
 her thoughts were occupied with matters very different and 
 distant from those in course of discussion by her companions. 
 
 It was Sunday nightj and the bell of the nearest church 
 struck the hour. Sikes and the Jew were talking, but they 
 paused to listen; The girl looked up from the lo^' seat on 
 which she crouchedj and listened too. 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." 
 
 " Ab!" replied Fagin. "What a pity. Bill, my dear, that 
 there's none quite ready to be done." 
 
 "You're right for once," replied Sikes grufHy. "It is a 
 pity, for I'm in the humor too." 
 
 Fagin sighed, and shook his head despondinglyi 
 
 " We must make up for the lost time when we've got 
 things into a good train. That's all I know," said Sikes. 
 
 .. "That'sthe way to talk, my dear," replied Fagin, ventur- 
 ing 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 !i ha ! ha ! " laughed Fagin, as if he were relieved by 
 even this concession. " You're like yourself to-night. Bill! 
 tjuite like yourself.'' ' 
 
 " I don't feel like myself when you lay that withered old 
 claw on my shoulder, so take it away," said Sik-es casting off 
 the Jew's hand. 
 
 5' It makes you nervows. Bill, — reminds you of being 
 nabbed, does it t "' said Fagin, determined not to be offended.- 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 335 
 
 Remi?idg me pf being nabbed by the devil," returned 
 Siltes. " There never was another nian with such g, face as 
 yours, unless it was your father, and I suppose he is singeing 
 bis grizzled red beard by this tirne, unless you came straight 
 fiom the old 'un without any father at all betwixt you; which 
 I shouldn't wonder at, a bit.", ,, 
 
 Pagin offered no reply to this compliment ;' but, pulling 
 Sikes by the sleeve, pointed his finger towards Nancy, who 
 liad.taljep advantage o^tlie foregoing conversation to put on 
 her bonnet, and was now leaving the rpom. ; 
 
 " Hallo ! " cried Sikes. " Nanc^.,, Where's, th? gal goinji 
 to at this time of night? '.' , 
 
 " Nof (ar,',', , , , .-, : ,',,,,; ' , 
 
 " Wh^t a,nsvyer's that ?." returned Sikes. , ." Where are you 
 going.?" 
 , " I say, not far." 
 
 "Ahd I say where?" retorted Sikes. "Do yoij hear 
 me?"" ' 
 
 " I don't know where," replied the girl. 
 
 " Then I do," sa!id 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 youj^hat before," rejoined the girl. 
 " I 'vyajpit a J)reath of air." . 
 
 "Put your head out o£,the winder," replied Sikes. 
 
 "There's not enough there," gaiql the girl. " I want it in 
 the street." 
 
 "Thenyou won't have it," replied Sikes. With which as- 
 surance he rose, locked the door, took the key out,.and pulling 
 her bonnet from her head, flung it up to the top of an old press. 
 " There," said fbe robber. " Now stop quietly where you are, 
 will you ? " , i . 
 
 " It's not such a matter as ^ bonnet would keep me," said 
 the girl turning very pale. "What do you mean. Bill ? Do 
 you knpw what you're doing? " 
 
 " Know what I'm Oh ! " cri^d Sikes turning to Fagin, 
 
 " she's out of lier senses, you know, or she da^fen't talk to me 
 in that way." 
 
 ." You'lJ drive rpe on to soinething desperate," mtittered the 
 girl placing both hands upon her breast, as though to keep 
 down by force some violent outbreak.' " Let me go, will you, 
 t^^hi^ ijjinute-r-this instaiit.'' 
 
 '<>' No !" said Sikes. 
 
S3^ 
 
 OLIVER tW^TST. 
 
 "Tell him to let me go, Fagin. He had beltter. It'll be 
 better for him. Do you Hear me ? " cried Nancy stamping hfer 
 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 dog shall have such a grip on your throdt as'll tear 
 some of that screaming voice out. Wot has come over you, 
 you jade ! Wot is it ? " 
 
 " Let me go," Said thfe girl with great earnestness ; then 
 sitting herself down on the floor, before the door, she said, 
 " Bill-, let me go ; you don't khow what yoii are doing. You 
 don't, indeed. For only one hour — do — do ! " 
 
 " Cut my limbs oif one by one !. " cried Sikes, seizing her 
 roughly by the arm, " if I doh'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 ivay, 
 into a small room adjoining, where he sat himself oH a bench, 
 and thrusting her into a chair, held her down by force. Sh6 
 struggled and implored by turns until twelve o'clock had 
 struck, and then, wearied and exhausted, ceased t6 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 Fagin. 
 
 " Whew ! " said the housebreaker, wiping the perspiration 
 from his face. " Wot a precious strange gal that is ! " 
 
 "You may say that. Bill," replied Fagin thoughtfully. 
 " You may say that." 
 
 " Wot did she take it into her head to go out to-night for, 
 do you think ? " asked Sikes. " Come ; you should know her 
 better than me. Wot does it mean ? " '' ' ' 
 
 " Obstinacy ; woman's obstinacy, I suppose, my dear." 
 
 '■' Well, I suppose it is," growled Sikes. " I thought 1 had 
 ■ tamed her, but she's as bad as ever." 
 
 "Worse," said Fagin thbtightfully. "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 — eh .' " 
 
 " Like enough." 
 
 " I'll let her a little blood, witliout troubling the doctor, if 
 she's took that way again," said Sikes. 
 
OLIVER TT^ISr. 32^ 
 
 . Fagin nodded an expressive approva,! of this mode of 
 treatment. 
 
 " She was hanging ahjout 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, arid I think, one way or other, it's 
 worried and fretted her ; and that being shut up here so long 
 has made her restless — eh ? " 
 
 " That's it, my dear," replied the Jew in a whisper. 
 "Hush !" 
 
 As he uttered fbese words, the girl herself appeared and 
 resumed her former seat. Her eyes were swollen and red ; 
 she rocked herself to and frp ; 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 excessive surprise on "his companion. 
 
 Fagin nodded to him to take no further notice just theri ; 
 and, in a few minutes, the girl subsided into her accustomed 
 demeanor. Whispering Sikes that there was no fear of her 
 relapsing, Fagin took up his hat and bade him good-night. 
 He paused when he reached the room-door, and looking round, 
 asked if somebody would light hinx down the dark stairs. 
 
 "Light hitn down," said Sikes, who was filling his pipe. 
 " It's a pity he should break his neck himself, and disappoint 
 the sight-seers. Show him a light." 
 
 Nancy followed the old man down stairs, with a candle. 
 When they reached the passage, he laid his fiiiger on his lip, 
 •^.nd 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 Fagin. "li he"— 
 he pointed with his skinny forefinger up the stairs-^—" is so 
 ]iard with you ,(h.e's a brute, Nance, a brute-beast), why don't 
 you — " 
 
 " Well ? " said the girl, as Fagin paused, with his mouth 
 almost touching her ear, and his eyes looking into hers. 
 
 " No matter just now. We'll talk of this ^gain. You have 
 fl 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 
 humors him sometimes — come to me. I say, come to me. 
 He is the mere hound of a day, but you Jjiriow me of old, 
 Nance." 
 
338 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " I know you •wfeU," replied the girl, without manifesting 
 the least emotion. " Good-night." 
 
 She shrank back, as Fagin offered to lay his hand on hers, 
 but ^aid good-night again in a steady Voice, andj answering 
 his parting look with a nod of intelligehce, closed the door 
 between them. 
 
 * "Fagm walked towards his own home, intent upon the 
 thoughts thjit were working within his brain. He had coh- 
 ceived the idea^ — not from what had just passed, though that 
 had tended to confirm him, but slowly and by degrees — that 
 Nancy, weaned of the housebreaker's brutality, had conceived 
 an attachment for soine new friend. Her altered manner, her 
 repeated absences from home alone, her comparative indiffef- 
 ence to the interests of the gang for which she had once been 
 so zealous, and, added to these, her desperate impatience to 
 leave home that night at a particular hour, all favored the sup- 
 position, and rendered it, to him at least, almost matter of 
 certainty. The object of this new Iflcing was not among his 
 myrmidons. He would be a valuable acquisition with such an 
 assistant as Nancy, and must (thus Fa^n argued^ be secured 
 without delay. 
 
 There was another, -afid a darker object to be gained. 
 Sikes knew too much, and his ruffian taunts had not galled 
 Fagin 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 Me — on the ob- 
 ject of her more recent fancy. " With a little persuasion," 
 thought Fagin, " what more likely than that she would consent 
 to poison him ? Women have done such things, and wcwse, 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 a 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 oppor- 
 tunity afterwards afforded him, of sounding the girl in th6 
 broken hints he threw out at parting. There was no expres- 
 sion of surprise, no assumption of an inability to understand 
 his meahiiig. The girl clearly comprehended it. Her glance 
 at parting showed fhaf. 
 
 But perhaps she would recoil from a plot to take the 
 
OLIVEJi TWIST. 32g 
 
 life of Sikes, and that was one of the chief ends to be at- 
 tained. 
 
 ■" How," thought Fagin, as he Wept homeward, "can I in- 
 crease my influence with her ? 'What new power can I ac- 
 quire ? " 
 
 Such brains are fertile in expedients. If, without extract- 
 ing a confession from herself, he laid a watch, discovered the 
 object of her altered regard, and threatened to reveal the 
 whole history to Sikes (of whom she stood in no common 
 fear) unless she entered into his designs, could he not secure 
 her otHiiplianee ? -"'■•' ,' 
 
 • "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 shall be set to work. I shall have 
 you yet 1 " 
 
 He cast back a dark look, and a threatening motion of the 
 hand, towatds the spot where he had left the bolder villain ; 
 and went on his way : busying his bony hands in the folds of 
 his tattered garment, which he wrenched tightly in his grasp, | 
 as though there were a hated enemy crushed with every mo- , 
 tion of his fingers. .i i 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 NOAH CLAYPOLE IS EMPLOYED BY FAGIN ON A SECRET MISSION. 
 
 The old man was up, betimes, next morning, and waited 
 impatiently for the appearance of his new associate, who after 
 a delay that seemed interminable, at length presented him- 
 self, and commenced a voracious assault On the breaMast. 
 
 " Bolter," said Fagin, drawing up a chair and seating 
 himself opposite Morris Bolter. 
 
 " Well, here I am," returned Noah, 'i What's the mat- 
 ter ? 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 ckn talk as you eat; can't you?" said Fagin, 
 eursing his dear young friend's greediness from the very 
 Ijottom of his heart. 
 
 " Oh yes, I can talk. I get on better when I talk," said 
 
340 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 Noah, cutting a monstrous slice of bread. '< Where's Chac 
 lotte ? " .; 
 
 " Out," said Fagin. " I sent her out this morning with 
 the other young woman, because I wanted us to be alone;" 
 
 " Oh ! " said Noah. " I wish yer'd ordered her to make 
 some buttered toast first. Well. Talk away. Yer won't in- 
 terrupt me." 
 
 JThere seemed, indeed, no great fear of anything interrupt- 
 ing him, as he had evidently sat down with a determination 
 to do a great deal of business. ; 
 
 " You did well yesterday, my dear," said Fagin. " Beauti- 
 ful ! Six shillings and ninepence halfpenny on the very first 
 day ! The kinchin lay will be a fortune to you." 
 
 " Don't you forget to add three pint-pots and a milk-can,?' 
 said Mr. Bolter. 
 
 " No, no, my dear. The pint-pots were great strokes of 
 genius : but the milk-can was a perfect masterpiece." 
 
 " Pretty well, I think, for a beginner," remarked Mr. 
 Bolter conrplacently. " The pots I took off airy railings, and 
 the milk-call was standing by itself outside a public-house. I 
 thought it might get rusty with the rain, or catch cold, yer 
 know. Eh? Ha ! ha ! ha!" 
 
 Fagin affected to laugh very heartily ; and Mr. Bolter 
 having had his laiigh out, took a" series of large bites, which 
 finished his first hunk of bread and butter and assisted him- 
 self to a second. . - . 
 
 " I want you. Bolter," said Fagin, leaning 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 o' yer 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, Bolter. 
 
 "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 arn I 
 to dodge her for ? Not to — " 
 
 " Not to do anything, but to tell me where she goes, who 
 she sees, and if possible, what she says ; to remember the 
 street, if it is a street, or the house, if it is a house ; an4 ta 
 bring me back all the information you can." 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 24 1 
 
 " What'll yer give me ? " asked Noah, sptting down his 
 cup, and looking his employer, eagerly, in the face. 
 ,^ "If you dp it well, a pound, my dear. One pound," said 
 Fagin, wishing to interest him in, the ^ent as much as possi- 
 bjp. "And that's what I neyergavg. yet, for any job of work 
 where there wasn't valuable consideration to be gained." 
 
 " Who is she ? " inquired Noah. 
 , " One of u>." 
 
 " Oh Lor ! " cried Noah, curling up his nose. " Yei 
 dQubtfpl Qf her, areyer? " 
 
 "She has foun^. out some new friend^, my dear, and I 
 must know virha they are," replied Pagip. 
 
 "I see," said Nfl^.. "Juatto H^ye the pleasure of know- 
 ing them, if' they're respectable people, eh? Ha! ha! ha! 
 I'm your man." 
 
 " I knew you would be," cried Fagin, elated by the suc- 
 cess of his proposal. ' - 
 
 " Pf course, of course," replied Noah. " Where is she ? 
 WJi^r? am I fb- wait for her ? Where am I to go ? " 
 
 "^li, that, my dear, you sliall hear from me. I'll point 
 her out at the proper time," said Fagin. " You keep ready, 
 and leave the rest to me." 
 
 That night, and the next, ^nd 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, Fagin came home with a disappointed 
 face, and briefly intimated that it was not yet time. On the 
 seventh, ,he returned earlier, and with an exultation liexould 
 not conceal. It was Sunday. 
 
 " She goes abroad to-night," said Fagin, "and on the right 
 erran<i, I'm sure ; for she has beeji alone all day, and tlie 
 man she is afraid of , will not be back much before daybreak. 
 Come witla 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 laby- 
 rinth of streets, arrived at length before a public-house, which 
 Noah recognized as the same in which he had slept, on the 
 n'ight of his arrival in London. 
 
 It was past eleven o'd'ock, and the door was closed. It- 
 opened softly on its hinges as Fagin gave a low whistle. 
 They entered without noise j and the door was closed behind 
 them, t 
 
342 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 Scarcely venturing to whisper, but substituting dumb show 
 for words, Fagin, and the young Jew who had admitted them, 
 pointed out the pane of glass to Noah, and signed to him to 
 climb up and observe the person in the adjoining room. 
 
 " Is that the woman ? " he asked, scarcely above his 
 breath, 
 
 Fagin nodded yes. 
 
 " I can't see her face well^" whispered Noah. " She's 
 looking down, and the candle is behind her." 
 
 " Stay there," whispered Fagin. He signed to Barney, 
 who withdrew. In an instant, the lad entered the room ad- 
 joining and under pretence of snuffing the candle, moved it in 
 the required position, and, speaking to the girl, caused her to 
 raise her face. 
 
 " I see her now," cried the spy. 
 
 "Plainly?" ' ' ■ ■ ' - ^ 
 
 " I should know her among a thousand." 
 
 He hastily descended, as the room-door opened, and tlie 
 girl came out. Fagin drew him behind a small partition which 
 was curtained off, and they held their breaths as she passed 
 within a few feet of their places of toncealment, and emerged 
 by the door at which they had entered. 
 
 " Hist ! " cried the lad who held the door. " Dow." 
 
 Noah exchanged a look with Fagin, and darted out. 
 
 " To the left," whispered the lad ; "take the left had, 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 
 advanced 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 sepmed to gather courage as she advanced, and to 
 tvalk with a steadier and firmer step. The spy preserved 
 the same relative distance ' between them, and followed: with 
 bis eyes upon her. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 343 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 THE APPOINTMENT KEPT. 
 
 The church clocks chimed three quarters past, eleven, as 
 two figures emerged on London Bridge. One, whidh advanced 
 with a swift and rapid step, was that of a woman who looked 
 eagerly about her as though in quest of some expected object,; 
 the other figure was that of a man, who slunk along in the deep- 
 est shadow he could find, and, at some distance, accommodated 
 his pace to hers; stopping when she stopped; and as she 
 moved again, creeping Stealthily on : but nevet allowing him- 
 self, in the ardor of his pursuit, to gain upon her footsteps. 
 Thus, they crossed the bridge, irom the Middlesex to the 
 Surrey shore, when the woman, apparently disappointed in 
 her anxious scrutiny of the foot passengers, turned back. 
 The movement was sudden ; but he who watched her, was not 
 thrown oifif his guard by it ; for, shrinking into one ;of the re- 
 cesses which surmount the piers of the bridge,' and leaning 
 over the parapet the better to Conceal his figure, he suffered 
 her to pafes on the opposite pavement. When she was about 
 the same distance in advance as she had been before, he 
 slipped quietly down and followed '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 unfavorable, 
 arid at that hour and place there were few people stirring. 
 Such as there were hurried quickly past : very possibly with- 
 out seeing, but certainly 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 dbbrless 
 hovel wherein to lay their heads ; they stood there in silence : 
 neither speaking nor spoken to, by any one who passed. 
 
 A mist hung over the river, deepening the red glare of tlie 
 fires that burnt upon the small craft moored off the different 
 wharfs, and rendering darker and more indistinct the mirlfy 
 buildings on the banks. The old smoke-stained storehouses 
 on either side, rose heavy and dull from the dense mass of 
 
344 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 roofs and gables, and frowned sternly upon the 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 visible 
 in the gloom ; but the forest of shipping below bridge, and 
 the thickly scattered spires of churches above, were nearly 
 all hidden from theiaight. ■ . /■ 
 
 The gfrl had taken a few restless turns to and fro — closely 
 watched meanwhile by her bidden pbserver — ^when the heavy 
 bell of St. Paul's tolled for the death of another day. Mid- 
 night had come upon the crowded city. The palace, tiie 
 night-cellar, the Jail, the madhouse: the chambers of birth 
 and death, of health and 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 gray-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 its pavement, when the girl 
 started and immediately made towards therri. 
 
 They walked onward, looking about them with the air of 
 persons who entertained some very slight expectation which 
 had little chance of being realized, when they were suddenly 
 joined by this new associate. They halted with ap exclama- 
 tion of surprise, but. suppressed it immediately ; for, a man in 
 the garments of a countryman came close up — brushed against 
 them, indeed at that precise moment. 
 
 " Not here," said Nancy hurriedly, " I'm afraid to speak 
 to you here. Come away— out of the public road down the 
 steps yonder ! " 
 
 As she uttered these words, and indicated 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 tlie bridge as Saint 
 Saviour's Church, form the landing-stairs from the river. To 
 this spot, the man bearing the appearance of a countryman, 
 hastened unobserved ; and aiter 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, th» 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 34^ 
 
 Stone wall on the left terminates .ii> an ornamental pilaster 
 facing towards the Thames. At this point the lower steps 
 widen s so that a person turning that angle of the wal], is 
 fflecessazily unseen by any otliesrs on the stairs whp ^hance to 
 be above him, if only a step. The countryman looked l;^9,stily 
 round, when lae reached this point ; and as thejrp 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 tliere waited : pretty certain that they would 
 come no lower, and that even if he could not hear what ■wfas 
 said, he could follow them again, with safety. 
 
 So tardily stole the time in this lonely place, and so eager 
 was the spy to penetrate th.e motives of an interview so differ- 
 ent from what he had been led to expect, that he rnore than 
 once gave the matter up for lost, and persuaded himself, 
 either that: they had stopped far above, or had resorted to 
 some entirely different spot to hold their mysterious conver- 
 sation. He was on the point of emerging from his hiding- 
 place, and regaining the road above, when he heard the sound 
 of footsteps, and diirectly afterwards of voices almost close at 
 his ear. 
 
 He drew himself ■straight upright against the wall, and, 
 scarcely breathing, listened .attentively. 
 
 " This is far enough," said a voice, which was evidently 
 that of the gemtleman. " I will not suffer the yoxjng.lady to 
 go any iarther. Many people would have distrusted you too 
 much to have come even so far, but you see I am willing to 
 humor you." 
 
 " To humor me' ! " cried the voice of the girl whom he had 
 followed. " You're considerate, indeed, sir. To humor me ! 
 Well, well, it's no matter." 
 
 " Why, for what," said the gentleman in a kinder tone, 
 " for what purpiose 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 sonxeithing stinjpg, inst^d of 
 bringing us to this dark and dismal hole? " 
 
 " 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 ie^r and drea.d upon me to- 
 night that I can hardly statjd," 
 
 " A fear of what ? " asked the gentleman, who seemed to 
 pity her. 
 
 " I scarcely know of what," replied tlie gii;!. "I wish I 
 
346 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 did. Horrible thoughts of death, and shrouds with blood 
 upon them; and a feat 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 wile 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'll swear I saw 'coffin' written in every page of the- book 
 in large black letters, — ay, and theycarried one close to me, 
 in the streets to-night," 
 
 " There is nothing unusual in that," said the gentleman. 
 " They have passed me often." 
 
 " j?,?a/ <7«^J," rejoined the girl. " This was not," 
 
 There. was something 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 experienced a greater relief than in 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 com- 
 panion. " 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 ar'n'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 mijch humbjer ? " 
 
 "Ah!" said the gentleman. "A Turk turns his face, 
 after washing it well, to the East, when he says hisi prayers ; 
 these gpod people, after giving their faces such a rub against 
 the World as to fake the smiles off, turn with no 'less regularity, 
 to the darkest side of Heaven. Between the Mussulman and 
 the Pharisee, commfend me to the first ! " 
 
 These words appeared to be addressed to the young lady, 
 and were perhaps uttered with the view of affording Nancy 
 time to recover herself. The gentleman, Shortly afterwards, 
 addressed himself to her. ' 
 
 " You-were n6t here last Sunday night," he said. 
 
 " I couldn't come," replied Nancy; " I was kept by 
 force:"'" '"'■■■' ■■- ■ '■ 
 
 " By.whpm?" 
 
 " Him that I told the yOung lady of before." 
 
oLrvEK Twisr. ,_^y 
 
 " You were not suspected of holding any communication 
 with anybody on the subject which has brought us here to- 
 night, I hope ? " asked the old gentleman. 
 
 " No," replied the girl, shaking her head. " It's not very 
 easy for me to' leave him unless he knows why; I couldn't 
 have seen the lady when I did, but that I gaVe him a drink of 
 laudanum before I came iway." 
 
 " Did he awake before you returned ? " inquired the gen- 
 tleman. ' ' 
 
 "No ; and neither he nor any of them suspect me." 
 
 " Good," said the gentleman. "Now listen to me." 
 
 " I am ready," replied the girl; as he paused for a mo- 
 ment, 
 
 "This young lady," the gentleman began, "has communi- 
 cated to me, and to some other friends who can be safely 
 trusted, what you told her nearly a fortnight since. I confess 
 to you that I had d<i)vibfs, at first, whether you were to be im- 
 plicitly 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 
 propose toextorfthe 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, cannot 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 gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 " I will not do it ! I will never do it ! " replied the girl. 
 " Devil that he is, and worse than devil ais he has been to 
 me, I will never do that." 
 
 " You will not ? " said the gentleman, who seemed fully 
 prepared for this answer. 
 
 " Never I " returned the girl. 
 
 "Tell me why?" 
 
 " For one reason," rejoined the girl firmly, "for one rea- 
 son, that the lady knows and will stand by me in, I know she 
 ■will, for I have her promise ; and for this other reason, be- 
 sides, 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 toge- 
 ther, and' I'll not turn upon them, who jhight-^^ny of them — 
 have turned upon me, but didn't, bad aSthey are." 
 
 " Then," said the gfinlieinani' quickly, as' if tliis had been 
 
2^ OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 the point he had been aiming to attain; "put Monks into my 
 hands, and leave him to me to deal witii." 
 
 " What if he turns against the others ? " 
 
 " I prqmise you that in that case, if the truth is forced 
 from him, there the matter will rest ; there must be circmn 
 stances in Oliver's little history which it would be painful to 
 drag before the public eye, and if the tn»tii is once elicited, 
 they shall go scot free." 
 
 " And if it is not? " suggested the girL 
 
 " Then," pursued the gentleman, " this Fagin shall not be 
 brought to justice without your consent. In sudi a case I 
 could show you reasons, I think, which would induce you to 
 yield it." 
 
 " Have I the lady's promise for that ? " asked the girl. 
 
 " You have," replied Rose. " My true and faii^ifiil 
 pledge." 
 
 " Monks would never learn how you knew what you do ? " 
 said the girl, after a sliort 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 Utfle child," 
 said the girl j(f ter another interval of silence, " but I will take 
 your words." 
 
 After receiving an assurance from both, that she might 
 safely do so, she proceeded in a voice so low that it was often 
 difficult for the listener to discover even the purport of what 
 she said, to describe, by name and situation, the public-hou^e 
 whence she had -been followed that night Frpm the manner 
 in which she occasionally paused, it appeared as if the gentle- 
 man were making some hasty notes of the information she 
 communia%ted- When she had thoroughly explained the lo- 
 calities of the place, the best position from which to watch it 
 without exciting observation, and the night and hour on which 
 Monks was most in the habit of frequenting it, she seemed to 
 consider for a few moments, for the purpose of recalling his 
 features and appearance more forcibly to her recollection. 
 
 " He is taii," said the @a:l, "and a strongly made man, 
 but not stout ; he has a lurking walk ; and as iie 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 might 
 ^most l)eU him by that alone. His face is dark, like his hair 
 
OLIVER TWfST. 345 
 
 and eyes ; and, although he cap-'t be more than six or eight 
 and twenty, withered and haggard. His lips are often, dis- 
 colored and disfigured with the marks of teeth; for he has 
 desperate fits, and sometimes even bites his hand? and covers 
 them with wounds — ^why did you start ? " said the girl, stop- 
 ping suddenly. 
 
 The gentleman replied, in a hurried manner, that he was 
 not conscious of having done so, and begged her to proceed. 
 
 " Part of this," said, the girl, " I've drawn out from, other 
 people at the house I tell you of, for I Jiaye only seen him 
 twice, 'and both times he was covered np in a large cloak. 
 I think that's all I can give you to know him by. Stay 
 though," she added. " Upon his throat : so high 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 scg-ld? " .cried tjie gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 " How's this? " said the girl. " You know him ! " 
 
 The young lady utter-sd a cry of surprise, and for a few 
 moments they were ?0 still that the listener could distinctly 
 bear them breathe. 
 
 " I think I do," said the gentleman, breaking silence. " I 
 -should by your description. We shall see. Many people are 
 singularly like each other. It may not be the same." 
 
 . As he expressed himself to this effect, ■wifh assumed care- 
 lessness, he took a step or two nearer the concealed spy, as 
 the latter could tell from the distinctness with which lie heard 
 him mutter, "It must be he ! " 
 
 "Now," he said, retuniing : so it seemed by the sound • to 
 the spot where he had stood before, " you have given us ipost 
 valuable assistance, young woman, and I wish you to be the 
 better for it. What can I do to serve you ? " 
 
 "Nptjiing," replied Nancy. 
 
 " You'w0i not persist in saying that,'' rejoined the gentle- 
 man, 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, weeping. "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 en- 
 ergies mis-spent, and such priceless treasures lavished, as tjje 
 Creator bestows but once .sind never grants again, but, for the 
 
2^o OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 future, you- rniy hope. I do not say that it is in our power to 
 offer' you peace of heart and mind, for that must come as you 
 seek it ; but a qiiiet asylum, either in England, or, if you fear 
 to remain here, in some foreign country, it is not only within 
 the compass of our ability but our most anxious wish to 
 secure you. Before the dawn of morning, before this river 
 wakes to the first glimpse of daylight, you shall be placed as 
 entirely beyond the reach of your former associates, and leave 
 as utter an absence of all trace behind you, as if you were to 
 disappear from the earth this moment. Come ! I would'not 
 have you go back tq' eixchange one word with any old com- 
 pahion, or take one look at any old haunt, or breatiie the very 
 air which is pestilence and death to you. Quit them all, while 
 there is time and opportunity ! " 
 
 " She will be persuaded now," cried the young lady. 
 " She hesitates, I am sure." , . 
 
 "I fear not, my dear," said the gentleman. 
 
 " No, sir' I do not," replied the gii-1, aftei- a short struggle. 
 " I am chained to my old life. ' I loathe and hate it now, but 
 I cannot leave it. I must have gonfe too far to turn back, — ■ 
 and yet I don't know, for if you had spok^t^ to me so, some 
 time ago, I should have laughed it off. -But," she said, look- 
 ing hastily round, " this fear comes over me again. I must go 
 home." • 
 
 " Home ! " repeated the young lady, with great stress upon 
 .the word.' 
 
 ^ " Hoine, lady," rejoined the girl. " To such a home as I 
 
 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 getitleman, with a sigh.' " We 
 compromise her safety, perhaps, by staying here! We may 
 ha,ve 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 yoW, lady. 
 Look at that dark water. How many times do you read of 
 sudh as I 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," said the young lady, sobbing. 
 
oliPer twist. 3^1 
 
 " It will never reach your ears, dear lady, and God forbid 
 such horrors should ! " replied the girl. " Good-night, good- 
 night 1 " 
 
 The gentleman turned away. 
 
 " This purse," cried the young lady. " Take it for my 
 sake, that you may have some resource in ah hour of need 
 and trouble." 
 
 "No!" replied the girl. "I have not d'one this for 
 money. Let me have that to think of. And yet— give me 
 something that you have worn : I should like to have some- 
 thing — no, no, not a ring — ^your gloves or handkerchief — any- 
 thing that I can keep, as having belonged to you, sweet lady. 
 There. Bless you! God bless you. Good-night, good- 
 night ! " 
 
 The violent agitation of the girl, and tlie 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, listening. "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 aire gone." 
 
 Rose Maylie lingered, but the old gentleman 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 arose, and with feeble and tottering steps 
 ascended to the street. The astonished listener remained 
 motionless on his post for some minutes afterwards, and hav- 
 ing 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 thewall, in the same 
 manner as he had descended. 
 
 Peeping outj more than once, when he reached the top, to 
 make sure that he was unobserved, Noah Claypole darted 
 away at his utmost speed, and made for the Jew's house as 
 fast as his legs would carry hitn. 
 
352 OLIVER TWIST 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 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 sounds appear to slumber, and profligacy and riot have 
 
 staggered home to dream ; it was at this still and silent hour, 
 
 that Fagin sat watching in his old lair, with face so distorted 
 
 /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 tnat 
 stood upon a table by his side. His right hand was raised to 
 his lips, and as, absorbed 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 Clay- 
 pole, fast asleep. Towards him the old man sometimes di- 
 rected his eyes for an instant, and then brought them back 
 again to the candle ; which with a 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 ; hatred of the girl who had dared to palter 
 with strangers ; an utter distrust of the sincerity of her re- 
 fusal 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 which, following close upon each 
 other with rapid and ceaseless whirl, shot through the brain 
 of Fagin, as every evil thought and blackest purpose lay 
 working at his heart. 
 
 He sat without changing his attitude in the least, or ap- 
 pearing to take the smallest heed of time, until his quick eal 
 seemed to be attracted by a footstep in the street. 
 
 "At last," he muttered, wiping his diy aad fevered mouth 
 " At last ! " 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 3^2 
 
 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 down and throwing back his outer coat, the man dis- 
 played 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 
 trduble enough to get ; I thought I should have been here 
 three hours ago." 
 
 Fs^in 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 sat over against each other, face to face, 
 he looked fixedly at hiin, with his lips quivering so violently, 
 and his face so altered by the emotions which had mastered 
 him, that the housebreaker involuntarily 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 for ? " 
 
 Fagin raised his right hand, and shook his trembling fore- 
 finger 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 miist look to myself here." 
 
 " No, no," rejcrihed Fagin, finding his voice. " It's litot — 
 you're iiot the person. Bill. I've tio — no fault to find with 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, yoii haven't, haven't you ? " said Sikes, looking 
 sternly- at him, and ostentatiously passing a pistol into a more 
 convenient pocket. " That's lucky — for one of us. Which 
 one that is, don't matter." 
 
 " I've got that to tell you. Bill," said Fagin, drawing his 
 chair hearer, " 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 pretty well settled that, 
 in her own mind, already." 
 
 Sikes looked with an aspect of great perplexity into the 
 Jew's face, and reading no satisfactory explanation of the rid- 
 dle 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. C^n youJ- mouth and say wot you've got 
 
3S4 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 to say in plain words. Out, with it, you thunaering old cur, 
 out with it ! " / , 
 
 " Suppose that lad that's lying there " Fagin began. 
 
 Sikeis turned round to where Noah was sleeping, as if lie 
 had not previously observed him. " Well ! " he said, resum- 
 ing his former position. 
 
 " Suppose that lad," pursued Fagin, " was to peach — to 
 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, describe every mark that they might know 
 us by, and the crib where we might be most easily taiken. 
 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 faiicy ; not 
 grabbed, trapped, tried, earwigged by the parson and brought 
 to it on bread and'wa-ter, — but pf his own fancy ; to please 
 his own; taste ; stealing out at nights to find those most, inter- 
 ested against us, .and: peaching to them. Do you hear me?" 
 cried jthe Jew, ihis eyes flashing with rage. " Suppose lie did 
 all this, what then ? " 
 
 "What then!" replied Siloes; with- a tremendous oath. 
 " If he was left alive till I camp, I'd grind, his skull under the 
 iron heel of my boot into as many grains as there are hairs 
 upon his head.". 
 
 "What if /did it ! " cried Fagin, almost in a yell. " I^ that 
 know so much,, and could, hang so many besides myself ! " 
 
 "I don't know," replied Sikes, clenchyig Jiis teeth and 
 turning white at the mere suggestion. " I'd do something in 
 the jail that 'ud get me put in irons : and if I was tri^d; aloog 
 ■with you, I'd fall upon you with them in the open court, a^d 
 beat your brains out afore the peopje. 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?," 
 
 " Would;!,! " said the hoijsebreaker. " Try me." 
 
 i" If it was Charley, or the Dodger, or Bet, or " 
 
 "I don't care who," replied Sikes impatieiitly., " Who- 
 ever it was, I'd serve them the, same." 
 
 Fagin looked hard 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 fonvard in his chair : look- 
 ing on with his hands upon his knees, as if \j?opd6ring much 
 what all this questioning and prepara,tion was to end in. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 355 
 
 , " Bolter, Bolter! ,Po,or lad ! '■ said Fagin, looking up with 
 an exprression of devilish anticipation, and speaking slowly 
 and with marked emphasis. " He's tired — tired with watch- 
 ingfor her so long,— ^watching for her, Bill." ; ,,. 
 
 " Wot d'ye mean ? " asked Sikes, drawing back. 
 
 Fagin made no answer, but bending over the sleeper again, 
 hauled him into a' sitting posture. When his assumed name 
 had been repeated several times, Noah rubbed his eyes, and, 
 giving a heavy yawn, lookjed 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. ,,<-i! :. ' , :r i <- ■ 
 
 " That about^-NANCY," sai.di Fagin, clutching Sikes by the 
 wrist, as; if to prevent his leavijag the house before he had 
 heard enough. " You followed her ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "To: London Bridget" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Where she met two people ? " 
 
 " So she did," 
 
 " 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 — and to tell her what house it was that- we meet at, and 
 go to, which she did^^arid where it eiouLd be best watched 
 from, which- she :did — and, what tinie the people went there, 
 which she did. SJie did all this. She told it ajl every word 
 without a threat, without a murmur — she did — did she not ? " 
 cried Fagin, half mad with fury. 
 
 " All right," replied Noah, scratching his head. " That's 
 just what it was !" , 
 
 " What did they say, about last Sunday ? " , 
 
 "About last Sunday ! ": replied Noah, considering. " Why 
 I told yer that before." ^ 
 
 "Again. Tell it agaip!" cried Fagin, tightening his grasp 
 on Sikes, and brandishing his other hand- aloft, as the foam ' 
 flew- frpm; his lips. 
 
 "They asked her," said, Noah, who, as he grew more 
 wakeful, seetried to have a dawning perception who Sikes was, 
 *' they asked her why she didn't come, last Sunday, as sh? 
 promised. She saii she cpuldrij't." rj,.,, . , , 
 
 "Why— why? T«ll him that." _,„,,., ,,: 
 
2g6 oliVeh twist. 
 
 " Because, she was forcibly kept at home by Bill, the man 
 she had told them of before," replied Noah. 
 
 "What more of him ?" cried Fagin. " What more of the 
 man she had told them of before? Tell him that, tell him 
 that." 
 
 " Why, that she couldn't very easily gfet out of doors un- 
 less he knew where she was going to," said Noah j " and so 
 the -first time she went to see the lady, she— ha! ha! ha! it 
 made me laugh -(vhen she said it, that it did — she gav© him 
 a dririk of laudanum. 
 
 "Hell's fire!" cried Sikes, breaking fiercely from the 
 Jew. " Let me go ! " 
 
 Flinging the old man from him, he rushed from the room, 
 and darted, wildly arid furiously, up the stairs. 
 
 " Bill, Bill ! " cried Fagin, following him hastily. " A 
 word. Only a word." 
 
 The word would not have been exchanged, 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 
 saife. Let me out, I say ! " ' 
 
 " Hear me speak a Wotd," rejoined Fagin, laying his hand 
 upon the lock. " You won't be — " 
 
 " Well," replied the other. 
 
 " You won't be— too — violent. Bill ? " 
 
 The day was breaking, and there was light etidugh foi" the 
 men to see each other's faees. They exchanged one brief 
 glance ; there was a fire in the eyes of both, which could not 
 be mistaken. 
 
 '■ I rnean," said Fagin, showing that he felt all disguise 
 was now useless, " not too violent for safety. Be crafty. Bill, 
 and not top bold." ' 
 
 Sikes made no reply ; but, pulling open the door, of which 
 Fagin had turned the lock, dashed into the silent streets. 
 
 Without one pause, oi: moment's consideration ; without 
 orice turning his 'Hea^i 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 conipressed that the strained jaw seemed stattihg 
 through his skin j 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 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 3^^^ 
 
 Up. the stairs ; and entering his own room, double-locked the 
 door, and lifting a heavy table against it, drew back the cur- 
 tain 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 ! " said the girl, with an expression of 
 pleasure at his return. 
 
 " 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 for wot I've got to do." . 
 
 "Bill," said the girl, in the low voice of alarm, " why do 
 you look like that at me ! " ,;, ,-, ., 
 
 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 strengl3i 
 of mortal fear, — " I — 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, sup- 
 pressing his breath, "You were watched" to-night; 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. .OhJ: tbiiik.|Of.all I. 
 have given up, only this one night, for you. You stiall 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 bis 
 breast, " the gentleman and that dear lady, told me to-night 
 of a home in some foreign country where I could end my days 
 16 
 
358 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 in solitude and peace. Let me see them again; and beg them, 
 on my knees, to show the same mercy and goodtiess' 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 repent. 
 They told me so — I feel it now — but we must have time — a 
 little, little time ! " 
 
 The house-breaker freed one arm, and grasped his pistol. 
 The certainty of immediate detection if he fired, flashed across 
 h;,s 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 
 herself, with difficulty, on her knees, drew from her bosom a 
 white handkerchief-^— Rose Maylie's own^-and holding it up,' 
 in her folded hands, as high towards Heaven as her feeble 
 strength would allow, breathed one prayfer 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. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 THE FLIGHT OF SIKES. 
 
 Of all bad deeds that, under cover of the darkness, had 
 been committed within wide London's bounds since night 
 Lung oveir it, that was the worst. Of all the horrors that rose 
 ■»/ith 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 glory. Through costly- 
 colored 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 the sight had been a 
 
OLIVER TWIST. ^59 
 
 ghiajstly'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 motion of the Hand ; and, with terror 
 added to rage, he had struck and struck again. Once he 
 threw a rug over it ; but it was worse to fancy the eyes, and 
 imagine tlrem moving towards him, than to^ see them glaring 
 upward, as if watching the reflection of the pool of gore that 
 quivered and danced in the sunlight on the ceiling. He had 
 plucked it off again. And theiE was the body — mere flesh 
 and blood, no more — ^but such flesh, and so much blood 1 
 
 He struck a light, kindled a fire, and thrust the club into 
 it. There was 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 bum away, and smoulder into ashes. He washed 
 hitnself, and nibbed his clothes ; there were spots that would 
 not be removed, but he cut the pieces out, and burnt them. 
 How those stains, were dispersed aba;ut the room f The very 
 feet of the d^ were bloody. 
 
 All this time he had, never once, turned his back upon 
 the corpse; no, not for a, moment. Such preparations com- 
 pleted, he moved, backward, towards the door; dragging the 
 dog with him, lest he should soil his feet anew and carry out 
 new evidences of the crime into the streets. He shut the 
 door softly, locked it, took the k^, and left the house. 
 
 He crossed- over, and glanced up at the window, to be sure 
 that nothing was visible from the outside. There was the 
 curtain 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 
 rapidly away. 
 
 He went through Islington ; strode up the hill at Highgate 
 on which stands the stone in honor of Whittington ; turned 
 down to iHighgate Hill, unsteady of purpose, and uncertain 
 where, to go ; struck off to the right again, almost as soon as 
 he began to descend it ;. and taking the foot-path across the 
 fields, skirted Caen Wood, and so came out on Hampstead 
 Heath. Traversing the hollow by the Vale of Health, he 
 
360 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 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 
 already traversed — then wandering up and down in fields, and 
 lying on ditches' brinks to rest, and starting up to make for 
 some other spot, and do the same, and ramble on again. 
 
 Where could he go, that was near and not ' too public, to 
 get some meat and drink ? 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 the 
 doors — seemed to view him with suspicion. Back he turned 
 again, without the courage to purchase bit or drop, thoiigh 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, andstill 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 
 for: Hatfield. . , . 
 
 It was nine o'clock at night, when the man, quite^ tired out, 
 and the dog, limping and lame from the unaccustomed exer- 
 cise, 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 guided them to the spot. 
 There was a fire in the tap-room, and some country-laborers 
 were drinking before it. They made room for the stranger, 
 but he sat down in the furthest corner, and ate and drank 
 alone, or rather with his dog : to whom he cast a morsel of 
 food from tijne to timei 
 
 The conversation of the men assembled here, turned upon 
 the neighboring land, and farmers; and when those topics 
 were exhausted,; upon the age of some old man who had been 
 buried on the previous Sunday ;' the young men present con- 
 sidering him ver)' old, and the old men present declaring him 
 
OLIVER TWIST. ^61 
 
 to have been quite young-^— not older, one white-haired grand- 
 father said, than he was — with ten or fifteen year 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 cornei', and had almost dropped asleep, when 
 he was half awakened by the noisy entrance of a new-comer. 
 
 This was an antic fellow, half-pedler and half mountebank, 
 who travelled about the country on foot to vend hones, strops^ 
 razors, washballs, harness-paste, medicine for dogs and horses, 
 cheap perfumery, cosmetics, and .such-like wares, which he 
 carried in a case slung to his back. His entrance was the 
 s^nal for various homely jokes with the countrymen, which 
 slackened not until he had made his supper, and opened his 
 box of tteasures, wllfen he ingeniously contrived to unite busi- 
 ness with amusement. 
 
 " And what be ttat stoof .' Good to eat, Harry .' " asked 
 a grinningKCOuntryman; pointing to some composition-cakes in 
 one comer. 1 
 
 " This," said the fellow, producing one, " this is the in- 
 fallible 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, merino, 
 muslin, bombazeen, or woollen stuff. Wine-stains, fruit-stains, 
 beer-stains, water-stains, paint-stains, pitch-stains, any stains, 
 all come out at one rub with the infalKble and invaluable 
 ccmiposition. If a lady stains her honor, she has only need to 
 swallow one cake and she's cured at once — for it's poison. 
 If a gentleman wants to prove this, 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 flavor, oonisequently 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 vendor olsserving this, increased in 
 loquacity. 
 
 "It's all bought up as fast as it can be made," said the 
 fellow. " There are fourteen water-mills, six steam-engines, 
 and a galvanic battery, always- a-wprldng upon it, and they 
 can't make it fast enough, though the men work so hard that 
 they die off, and the widows is pensioned directly, with twenty 
 pound a-year for each of the children,, and a premium of fifty 
 for twins. One penny a square! Two halfpence is all the 
 
j(53 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 same, and four farthings 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 company, that I'll take 
 clean out, before he can oi-der me a pint of ale." 
 
 " Hah 1 " cried Slices starting up. "Give tliat back." 
 
 " I'll 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 gentle- 
 man's hat, no wider than a shilling, but thicker than a half- 
 crown. ■ Whether it is a wine-stain, fruit-stain, beer-stain, wa- 
 ter-stain, paint-stain, pitch-stain, mud-stain, or blood-stain — " 
 . The man got no further, for Sikes with a hideous impreca- 
 tion overthrew the table, and tearing the hat from him, burst 
 out of tlie house. %• 
 
 With the same perversity of feeling £ttd irresolution that 
 had fastened upon him, despite himself, afl day, the murderer, 
 finding that he was not followed, and that they mo^probably 
 considered him some drunken sullen fellow, turnea 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 
 he recognized 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 gamekeeper, came up at the mo- 
 ment, and he handed him a basket which lay ready on the 
 pavement. 
 
 " That's for your people," said the guard. " Now, look 
 alive in there, will you. Damn that 'er bag, it warn't ready 
 night afore last ; this won't do, you know ! " 
 
 " Anything new up in town, Ben ? " asked the gamekeeper, 
 drawing back to the window-shutters, the better to admire the 
 horses. 
 
 " No, nothing that I knows on," replied the man, pulling 
 on his gloves. " Corn's up a little. I heerd talk of a murder 
 too, down Spitfields way, but I don't reckon much upon 
 it." 
 
 " Oh, that's quite true," said a gentleman inside, who' was 
 looking out of the window. " And a 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-^" 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 363 
 
 " Now, Ben," replied the coachman impatiently. 
 
 " Damn tliat 'ere bag,^' said the guard ; '' are you gone 
 to sleep in there ? " 
 
 " Coming ! " cried the office keeper, running 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. AU ri — ^ht ! " 
 
 The horn sounded a few cheerful notes, and tfa€,.eoach was 
 gone. 
 
 Sikes remained standing in the strpet, apparently unmoved 
 by what he had just heard, and agitated by no stroogsr f<ifel- 
 ing than a doubt where to go. At length he went back again, 
 and took the road which leads from Hatfield to St. Albans. 
 
 He went ori doggte^y ; but ^§ he left the town behind him, 
 and plunged, -into ^f s olitude and datkness of the road, he 
 felt a dread .and aw* doping upon him which sliook him to 
 the core. Ev^ry object before him, substance or shadow, still 
 or moving, t^ok the semblance of some fearful thing ; but 
 these feaR 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 alot^. He could hear its garments rustling in the 
 leaves, and every breath of wind came laden with that last low 
 cry. If he stopped it did the same. If he ran, it followed — 
 not running too : that woulcj have been a relief ; but like a 
 corpse endowed with the mere machinery of life, and borne on 
 one slow melancholy wind that never rose or fell. 
 
 At times, he turned, with desperate determination, resolved 
 to beat this phantom off, though it should look him dead ; but 
 the hair rose on 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 was behind now — always. 
 He leaned his back against a bank, and felt that it stood 
 above him, visibly out against the cold night-sky. He threw 
 liimself upon 'the road — on liis back upon the road. At his 
 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 slied in a field he passed, that offered sl>elter 
 for the night Before the door, were three tall poplar trees,; 
 
364 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 ■which made it verydark within ; and the wind moaned through 
 them with a dismal wail. He could not walk on, till daylight 
 came again ; and here he stretched himself 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 them than think upoii them, appeared in the 
 midst of the darkness : light in themselves, but giving light 
 to nothing. There were but two, but they were everywhere. 
 If he shut out the sight, there came the room with every well- 
 known object — some, indeed, that he woyld have forgotten, 
 if he had gone over its contents from memory — each in its ac- 
 customed place. The body was in its place, and its eyes were 
 as he saw them when he stole away. I^ejgot up, and rushed 
 into the field without. The figure W^s behind him; He re- 
 entered the shed, and shrunk down once more. The eyes 
 were there, before he had laid himself along. 
 
 And here he remained in such terror as none but he can 
 know, trembling in every limb, and the cold sweat starting 
 from every pore, when suddenly there arose upon the niglit- 
 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 cause of alarm, 
 was something to him. He 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 
 Gould hear the cry of Fire ! mingled with tlie ringing of an 
 alarm-bell, the fall of heavy bodies, and the crackling of 
 flames as they twined 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,- 
 bustle. It was like new life to him. He darted onward — 
 straight, headlong — dashing through brier and brake, and 
 leaping gate and fence as madly as his dog, who careered 
 with loud and sounding bark before him. 
 
 He came upon the spot. There were half-dressed figures 
 tearing to and fro, some endeavoring to drag the frightened 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 265 
 
 horses from tfee stables, others driving the cattle from the 
 yard and out-hoiises, and others coming laden from the burn- 
 ing pile, amidst a shower of falling sparks, and the tumbling 
 down of red-hot beams. The apertures, where doors and win- 
 dows stood an hour ago, disclosed a mass of raging fire '; walls 
 rocked and cruniWedinto the burning well ; the molten lead 
 and iron poured down, white hot 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 spirting 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 : nov/ working at 
 the pumps, and now hurrying 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 
 buildings, over floors that quaked and trembled with his 
 weight, under the lee of falling 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 blackened ruins 
 remained. 
 
 This mad excitement over, there returned, with tenfold 
 force, the dreadful consciousness of his crime. He looked 
 suspiciously about him, for the men were C&nversing'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 re- 
 freshment. 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 country." 
 
 He hurried off, and walked till he almost dropped upon 
 the ground; then lay down in a lane, and had a Ibng, but 
 broken and uneasy sleep. He wandered on again, irresolute 
 and undecided, and oppressed with the fear of another soli- 
 tary night. 
 
 Suddenly, he took the desperate resolution of going back 
 to London. 
 
266 OLIVER TWI^T. 
 
 " 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 lie 
 by for a week or so, and forcing bliint from Fagin, get abroad 
 to France ? Damme, I'll risk it." 
 
 He acted upon this impulsie without delay, and choosing 
 the least frequented roads began his journey back, resolved, 
 to lie toricealed 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 
 probably 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 
 prepa:rations were making j whether his instinct apprehended 
 something of their purpose, or the robber's sidelong look at him 
 was sterner than ordinary, he skulked a little farther in the 
 rear than usual, and cowered 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. 
 
 " Do you hear me call ? Come here ? " cried Sikes. 
 
 The animal came up from the very force of habit ; but as 
 Sikes stobped to attach the handkerchief to his throat, he ut- 
 tered a low growl ! and started back. 
 
 " Come back! ".said the robber. 
 
 The dog wagged his tail, but moved not. Sikes made a 
 running noose and called him aga;in. 
 
 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 
 I waited in the expectation that he would return. But no dog 
 ' appeared, and atTength he resumed his journey. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. ^ 36y 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 MONKS AND MR, BROWNLOW AT LENGTH MEET. THEIR CON- 
 VERSATION, AND THE INTELLIGENCE THAT INTERRUPTS IT. 
 
 The twilight was beginning to close in, when Mr. Brown- 
 low alighted from a hackney-eoach at his own door, and 
 knocked softly. The door- being, opened, a sturdy man got 
 out of the coach aiid stationed himself on one side of the 
 steps, while another man, who had been seated on the bpx, 
 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 ? " asked Monks. 
 
 " How dare you urge me to it, young man ? " replied Mr. 
 Brownlow, confronting him with a steaJdy look. "Are. you 
 mad enough to leave this house ? Unha,nd 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 will I have you apprehended 
 on a charge of fraud and robbery. I am resolute and im- 
 movable. If you are determined 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. "Those 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 
 
368 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 — I say again, throw yourself for protection on tlie law. I will 
 appeal to the law too ; but when you have gone too fai 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 per- 
 fect firmness and composure. " If you wish me to prefer my 
 charges publicly, and consign you to z. punishment the extent 
 of which, although I can, with a shudder, foresee, I cannot con- 
 trol, once more, I say, you know the way. If not, and you 
 appeal to my forbearance, and the mercy of those you. have 
 deeply injured, seat yourself without 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. Brownlow. " A word 
 from me, and the alternative has gone for ever." 
 
 Still the man hesitated. 
 
 " I have not the inclination to parley," 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 ? " 
 
 " None." 
 
 Monks looked at the old gentleman, with an anxious eye ; 
 but, reading in his countenance nothing but severity and de- 
 termination, walked into the room, and, shrugging his shoul 
 -ders, sat down. 
 
 " Lock the door on the outside," said 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," said Monks, throwing 
 down his hat and cloak, " from my father's oldest friend." 
 
 " It is 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 — ^bul 
 Heaven willed otherwise — have made her my young wife ;, it 
 
OLIVER TWIST. ^gg 
 
 is becausis my seared heart clung to him, from that time forth, 
 through all his trials and errors, till he died ; it is because old 
 recollections and associations filled my heart, and even the 
 sight of you brings with it old thoughts of him ; it is because 
 of all these things that I am moved to treat you gently-rtow — 
 yes, Edward Leeford. even now — and blush for your unworthi- 
 ness who bear the name." 
 
 "What has the name to do with it?" asked the othei, 
 after contemplating, half in silence, and half in dogged won- 
 der, the agitation of his companion. " What is the name to 
 me?'-' ■ ■ 
 
 " Nothing," replied Mr. Brownlow, " nothing to you. But 
 it was ^erj, 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 — ver}'." 
 
 "This is all mightyfine," said Monks (to- retain his as- 
 sumed designation) after a long silence, during which he had 
 jerked himself in sullen defiance to and fro, aiid Mr. Brown- 
 low had sat, shading his face with his hand. " But what do 
 you want with me ? " 
 
 "You have a brother," said' Mr. Brownlow, rousing him- 
 self : "a brother, the whisper of Whose name in your ear 
 when I came behind you in the street, was, in itself, almost 
 enough to make you accompany me hither, in wonder and 
 alarm." 
 
 "I have no brother,'' replied Monks. "You know I was 
 an oiily 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 by and by. I know that of 
 the wretched marriage, into which family pride, and the most 
 sordid and narrowest of all ■ ambition, forced your unhappy 
 father when a mere boy, you were the sole and most unnatural 
 issue.' 
 
 " I don't care for hard names," interrupted Monks v/ith a 
 jeering laugh. " You know the fact, and that's enough for 
 iiie." 
 
 " 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 
 
 24 
 
370 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 formalities were succeeded by open taunts, how indifference 
 gave place to dislike, dislike to hate, and hate to loathing, until 
 at last they wrenched the clanking bond asunder, and retiring 
 a wide space apart, carried each a galling fragment, of whicii 
 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 yearg." 
 
 " Well, they were separated," said Monks, "and. what of 
 that?". 
 
 " When they had been separated for some time," returned 
 Mr. BrownloWj " and your mother^ wholly given up to con- 
 tinental frivolities, had utterly forgotten the young husbajid 
 ten good years. her junior, who, with pro&pects blighted, lin^ 
 gered on at home, he fell among new frie^ids. This circum- 
 stance, at least, you know already." 
 
 " 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 you actions, assures me that 
 you have never forgotten it, or ceased to think of it with bit- 
 terness," returned Mr. Brownlow. " I speak of fifteen years 
 ago, when you were not more than eleven years old, and your 
 father but one-and-thirty — for he was, I repeat, a boy, when 
 his father ordered him to marry. Must I go back to events 
 which 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. " 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 -a-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 other a mere child of two or three years 
 old." 
 
 " What's this to me ? " asked Monks. 
 
 " They resided," said Mr. Brownlow, without seeming to 
 hear the interruption, "in a part of the country to which your 
 father in his wandering had repaired, and where he had taken 
 up his abode. Acquaintance, intimacy, friendship, fast fol- 
 lowed on each other. Your father was gifted as few men are- 
 He had his sister's soul and person. As the old officer knew 
 
OLIVER TWIST. ^^j 
 
 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 upon the floor: seeing this,, he immediately 
 resumed : 
 
 " The end of a year found him contracted, solemnly con- 
 tDacted, to that daughter ; the object of the first, true, ardent, 
 only passion of a guileless 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. Brownlow, " and such tales usually are ; 
 if it were one of untnix.-^d 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 be^n instrumental in occasioning, 
 left him .his panacea for all griefs — Money. It was necessary 
 that he should immediately repair to Rome, whither this man 
 had sped for heaj:th;:and wJxere he had died, leaving his affairs 
 in great confusion. 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 — no will'-^o that the 
 whole property fell to her and you." . . 
 
 At this part of the recital Monks held his breath, and lis- 
 tened 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 experi- 
 enced a sudden relief, and wiped his hot face and hands. 
 
 " Before he went abroad, and as he passed through Lon- 
 don 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," interrupted Monks in a tone in- 
 tended to appear incredulous, but savoring more of disagree- 
 able surprise. 
 
 " He came to me, and left with me, among some otherthings, 
 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 on his hasty jourliey. He was worn by anxiety 
 and remorse almost to a shadow ; talked in a wild, distracted 
 ■way, of ruin and dishonor worked by himself ; confided to me 
 his intention to convert his whole property, at any loss, into 
 
3^2 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 money, and, having settled on his wife and you a portion ol 
 his recent acquisition, to fly the country — I guessed too well 
 he would not fly alone — and never 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 niore particular confession, 
 promising to write and tell me all, and after that to see ia^ 
 once again, for the last time on earth. Alas ! That was thfe 
 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, t the scene of his — I will use the 
 term the world would freely use, for worldly harshness or 
 favor are now alike to him — of Ms guilty love, resolved that 
 if my fears were realized that erring child should find one 
 heart and home to shelter and compassionate her. The 
 family had left that part a week before ; they had called in 
 such trifling debts as were outstanding, diseharged them, 
 and left the place by night. Why, or whither, none can 
 tell." 
 
 Monks drew his breath yet more freely, and looked round 
 with a smile of triumph. 
 
 " When your brother," said Mr. Brownlow, 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 in- 
 famy " 
 
 " What ? " cried Monks. 
 
 " By me," said Mr. Brownlow. " I told you I should in- 
 terest you before long. I say by me — I see that your cunning 
 associate suppressed my name, although for aught he knew, 
 it would be quite strange to your ears. When he was rescued 
 by me, then, and lay recovering from sickness in my house, 
 his strong resemblance to this 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 flashing 
 on one in a vivid dream. I need not tell you he was snared 
 away before I knew his history " 
 
 " Why not ? " asked Monks hastily. 
 
 " Because you know it well." 
 
 "11" 
 
 " Denial to me is vain," replied Mr. Brownlow. " 1 shall 
 show you that I know more than that." 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 373 
 
 "You — ^you — can't prove anything against me," stammered 
 Monks. " I defy you to do it ! " 
 
 " We shall see," returned the old gentleman *ith a search- 
 ing 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 mystery if anybody could, and as when I had 
 last heard of you you were on yoiir own estate in the West 
 Indies — whither, as you well know, you Retired upoh your 
 mother's death to escape the consequences of vicious courses 
 here — I made the voyage. You had left it, months before, 
 and were supposed to be in London, but no one could tell where. 
 I returned. Your agents had no clue to your residence. You 
 came and went, they said, as strangely as you had ever done : 
 sometimes for days together and sometimes not for months : 
 keeping to all appearance the same low haunts and mingling 
 with the same infamous herd who had been your associates 
 when a fierce Ungovernable 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 ? Fraud and robbery are high-sounding words — 
 justified, you think, by a fancied resemblance in some young 
 imp to an idle dauh of a de9,d man's Brother ! You don't 
 even know that a child was born of this maudlin pair ! You 
 don't even know that." 
 
 " I did not ," replied Mr. Brownlow, rising too ; "but with- 
 in the 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 sbmfe child likely. to be 
 the result of this sad connection, which child was born, and 
 accideritally encountered by you, when your suspicions were 
 first awakened by his resemblance to his father. You repaired 
 to the place of his birth. There existed proofs — proofs long 
 suppressed — of his birth and parentage. Those proofs were 
 destroyed by you, and now, in your own words to your ac- 
 complice the JeWj ^ihe 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, coward,' liar,^ 
 you, who hold y<iu.x councils with thieves and murderers in 
 dark rooms at night, — you, whose plots and v/iles have 
 brought a violent death upon the head of one worth millions 
 
274. OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 such as you, — ^you, who, from your cradle were gall ^ijd/ bitter- 
 ness to your own father'^s heart, and, in whom all evil passions, 
 vice, and profligacy, festered, till they found a vent in a 
 hideous disease which has made your face an index even to 
 your mind — you, Edward Leeford, do you still brave me ! " 
 
 " No, no, no ! " returned the coward, overwhelmed by 
 these accumulated charges. 
 
 " Every word ! " cried the old gentleman, " every word 
 that has passQ^ between you and this detested villain, is 
 known to me. Shadows on the wall have caught your whis- 
 pers, and brought thpm to my ear ; the sight of the persecuted 
 child has turned vice itself, and given it the courage, and al- 
 most the attributes of virtue. Murder has been done, to 
 which you were, morally if not really a party." 
 
 "No, rio," interposed Monks. "I — I — know nothing of 
 that ; I was going to inquire the truth of the st.ory when you 
 overtook me. I didn't know the cause. I thought it was a 
 common quarrel." 
 
 " It was the partial disclosure ofyour secrets," replied Mr. 
 Brownlow. " Will you disclose the whole .' " 
 
 " Yes, I will." 
 
 " Set your hand to a statement of trutli and facts, and re- 
 peat it before witnesses ? " 
 
 " 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'll 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 offspring of a guilty and most miser- 
 able love. You have not forgotten the provisions of the will. 
 Carry 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, meditating with 
 dark and evil looks on this proposal and the possibilities of 
 evading it : torn by his fears on the one hand and his hatred 
 on the other : the door was hurriedly unlocked, and a gentle- 
 man (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. Brownlow. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 375 
 
 " Yes, yes,'' replied the other. " His dog has been lurk- 
 ing about some old haunt, and there seems little doubt that 
 his master either is, or will be, there, under cover of the dark- 
 ness. Spies are hovering about in every direction. I have 
 spoken to the men who are charged- ;with . his capture, and 
 they tell me he cannot escape. A reward of a hundred 
 pounds is proclaimed by Govemment to-night." 
 
 " I will give fifty more," said Mr. Brownlow. " and pro- 
 claim it with my own lips upon the spot, if I can reach it. 
 Where is Mr. Maylie ? " 
 
 " Harry ? As soon as he had seen your friend here, safe 
 in a coach with you, he hurried off to where he heard this," 
 replied the doctcn:, " and mounting his horse sallied forth to 
 join the first party at some place in the outskirts agreed upon 
 between them." 
 
 " Fagin," said Mr. Brownlow ; " what of him ? " 
 
 " 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 ? " asked Mr. Brownlow, 
 in a low voice, of Monks. 
 
 " Yes," he replied. " You — ^you — will be secret with 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 dpne ? " asked the doctor in a whisper. 
 
 " All that I could hope to do, and even more. Coupling 
 the poor girl's intelligence 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 whole villany 
 which by these lights became plain as day. Write and ap-. 
 point the evening after to-morrow, at seven, for the meeting. 
 We shall be down there, a few hours before, but shall require 
 rest ; especially the young lady, who may have greater need- 
 of firmness than either you or I can quite foresee just now. i 
 But my blood boils to avenge this poor murdered creature. 
 Which way have they taken ? " 
 
 " Drive straight to the office and you will be in time," re 
 plied Mr. Losberne. " I will remain here." 
 
 The two gentlemen hastily separated ; each in a fever of 
 excitement wholly uncontrollable. 
 
376 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 THE PURSUIT AND ESCAPE. 
 
 Near to that part of the Thames on which the church at 
 Rotherhithe abuts, where the buildings on the banks are 
 dirtiest and the vessels on the river blackest with the dust of 
 colliers and the smoke of close-built low-roofed houses, there 
 exists the filthiest, the strangest, the most extraordinary of the 
 many localities that are hidden in Lbndon, wholly unknown; 
 even by name, to the great mass of its inhabitants. 
 
 To reach this place, the visitor has to penetrate through 
 a maze of close, narrow, and muddy streets, thronged by the 
 roughest and poorest of waterside 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 articles of wearing appairel dangle at the sales- 
 man's door, and stream from the house-parapet and windows. 
 Jostling with unemployed laborers of the lowest class, ballast- 
 heavers, coal-whippers, brazen women, ragged thildren, and 
 the raff and refuse of the river, he makes his way with diffi- 
 culty along, assailed by offensive sights and smells from the 
 narrow alleys which branch off on the right and left, and deaf- 
 ened by the clash of ponderous wagons that bear great piles 
 of merchandise from the stacTcs of warehouses that rise from 
 every corner. Arriving, at length, in streets remoter and less- 
 frequented than those through which he has passed: he walks 
 beneath tottering house-fronts projecting over the pavement, 
 dismantled walls that seem to totter as he passes, chimneys 
 half crushed half hesitating to fall, windows giiarded by. rusty 
 iron bars that time and dirt have almost eaten away, every 
 imaginable sign of desolation and neglect. 
 
 In such a neighborhood, beyond Dockhead in the Bor- 
 ough of Southwark, stands Jacob's Island, surrounded by a 
 miiddy ditch, six or eight feet deep and fifteen or twenty wide 
 when the tide is in, once called Mill Pond, but known in the 
 days of this story as Folly Ditch. It is a creek or inlet from 
 the Thames, and can always be filled at high water by open- 
 ing the sluices at the Lead 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 in- 
 
OLIVER TWIST 
 
 311 
 
 habitants of the houses on either side lowering from their 
 back doors and windows, buckets, pails, domestic utensils of 
 all kinds, in which toh^ul the water up ; and when; his eye is 
 turned from these operations to the houses .themselves, 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 slime beneath ; 
 windows, broken .g.nd patched', with poles thrust out, on Vvfhich 
 to dry the 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 thrust- 
 ing themselves out above the mud, and threatening to ffll 
 into it — as some have, done ; dirt-besmeared walls and decay- 
 ing foundations ; 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 crumbling down ; the \vindows are windows no 
 more ; the doors are . falling into the streets ; 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 en- 
 tered upon by those who have the courage ; and there they 
 live, and there they die. They must hayse powerful motives / 
 for a secret residence, or be. reduced to, a ^destitute condition] 
 indeed, who seek a refuge in Jacob's Island. 
 
 In an upper room of one of these houses — a detached 
 house of fair size, ruinous in other respects, but strongly de- 
 fended at door and window: of which. ,l)Qps.e the back com- 
 manded the ditch in manner already described — there was 
 assembled three men, who, regarding each other every now 
 and then with looks expressive of perplexity and expectation, 
 sat for some time in profound and gloomy silence., . One of 
 these was Toby Crackit, another Mr. Chitling, and the third 
 a robber of iifty years, whose nose had been almost beaten in, 
 in some old scuffle, and whose face bore a frightful scar which 
 might probably be traced 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 tvvo old ones got too 
 warm, and had not come here, my fine feller." 
 
 " Why didn't, you, blunder-he^d ! " said Kags. 
 
378 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 "Well, I thought ybu'd have been a little more glad to sea 
 me than this," replied Mr. Chitling, with a melancholy air. 
 
 " Why look'e, 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 a prying 
 an,d smelling about it, it's rather a startling thing to have the 
 honor of a wisit from a young gentleman (however respectable 
 and pleasant a person he maybe to play cards with at con- 
 wenience) 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 is 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 effort to maintain 
 his usual devil-may-care swagger, turned to Chitling and 
 said, ■ 
 
 " When was Fagift took then ? " 
 
 " Just at dinner-time^two o'clock this afternoon. Charley 
 and I made our lucky up the Wash'us chimney, 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 .> " 
 
 " 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 in ad, screaming and raving, and beating 
 her head against the boards ; so they put a strait-wesktit on 
 her and took her to the hospital — and there she is." 
 
 " Wbt's come of yoiing Bates ? " demanded' Kags. 
 
 " He hung about, not to come over here afore dark, but 
 he'll be here soOn," replied Chitling. • " There's nowhere else 
 to go to fiow, for the people at the Cripples are all in custody, 
 and the bar of the ken — I went up there and see it with my 
 own eyes — is filled with traps." 
 
 " This is a smash," observed Toby biting his lips. " There's 
 more than one will go with this." 
 
 "The sessions are on," said Kags : " if they get the inquest 
 over, and Bolter turns King's evidence : as of course he will, 
 from what he's said already : they can prove Fa^n an acces- 
 sory before the fact, arid get the trial on on Friday, and he'll 
 swing in six days from this, by G — ! " 
 
 " You should have heard the people groan," said Chitling; 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 379 
 
 •' the officers fought like devib, 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 
 aboiit him, all muddy; and bleeding, and clung to them as if 
 ■they were his dearest friends. I cah see 'em now, not able to 
 stand upright with the pressing of th6 mob, and dragging him 
 along amongst 'em ; I can see the people jumping up, one 
 behind another, and snarling with their teeth and making at 
 him ; I can see the blood upon his hair and beard, and hear 
 the 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 eaifS; and with his eyes closed got up and paced vio- 
 lently to and fro, like one distracted. 
 
 While '• he Was thus engaged, and the two men sat by 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 dbg had jumped in at an open window ; 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 I'Give us some water for him ; 
 he has run himself faint." 
 
 " He's drank it all up, eveTy drop," said Chilling after 
 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 ! " exclaimed Toby. 
 
 " He's been to the other kfens of course, and finding them^ 
 filled with strangers come on here, where hfe's been many a \ 
 time and often. But where can he have come from first, and 
 hqw comes hei here alone without the other ! " 
 
 " He" — (none of them called the murderer by his old 
 name) — " He can't have made away with hiniself. What do 
 ydu think .' " 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 hfe^s got out of the 
 country, and left the dog behind. He must have given him 
 the slip semehpw, or he wouldn't be so easy." 
 
380 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 This . solution, appearing th^, most probable one, was ad- 
 dopted as the right ; the dog, creeping under a chair, coiled 
 himself up to sleep, without more 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 last two days had made a deep impression on all three, 
 increased by th^ danger and uncertainty of their own position. 
 They drew their chairs closer 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 knocking 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- shaking all over, drew in 
 Ills head. There was no need to tell them who it was ; his 
 pale face was enough. The dpg too was on the" alert in an 
 instant, and ran whinij)g:to,the door. 
 
 "We must let him in," he said, taking up the candle. 
 
 " Isn't there- any help for it? ", asked the other man in a 
 hoarse voice. 
 
 " None. He mnstco\a& 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 handkerchief, 
 and another tied over his head under his hat. He drew them 
 slowly off. Blanched fa,ce, 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 .stood in the middle 
 of the room, but shuddering 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 — aground . it against it — 
 and sat down. 
 
 Not a word had been exchanged. He looked from one 
 to. another jji silence. If an eye were furtively raised and 
 met his, it was instantly averted. When his hollow voice 
 
OLIVER TWIST. jgl 
 
 broke silence, they all three started. They seemed never to 
 have heard its tones before. 
 
 " How came that dog here ? " he asked. 
 
 "Alone. Three hours ago." 
 
 " To-night's paper says that Fagin's took. Is it true, or a 
 lie ? " 
 
 " True." ■ 
 
 They were silent again. 
 
 " Damn you all ! " Sikes, passing his hand across his fore- 
 head. " Have you nothing to say to me .' " 
 
 There was an uneasy movement among them, but nobody 
 spoke. 
 
 " You that keep this house," said Sikes, turning his face "j 
 to Crackit, " do you mean to sell me, or to let me lie here till j 
 this hunt is over 'i " 
 
 " You may 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 ! " he retorted with the same glance behind 
 him. " Wot do they keep such ugly things above the ground 
 for ? — Who's that knocking ? " 
 
 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 tremendous in the s'hrinking 
 off of the three, that the wretched man was willing to pro- 
 pitiate even this lad. Accordingly he nodded, and made as 
 though he would shake hands with him. 
 
 " Let me go into some other room," said the boy, retreat- 
 ing still farther. 
 
 " Charley ! " said Sikes, stepping forward. " Don't you — 
 don't you know me ? " 
 
 " Don't come nearer me," answered the boy^ still retreat^ 
 ing, and looking, with horror in h^s pyes, upon the murderer'^ 
 face. " You monster ! " 
 
 The man stopped half-way, and they 1 ipkgd ^t each othef ; 
 but Sikes's eyes sunk gradually to the ground, 
 17 
 
382 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 " 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'll 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 am here I'll 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'll help me. Murder ! Help ! Down 
 with him 1 " 
 
 Pouring out these cries, and accompanying them with 
 violent gesticulation, the boy actually threw himself, single- 
 handed, upon the strong man, and in the intensity of his en- 
 ergy and the suddenness of his surprise, brought him heavily 
 to the ground. 
 
 The three spectators seemed quite stupefied. They offered 
 no interference, and the boy and man rolled on the ground 
 together ; the former, heedkss of the blows that showered 
 upon him, wrenching his hands tighter and tighter in the gar- 
 ments about the murderer'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 number — 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 un- 
 even pavement. The gleam of lights increased ; the footsteps 
 came more iwiickly and nojsily on. Then, came a loud knock- 
 ing at the door, and then a hoarse murmur from such a multi- 
 tude of angry voices as would have made the boldest quail. 
 
 " Help ! " shrieked the boy in a voice that rent the air. 
 " He's here ! Break down the door ! " 
 
 " In the King's name," cried tlie voices without ; and tlie 
 hoarse cry arose 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 huzzah 
 burst from the crowd ; giving the listener, for the first time^ 
 some adequate idea of its immense extent. 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 383 
 
 , ; •' Open the door of some place where I can lock this 
 scp-eeching 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, whOj with 
 the other two men, still remained quite helpless and bewil- 
 dered. 
 
 " The panels — are they strong ? " 
 
 " L.ined with sheet-iron." 
 
 "And the windows too ? ' 
 
 "Yes, and the windows." 
 
 " Damn you ! " cried the desperate ruffian, throwing up 
 the sash and menacing the ; crowd. "Do your worst! I'll 
 cheat you yet ! " 
 
 Of all the terrific yells that ever fell on mortal ears, none 
 could exceed the cry of the infuriated throng. Some shouted 
 tp those who were nearest to set the house on fire ; others 
 roared to the officers to shoot him dead. Among them all, 
 none showed such fury as the man on horseback, who, throw- 
 ing 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 hundreds echoed 
 it. Some called for ladders, some for sledge-hammers ; some 
 ran with torches to and fro as if. to seek them, and still came 
 back and roared again ; some spent their breath in impotent 
 curses and execrations ; some pressed forward widi the ec- 
 stasy 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 
 rear. 
 
 '' The tide," cried the murderer, as he .sta,ggered back into 
 the room, and shut the faces 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 murders and kill myself." 
 
 The panic-stricken men pointed to where such articles 
 were kept ; the murderer, hastily selecting the longest and 
 strongest cord, hurried up to the house-top 
 
384 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 All the windows in tlie rear of the house had been long 
 ago bricked up, except one small trap in the room whert 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 an unbroken stream. 
 
 He planted a board, which he had carried 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 
 instant they perceived it and knew it was defeated, they raised 
 a cry of triumphant execration to which all their previous 
 shouiing 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 v/holycity had poured it^ population out to curse him. 
 
 On pressed the people from the front — on, on, on, in a 
 strong struggling current of angry faces, with here and there 
 a glaring torcli 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 tier^ of faces in 
 every window ; 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. Still the 
 current poured on to find some nook or hole from which to 
 vent their shouts, an;! only for an instant see the wretch. 
 
 " 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 will give fifty pounds," cried an old gentleman froin 
 the same quarter, " 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 moment 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 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 385 
 
 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 
 stations, 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 neighbor, 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 suffocation, or trampled 
 down and trodden under foot in the confusion, were dreadful j 
 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 dis- 
 tracted from the murderer, although the universal e^emess 
 for his capture was, if possible, increased. , ; 
 
 The man had shrunk down, thoroughly quelled by the 
 ferocit)"^ of the crowd, and the impossibility of escap^; but 
 seeing this sudden -change with no less rapadity than it had 
 occurred, he sprang upon his feet, determined to make one 
 last eifort for his life by dropping into the ditch, and at the 
 risk of being stifled, endeavoring to creep away in the dark- 
 ness and confusion. 
 
 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 finnly 
 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 when he brought the loop 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 
 railing 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 instantthe 
 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 unearthly screech. 
 
 Staggering as if struck by lightning, he lost his balance 
 and tumbled over the parapet. The noose was on his neck. 
 
386 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 It ran up With his weight, tight as a bow-stnng, and swift as 
 the arrow it speeds. He fell for five-and-tiiirty feet. There 
 was a sudden jerk, a terrific convulsion of the limbs ; and 
 there he hung, with the open knife clenched in his stiffening 
 hand. 
 
 The old chimney quivered with the shock, but stood it 
 bravely. The murderer 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, foi 
 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 LI. 
 
 AFFORDING AN EXPLANATION OF MORE MYSTERIES THAN ONE, 
 AND COMPREHENDING A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE WITH NO 
 WORD OR SETTLEMENT, OR PIN-MONEY. 
 
 The events narrated in the last chapter were yet but two 
 days old, when Oliver found himself, at three o'clock in the 
 afternoon, in a travelling-carriage rolling fast towards his na- 
 tive town. Mrs. Maylie, and Rose, and Mrs. Bedwin, and the 
 good doctor, were with him : and Mr. Brownlow followed in a 
 post-chaise, accompanied by one other person whose name had 
 not been mentioned. 
 
 They had not talked much upon the way ; for Oliver was 
 in a fliitter of agitation 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 companions, who 
 shared it, in at least an equal degree. He and the two ladies 
 had been very carefully made acquainted by Mr. Brownlow 
 with the nature of the admissions which had been forced from 
 Monks ; and although they knew that the object of their pres- 
 ent journey was to complelfe the work which had been so well 
 
OLIVEK TWIST. ^87 
 
 begun, still the whole matter was enveloped in enough of 
 doubt and mysteiy to leave them in endurance of the most in- 
 tense 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 occur- 
 rences that had so recently taken place. " It was quite true," 
 he said, " that they must know them before 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 i 
 and no one disposed to give utterance to the thoughts which 
 crowded upon Ml. 
 
 But if Oliver, under these influences, 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 v/hat 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 pointing out at the carriage window ; " that's 
 the stile I came over ; there are the hedges I creptbehind, for 
 fear any one should overtake me and force me back ! Yonder 
 is the patch across the fields, leading to the old house where 
 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 
 yoiir 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 qiiiet country place where he may grow strong and well, 
 —shall we?" 
 
 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 you are to every 
 
 one," said Oliver. " It 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 
 
^88 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 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 Sower- 
 berry's the undertaker's just as it used to be, only smaller and 
 less imposing in appearance than he remembered it— there 
 were all the well-known shops and houses, which almost every 
 one of which he had some slight incident connected — there 
 was Gamfield's cart, the very cart he used to have, standing 
 at the old public-house door — there was the workhouse, the 
 dreary prison of his youthful days, with its dismal windows 
 frowning on the street — ^there was the same lean porter stand- 
 ' ing 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 — there were scores of faces at the 
 doors and windows that he knew quite well — there was 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 palace, but which had some- 
 how fallen off in grandeur and size) ; and here was Mr. Grim- 
 wig 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 fast asleep. There was 
 dinner prepared, and there were bed-rooms ready, and every- 
 thing was arranged as if by magic. 
 
 Notwithstanding all this, when the hurry of the first halfr 
 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 gentlemen hurried in and out with anxious faces, 
 and, during the short intervals when they were present, con- 
 versed apart. Opce, Mrs. Maylie was called away, and aftei 
 being absent for nearly an hour, returned -with eyes swollen 
 with weeping. All these thhigs made Rose and Oliver, who 
 vrere not in any new secrets, nervous and uncomfortable. They 
 
OLIVER TWIST, ^gg 
 
 sat wondering, in sileaioe ; or, if they 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. Losbeme 
 and Mr. Grimwig entered the room, followed by Mr. Brown- 
 low and a man whom Oliver almost shrieked with surprise to 
 see j 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 
 Fagan at the window of his little room. Monks cast a look 
 of hate, which even then, he could not dissemble, at the 
 astomshed 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 signed in London before many gentlemen, 
 must be in substance repeated here. I would have spared 
 you the degradation, but we must hear 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 almost done enougb, I think. Don't 
 keep me here." 
 
 "This child," said Mr. Brownlow, drawing Oliver to liim, 
 and laying his hand upon his head, "is your half-brother; 
 the illegitimate son of your father, my dear friend Edwin 
 Leeford, by poor young Agnes Fleming, who died in giving 
 hitti 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. Brownlow, stemly; " is a 
 reproach to those who long since passed beyond the feeble 
 censure of the: world. It reflects disgrace on no one living, 
 except you who use it. Let that pass. He was born in this 
 town." 
 
 " In the workhouse of this tc>wn," was the sullen reply. 
 " You have the story there." He pointed impatiently to the 
 papers as he spoke. 
 
 " I must have it here, too," said Mr. Brownlow, looking 
 round upon the listeners. 
 
 " Listen then ! You ! " returned Monks. " His father 
 being taken ill at Rome, was joined by his wife, my mother, 
 from whom he had been long separated; who went from Paris 
 
ggo OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 and took me with her — to look after his property, for what 1 
 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 ; " he addressed himself to Mr. Brown- 
 low ; " and enclosed in a few short lines to you, with an inti- 
 mation on the cover of the package tha1»it was not to be for- 
 warded till after he was dead. One of these papers was a 
 letter to this girl Agnes- the other a will." 
 
 " What of the letter ? " asked Mr. Brownlow. 
 
 " The letter? — A sheet of paper crossed and crossed again, 
 with a penitent confession, and prayers to God to help her. 
 He had palmed a tale on the girl that some secret mystery — 
 to be explained one day — ^prevented his marrying her just 
 then ; and so she had gone on, trusting patiently to him, until 
 she trusted too far, and lost what none could ever give her 
 back. She was at that time, within a few months of her con- 
 finement. 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 memdry, or think the consequence 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 whidi 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 agaiti, as if he had gone distracted. 
 I believe he had." 
 
 " The will," said Mr. Brownlow, as Oliver's tears fell fast. 
 
 Monks' was silent. 
 
 " The -will," said Mr. Brownlow, speaking for him, " was 
 in the same spirit as the letter. He talked of miseries which 
 his wife had brought upon him ; of the rebellious disposition, 
 vice, malice, and premature bad passions of you his only son, 
 who had been trained to hate him; and left ywu, and your 
 mother, each an annuity of eight hundred pounds. The bulk 
 of his property he divided into two equal portions-^-one for 
 Agnes Fleming, arid the other for their child, if it should be 
 bom alive, and ever come of age. If it were a girl, it was to 
 inherit the money uridonditionally ; but if a boy, only on the 
 stipulation that in his minority he should never have stained 
 his name with any public act of dishonor, meanness, coward 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 3gi 
 
 ice, or wrong. He did this, he said, to mark his confidence 
 in the mother, and his conviction — only strengthened by ap- 
 proaching derath — that the child would share lier gentle heart, 
 and noble nature. If he were disappointed in this expecta- 
 tion, then the money was to come to you : for then, and not 
 till then, when both children were equal, would he recognize 
 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 
 father had the truth from her with every aggravation that her 
 violent hate — I love her for it now — could add. Goaded by 
 shame and dishonor 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 after- 
 wards, 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; it was on the: flight 
 when he returned home, assured that she. had destroyed; heif- 
 self, 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 Lee- 
 ford's — mother came to me. He had left her, when only 
 eighteen ; robbed her of jewels and money ; gambled, squan- 
 dered, forged, and fled to London : where for two years, he 
 had associated with the lowest outcasts. She was sinking 
 under a painful and incurable disease, and wished to recover 
 him before she died. Inquiries were set on foot, and strict 
 searches made. They were 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 dieath-bed, she bequeathed these secrets to me, 
 together 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 herself, and the child too, but was filled 
 with the impression that a male, child had been born, aiid 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 
 
,a2 OUVEK TIVIST. 
 
 most unrelenting animosity ; to vent upon it the hatred that 1 
 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- 1 began ! " 
 
 As the villain folded his arms tight together, and muttered 
 curses on himself in tiie impotence of baffled malice, Mr. 
 Brownlow turned to the terrified group beside him, and ex- 
 plained that the Jew, who had been his old accomplice and 
 confidant, 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. Brownlow, turning to 
 Monks. 
 
 " I bought them from the man and woman I told you of, 
 who stole them from the nurse, who stole them from the 
 corpse," answered Monks, without raising his eyes. " You 
 know what became of them." 
 
 Mr, Brownlow merely nodded to Mr. Grimwig, who disap- 
 pearing with great alacrity, shortly returned, pushii^ 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 Q-li-ver, if 
 you know'd how I've been a-grieving for you — " 
 
 "Hold your tongue, fool," murmured Mrs. Bumble. 
 
 " Isn't natur, natur, Mrs. Bumble?" remonstrated the work- 
 house master. " Can't I be supposed to feel — / as brought 
 him up porochially — when I see him a-setting here among 
 ladies and gentlemen of the very ailablest description ! I 
 always loved that boy as if he'd been my — my — my own 
 grandfather," said Mr. Bumble, halting for an appropriate 
 comparison. " Master Oliver, my dear, you remember the 
 blessed gentleman in the white waistcoat ? Ah ! he went to 
 heaven last week, in a oak coffin with plated handles, Oliver." 
 
 " Come, sir," said Mr. Grimwig, tartly ; " suppress your 
 feelings." 
 
 " I will do my endeavors, sir," replied Mr. Bumble. " How 
 do you do, sir ? I hope you are very well." 
 
 This salutation was addressed to Mr. Brownlow, v?hoi had 
 Stepped up to -within a short distance of the respectable 
 couple. He inquired, as he pointed to Monks, 
 
OLIVER TWIST. ^nj 
 
 " Do you know that person ? " 
 
 "No," replied Mrs Bumble flatly. 
 
 " Perhaps you don't ? " said Mr, Brownlow, 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 ? " 
 said Mr. Brownlow. 
 
 "Certainly not," replied the 'matron. "Why are we 
 brought here to answer to such nonsense as this ?. " 
 
 Again Mr. Brownlow nodded to Mr. Grimwig ; and again 
 that gentleman limped 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 might old Sally died," said the 
 foremost one, jaising her shrivelled hand, " 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 tlian that," resumed 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 that she was taken ill, to die near the grave 
 of the father of the chihJ." 
 
 " Would you like to see the pawnbroker himself ? " asked 
 Mr. Grimwig with a motion towards the door. 
 
 " No," replied the woman ; " if he " — she pointed to 
 Mftnks — " has been coward enough to confess, as I see he has, 
 and you have sounded all these hags till you have 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 neither of you is employed in a situar 
 tion of trust again. : You may ileave the room." 
 
 " I hope," said Mr. Bumble, looking about him with great 
 
394 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 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. Brownlow. " You may make 
 lip your mind to that^ and think yourself well ofi 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," replied Mr. Brownlow. "You were 
 present on the occasion of the destruction of these trinkets, 
 and indeed are the more guilty of the two, in the eye of the 
 law ; for the ' law supposes that your wife acts under your 
 direction." 
 
 " If the law supposes that," said Mr. Bumble, squeezing 
 his hat emphatically in both hands, " the law is a ass — a idiot. 
 If that's the eye of the law, the law is a bachelor ; and the 
 worst I wish the law is, that his eye may be opened by expe- 
 rience — 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. ; r 
 
 "Young lady," said Mr. Brownlow, turning to Rose, " give 
 me your hand. Do not tremble. Yovi need not fear to hear 
 the few remaining words we have to say." 
 
 " If they have — I do not know Iiow they can, but if they 
 have — any reference to me," said Rose, " pray let me heat 
 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 ? " 
 
 " 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?" 
 
 " The child,^' replied Monks, " yhen her father died in a 
 strange place, in a strange name, without a letter, book, or 
 scrap of paper' that yielded the faintest clue by which his 
 friends or relatives could be traced — the child was taken by 
 some wretched cottagers, who reared it as their own." 
 
 " Go on," said Mr. Brownlow, signing to Mrs. Maylie to 
 approach. " Go on ! " : ■< 
 
OUVER TWIST. _jg^5 
 
 " Yciu couldn't find the spot to which these people had 
 repaired," said Monks, " but where friendship fails, hatred 
 Will bften 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 began to sicken — ^at 
 least the man did^ — of their fine humanity ; so she left it with 
 theiii, giving them a small present of money which would not 
 last long, aind promised 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 alterations 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 at one time 
 or other. The circumstances Goantena;nEed all this ; the 
 people believed it ; and there the child dragged on an existence, 
 miserable enough even to satisfy us, until a widow lady, resid- 
 ing, then, at Chester, saw the girl by chance, pitied her, and 
 took her home. There was some cursed spell, I think, 
 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 until a few months back." 
 " Do you see her now ? " 
 " 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 would not lose her now for all the treasures of the worldw 
 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- 
 Mot bear all this." 
 
 " You have borne niore, and have been, through all, the 
 best andgentlest creature that ever shed happiness on every 
 one she knew," said Mrs. Maylie, embracing her tenderly. 
 " Come, come, my love, remember who this is who waits to 
 clasp ydii in his arms, poor child ! See here — look, look, iry 
 dear ! " 
 
 "Not aunt," cried Oliver, throwing his arms about her 
 neck ; " I'll never call her aunt — sister^ my own dear sister, 
 that something f kught my heart to love so dearly from the first I 
 Rose, dear, darlitig Rose ! "' ■; 
 
 , Let the tears which fell, and the-broken words which Were 
 'exchanged in the long closi? eihbrace Between the orphans^be 
 
396 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 sacred. A fatlier, sister, and mother, were gained, and lost, 
 in that one moment. Joy and grief were mingled in the cup ; 
 but there were no biitef tears : for even grief itself arose so 
 softened, and clothed in such sweet and tepder 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. Olivet 
 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, alter a lengthened 
 silence ; " nor have I heard all this to-night, for I knew it 
 )'esterday — only yesterday. Do you ;gueBs that I have come 
 to remind you of a promise ? " 
 
 " Stay," said Rose. " You //c know all." 
 
 " 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 determination," pursued 
 the young man, " but to hear you repeat it, if you would. I 
 was 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 in- 
 fluence me now," said Rose firmly. " If I ever owed a strict 
 and rigid duty to her, whose goodness savesd me from a lifexrf 
 indigence and suffering, when should I ever feel it, as I shoulcl 
 to-night ? 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 Ro^e softlj, " leaves 
 me in the same position, 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 myseG this pain." 
 
 " Then why inflict it on yourself," said Harry, taking her 
 hand. " Think, dear Rose, think what you have heard to- 
 n^ht." %. - 
 
 "And what have I heard! -What have I heard?" cried 
 
OLTVER TWIST. 357 
 
 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." 
 
 " Net yet, not yet," said "the young man, detaining her as 
 she rose. " My hopes, my wishes, prospects, feeling : every 
 thought in life except my love for you : have undergone a 
 change. I ofEer 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 h6me — a heart and home — yes, 
 dearest Rose, and those, and those alone, are all I have to 
 offer." 
 
 " What do you mean ! " she faltered. 
 
 " I mean but this — that when I left you last, I left you 
 with a firm determination- to level allTsiiScied barriers between 
 )'ourself 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 me because of this, have shrunk 
 from you, and proved you so far right. Such power and pat 
 ronage : such relatives of influence and rank : as smiled upon 
 me then, look coldly now ; but there are smiling fields and 
 waving- trees in England's richest county ; and by one village 
 church — mine. Rose, my own ! — -there stands a rustic dwelling 
 which you can make me prouder of, than all the hopes I have 
 renounced, measured a thousandfold. 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, the supper had been waiting a most unreas- 
 onable time. Neither Mrs. Maylie, nor Harry, nor Rose (who 
 all came in together), could offef'a word in extenuation. 
 
 " I had serious thoughts of eating my head to-night,'' said 
 Mr. Grimwig, "for I began to think 1 should get nothing 
 else. I'll take the liberty, if you'll altow me, of saluting the 
 bride that is to be." 
 
 Mr. Grimwig lost no time in carrying this notice into ef- 
 fect upon the blushing girl ; and the example, being conta- 
 gious, was followed both by the doctor and Mr. Brownlow : 
 ^ftme people affirm that Harry Maylie had been observed to 
 set it, originally, in a dark room adjoining ; but the best au- 
 
398 OLIVER TWIST 
 
 thorities consider this downright scandal : he being young 
 and 2. clergyman. 
 
 " Oliver, my child," said Mrs. Maylie, " where have you 
 been, and why do you look so sad ? There are tears stealing 
 down your face at this moment. What is the matter ? " 
 
 It is a world of disappointment : often to the hopes we 
 most cherish, and hopes that do our nature the greatest 
 honor. 
 
 Poor Dick was dead ! 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 fagin's last night alivk. 
 
 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 smallest corner in the galleries, all looks were fixed 
 upon one man — Fagin. Before him and behind : above, 
 below, on the right and on the left : he seemed to stand sur- 
 rounded 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 before 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 presid- 
 ing judge, who was delivering his charge to the jury. At 
 times, he turned his eyes sharply upon them to observe the 
 effect of the slightest featherweight in his favor ; 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 m his behalf. Beyond these mani- 
 festations of anxiety, he stirred not hand or foot ■ He had 
 scarcely moved since the trial began ; and now tliat the judjre 
 ceased to speak, he still remained in the same strained atti- 
 tude of close attention, with his gaze bent on him, as though 
 he listened still. 
 
 A slight bustle in the court, recalled him to himself. 
 Looking round, he saw that the jurymen had turned togetlier, 
 So consider of their verdict. As his eyes wandered to the 
 
OLIVER TWIST. ^99 
 
 gallery, he could see the people rising above each other to see 
 his face : some hastily applying their glasses to their eyes : and 
 others whispering their neighbors with looks expressive of 
 abhorrence. 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 he read the faintest 
 sympathy with himself, or any feeling but one of all absorbing 
 interest, that he should be condemned. 
 
 As he saw all tliis in one bewildered glance, the death-like 
 stillness came again, and looking back, he saw that the jury- 
 men had turned towards the judge. Hush ! 
 
 They only sought permission to retire. 
 
 He looked, wistfully, into their faces, one by one, when 
 they passed out, as though to se.e which way the greater num- 
 ber leant ; but that was fruitless. The jailer touched him on 
 the shoulder. He followed 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 handkerchiefs : 
 for the crowded place was very hot. There was one young 
 man sketching 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, arid what it 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 come 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, biit 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 counting the iron spikes before 
 him, and wondering how the head of one had been broken off, 
 and whether they would mend it, or leave it as it was. Then, 
 
400 
 
 OLIVER TWIST, 
 
 Jie 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 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 hastily up as if angry at the interruption, and bent 
 forward yet more attentively. The address was solemn and 
 impressive ; the sentence fearful to hear. But he stood, like 
 a marble figure, without the motion of a nerve. His haggard 
 face was still thrust 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. He gazed stupidly 
 about him for an instant, and obeyed. 
 
 They ied him through a paved room under the court, 
 where some prisoners were waiting till their turns 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 
 namesj 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 interior of the prison. 
 
 Here, he was searched, that he might not have about him 
 
OLIV£R TWIST. 40J 
 
 the means of anticipating the law ; this ceremony perfoa-med, 
 they led him to one of the condemned cells, andleft him there 
 — alone. 
 
 He sat down on a stone bench opposite the door, which 
 served for seat and bedstead ; and casting bis blood-shot eyes 
 upon the ground, tried to collect his thoiights. After awhile, 
 he began to remember a few disjointed fragments of what the 
 judge had said : though 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— ^:hat 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 bad 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 daiigling lieaps of clothes ! 
 
 Some of them might have inhabited that very cell — sat 
 upon that very spot.* It was very dark ; why didn't 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 be- 
 neath 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 be thrust into an iron candlestick fixed against 
 the wall :, 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 
 watchers are glad to hear this church-clock strike, for they tell 
 of life and coming day. To him they brought despair. The 
 boom of eyery iron bell came laden with the one, deep, hollow 
 sound — Death. » What availed the noise and bustle of cheer- 
 ful morning, which penetrated even there, to him ? It^ was 
 another form of knell, with mockery added 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 
 
4,02 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 in its fleeting hours. At one time hp 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 charitable 
 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 hope of mercy, but that he had never 
 been able to consider 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 effort 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 terribly 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 
 treading on each other's heels, where would he be, when they 
 came round . again ! Eleven! Another struck, before the 
 voice of the previous hour 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 h.ave slept but ill that 
 night, if they could have seen him. 
 
 From early in the evening until nearly midnight, little 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 40^ 
 
 groups of two and three presented themselves at the lodge- 
 gate, and inquired, with anxious faces, whether any reprieve 
 had been received. These being answered in the negative, 
 Gommunicated the welcome intelligence to dusters in the 
 street, who pointed out to one another the door from which, lie 
 must come out, and showed wl^re the scaffold would be built, 
 ■and, walking with unwilling steps away, turned back to con- 
 jure 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 tlie expected crowd, when Mr. 
 Brownlow and Oliver appeared at the wicliet, and presented 
 an order of admission to the prisoner, signed by one of the 
 sheriffs. They were immediately admitted into the lodge. 
 
 " Is the young gentleman to come too, sir ? " said the man 
 whose duty it was to conduct them. " It's not a sight for 
 children, sir." 
 
 " It is not indeed, my friend," rejoined Mr. Brownlow; 
 " t)ut 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 as well — 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 Qliver. Tlie man touched his hat ; and glancing at Oliver 
 with some curiosity, opened another gate, opposite to that by 
 which they had entered, and led them on; through dark and 
 winding ways, towards the cells. 
 
 " This," said the man, stopping in a glopmy passage where 
 a couple of workmen were making some preparations in pro- 
 found 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 stone kitchen, fitted with coppers for 
 dressing the prison food, and pointed to a door. There was 
 an open grating above it, through whicii 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 en- 
 tered an open yard, ascended a flight of narrow steps, and, 
 came into a passage with a row of strong doors on the left 
 hand. Motioning them to remain where they were, the turn- 
 
404 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 key 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 visitors 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 appearing conscious of their presence otherwise than 
 as a part of his vision : 
 
 " Good boy, Charley — ^well done — " he mumbled. " Oliver, 
 too, ha ! ha ! ha ! Oliver too — quite the gentleman now — 
 quite the — take that boy away to bed ! " 
 
 The jailer took the disengaged hand of Oliver ; and, whis- 
 pering him not to be alarmed, looked on without speaking. 
 
 " Take him away to bed ! " cried Fagin. " Do you hear 
 me, some of you ? He has been the — the — someho^ the 
 cause of all this. It's worth the money to bring him up fo it — 
 Bolter's throat. Bill ; nevermind 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 the 
 attitude of listening he had assunied 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. Fagin, Fagin ! Are you 
 a man ? " 
 
 " I shan't be one long," he replied, looking up with a face 
 retaining no human expression but rage and terror. " Strike 
 them all dead ! What right have they to butcher me ? " 
 
 As he spoke he caught sight of Oliver and Mr. Brownlow. 
 Shrinking to the furthest comer of the seat, he demanded 
 to know what they wanted there. 
 
 " Steady," said the turnkey, still holding 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 Fagin. " I haven't one 
 — ^not one." 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 405 
 
 " For the \oy&ot God," said Mr. Brownlow solemnly, " do 
 not say that now, upon the very verge of death ; but tell me 
 where, they are. You know that' Sikesis dead j that Monks 
 has confessed ; that there is no hope of any further gain. 
 Where a,re those papers ? " 
 
 " Oliver," cried Fagin, beckoning to him. "Here, here ! 
 Let me whisper to you." 
 
 " I am not afraid," said Oliver in a low voice, as he relin- 
 quished Mr. Bro\Srnlow's hand. 
 
 " The papers," said Fagin drawing Oliver 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 youl" 
 
 " 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 Fagin, pushing the boy before 
 him towards the door, and looking vacantly over his head. 
 "Say I've gone to sleep — they'll heVieve 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 Fagin- " 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., Nov/, now, now ! " 
 
 " Have you nothing else; to ask him, sir ? " inquired the 
 turnkey. ' 
 
 " No other question," replied Mr. Brownlow. " If I hoped 
 we could recall him to a sense of his 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 a,ttendants returned,. 
 
 " Press on, press on," cried Fagin. " Softly, but not so 
 slow. Faster, faster ! " 
 
 The men laid hands upon him, and disengaging Oliver 
 from his grasp, held him back. He sti:^ggled with the power 
 of desperation, for an instant ; and, then sent up cry upon 
 cry that penetrated even those massive walls, and rang in 
 their ears until they reached the open yard. 
 
 It was some time before they left the prison. Oliver nearly 
 swooned after this frightful scene, and was so weak that for 
 an hour or more, he had not the strength to walk. 
 
 P^y was dawning when they again emerged. A great 
 18 
 
4o6 OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 multitude had already assembled ; the windows were filled 
 with people, smoking and playing cards to beguile the time ; 
 the crowd were" pushing, quarrelling, joking. Everything told 
 of -life and animation, but one dark cluster of objects in the 
 centre of all — the black stage, the cross-beam, the rope, and 
 all the hideous apparatus of death. 
 
 CHAPTER LIII. 
 
 AND LAST. 
 
 The fortunes of those who have figured in this tale are 
 nearly closed. The little that 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 clergyman's labors ; on 
 the same day they entered into possession of their new and 
 happy home. 
 
 Mrs. Maylie took up her abode with her son and daughter- 
 in-law, to enjoy, during the tranquil remainder of her days, 
 the greatest felicity that age aiid worth can know — the con- 
 templation of the happiness of those on whbm. the warmest 
 affections and tenderest cares of a well-spent life, have been 
 unceasingly bestowed. 
 
 It appeared, on full and careful investigation, that if the 
 wreck of property remaining in the custody of Monks (which 
 had never prospered either in his hands or in those of his 
 mother) were eqUally divided btetweien 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 opportunity of retrieving his former vices 
 and pursuing an honest career, proposed this mode of distri- 
 bution, to which his young charge joyfully acceded. 
 
 Monks, still bearing that assumed name, retired with his 
 portion to a distant ■ part of the New World ; where having 
 quickly squandered it, he once more fell into his old courses, 
 and, after undergoing a long confinement for some fresh act 
 pf fi^ud and knavery, at length sunk under an attack of his 
 
OLIVJIK TWIST 407 
 
 old disorder and died in prison. As far from home, died the 
 chief remaining members of his friend Fagin's gang. 
 
 Mr. Brownlow adopted Oliver as his son. Removing with 
 him and the old housekeeper to within a mile of the parson- 
 age-house, -where his dear friends resided, he gratified the. only 
 ■ remaining wish of Oliver's warm and earnest heart, and thus 
 linked together a little society, whose condition approached 
 's 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 tem- 
 perament had admitted of such a feeling : and would have 
 turned quite peevish if he had known how. For t\*o or 
 three months, he contented himself with hinting that he feared 
 the air began to disagree with him ; then, finding that the 
 place really no longer was, to him, what it had been, he set- 
 tled his business on his assistant, took a bachelor's cottage 
 outside the village of which his young friend was pastor, and 
 instantaneously recovered. Here, he took to gardening, 
 planting, fishing, carpentering, and various other pursuits of a 
 similar kind : all undertaken with his characteristic impetuos- 
 ity. In each and all, he has since become famous throughout 
 the neighborhood, as a most profound authority. 
 
 Before his removal, he had managed to contract a strong 
 friendship for Mr. Grimwig, which that eccentric gentleman 
 cordially reciprocated. He is accordingly visited by Mr. 
 Grimwig a great many times in the course of the year. On 
 all such occasions, Mr. Grimwig plants, fishes, and carpenters, 
 with great ardor, doing everything in a very singular and 
 unprecedented manner, but always maintaining with his favor- 
 ite asseveration, that his mode is the right one. On Sundays, 
 he never fails to. criticise the sermon to the young clergyman's 
 face : always informing Mr. Losbeme in strict confidence af- 
 terwards, that he considers it an excellent performance, but 
 deems it as well not to say so. It is a standing and very fa- 
 voBite -joke„for Mr. Brownlow to rally him on his old proph- 
 ecy concerning Oliver, and to remind him of the night on 
 which they sat with the watch between them, waiting his re- 
 turn ; but Mr. Grimwjg 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 side,, and in- 
 crea.ses his good-humor. 
 
4o8. OLIVER rWIST. 
 
 Mr. Noah Clajrpole: receiving a free pardon from' the 
 Crown in consequence of being admitted approver agaihst 
 Fagin : and considering his profession not altogether as 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 consideration, he went into business as an infor- 
 mer, in which calling he realizes a genteel subsistence. His 
 plan is, to walk outonce a week during church time attended 
 by Charlotte in respectable attire. The lady faints away at 
 the doors of charitable publicans, and the gentleman being 
 accommodated with threepenn)rworth of brandy to restore her, 
 lays an information next day, and pockets hg.lf 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 workhouse in which they 
 had once lorded it over others. Mr. Bumble has been heard 
 to say, that in this reverse and degradation, he has not even 
 spirits to be thankful for being separated from liis 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 gray. They sleep at the parsonage, but divide their at- 
 tentions so equally among its inmates, and Oliver, and Mr. 
 Brownlow, and Mr. Losberne,' that to this day the villagers 
 have never been able to discover to which establishment they 
 properly belong. 
 
 Master Charles Bates, appalled by Sikes's crime, fell into 
 a train: of reflection 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 the past, resolved to amend 
 it in some new sphere of action. He struggled hard, and 
 suffered much, for some time ; but, having a contented dispo- 
 sition, and a good purpose, succeeded in the end ; and, from 
 being a farmer's drudge, and a carrier's ^lad, he is now the 
 merriest young grazier in all Northamptonshire. 
 
 And now, the hand that traces these words, falters, as it 
 approaches the conclusion 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. lobg moved, and share tlieir happiness by endeavoring 
 to depict it. I would show Rose ,Maylie in all the bloom and 
 grace of early womanhood, shedding on her secluded path in 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 4^09 
 
 life soft and gentle light, that fell on all who trod it with her, 
 and shone into their hearts. I would paint her the life and joy 
 of the fire-side circle and the lively summer group ; I would 
 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 love 
 for one another, 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 laugh, and conjure up the sym- 
 pathizing tear that glistened in the soft blue eye. These, and 
 a thousand looks and smiles, and turns of thought and speech 
 — I 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 devel- 
 oped itself, and showed the thriving seeds of all he wished him 
 to become — ^how he traced in him new traits of his early 
 friend, that awakened in his own bosom old remembrances, 
 melancholy and yet sweet and soothing — ^how the two orphans, 
 tried by adversity, remembered its lessons in mercy to others, 
 apd mutual love, and fervent thanks to Him who had protected 
 and preserved them — these are all matters which need not to 
 be told. 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, happiness can never 
 be attained. 
 
 Within the altar of the old village church there 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 spirits 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 believe that the shade of 
 Agnes sometimes hovers round that solemn nook. I believe 
 it none the less because that nook is in a Church, and she 
 was weak and erring. 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 THE READER'S PASSPORT. 
 
 If the readers of this volume will be so kind as to take 
 their credentials for the differeht places which are the subject 
 of its author's reminiscences, from the Author himself^ per- 
 haps they ihay visit them, in fancy, the more agreeably, and 
 with a better understanding of what they are to expect. 
 
 ' Many books have been written upon Italy, affording many 
 means of studying the history of that interesting country, and 
 the innumerable associations entwined about it. I make but 
 little reference to that stock of information ; not at all regard- 
 ing it as a necessary consequence of my having had recourse 
 to the storehouse for my own benefit, that I should reproduce 
 its easily accessible contents before the eyes of my readers. 
 
 Neither will there be found, in these pages, any grave: ex- 
 amination into the government or misgovernment of any por- 
 tion of the country. No visitor of that beautiful land can fail 
 to have a strong conviction on the subject ; ' but as I chose 
 when residing there; a Foreigner, to abstain from the discus- 
 sion of any such questions with any order of Italians, so I 
 would rather not enter on the inquiry now. During my 
 twelve months' occupation of a house at Genoa, I never found 
 that authorities -constitutionally jea;lous were distrustful of me ; 
 and I should be sorry to' give them occasion to regret their 
 free courtesy, either to myself or any of my countrymen. 
 
 There is, probably, not a famous Picture or Statue in all 
 Italy, but could be easily buried under a mountain of printed 
 paper devoted to dissertations on it. I do not, therefore 
 
 U13) 
 
414 PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 though an earnest admirer of Painting and Sculpture, expa- 
 tiate at any length on famous Pictures and Statues. 
 
 This Book is a series of faint reflections— mere shadows 
 in the water — of places to which the imaginations of most 
 people are attracted in a greater or less degree, on which 
 mine had dwelt for years, and which have some interest for 
 all. The greater part of the descriptions were written on the 
 spot, and sent home, from time to time, in private letters. I 
 do not inention the circumstance- as an excuse for any^defeets 
 they may present, for it would be none ; but as a -guarantee 
 to the Reader that they were at least penned in the iulness of 
 the subject, and with the liveliest impressions of novelty and 
 freshness. 
 
 If they have ever a fanciful and idle air, perhaps the 
 reader will suppose them written in the shade of a Sunny 
 Day, in the mi'd^'Of the objects of which they treat, and will 
 like them none the worse for having such influences of the 
 country upon them. 
 
 I hope I am not likely to be misunderstood by Professors 
 of the Roman Catholic faith, on account of anything contained 
 in these pages. I have done my best, in one of my fonner 
 productions, to do justice to them ; and I trust, in this, they 
 will do justice to me. When I mention any exhibition that 
 impressed me as absurd or disagreeable, I do not seek to 
 connect it, or recognize it as necessarily connected witli, any 
 essentials of their creed. When I treat of the ceremonies of 
 the Holy Week, I merely treat of their effect, and do not 
 challenge the good and learned Dr. Wiseman's interpretation 
 of their meaning. When I hint a dislike of nunneries for 
 young girls who abjure the world before they have ever proved 
 or known it ; or doubt the ex officio sanctity of all Priests and 
 Friars ; I do no more than many conscientious Catholics both 
 abroad and at home. 
 
 I have likened these pictures to shadows in the water, and 
 would fam hope that I have, nowhere, stirred the water so 
 roughly, as to mar the shadows. I could never desire to be on 
 better terms with all my friends than now, when distant moun- 
 tams rise once more in my path. For I need not hesitate 
 to avow, that bent on correcting a brief mistake I made, not 
 long ago, m disturbmg the old relations between myself and 
 my readers, and departing for a moment from my old pursuits 
 I am about to resume them, joyfully, in Switzerland • where 
 durmg another year of absence, I can at once work out the 
 
PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 415 
 
 themes I ha,ve niys^ in my jjOiiad, without interruption ; and 
 while I keep my English audience within speaking distance, 
 extend my knowledge of a nobje country, inexpressibly at- 
 tractive to me.* 
 
 , This book is ma,de as accessible as possible, because it 
 would be a great pleasure to me if I could hope, through its 
 means, to compare impressions with some am,ong the multi- 
 tudes who will hereafter, yisit the spenes described with inter- 
 est and delight. 
 
 And I have only now, in passport wise, to sketch my 
 reader's portrait, which I hope may be thus supposititiously 
 traced fpr either sex : 
 
 Complexion 
 Eyes . . . 
 Nose . . . 
 Mouth , . 
 Visage . , 
 General Expression 
 
 Fair, ; . 
 Very cheerful. 
 I^pt supercilious. 
 Smiling. 
 Beaming. 
 Extremely agreeable. 
 
 GOING THROUGH FRANCE. 
 
 On a fine Sunday morning in the Midsummer time and 
 weather of eighteen hundred and fortyrfour, it was, my good 
 friend, when — don't be alarmed ; not- when two travellers 
 might have been observed slowly making their way over that 
 picturesque and broken ground by which the first chapter of 
 a Middle Aged novel is iisually attained — but when an Eng- 
 lish travelling-carriage of considerable proportions, fresh from 
 the shady halls of the. Pantechnicon near Belgrave Square, 
 London, was observed (hy: a very small French soldier ; for I 
 saw him look at it) to issue from the gate of the Hotel Meu- 
 rice in the Rue Rivoli at Paris. 
 
 I am no more bound to explain why the English family 
 travelling by this carriage, inside and out, should be starting 
 for Itaiy on a Sunday morning, of all good days in the week, 
 than I am to ass^ha reason for all the -little men in France 
 
 * Thisw.is written- in 1846. 
 
4i6 PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 being soldiers, and all the big men postilions ; -which is the 
 invariable rule. But, they had some sort of reason for what 
 thtev'dld, I have no doubt ; and their reason for bemg there 
 at all, was, as you know, that they were going to live in jiarf^ 
 Genoa for a year j and that the head of the family pu|ftee«:i 
 in that space of time, to stroll about, wherever his: rel^tK^ 
 humor carried him. ■'"' 
 
 And it would hive been small comfort to me to have ex- 
 plained to the population of Paris generally, that I was that 
 Head and Chief ; and not the radiant embodiment of good 
 humor Who sat beside ine in the person of a French Courier 
 — ^best of servants and most beaming of men ! Truth to say; 
 he looked a great deal more patriarchal than I, who, in the 
 shadow of his portly presence, dwindled' down to no account 
 at all. !-'■■' '- ■ ■ 
 
 There was, of course, very little in the aspect of Paris — 
 as we rattled near the dismal Morgue and over the Pont 
 Neuf — to reproach us for our Sunday travelling.; The wine- 
 shops (every second house) were- driving -a roaring trade; 
 awnings were spreading, and chairs and tables arranging, 
 outside the cafds, preparatory to the eating of ices, and drink- 
 ing of cool liquids, later in the' day ; shoe-blacks were busy 
 on the bridges ; shops were open ; carts and wagons clattered 
 to and fro ; the narrow, up-hill, funnel-like streets across the 
 River, were so many denso perspecti-ves of ctoiv^d and bustle, 
 parti-colored night-caps, tobacco-pipes, blouses, large boots, 
 anid shaggy heads of hair; nothing at that hour delisted a 
 day of rest, unless it were the appearance, heije and there, of 
 a family pleasure party, crammed into a bulky old lumbetijig 
 cab ; or of some contemplative holiday-maker in the freest 
 and easiest dishabille, leaning out of a low garret window, 
 watching the drying of his newly polished shoes on. the little 
 parapet outside (if a gentleman), or the airing of her stock- 
 ings in the sun (if a lady), with calm anticipation. 
 
 Once clear of the never-to-be-forgotten-or-forgiven pave- 
 ment which surrounds Paris, the first three days of travelling 
 towards Marseilles are quiet and monotonbus enough. To 
 Sens.' To Avallon. To Chalons. A sketch of one day's 
 proceedings is a sketch of all three ; and here it is. 
 
 We have four horses, and one postilion, who has a very 
 long whip, and drives his team,; something like the Courier of 
 Saint Petersburgh in the circle at Astley's or Franconi's : only 
 he sits his own horse instead of standing on him. The im- 
 
O.T. 
 
 ITALIAN PEASANTS. 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY , 4^17 
 
 mense jack-boots worn by these postilions, are sometimes a 
 century or two old; and are so ludicrously disproportionate 
 to the wearer's foot, that the spur, which is put where Iiis own 
 heel comes, is generally halfway up the leg of the boots. The 
 man often comes out of the stable-yard, with his whip in his 
 hand and his shoes on, and brings out, in both hands, one 
 boot at a time, which he plants on the ground by the side of 
 his horse, with great gravity, until everything is ready. When 
 it is — and oh Heaven ! the noise they make about it !— he 
 gets into the boots, shoes and all, or is hoisted into them by 
 a couple of friends ; adjusts the rope harness, embossed by 
 the labors of innumerable pigeons, in the stables ; makes all 
 the horses kick and plunge; cracks his whip like a madman ; 
 shouts " En route— Hi 1 " and away we go. He is sure to 
 have a contest with his horse before we have gone very far; 
 and then he calls him a Thief,, and a Brigand, and a Pig, and 
 whatnot; and beats him about the head as if he were made 
 of wood. 
 
 There is little more than one variety in the appearance of 
 the country, for the first two days. . From a dreary plain, to 
 an interminable avenue, and from an interminable avenue to 
 a dreary plain again. Plenty of vines there are in the open 
 fields, but of a short low kind, and not trained in festoons, 
 but about straight sticks. Beggars innumerable there are, 
 everywhere ; but an extraordinarily scanty population, and 
 fewer children than I ever encountered. I don't believe we 
 saw a hundred children between Paris and Chalons. .Queer 
 old towns, draw-bridged and walled : with odd little towers at 
 the angles, like grotesque faces, as if the wall had put a mask 
 on, and were staring down into the moat ; other strange little 
 towersy in gardens and fields, and down lanes, and in farm- 
 yards : all alone; and always round, with a peaked roof, and 
 never ased for any purpose at all ; ruinous buildings of all 
 sorts ; sometimes an h&tel de ville, sometimes a guard-house, 
 sometimes a dwelling-house, sometimes a chateau with a rank 
 garden, prolific in dandelion, and watched over by extinguisher- 
 topped turrets, and blinkreyed little casements ; are the stand- 
 ard objects, repeated over and over'again. Sometimes we pass 
 a village inn, with a crumbling wall belonging to it, and a pep 
 feet town of out-houses ; and painted over the gateway, " Stab- 
 ling for Sixty Horses ;" as indeed there might be stabling for 
 sixty score, were there any horses to be stabled there, or any- 
 body resting there, or anything stirring about the place hut a 
 
4i8 PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 dangling bush, imdicative of the wine inside.; which flutters 
 idly in the wind, in lazy keeping with everything else, and 
 certainly is never in a green old age, though always so old as 
 to be dropping to pieces. And all day long, strange little nar- 
 row wagons, in strings of six or eight, bringing cheese from 
 Switzerland, and frequently in charge, the whole line, ctE one- 
 man, or even boy-^and he very often asleep in the foremost 
 cart — come jingling past : the horses drowsily ringing the bells 
 upon their harness, and looking as if they thought (no doubt 
 they do) their gxeat blue woolly furniture, . of immense weight 
 and thickness, with a pair of grotesque horns growing out of 
 the collar, very much too warm for the Midsummer weather. 
 
 Then, there is the Diligence, twice or thrice a-day ; with 
 the dusty outsides in blue frocks, like butchers ; and the in- 
 sides in white nightcaps ; and its cabriolet head on the roof, 
 nodding and shaking, like an idiot's head ; and its Young- 
 France passengers staring out of window, with beards down 
 to their waists, and blue spectacles awfully shading their war- 
 like eyes, and very big sticks clenched in their National grasp. 
 Also the Malle Poste, with only a couple of passengers, tear- 
 ing along at a real good dare-devil pace, and out of sight in 
 no time. Steady old Cur^s come jolting past, now and then, 
 in such ramshackle, rusty, musty, clattering coaches as no 
 Englishman would believe in ; and bony women dawdle about 
 in solitary places, holding cows by ropes while they feed, or 
 digging and hoeing or doing field-work of a more laborious 
 kind, or representing real shepherdesses with their flocks^-to 
 obtain an adequate idea of which pursuit and its followers, in 
 any country, it is only necessary to take any pastoral poem, 
 or picture, and imagine to yourself whatever is :most exquisite- 
 ly and widely unlike the descriptions therein contained. 
 
 You have been travelling along, stupidly., enough, as you 
 generally do in the last stage of the day ; and the ninety-six 
 bells upon the horses — twenty-four a-piece — have been ringing 
 sleepily in your ears for half an hour or so ; and it has be- 
 come a very jog-trot, monotonous, tiresome sort of business ; 
 and you have been thinking, deeply about the dinner you will 
 have at the next stage ; whien, down at the end of the long 
 avenue of trees through which you are travelling, the first 
 indication of a town appears, in the shape of some straggling 
 cottages : and the carriage begins to rattle and roll over a 
 horribly uneven pavement; As if the equipage were a great 
 firework, and the mere sight of smoking cottage chimney had 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY. 419 
 
 Kghted it, instantly it begins to crack and splutter,^ as- if the 
 very devil were in it. Crack, crack, crack, crack. Crack, 
 crack-crack. Crick-crack. Crick-crack. Helo ! Hola ! Vite ! 
 Voletir! Brigand! Hi hi hi! En r-r-r-r-r- route ! Whip, 
 wheels, driver, stones, beggars, children, crack, crack, crack; 
 helo ! hola ! charity pour Tamour de Dieu ! crick-crack-crick- 
 crack ; crick, crick, crick, bump, jalt, crack, bump, crick-crack ; 
 round the comer, up the narrow street, down the paved hill on 
 the other side J in the gutter; bump, bump; jolt, jog, crick, 
 crick, crick ; crack, crack, crack ; into the shop-windows on 
 the left hand side of the street, preliminary to a sweeping 
 turn into the wooden archway on the right ; rumble, rumble, 
 rumble; clatter, clatter, clatter ; crick, crick, crick ; and here 
 ■we are in the yard of the Hdtel' de I'Ecu d'Or ; used up, gone 
 out, smoking, spent, exhausted ; but sometimes making a 
 false start unexpectedly, with nothing coming of it — like a 
 firework to the last ! 
 
 The landlady of the Hotel de I'Ecu d'Or is here ; and the 
 landlord of the Hotel de I'Ecu d'Or is here ; and the femme 
 de chambre of the Hotel de I'Ecu d'Or is here ; and a gen- 
 tleman in a glazed cap, with a red beard like a bosom friend, 
 who is staying at the Hotel de I'Ecu d'Or, is here ; and Mon- 
 sieur le Cur^ is walking up and down in a corner of the yard 
 by himself, with a shovel hat upon his bead, and a black gown 
 on his back, and a book in one hand, and an umbrella in the 
 other ; and everybody, except Monsieur le Cur^, is open- 
 mouthed and open-eyed, for the opening of the carriage-door. 
 The landlord of the H6tel de I'Ecu d'Or, dotes to that extent 
 upon the Courier, that -he can hardly wait for his coming down 
 from the box, but embraces his very legs and boot-heels as he 
 descends. "My Courier! My brave Courier! My friend! 
 My brother ! " ; The landlady loves him, the femme de cham'- 
 bre blesses him, the gar9on worships him. The Courier asks 
 if his letter has been received ? It has, it has. Are the rooms 
 prepared ? They are, they are. The best room for my noble 
 Courier. The rooms of state for my gallant Courier ; the 
 whole house is at the service of my best of friends J He keeps 
 his hand upon the carriage-door, and asks some other question 
 to enhance the expectation. He carries a green leathern 
 purse outside his coat, suspended by a belt. The idlers look 
 at it ; one touches it. It is full of five-franc pieces. Murmurs 
 of admiration are heard among the boys. The landlord falls 
 upon the Courier's neck, and .folds him to his breast. He is 
 
420 PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 SO much fatter than he was, he says ! He looks so rosy and 
 so well ! 
 
 The door is opened. Breathless expectation. The lady 
 of the family gets out. Ah sweet lady! Beautiful lady! 
 The sister of the lady of the family gets out. Great Heaven, 
 Ma'amselle is charming'! First little boy gets out. Ah, what 
 a beautiful little boy ! First little girl' gets out. Oh, but that 
 is an enchanting child ! Second Uttle girl gets out. The 
 landlady, yielding to the finest impulse of our common nature, 
 catches; her up in her a,rms ! . Second little boy gets out. Oh, 
 the sweet ; boy !;, Oh, the tender little family ! The baby is 
 handed out- Angelic baby! The baby has topped every- 
 thing. All the rapture is expended on the baby ! Then the 
 two nurses tumble out ; and the enthusiasm swelling into 
 madness, the whole family are swept up stairs as on a cloud; 
 while the idlers press about the carriage, and look into it, and 
 walk round it, and touch it. For it is something to touch a 
 carriage that has held so many people. It is a legacy to 
 leave one's children. 
 
 The rooms are on the first floor, except the nursery for the 
 night, which is a great rambling chamber, with four or five 
 beds in it : through a dark passage, up two steps, down four, 
 past a pump, across a balcony, and next door to the stable. 
 The otlier sleeping apartments are large and lofty ; each with 
 two small bedsteads, tastefully hung, like the windows, with 
 red and white drapery. The sitting-room is famous. Dinner 
 is already laid in it for three ; and the napkins are folded in 
 cocked-hat fashion. The floors are of red tile. There are no 
 carpets, and not much furniture to speak of ; but there is abun- 
 dance of looking-glass, and there are large vases under glass 
 shades, filled with artificial flowers ; and there are plenty of 
 clocks. The whole party are in motion. The brave Courier, 
 in particular, is everywhere : looking after the beds, having 
 wine poured down his thrdat by his dear brother the landlotd, 
 and picking up green cuGumbers — always cucumbers ; Heaven 
 knows where he gets them — with which he walks about, one 
 in each hand, like truncheons. 
 
 ' Dinner is announced. There is very thin soup ; there are 
 very large loaves — -one apiece ; a fish ; four dishes afterwards ; 
 some poultry afterwards ; a dessert afterwards ; and no lack 
 of wine. There is not much in the dishes j but they are very 
 good, and always ready " instantly. When it is nearly dark, 
 the brave Courier, having eaten the two cuaimbers, sliced up 
 
PICTURES FROM 7TAL Y. 42 1 
 
 in the contents of a pretty large decanter of oil, and another 
 of vftiegar, .emerges from his retreat below, and proposes a 
 visit to the Cathedral, whose massive tower frowns down upon 
 the court^yard of the inn. Off we go ; and very solemn :and 
 grand it is, in the dim light : so dim at last, that the polite, 
 old, lanthorn-jaw^ed Sacristan- has a feeble little bit of candle 
 in his hand, to grope among the tombs with — and looks, 
 among the grim columns, very like a lost ghost who is search" 
 ing for his own. 
 
 Underneath the balcony, when we return, the inferior 
 servants of the inn are supping in the open air, at a great 
 table ; the dish, a stew of meat and vegetables, smoking hot, 
 and served in the iron cauldron it was boiled in. They have 
 a pitcher of thin wine, and are very merry ; merrier than the 
 gentleman- with the red beard, who is playing billiards in the 
 light room on the left of the yard, where shadows, with cues 
 in their' hands, and cigars in their mouths, cross and recross 
 the window, constantly. Still the thin Cur^ walks up and 
 down alone, with his. book and umbrella. And there he walks, 
 and there the billiard-balls rattle, long after we are fast asleep. 
 
 We are astir at six next morning. It is a delightful day^ 
 shaming yesterday's mud upon the carriage, if anything could 
 shame a carriage, in a land where carriages are never cleaned. 
 Everybody is brisk ; and as we finish breakfast, the horses 
 come jingling into the yard from the Post-house. Everything 
 taken out of the carriage is put back again. The brave Cou- 
 rier announces that all is ready, after walking into every room, 
 and looking air round it, to be certain that nothing is left be- 
 hind. Everybody gets in. Everybody connected with the 
 Hotel de I'Ecu d'Or is again enchanted. The brave Courier 
 runs into the house for a parcel containing cold fowl, sliced 
 hain, bread, and biscuits, for lunch ; hands if into the coach ; 
 and runs back again. 
 
 What has he got in his hand now ? More cucumbers ? 
 No. A long strip of paper. It's the bill. 
 
 The brave Courier has two belts on, this morning : one 
 supporting the purse : another a mighty good sort of leathern 
 bottle, filled to the throat with the best light Bordeaux wine in 
 the house. He never pays the bill till this bottle is full. Then 
 he disputes it. 
 
 He disputes it now, violently. He is still the landlord's 
 brother, but by another fatter or mother. He is not. so neaarly 
 related to him as he was last night. The landlord scratches 
 
^22 PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 his head. The brave Couriet points to certain figures in tlie 
 bill, and intimates that if they remain tliere, the Hotel de 
 I'Ecu d'Or is thenceforth and for ever an hotel de I'Ecu de 
 cuivre. The landlord goes into a little counting-house. The 
 brave Courier follows, forces the bill and a pen into his hand, 
 and talks more rapidly than ever. The landlord takes the 
 pen. The Courier smiles. The landlord makes an alteration. 
 The Courier cuts a joke. The landlord is aifectionate, but 
 not weakly so. He bears it like a man. He shakes liands with 
 his brave brother, but he don't hug him. Still, he loves his 
 brother ; for he knows that he will be returning that way, one 
 of these fine days, with another family, and he foresees tliat 
 his heart will yearn towards him again. The brave Courier 
 traverses all round the carriage once, looks at the drag, 
 inspects the wheels, jumps up, gives the word, and away we 
 go! 
 
 It is market morning. The market is held in the little 
 square outside in front of the cathedral. It is crowded with 
 men and women, in blue, in red, in green, in white ; with 
 canvassed stalls ; and fluttering merchandise. The country 
 people are grouped about, with their clean baskets before 
 them. Here, the lace-sellers ; there, the butter and egg-sel- 
 lers ; there, the fruit-sellers, there the shoe-makers. The 
 whole place looks as if it were the stage of some great theatre, 
 and the curtain had just run up, for a picturesque ballet. 
 And there is the cathedral to boot : scene-like : all grim and 
 swarthy, and mouldering, and cold : just splashing the pave- 
 ment in one place with faint purple drops, as the moriiing sun, 
 entering by a little window on the eastern side, struggles 
 through some stained glass panes, on the western. 
 
 In five minutes we have passed the iron cross, witli a little 
 ragged kneeling-place of turf before it, in the outskirts of the 
 town j and are again upon the road. 
 
 LYONS, THE RHONE, AND THE GOBLIN OF 
 AVIGNON. 
 
 Chalons is a fair resting place, in right of its good inn on 
 the bank of the river, and the little steam-boats, gay witii 
 green and red paint, tliat come and go upon it : which- make 
 
PICTURES FROM ITAl Y, 42^ 
 
 up a pleasant and refreshing scene, after the dusty rpads. 
 But, unless you would like to dwell on an enormous plain, 
 with jagged, rows of irregular poplars on it, that look in the 
 distance like so many combs with broken teeth: and unless 
 you would like to pass your life witliout the possibility of 
 going up-hill, or going up anything but stairs ; you would 
 hardly approve of Chalons as a place of residence. 
 
 You would probably like it better, however, than Lyons : 
 which you may reach, if you will, in one of the before^men- 
 tioned steamboats, in eight hours. 
 
 What a city Lyons is! Talk about people feeling, at 
 certain unlucky times, as if they had tumbled from the clouds ! 
 Here is a whole town that is tumbled, anyhow, out of the sky ; 
 having been first caught up, like other stones that tumble 
 down from that region, out of fens and barren places, dismal 
 to behold ! The two great streets through which the two 
 great rivers • dash, and all the little streets whose name is 
 Legion, were scorching, blistering, and sweltering. The 
 houses, high and vast, dirty to excess, rotten as old cheeses, 
 and. as thickly peopled. All up the hills that hem the city in, 
 these houses swarm ; and the mites inside were lolling out of 
 the windows, and drying their ragged clothes on poles, and 
 crawling in and out at the doors, and coming out to pant and 
 gasp upon the pavement, and creeping in and out among huge 
 piles and bales of fusty, musty, stifling . goods ; and living, or 
 rather not dying till their time should come, in, an exhausted 
 receiver. Every manufacturing town, melted into one, would 
 hardly convey an impression of Lyons as it presented itself to 
 me : for all the undrained, unscavengered qualities of a for- 
 eign town, seemed grafted, there, upon the native miseries of 
 a manufacturing one ; and it bears such fruit as I would go 
 some miles out of my way to avoid encountering again. 
 
 In the cool of the evening : or rather in the faded heat of 
 the day : we went to see the Cathedral, where divers old 
 women; and a. few dogs, were engaged in contemplation. 
 There was no difference, in point of cleanliness, between its 
 stone pavement and that of the streets ; and there was a wax 
 saint, in a little box like a berth aboard a ship, with a glass 
 front to it, whom Madame Tussaud would have nothing to say 
 to, on any terms, and which even Westminster AbbSy might 
 be ashamed of. If you wguld know all about the architecture 
 oi .this church, or any other, itg dates, dimensions, endow- 
 ments, and history, is it not written in Mr, Murray's GuidCf 
 
^2 4 PICTURES FROM ITAL K 
 
 Book, and may you not read it there, with thanks to him, as I 
 did! 
 
 For this reason, I should abstain from mentioning the 
 curious clock in Lyons Cathedral, if it were not for a small 
 mistake I made, in connection with that piece of mechanism. 
 The keeper of the church was very anxious it should be shown ; 
 partly for the honor of the establishment and th& town ; and 
 partly, perhaps, because of his deriving a percentage from the 
 additional consideration. However that may be, it was set 
 in motton, and thereupon a host of little doors flew open, 
 arid innumerable little figures staggered out of them, and 
 jerked themselves back again, with that special unsteadiness 
 of purpose, arid hitching in the gait, which usually attaches to 
 figures that are moved by clock-work. Meanwhile, the Sa- 
 cristan stood explaining these wonders, and pointing them 
 out, severally, with a wand. There was a centre puppet of the 
 Virgin Mary; and close to her, a small pigeon-hole, out of 
 which another and a very ill-looking puppet made one of the 
 most sudden pluriges I ever saw accomplished : instantly top- 
 ping back again at sight of her, and banging his little dooi 
 violently after him. Taking this to be emblematic of the 
 victory over Sin and Death, and not at all unwilling to show 
 that, I perfectly understood the subject, in anticipation of the 
 showman, I rashly said, " Aha ! The Evil Spirit. To be sure. 
 He is very soon disposed of." " Pardon, Monsieur," said the 
 Sacristan, with a polite motion of his hand, towards the little 
 door, as if introducing somebody — " The Angel Gabriel ! " 
 
 Soon after day-break next morning, we were steaming 
 down the Arrowy Rhone, at the rate of twenty miles an hour, 
 in a very dirty vessel full of merchandise, and with only three 
 or four other passengers for . our companions : among whom, 
 the most remarkable was a silly, old, meek-faced, garlic-eating, 
 immesurably polite Chevalier, with a dirty scrap of red ribton 
 hanging at his button-hole, as if he had tied it there to remind 
 himself of something : as Tom Noddy, in the farce, ties knots 
 in his pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 For the last two days, we had seen great sullen hills, the 
 first indications of the Alps, lowering in the distance. Now; 
 we were rushing on beside them : sometimes close beside 
 them : sometimes with an intervening slope, covered with 
 vineyards. Villages and small towns hanging in mid-air, with 
 great Woods of olives seen through the light open towers of their 
 churches, and clouds moving slowly on, upon the steep acclivity 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY. 425 
 
 behind them ; ruined castles perched on every eminence ; and 
 scattered houses in the clefts and gullies of the hills ; made it 
 very beautiful. The great height of these, too, making the 
 buildings look so tiny, that they had all the charm of elegant 
 models : their excessive whiteness, as contrasted with the 
 brown rdcks; or the sombre, deep, dull, heavy green of the 
 olive-tree ; and the puny size, and little slow walk of the Lil- 
 liputian men and women on the bank ; made a charming pic- 
 ture. There were ferries out of number, too; bridges'; the 
 famous Pont id'Esprit, with I don't know, how many arches ; 
 towns where memorable wines are made ; Vallence, where 
 Napoleon studied ; and the noble river, iDringing at every 
 winding turn, new beauties into view. 
 
 There lay before us, that same afternoon, the bjoken 
 bridge of Avignon, and all the city baking in the sun ; yet 
 with an under-done-pie-crust, battlemented wall,, that never will 
 be brown, though it bake for centuries. 
 
 The grapes were hanginig in clusters in the streets, and the 
 brilliant Oleander was in full bloom everywhere. The streets 
 are old and very narrow, but tolerably clean, and shaded 
 by awnings stretched from house to house... Bright stuffs and 
 handkerchiefs, curiosities, ancient frames of carved wood, old 
 chairs, ghostly tables, saints, virgins, angels, and staring daubs 
 of portraits, being exposed for sale beneath, it was very quaint 
 and lively. All- tliis was much set off, too, by the glimpses 
 one caught, through a rusty gate standing ajar, of quiet sleepy 
 court-yards, having stately old houses within, as silent, as 
 tombs. It was, all very like one of the descriptions in the 
 Arabian Nights. The three one-eyed Calenders might have 
 knocked at any one of those doors till the street rang again, 
 and the porter who persisted in asking questions — the man 
 who had the delicious purchases put into his :basket in the 
 morning — might have opened it quite naturally. 
 
 After breakfast next morning, we sallied forth to see the 
 lions. Such a delicious breeze was blowing in, from the north- 
 as made the walk ' delightful : though the pavement-stones, 
 and stones of the walls and houses, were far too hot to have 
 a hand laid on them comfortably. 
 
 We went, first of all, up a rocky height, to the cathedral : 
 where Mass was performing to an auditory very like that of 
 Lyons, namely, several old women, a baby, and a very self- 
 possessed dog, who had marked out for himself a little course 
 or platform for exercise, beginning at the altar-rails and ending 
 
^zS PICTUJiES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 at the door, up and down which constitutional walk he trotted 
 during the service, as methodically and calmly, as any old 
 gentleman out of doors. It is a bare old church, and the 
 paintings in the roof are sadly defaced by time and damp 
 weather ; but the sun was shining in, splendidly, through the 
 red curtains . of ^:he windows, and glittering on'the altar furni- 
 ture;, and it looked as bright and cheerful as need be. 
 
 Going apart, in this church, to see some painting which 
 was being executed in fresco by a French artist and his pupil, 
 I was led to observe more closely than I might otherwise 
 have done, a great number of votive offerings with which the 
 walls of the different chapels were profusely hung. I will not 
 say decorated, for they were very roughly and comically got 
 up ; most likely by poor sign-painters, who eke out their living 
 in that way. They were all little pictures : each representing 
 some sickness or calamity from which the person placing it 
 there, had escaped, through the interposition of his or her pa- 
 tron saint, or of the Madonna ; and I may refer to them as good 
 specimens of the class generally. They are abundant in Italy. 
 
 In a grotesque squareness of outline, and impossibility of 
 perspective, they are not unlike the woodcuts in old books ; 
 iDut they were oil-paintings,' and the artist, like the painter of 
 the Primrose family, had not been sparing of his colors. In 
 one, a lady was having a toe amputated — an operation which 
 a saintly personage had sailed into the room, upon a couch, 
 to superintend. In another, a lady was lying in bed, tucked 
 up very 'tight and prim, and staring with much composure at 
 a tripod, with a slop-basin on it ; the usual fonn of washihg- 
 stand, and the only piece of furniture, besides the bedstead, in 
 her- chamber. One would never have supposed her to be 
 labouring under any complaint, beyond the inconvenience of 
 being miraculously wide awake, if the painter had not hit upon 
 the idea of putting all her family on their knees in one corner, 
 with their legs sticking out behind them on the floor, like boot- 
 trees. Above whom, the Virgin, on a kind of blue divan, 
 promised to restore the patient. In another case, a lady was 
 in the very act of being run over immediately outside the city 
 walls, by a sort of piano-forte van. But the Madonna was 
 there again. Whether the supernatural appearance had star- 
 tled the horse ( a bay griffin), or whether it was invisible to 
 him, I don't know ; but he was galloping away, ding dong, 
 without the smallest reverence or compunction. On every 
 picture " Ex voto " was painted in yellow capitals in the sky. 
 
PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 427 
 
 Though votive offerings were not unknown in Pagan 
 Tenjples, and are evidently among the many compromises 
 made between the false religion and the true, when the true 
 was in its infancy, I could wish that all the other compromises 
 were as harmless. Gratitude and Devotion are Christian 
 qualities ; and a grateful, humble. Christian spirit may dictate 
 the observance. 
 
 Hard by the cathedral stands the ancient Palace of the 
 Popes, of which one portion is now a common jail, and an- 
 other a noisy barrack : while gloomy suites of state apartments 
 shut up and deserted, mock their own old state and glory, 
 like the embalmed bodies of kings. But we neither went 
 there, to see state rooms, nor soldiers' quarters, nor a com- 
 mon jail, though we dropped Some money into a prisoners' 
 box outside, whilst the prisoners, themselves, looked through 
 the iron bars, high up, and watched us eagerly. We went to 
 see the ruins of the dreadful rooms in which the Inquisition 
 used to sit. 
 
 A little, old, swarthy woman with a pair of flashing black 
 eye's, — proof that the world hadn't conjured down the devil 
 within her though it had had between sixty and seventy years 
 to do it in, — came out of the Barrack Cabaret, of which she 
 was the keeper, with some large keys in her hands, and mar- 
 shalled us the way that we should go. How she told us, on 
 the way, that she was a Government O&csr (concierge du palais 
 apostoligue), and had been, for I don't know how many years; 
 and how she had shown these dungeons to princes ; and how 
 she was the best of dungeon demonstrators ; and how she 
 had resided in the palace from an inf ant, -^had been born 
 there, if I recollect right, — I needn't relate. But such a fierce, 
 little, rapid, sparkling, energetic she-devil I never beheld. 
 She was alight and flaming, all the time. Her action was 
 violent in the extreme. She never spoke, without stopping 
 expressly for the purpose. She stamped her feet, clutched us 
 bj' the arms, flung herself into attitudes, hammered against 
 walls with her keys, for mere emphasis : now whispered as if 
 the Inquisition were there still : now Shrieked as if she were 
 on the rack herself ; and had a mysterious, hag-like way with 
 her forefinger, when approaching the remains of some new 
 horrot^— looking back and walking stealthily, and making 
 horrible grinjaces— ^that might alone have qualified her to 
 walk up and down a sick man's countei-pane, to the ex:clu- 
 sioH of all other figures, through a whole fever. 
 
428 PICrUKES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 Passing tiirougli the court-yard, among groups of idle sol- 
 diers, we turned off by agate, which this She-Goblin unlocked 
 for, our admission, and locked again behind us: and entered 
 a narrow court, rendered narrower by fallen stones and heaps 
 of rubbish ; part of it choking up the mouth of a ruined sub- 
 terranean passage, that once conirnunicated (or is- said to have 
 done so) with another castle on the opposite bank of the river. 
 Close to this court-yard is a dungeon — we stQod within it, in 
 another minute — in the dismal towejr des oubliettes, where Rienzi 
 was imprisoned, fastened by an iron chain to the very wall that 
 stands there now, but shut out from the sky which now looks 
 down into it. A few steps brought us to the Cachots, in which 
 the prisoners of the Inquisition were confined for forty-eight 
 hours after their capture, without food or drink, that their con- 
 stancy might be shaken, even before they were confronted with 
 their gloomy judges. The day has not got in there yet. They 
 are still small cells, shut in by four unyielding, close, hard 
 walls ; still profoundly dark ; still massively doored and fast- 
 ened, as of old. 
 
 Goblin, looking back as I have described, went softly on, 
 into a vaulted chamber, now used as a store-room : once the 
 chapel of the Holy Office, The place where the tribunal sat, 
 was plain. The platform might have been.removed but yester- 
 day. Conceive the parable: of the Good Samaritan having 
 been painted on the wall of one of these Inquisition cham- 
 bers ! But it was, and may be traced there yet. 
 
 High up in the jealous wall, are niches where the faltering 
 replies of the accused were heard and noted down. Many of 
 them had been brought out of the very cell we had just looked 
 into, so awfully ; along the same stone passage. We had 
 trodden in their very footsteps. 
 
 I am gazing round me, with the horror that the place in- 
 spires, when Goblin clutches me by the wrist, and lays, not her 
 skinny finger, but the handle of a key, upon her lip. She 
 invites me, with a jerk, to follow her. I do so. She leads 
 me out into a room adjoining — a rugged room, with a funnel- 
 shaped, contracting roof, open at the top, to the bright day. 
 I ask her what it is. She folds her anns, leers hideously, 
 and sjares. I ask again. She glances round, to see that all 
 the little company are there ; sits down upon a mound of 
 Stones ;• throws up her arms, and yells out, like a fiend, " La 
 Salle de la Question ! " 
 
 The Chamber of Torture ! And the roof was made of 
 
PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 429 
 
 that shape to stifle the victim's cries ! Oh Goblin, Goblin, let 
 us think of this- awhile, in silence. Peace, Goblin ! Sit with 
 your short arms crossed on your short legSj upon that heap of 
 stones, for only five minutes, and then flame out again. 
 
 Minutes ! Seconds are not marked upon the Palace clock, 
 when, with- her eyes flashing fire. Goblin is up, in the middle 
 of the chamber, describing, with her sun-burnt arms, a wheel 
 of heavy blows. Thus it ran round ! cries Goblin. Mash, 
 mash, mash ! An endless routine of heavy hammers. Mash, 
 mash, ipash ! upon the sufferer's limbs. See the stone trough ! 
 says Goblin. For the water torture ! Gurgle, swill, bloat, 
 burst, for the Redeemer's honor ! Suck the bloody rag, deep 
 down into your unbelieving body, Heretic, at every breath you 
 draw ! And when the executioner plucks it out, reeking with 
 the smaller mysteries of God's own Image, know us for His 
 chosen servants, true believers in the Sermon on the Mount, 
 elect disciples of Him who never did a miracle but to heal : 
 who never struck a man with palsy, blindness, deafness, dumb- 
 ness, madness^ any one affliction of mankind ; and never 
 stretched His blessed hand out, but to give relief and ease ! 
 
 See ! cries Goblin. There the furnace was. There they 
 made the irons red-hot. Those holes supported the sharp 
 stake, on which the tortured persons hung poised : dangling 
 with their whole weight from the roof. " But ; " and Goblin 
 whispers this; "Monsieur has heard of this tower? Yes? 
 Let Monsieur look down, then ! " 
 
 A cold air, laden with an earthy smell, falls upon the face 
 of Monsieur; for she has opened, while speaking, a trap- 
 door in the wall. Monsieur looks in. Downward to the bot- 
 tom, upward to the top, of a steep, dark, lofty tower : very 
 disinal, very dark, very cold. Thp Executioner pf the Inqui- 
 sition, says Goblin, edging in her head to look down, also, 
 flung thos^ who were past all further torturing, down here. 
 " But look ! does Monsieur see the black stains on the wall ? " 
 A glance, over his shoulder, at Goblin's keen eye, shows 
 Monsieur-^and would without the aid of the directing-key — 
 where they are. " What are they ? " " Blood ! " 
 
 In October, 1791, when the Revolution was at its height 
 here, sixty persons : men and women (" and priests," says 
 Goblin, " priests ") : were murdered, and hurled, the dying and 
 the dead, into this dreadful pit, where a quantity of quicklime 
 was tumbled down upon their bodies. Tliose ghastly tokens 
 of the massacre were soon no mgre ; but while one stone of 
 16 
 
430 PICTURES FROM ITALY 
 
 the strong building in which the deed was dohe, remains upon 
 another, there they will lie in the memories of men, as plain 
 to see as the splashing of their blood upon the wall is now. 
 
 Was it a portion of the great scheme of Retribution, that 
 the cruel deed should be committed, in this place ! That apart 
 of the atrocities and monstrous institutions, which had been, for 
 scores of years, at work, to change men's nature, should in its 
 last service, tempt them with the ready means of gratifying 
 their furious and beastly rage ? Should enable them to show 
 themselves, in the height of their frenzy, no worse than a 
 great, solemn, legal establishment, in the height of its power ! 
 No worse ! Much better. They used the Tower of the For- 
 gotten, in the name of Liberty — their liberty ; an earth-born 
 creature, nursed in the black mud of the Bastile moats and 
 dungeons, and necessarily betraying many evidences of its 
 unwholesome bringing-up — ^but the Inquisition usedit in the 
 name of Heaven. 
 
 Goblin's finger is- lifted ; and she steals out again, into the 
 Chapel of the Holy Office. She stops at a certain part of 
 the flooring. Her great effect is at hand. She waits for the 
 rest. She darts at the brave Courier, who is explaining some- 
 thing; hits him a sounding rap on the. hat with the largest 
 key ; and bids him be silent. She assembles us all, round a 
 little trap-door in the floor, as round a grav€. 
 
 " Voilk ! " she darts down at the ring, and flings the door 
 open with a crash, in her goblin energy, though it is no light 
 weight: " Voilh les oubliettes ! Voili les oubliettes ! Sub- 
 terranean ! Frightful ! Black ! Terrible ! Deadly ! Les oub- 
 liettes de rinquisition V- 
 
 My blood ran cold, as I looked from Goblin down into the 
 vaults, where these forgotten creatures, with recollections of 
 the world outside : of wives, friends, children, brothers : 
 starved to death, and made the stones ring with their unavail- 
 ing groans. But, the thrill I felt on seeing the accursed wall 
 below, decayed and broken through, and the sun shining in 
 through its gaping wounds, was like a sense of victory and 
 triumph. I felt exalted with the proud delight of living in these 
 degenerate times, to see it. As if I were the hero of some 
 high achievement ! The light in the doleful vaults was typical 
 of the li^t that has streamed in, oil all persecution in God's 
 name, but which is not yet at its noon ! It cannot look more 
 lovely to a blind man ne\ivly restored to sight, than to a travel- 
 ler who sees it, calmly and majestically, treading down the 
 darkness of that Infernal Well. 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY. ^3 j 
 
 AVIGNON TO GENOA. 
 
 Goblin, having shown les oubliettes^ felt that her great coup 
 was struck. She let the door fall with a crash, and stood 
 upon it with her arms a-kimbo, sniffing prodigiously. 
 
 When we left' the place, I accompanied her into her house, 
 under the outer gateway of the fortress, to buy a little history 
 of the building. Her cabaret, a dark low room, lighted by 
 small windows, sunk in the thick wall — in the softened light, 
 and with- its forge-like chimney ; its little counter -by the door, 
 with bottles, jars, and glasses on it \ its household implements 
 and scraps of dress against the wall ; and a sober-looking 
 woman (she must have a congenial life of it, with Goblin,) 
 knitting at the door — looked exactly like a picture by Ostade. 
 
 I walked round the building on the outside, in a sort of 
 dream, and yet with the delightful sense of having awakened 
 from it, of which the light, down in the vaults, had given me 
 the assurance. The immense thickness and giddy height of 
 the walls, the enormous strength of the massive towers, the 
 great extent of the building, its gigantic proportions, frowning 
 aspect, and barbarous irregularity, awakened awe and wonder. 
 The recollection of its opposite old uses : an impregnable 
 fortress, a luxurious palace, a horrible prison, a place of tor- 
 ture, the court of the Inquisition : at one and the same time, 
 a house of feasting, fighting, religion, and blood ; gives to 
 every stone in its huge form a- fearful interest, and imparts 
 new meaning to its incongruities. I could think of little, how- 
 ever, then, or long afterwards^ but the sun in the dungeons. 
 The palace coming down to be the lounging place of noisy 
 soldiers, and being forced to echo their rough talk, and com- 
 mon oaths, and to have their garments fluttering from its dirty 
 windows, was some reduction of its state, and something to 
 rejoice at ; but the day in its cells, and the sky for the root 
 of its chambers of cruelty — 'that was its desolation and defeat ! 
 If I had seen it in a blaze from ditch to rampart, I should 
 have felt that not that light, nor all the light in the fire that 
 bums, could waste it, like the sunbeams in its secret council- 
 chamber, and its prisons. 
 
 Before I quit this Palace of the Popes, let me translate 
 
„3 PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 from the little history I mentioned just now, a short anecdote, 
 quite appropriate to itself, connected with its adventures. 
 
 " An ancient tradition relates, that in 1441, a nephew of 
 Pierre de Lude, the Pope's legate, seriously insulted some 
 distinguished ladies ;of Avignon, whose relations, in revenge, 
 seized the young man, and horribly mutilated him. For several 
 years the legate kep-t his revenge within his own. breast, but 
 he was not the Jess resolved upon its gratification at last. He 
 even made, in the fulness of time, advances towards a com 
 plete reconciliation ; and when their apparent sincerity had 
 prevailed, he invited to a splendid banquet, in this palace, cer- 
 tain families, whole families, whom he sought to exterminate. 
 The utmost gayety animated the repast ; but the measures of 
 the legate were well taken. When the dessert was on the 
 board, a Swiss presented himself, with the announcement that 
 a strange ambassador solicited an extraordinary audience. 
 The legate, excusing himself, for the moment, to his guests, 
 retired, followed by his officers. Within a few minutes after- 
 wards, five hundred persons were reduced to ashes : the whole 
 of that wing of the buildings having been blown into the air 
 with a terrible explosion ! " 
 
 After seeing the churches (I will not trouble you with 
 churches just now), we left Avignon that afternoon. The heat 
 being very great, the roads outside the walls were strewn with 
 people, fast asleep in every little slip of shade, and. with lazy 
 groups, half asleep and half awake, who were waiting until 
 the sun should be low enough to admit pf their playing bowls 
 among the burnt-up trees, and on the dusty road. The harvest 
 here, was already gathered in, and mules and horses were 
 treading out the corn in the fields. We. came, at dusk, upon 
 a wild and hilly country, once famous for brigands ; and 
 travelled slowly up a steep ascent. So we went on, until 
 eleven at night, when we halted at the town of Aix (within two 
 stages of Marseilles) to sleep. 
 
 The hotel, with all the blinds and shutters closed to keep 
 the light and heat out, was comfortable and airy next morning, 
 and the town was very clean ; but so hot, arid so intensely 
 light, that when I walked out at noon it was likft coming sud- 
 denly from the darkened room into crisp blue fire. The air 
 was so very clear, that distant hills and rocky points appeared 
 within an hour's walk ; while the town immediately at hand — 
 with a kind of blue wind between me and it — seemed to be 
 white hot, and; to be throwing off a fiery air from the surface. 
 
O.T. 
 
 IN THE CATACOMBS. 
 
PICTUJi£S JfROM ITAL Y. 433 
 
 We left this town towards evening, and took the roud to 
 Marseilles. A /dusty road it was ; the houses shut up close ; 
 and the vines powdered white. At nearly all the cottage doors, 
 women were peeling and slicing onions into earthen bowls for 
 supper. So they had been doing last night all the way from 
 Avignon. We passed one or two shady dark chateaux, sur- 
 rounded by trees, and embellished with cool basins of water : 
 which were the more refreshing to behold, from the great 
 scarcity of such residences on the road we had travelled. As 
 we approached Marseilles, the road began to be covered with 
 holiday people. Outside the public-houses were parties smok- 
 ing, drinking, playing draughts and cards, and (once) dancing. 
 But dust, dust, dust, everywhere. We went on, through a 
 long, straggling, dirty suburb, thronged with people ; having 
 on our left a dreary slope of land, on which the country-houses 
 of the Marseilles merchants, always staring white, are jumbled 
 and heaped without the slighest order : backs, fronts, sides, 
 and gables towards all points of the compass ; until, at last, 
 we entered the town. 
 
 I was there, twice or thrice afterwards, ip fair weather and 
 foul ; and I am afraid there is no doubt that it is a dirty and 
 disagreeable place. But the prospect, from the fortified 
 heights, of the beautiful Mediterranean, with its lovely rocks 
 and islands, is most delightful. These heights are a desirable 
 retreat, for less picturesque reason — as an escape from a com- 
 pound of vile smells perpetually, arising from a great harbor 
 full of stagnant water, and befouled by the refuse of innumer^ 
 able ships with all sorts of cargoes : which, in hot weather, 
 is dreadful in the last degree. 
 
 There were foreign sailors, of all nations, in the streets ; 
 with red shirts, blue shirts, "buff shifts, tawny shirts, and shirts 
 of orange color ; with red caps, blue caps, green caps, great 
 beards, and no beards ; in Turkish turbans, glazed English 
 hats, and Neapolitan head-dresses. There were the towns- 
 people sitting in clusters on the pavement, or airing themselves 
 on the tops of their houses, or walking up and down the closest 
 and least airy of Boulevards ; and there were crowds of fierce- 
 looking people of the lower sort, blocking up the way, con- 
 stantly. In the very heart of all tliis stir and uproar, was the 
 common madhouse ; a low, contracted, miserable building, 
 looking straight upon the street, without the ismallest screen 
 or court-yard ; where chattering mad-men and mad-women 
 were peeping out, through rusty bars, at the staring faces be- 
 
434 
 
 PICTUKES FROM ITALY. 
 
 low, while the sun, darting fiercely aslant into their littte celb, 
 seemed to dry up their brains, and worry them, as if they were 
 baited by a pack of dogs. 
 
 We were pretty well accommodated at the Hotel du Pa- 
 radis, situated in a narrow street of very high houses, with a 
 hairdresser's shop opposite, exhibiting in one of its windows 
 two full-length waxen ladies, twirling round and round : which 
 so enchanted the hairdresser himself, that he and his family 
 sat in arm-chairs, and in cool undresses, on the pavement out 
 side, enjoying the gratification of the pasSers-by, with lazy 
 dignity. The family had retired to rest when we went to bed, 
 at midnight ; but the hairdresser (a corpulent man in drab 
 slippers) was still sitting there, with his legs stretched out 
 before him, and evidently couldn't bear to have the shutters . 
 put up. 
 
 Next day. we went down to the. harbor, where the sailors 
 of all nations were discharging and taking in cargoes of all 
 kinds : fruits, wines, oils, silks; stuffs, velvets, and every man- 
 ner of merchandise. Taking one of a great number of lively 
 little boats with gay-striped awnings, we rowed away, under 
 the sterns of great ships, under tow-ropes and cables, against 
 and among other boats, and very much too near the sides of 
 vessels that were faint with oranges, to the Marie Antoinette, 
 a handsome steamer bound for Genoa, lying near the mouth 
 of the harbor. By and by, the carriage, that unwieldy " trifle 
 from the Pantechnicon," on a flat barge, bumping- against 
 everything, and giving occasion for a prodigious quantity of 
 oaths and grimaces, came stupidly alongside ; and by five 
 o'clock we were steaming out in the 'open sea. The vessel 
 was beautifully clean ; the meals were served under an awning 
 on deck ; the night was calm and clear ; the quiet beauty of 
 the sea and sky unspeakable. 
 
 We were off Nicei, early next morning, and coasted along, 
 within a few miles of the Cornice road (of which more in its 
 place) nearly all day. We could see Genoa before three ; and 
 watching it as it gradually developed its splendid amphitheatre, 
 terrace rising above terrace, garden above garden, palace 
 above palace, height upon height, was ample occupation for us, 
 till we ran into the stately harbor. Having been duly aston- 
 ished, here, by the sight of a few Cappueini monks who were 
 watching the fair-weighing of some wood upon the wharf, we 
 drove 'offi to Albaro, two miles "distant, where we had engaged 
 a house. 
 
PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 43S 
 
 The way lay through the main streets, but not through the 
 Strada Nuova, or the Strada Balbi, which are the famous 
 streets of palaces. I never in my life was so dismayed ! The 
 \\ o.iderful/ novelty of everything, the unusual smells, the un- 
 accountable, filth (though it is reckoned the deanestof Italian 
 towns), the; disorderly jumbling of dirty houses, one upon the 
 roof of another ; the passages more squalid, and more close 
 than any in St- Giles's or old- Paris ; in and out of which, not 
 vagabonds, but well-dressed women, with white veils and great 
 fans, were passing and repassing; the perfect absence of re- 
 semblance in any dwelling-house, or shop, i or wall,. or post, or 
 pillar, to anything one had ever seen before ; and. the disheart- 
 ening dirt, discomfort, and decay ; perfectly conf ounde4 me. 
 I fell into a dismal reverie. I am conscious of a feverish and 
 bewildered vision of saints and virgins' shrines at the street cor- 
 ners—of great numbers of friars, monks, and soldiers — of vast 
 red curtains, waving in the door-ways of the churches — oi 
 always going uphill^ and.yef seeing every other street and 
 passage going higher up^-r-of fruit-stalls, with;fresh lemons and 
 oranges hanging in garlands made of vine-leaves — of a guard- 
 house, and a drawbridge — and some gateways- — and vendors 
 of iced water, sitting with little trays upon the margin of the 
 kennel — and this is; all the consciousness I had until I was set 
 down in a rank, dull, weedy court-yard, attached to a kind of 
 pink jail ; and was told I lived there., 
 
 I little thought, that day, that I should ever come to have 
 an attachment for the very stories in the streets of Genoa, and 
 to look back upon the city with affection as connected with 
 many hours of happiness and quiet ! But these are my first 
 impressions honestly set down ; and how they, changed, I will 
 set down too. At present, let us breathe after this long- 
 winded journey. 
 
 GENOA AND ITS NEIGHBORHOOD. 
 
 The first impressions of such a place as Albaro, the sub- 
 urb of Genoa, where I am now, as my American friends would 
 say, " located," can hardly fail, I should imagine, to . be 
 mournful and disappointing. It requires a little time and use 
 
436 PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 to overcome the feeling of depression consequent, at first, on 
 so much ruin and neglect. Novelty, pleasant to most people, 
 is particularly delightful, I think, to me. I am not easily dis- 
 pirited when I have the means of pursuing my own fancies 
 and occupations ; and I believe I have some natural aptitude 
 for accommodating myself to circumstances. But, as yet, I 
 stroll about here, in all the holes and comers of the neighbor- 
 hood, in a perpetual state of forlorn surprise ; and returning 
 to my villa: the Villa Bagnerello (it sounds romantic, but 
 Signor Bagnerello is a butcher hard by) ; have sufficient occu- 
 .pation in pondering over my new experiences, and comparing 
 them, very much to my own amusement, with my expectations, 
 until I wander out again. 
 
 The Villa Bagnerello : or the Pink Jail, a far more expres- 
 sive name for the mansion : is in one of the most splendid sit- 
 uations imaginable. The noble bay of Genoa, with the deep 
 blue Mediterranean, lies stretched out near at hand ; mon- 
 strous old desolate houses and palaces are dotted all about ; 
 lofty hills, with their tops often hidden in the clouds, and 
 with strong forts perched high up on their craggy sides, are 
 close upon the left ; and in front, stretching from the walls of 
 the house, down to a ruined chapel which stands upon the bold 
 and picturesque rocks on the sea-shore, are green vineyards, 
 where you may wander all day long in partial shade, through 
 interminable vistas.of grapes, trained on a rough trelliswork 
 across the narrow paths. 
 
 This sequestered spot is approached by lanes so very nar- 
 row, that when we arrived at the Custom-house, we found the 
 people here had taken the measure of the narrowest among 
 them, and were waiting to apply it to the carriage ; which 
 ceremony was gravely performed in the street, while we all 
 stood by in breathless suspense. It was found to be a very 
 tight fit, but just a possibility, and no more — as I am reminded 
 ever}' day, by the sight of various large holes which it punched 
 in the walls on either side as it came along. We are more 
 fortunate, I am told, than an old lady, who took a house in 
 these parts not long ago, and who stuck fast in /%»- carriage in 
 a lane ; and as it was impossible to open one of the doors, 
 she was obliged to submit to the indignity of being hauled 
 through one of the little front windows, like a harlequin. 
 
 When you have got through these narrow lanes, you come 
 to an archway, imperfectly stopped up by a rusty old gate — 
 my gate. The rusty old gate has a bell to correspond, which 
 
PICTURES FROM TTAL Y. 4^j 
 
 you ring as long as you like, and which nobody answers, as it 
 ha.s no connection whatever with the house. But there is a 
 rusty old knocker, too — very loose, so that it slides round 
 when you touch it-^and if you leaxn the trick of it,and knock 
 long enough, somebody comes. The brave Courier comes, 
 and gives you admittance. You walk iiito a seedy little gar- 
 den, all wild and weedy, from wliich the vineyard opens ; 
 cross it, enter a square hall like a cellar, walk up a cracked 
 marble staircase, and pass into a most enormous room with a 
 vaulted roof and whitewashed walls : not unlike a great 
 Methodist chapel. This is the sala. It has five windows 
 and five doors, and is decorated with pictures which would 
 gladden the heart of one of those picture-cleaners in London 
 who hang up, as a sign, a picture divided, iike death and the 
 lady, at the top of the old ballad : which always leaves you in 
 a state of uncertainty whether the ingenious professor has 
 cleaned one half, or dirtied the other. The furiiiture of this 
 ja/a is a sort of red brocade. All the chairs are immovable, 
 and the sofa weighs several tons. 
 
 . On the same floor, and opening out of this same chamber, 
 are dining-room, drawing-room, and divers bed-rooms : each 
 with a multiplicity of doors and windows. Up stairs are di- 
 vers other gaunt chambers, and a kitchen ; and down stairs is 
 another kitchen, which, with all sorts of strange contrivances 
 for burning charcoal, looks like an alchemical laboratory. 
 There are also some half-dozen small sitting-rooms, where the 
 servants in this hot July, may escape from the heat of the fire, 
 and where the brave Courier plays all sorts of ijjMsical instru- 
 ments of his own manufacture, all the evening long. A 
 mighty old, wandering, ghostly, echoing, grim, bare house it 
 is, as ever I beheld or thought of. 
 
 There is a little vioetcovered terrace, opetiing from the 
 drawing-room ; and under this terrace, and forming one side 
 of the little garden, is what used to be the stable. It is now 
 a cow-house, and has three cows in it, so that we get new milk 
 by the bucketful. There is no pasturage near, and they 
 never go out, but are constantly lying down, and sucfeiting 
 themselves 'wfith vines leaves — perfect Italian cows enjoying 
 the doke far ' tdente all day long. They are presided over, 
 and slept with, by an old man named Antonio, and his son ; 
 two burnt-sienna natives with naked legs and feet, who wear, 
 each, a shirt, a pair of trousers, and a red sash, with a relic, 
 or some sacred charm like the bonbon off a twelfth-cake, 
 
438 PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 hanging round the neck. The old man is very anxious to 
 convert me to the Catholic faith ; and exhorts me frequently. 
 We sit upon a stone by the door sometimes in the evening, like 
 Robinson Crusoe and Friday teversied ; and be generally re- 
 lates, towards my conversion, an abridgment of the History 
 of Saint Peter — chiefly, I believe, from the unspeakable de- 
 light he has in the imitatidn of the cock. 
 
 The view, as I have said, is charming ; but in the day you 
 must keep the lattice-blinds close shut, or the sun would drive 
 you mad ; and when the sun goes down you must shut up all 
 the windows, or the mosquitoes would tempt you to commit 
 suicide. So at this time of the year, you don't see much of 
 the prospect within doors. As for the flies, you don't mind 
 them. Nor the fleas, whose size is prodigious, and whose name 
 is Legion, and who populate the coach-house to that; extent 
 that I daily expect to see the carriage going off bodily, drawn 
 by myriads of industrious fleas in harness. The rats are kept 
 away, quite comfortably, by scores of lean cats, who roam 
 about the garden for that purpose. The lizards, of course, 
 nobody cares for ;'they play in the sun, and don't bite. The 
 little scorpions are merely curious. The beetles are rather 
 late, and have not appeared yet. The frogs are company. 
 There is a preserve of them in the grounds of the next villa ; 
 and after nightfall, one would think that scores upon scores 
 of women* in pattens were going up and down a wet stone 
 pavement without a moment's cessation. That is exactly the 
 noise they make. 
 
 The ruined chapel, on the picturesque and beautiful sea- 
 shore, was dedicated, once upon a time, to Sairit John the. 
 Baptist. I believe there is a legend that Saint John's bones 
 were received there, with various solemnities, when they were 
 first brought to Genoa ; for Genoa possesses them to this day. 
 When there is any uncommon tempest at sea, they are brought 
 out and exhibited to the ragitig weather, which they never fail 
 to calm. In consequence of this connection of Saint John with 
 the city, great numbers of the common people are dhristened 
 Giovanni Baptista, which latter name is pronounced in the 
 Genoese patois " Batcheetcha," like a sneeze. To hear every- 
 body calling everybody else Batcheetcha, on a Sunday, or 
 festa-day, when there are crowds in the streets, is not a little 
 singular and amusing to a stranger. 
 
 The narrow lanes have great villas opening into them, 
 whose walls (outside walls, I mean) are profusely painted ^vith 
 
PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 439 
 
 all sorts of subjects, grim, and holy. But time and the sea-air 
 have nearly obliterated them ; and they look like the entrance 
 to Vauxhall Gardens on a sunny day. , The court'yards of 
 these houses are overgrown with grass and weeds ; all sorts of 
 hideous patches cover the bases of the statues, as if they were 
 afflicted with a cutaneous disorder ; the outer gates are rusty ; 
 and the iron bars outside the lower windows are all tumbling 
 down. Firewood is kept in halls where costly treasures 
 might be heaped up, mountains high ; waterfalls are dry and 
 choked ; fountains, too dull to play, and to lazy to work, 
 have justr enough recollection of their identity, in their sleep, 
 to make the neighborhood damp j. and the sirocco wind is 
 often blowing over all these things for days together, like a 
 gigantic oven out for a holiday. 
 
 Not long agoj there was a festa-day, in honor of the Vir- 
 gin's mather, when the young ;men of the neighborhood, hav- 
 ing worn green wreaths of the vine in some procession or 
 other, bathed in them, by scores. It looked very odd and 
 pretty. Though I am bound to confess (not knowing of the 
 festa at that time), that, I thought, and was quite satisfied, 
 they wore them as horses do — to keep the flies off. 
 
 Soon afterwairds; there was. another festa-day, in honor of 
 St. Nazaro. One of the Albaro young men brought two large 
 bouquets soon after breakfast, and coming up stairs into the 
 great sala, presented them himself. This was a polite way of 
 begging for a contribution towards the. expenses of some 
 music in the Saint's honor, so we gave him wSatever it may 
 have been, and his messenger .departed.: well satisfied. At 
 six o'clock in the evening we -went to the. church-^close at 
 hand — a very gaudy place, hung all over with • festoons . and 
 bright draperies, and filled, from the altar to ■ the main door, 
 with women, ail seated. They wear no bonnets here, simply 
 a long white veil — the " mezzero ; " and it was the most 
 gauzy, ethereal-looking audience I ever saw. The young 
 women are not generally pretty, but they walk remarkably 
 well, and in their carriage and the management of their veils, 
 display much innate grace and elegance. There were some 
 men present : not very many : and a few of these were kneel- 
 ing about the aisles, while everybody else tumbled- over them. 
 Innumerable tapers were burning in the church ; the bits of 
 silver and tin about the saints (especially in the Virgin's neck- 
 lace) sparkled brilliantly ; the priests were seated about the 
 chief altar ; the organ played away, lustily, and a full band 
 
44© PICTURES PRtM ITAL Y. 
 
 did the like ; while a conductor, in a little gallery opposite to 
 the band, hammered away on the desk before him, with a 
 scroll ; and a tenor, without any voice, sang. The band 
 played one way, the organ played another, the singer went a 
 third, and the unfortunate conductor banged and banged, and 
 flourished his ■ scroll on some principle of his own: ap- 
 parently well satisfied ■wdth the whole performance. I never 
 did hear such a discordant din. The heat was intense all the 
 time. 
 
 The men, in red caps, and with loose coats hanging on 
 their shoulders (they never put them on), were playing bowls, 
 and buying sweatmeats, immediately outside the church. 
 When half-a-dozen of them finished a game, they came into 
 the aisle, crossed tljemselves with the holy water, knelt on 
 one knee for an instant, and walked off again to play another 
 game at bowls. They are remarkably expert at this diversion, 
 and will play in the stony/lanes and streets, and on tiie most 
 uneven and disastrous ground for siach a purpose, with as 
 much nicety^as on a billiard-table. But the most favorite 
 game is the national one of Mora, which .they pursue with 
 surprising ardor, and at which they will stake everything they 
 possess. It is a destructive kind of gambling, requiring no 
 accessaries but the ten fingers, whicli a»e always — ^I intend no 
 pun — -at hand. Two men play together. One calls a number 
 — say the extreme one, ten. He marks what portion of it he 
 pleases by throwing out three, or four, or five fingers ; and his 
 adversary has* in the same instant, at hazard, and without 
 seeing his hand, to throw oilt as many fingers, as will make 
 the exact balance. Their eyes and hands become so used to 
 this, and act with such astonishing rapidity, that an uniniti- 
 ated bystander would find it very difficult, if not impossible, to 
 follow the progress of the game. The initiated, iiowever, of 
 whom there is always an eager group looking on, devour it 
 with the most intense avidity ; and as they are always ready 
 to champion one side oT the other in case of a dispute, and 
 are frequently divided in their partizanship, it is often a very 
 noisy proceeding. It is never the quietest game in the world ; 
 for the numbers are always called in a loud sharp voice, and 
 follow as close upon each other as they can be counted. On 
 a holiday evening, standing at a window, or walking in, a gar- 
 den, or passing through the streets, or sauntering in any quiet 
 place about the town, you will hear this game in progress in 
 a score of wine-shops at once ; and looking over any vinfr 
 
PICTUSES FROM ITALY. 
 
 441 
 
 yard wail?, or turning almost any comer, will come upon a 
 knot of players in full cry; It is observable that most men 
 have a propensity to throw out some particular number oft- 
 ener than another ; and the vigilance with which two sharp- 
 eyed players will mutually endeavor to detect this weakness, 
 and adaft their game to it, is very curious and entertaining. 
 The effect is greatly heightened by the universal suddenness 
 and vehemence of- gesture ; two men playing for half a far* 
 thing with an intensity as all-absorbing as if the stake were 
 life. 
 
 Hard by here is a large Palazzo, formerly belonging to 
 some member of the Brignole family, but just now hired by a 
 school of Jesuits for their summer quarters. I -walked into 
 its dismantled precincts the other evening about sunset, and 
 couldn't help pacing up and down for a little time, drowsily 
 taking in the aspect of the place : which is repeated here- 
 abouts in all directions. 
 
 I loitered to and fro, under a colonnade, forming two 
 sides of a weedy, grass-grown court-yard, whereof the house 
 formed a third side, and a low terrace-walk, overlooking the 
 garden and the neighboring hiUs, the fourth. ' I don't believe 
 there was an uncracked stone in the whole pavement. In the 
 centre was a melancholy statue, so piebald in its decay, that 
 it looked exactly as if it had been covered with sticking- 
 plaster, and afterwards powdered. The stables, coach-houses, 
 offices, were all empty, all ruinous, all utterly deserted. 
 
 Doors had lost their hinges, and were holding on by their 
 latches ; windows were broken, painted plaster had peeled off, 
 and was lying about in clods ; fowls and cats Jiad so taken pos- 
 session of the out-buildings, that I couldn't help thinking of 
 the:£airy tales, and eyeing tliem with suspicion, as transformed 
 retainers, waiting to be changed back again. One old Tcm 
 in particular : a scraggy brute, with a hungry green eye (a 
 poor relation, in reality, I am inclined to think) : came prowl- 
 ing round and round me, as if he half believed, for the mo- 
 ment, that I might be the hero come to marry the lady, and 
 set all to-rights ; but discovering his mistake, he suddenly 
 gave a grim snarl, and walked away with such a tremendous 
 tail, that he couldn't get into the little hole where he lived, 
 but was obliged to Vi^ait outside, until his indignation and his 
 tail had gone down together. 
 
 In a sort of summer-house, or whatever it may be, in this 
 colonnade, some Englishmen had been living, like grubsin a 
 
442 PICTURES FROM JTAL Y. 
 
 nut; but the Jesuits had given them notice to go, and they 
 had gone, and that was shiit up too. The house : a wanderr 
 ing, echoing, thundering barrack of a place, with the lower 
 windows barred up, as usual, was wide open at the door : and 
 1 have no doubt I might have gone in, and gone to bed, and 
 gone dead, and nobody a bit the wiser. Only one suit of 
 rooms on an upper floor was tenanted ; and from one of these, 
 the voice of a young lady vocalist, • pjactising bravura lustily, 
 came flaunting out upoii the silent evening. 
 
 I went down into the garden, intended to be prim and 
 quaint, with avenues, and terraces, and orange-trees, and 
 statues, and water in stone basins ; and everything was green, 
 gaunt, weedy, straggling, under grown or over grown, mildewy, 
 damp, redolent of all sorts of slabby, clammy, creeping, and 
 uncomfortable life. There was nothing bright in the whole 
 scene but a firefly-^one solitary firefly — showing against the 
 dark bushes like the last little speck of the departed Glory of 
 the house ; and even it went flitting up and down at sudden 
 angles, and leaving a place with a jerk, and describing an ir- 
 regular circle, and returning to the same place with a twitch 
 that startled one : as if it were looking for the rest of the 
 Glory, and wondering (Heaven knows it might!) what had 
 become of it. 
 
 In the course of two months, the flitting shapes and shad- 
 ows of my dismal entering reverie gradually resolved them- 
 selves into familiar forms and substances ; and I already be- 
 gan to think that when the time should come, a year hence, 
 for closing the long holiday and turning back to England, I 
 might part from Genoa with anything but a glad heart. 
 
 It is a place that " grows upon you " every day. There 
 seems to be always something to find out in it. There are 
 the most extraordinary alleys and by-ways to walk about in. 
 You can lose your way (what a comfort that is, when you are 
 idle !) twenty times a day, if you like ; and turn up again, 
 under the most unexpected and surprising difficulties. It 
 abounds in the strangest contrasts; things that are pictur- 
 esque, ugly, mean, magnificent, delightful, and offensive; break 
 upon the view at every turn. 
 
 They who would know how beautiful the country immedi- 
 ately surrounding Genoa is, should climb (in clear weather) to 
 the top of Monte Faccio, or, at least, ride round the city walls; 
 a feat more easily performed. No prospect can be more 
 
PICTURES FKOAT ITAL K 443 
 
 diversified and lovely than the changing views of the harbor, 
 and the valleys of the two rivers, the Polcevera and the 
 Bizagno, from the ieights along which the strongly fortified 
 walls are carried, like the great wali of China in little. In not 
 the least picturesque part of this ride, there is a fair specimen 
 of a real Genoese tavern, where the visitor may derive good 
 entertainment from- real Genoese dishes, Such as Tagliarini ; 
 Jlavioli ; German sausages, strong of garlic, sliced and eaten 
 with fresh green figs ;, cocks' combs and sheep-kidneys, chopped 
 up with mutton chops and liver ; small pieces of some unknown 
 part of a. calf, twisted intp small shreds, fried, and served up 
 in a great dish like whitebait ; and other curiosities of that 
 kind. TJiey often get wine at these suburban Trattorie from 
 France and Spain and Portugal, which is brought over by 
 small captains in little trading vessels. They buy it at so 
 much a bottle,. without asking what it is, or caritig to remem- 
 ber if anybody tells them, and usually divide it into two heaps ; 
 of which they label one Champagne, and the other Madeira. 
 The various opposite flavors,, qualities; countries, ages, and 
 vintages that are comprised under these; two general heads is 
 quite extraordinary. The most limited range is probably from 
 cool Gruel up to old Marsala, and down again to apple Tea. 
 The great majority of the streets are as narrow as any 
 thorougf^re can well be, where people (even Italian people) 
 are supposed to live and walk about ; being mere lanes, with 
 here and there a kind of well, or breathing-place. The houses 
 are immensely high, painted in all sorts of colors, and are 
 in every stage and state of damage, dirt, and lack of repair. 
 They are commonly let off in floors, or flats, like the houses 
 in the old town of Edinburgh, or many houses in Paris. 
 There are few street doors; the entrance halls are, for the 
 most part, looked upon as public property ; and any moder- 
 ately enterprising scavenger.might make a fine fortune by now 
 and then clearing them out. As it is impossible for coaches 
 to penetrate into these streets, there are sedan chairs,. gilded 
 and otherwise, for hire in divers places. A great many private 
 chairs are also kept among the nobility and gentry ; and at 
 night these are trotted to, and fro in all directions, preceded 
 by bearers of great lanthorns, made of linen stretched upon a 
 frame. The s^ans and lanthorns are the legitimate success- 
 ors of the long strings of patient and much-abused mules, that 
 go jingling their little, bells through these confined streets all 
 day long. They follow them, as regularly as the stars the sun. 
 
444 PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 When shall I forget the Streets of Palaces ; the Strada 
 Muova and the Strada Balbi ! or how the former looked one 
 summer day, when I first saw it underneath the brightest and 
 most intensely blue of summer skies ; which its narrow per- 
 spective of immense mansions, reduced to a tapering and most 
 precious strip of brightness, looking down upon the heavy 
 shade below ! A brightness not too common, even in July 
 and August, to be well esteemed : for, if the Truth must out, 
 there were not eight blue skies in as many midsummer weeks, 
 saving, sometimes, early in the morning ; when, locking out 
 to sea, the water and the firmament were one world of deep 
 and brilliant blue. At other times, there were clouds and haze 
 enough to make an Englishman grumble in his own cJimate. 
 
 The endless details of these rich Palaces : the walls of 
 some of them, within, alive with masterpieces by Vandyke ! 
 The great, heavy, stone balconies, one above another, and 
 tier over tier : with here and there, one larger than the rest, 
 towering high uis — a huge marble platform : the doorless 
 vestibules, massively barred lower windows, immense public 
 staircases, thick marble pillars, strong dungeon-like arches, 
 and dreary, dreaming, echoing vaulted chambers : among 
 which the eye wanders again, and again, as every palace is 
 succeeded by another — the terrace gardens between bouse and 
 house, with green arches of the vine, and groves of orange- 
 trees, and blushing oleander in full bloom,.twenty, thirty, forty 
 feet above the street — the painted halls, m«i>uldiering, and blot- 
 ting, and rotting in the damp corners, and still shming out in 
 beautiful colors a;nd voluptuous designs, where the walls are 
 dry — the faded figures on the outsides of the houses, holding 
 wreaths, and crowns, and flying upward, and downward, and 
 standing in niches, and here and there looking fainter and 
 more feeble than elsewhere, by contrast with some fiesh littie 
 Cupids, who on a more recently decorated portion of the front, 
 are stretching out what seems to be the semblance of a blanket, 
 but is, indeed, a sun-dial — the steep, steep, up-hill streets of 
 small palaces (but very large palaces for all that), with marble 
 terraces looking down into close by-ways — the magnificent 
 and innumerable Churches ; and the rapid passage from a 
 street of stately edifices, into a maze of the vilest squalor, 
 steaming with unwholesome stenches, and swarming with iialf- 
 naked children and whole worlds of dirty people — ^make up, 
 altogether, such a scene of wonder : so lively, and yet so dead : 
 so noisy, and yet so quiet: so obtrusive, and yet so shy and 
 
PICTUSES FROM ITALY. 445 
 
 lowering : so wide awake, and yet so fast asleep : that it is a 
 sort of intoxication to a stranger to walk on, and on, and on, 
 and look about him. A bewildering phantasmagoria, with all 
 the inconsistency of a dream, and all the pain and all the 
 pleasure of an extravagant reality ! 
 
 The different uses to which some of these Palaces are ap- 
 plied, all at once, is characteristic. For instance, the English 
 Banker (my excellent and hospitable friend) has his office in 
 a good-sized Palazzo in tile Strada Nuova. In the hali (every 
 inch of which is elaborately painted, but which is as dirty as 
 a police-station in London), a hook-nosed Saracen's Head 
 with an immense quantity of black hair (there is a man at- 
 tached to it) sells walking-sticks. On the other side of the 
 doorway, a lady with a showy handkerchief for head-dress 
 (wife to the Saracen's Head, I believe) sells articles of her 
 own knitting ; and sometimes flowers. A little further in, two 
 or three blind men occasionally beg. Sometimes they are 
 visited by a man without legs, on a little go-cart, but who has 
 such a fresh-colored, lively face, and such a respectable, well- 
 conditioned body, that he looks as if he had sunk into the 
 ground up to his middle, or had come, but partially, up a 
 flight of cellar-steps to speak to somebody. A little further 
 in, a few men, perhaps, lie asleep in the middle of the day ; 
 or they may be chairmen waiting for their absent freight. If 
 so, they have brought their chairs in with them, and there 
 they stand alsO. On the left of the hall is a little room : a 
 hatter's shop. On the first floor, is the English bank. On 
 the first floor also, is a whole house, and a good large resi- 
 dence too. Heaven knows what there may be above that ; 
 but when you are there, you have only just begun to go up 
 stairs. And yet, coming down stairs again, thinking of this ; 
 and passing out at a great crazy door in the back of the hall, 
 instead of turning the other way, to get into the street again ; 
 . it bangs behind you, making the dismallest and most lone- 
 some echoes, and you stand in a yard (the yard of the same 
 house) which seems to have been unvisited by human foot, 
 for a hundred years. Not a sound disturbs its repose. Not 
 a head thrust out of any of the grim, dark, jealous windows 
 within sight, makes the weeds in ^e cracked pavement faint 
 of heart, by suggesting the possibility of there being hands to 
 grub them up. Opposite to you, is a giant figure carved in 
 stone, reclining, with an urn, upon a lofty piece of artificial 
 rockwork ; and out of the urn, dangles the fag end of a 
 
446 PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 leaden pipe, which, once upon a time, poured a small torrent 
 down the rocks. But the eye-sockets of the giant are not 
 drier than this channel is now. He seems to have given 
 his urn, which is nearly upside down, a final tilt ; and after 
 crying, like a sepulchral child, " All gone ! " to have lapsed 
 into a stony silence. 
 
 In the streets of shops, the houses are much smaller, 
 but of great size notwithstanding, and extremely high. They 
 are very dirty : quite undrained, if my nose be at all reliable : 
 and emit a peculiar fragrance, like the smell of very bad 
 cheese, kept in very hot blankets. Notwithstanding the 
 height of the houses,- there would seem to have beer^ a lack 
 of room in the City, for new houses are thrust in everywhere. 
 Wherever it has been possible to crain a tumble-down tenement 
 into a crack or corner, in it has gone. If there be a nook or 
 angle in the wall of a church, or a crevice in any other dead 
 wall, of any sort, there you are sure to find some kind of hab- 
 itation : looking as if it had growii there, like a fungus. Against 
 the Government House, against the old Senate House, 
 round about any largfe building, little shops stick close, like 
 parasite vermin to the great carcase. And for all thj.s, look 
 where you may : up steps, down steps, anywhere^ everywhere ; 
 there are irregular houses, receding, starting forward, tum- 
 bling down, leaning against their neighbors^ crippling them- 
 selves or their friends by some means or other, until one more 
 irregular than the rest, chokes up '.he way, and you can't see 
 any further." 
 
 One of the rottenest-looking parts of the town, I think, is 
 down by the landing-wharf : though it may be, that its being 
 associated with a great deal of rottenness on the evening of 
 our arrival, has stamped it deeper in my mind. Here, again, 
 the houses are very high, and are of an infinite variety of 
 deformed shapes, and have (as most of the houses have) 
 something hanging out of a great many windows, and wafting 
 its frowsy fragrance on the breeze. Sometimes, it is a curtain ; 
 sometimes, it is a carpet ; sometimes, it is a bed ; sometimes, 
 a whole lipe-fuU of clothes; but there is almost always some- 
 thing. Before the basement of these houses, is an arcade 
 over the pavement : very massive, dark and low, like an old 
 crypt. The stone, or plaster, of which it is made, has turned 
 quite black ; and against every one of these black piles, all 
 sorts of filth and garbage seem to accumulate spontaneously. 
 Beneath some of the arches, the sellers of maccaroni and 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 447 
 
 polenta estabJish their stalls, which are by no means in- 
 viting. The offal of a fish-market near at hand — that is to 
 say, of a back lane, where the people sit upon the ground and 
 on various old bulk-heads and sheds, and sell fish when 
 they have any to dispose of — and of a vegetable market, con- 
 structed on the same principle — are contributed to the decora- 
 tion of this quarter ; and as all the mercantile business is 
 transacted here, and it is crowded all day, it • has a very de- 
 cided flavor about it. The Porto Franco, or free Port (where 
 goods brought in from foreign countries pay no duty until 
 they are sold and taken out, as in a bonded warehouse in 
 England), is down here also ; and two portentous officials, in 
 cocked hats, stand at the gate to search you if they choose, 
 and to keep out Monks and Ladies. For, Sanctity as well as 
 Beauty has been known to yield to the temptation of smug- 
 gling, and in the same way : that- is to say, by concealing the 
 smuggled property beneath the loose folds of its dress. So 
 Sanctity and Beauty may, by no means, enter. 
 
 The streets of Genoa would be all the better for the im- 
 portation of a few-Priests of prepossessing appearance. Every 
 fourth or fifth man in the streets is a Priest or a Monk ; and 
 there is pretty sure to be at least one itinerant ecclesiastic in- 
 side or outside every hackney carriage on the neighboring 
 roads. I have no knowledge, elsewhere, of more repulsive 
 countenances than are to be found among these gentry. If 
 Nature's hand-writing be at all legible, greater varieties of 
 sloth, deceit, and intellectual torpor, could hardly be observed 
 among any class of men in the world. 
 
 Mr. Pepys once heard a clergyman assert in his sermon, 
 in illustration of his respect for the Priestly office, that if he 
 could meet a Priest' and angel together, he would salute 
 the Priest first. I am rather of the opinion of .Petrarch, 
 who, when his pupil Boccaccio wrote to him in great tribula- 
 tion, that he had laeen visited and admonished for his writings 
 by a Carthusian Friar who claimed to be a messenger immedi- 
 ately commissioned by Heaven for that purpose, replied,- that 
 for his own part, he would take the liberty of testing the re- 
 ality of the Commission by personal observation of the Mes- 
 senger's face, eyes, forehead, behavior and discourse. I can- 
 not but believe myself, from similar observation, that many 
 unaccredited celestial messengers may be seen skulking 
 through the streets of Genoa, or drpning away their lives in 
 other Italian towns. 
 
448 PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 Perhaps the Cappuccini, though not a learned body, are, 
 as an order, the best friends of the people. They seem to 
 mingle with them more immediately, as their counsellors 
 and comforters ; and to go among them more, when they are 
 sick ; and to pry less than some other orders, into the secrets 
 of families, for the purpose of establishing a baleful ascend- 
 ency over their weaker members ; and to be influenced by a 
 less fierce desire to make converts, and once made to let them 
 go to ruin, soul and body. They may be seen, in their coarse 
 dress, in all parts of the town at all times, and begging in the 
 markets early in the morning. The Jesuits too, muster strong 
 in the streets, and go slinking noiselessly about in pairs, like 
 black cats. 
 
 In some of the narrow passages, distinct trades congre- 
 gate. There is a street of jewellers, and there is a row of book- 
 sellers ; but even down in places where nobody ever can, or 
 ever could, penetrate in a carriage, there are mighty old palaces 
 shut in among the gloomiest and closest walls, and almost 
 shut out from the sun. Very few of the tradesmen have any 
 idea of setting forth their goods, or disposing them for show. 
 If you, a stranger, want to buy anything, you usually look 
 round the shop till you see it ; then clutch it, if it be within 
 reach, and inquire how much. Everything is sold at the most 
 unlikely place. If you want coilee, you go to a sweetmeat 
 shop ; and if you want meat, you will probably find it behind 
 an old checked curtain, down half-a-dozen steps, in some se- 
 questered riook as hard to find as if the commodity were 
 poison, and Genoa's law were death to any that uttered it. 
 
 Most of the apothecaries' shops are great lounging places. 
 Here, grave meii with sticks, sit down in the shade for hours 
 together, passing a meagre Genoa paper from hand to hand, 
 and talking, drowsily and sparingly, about the News. Two or 
 three of these are poor physicians, ready to proclaim them- 
 selves on an emergency, and tear off with any messenger who 
 may arrive. You may know them by the way in which they 
 stretch their necks to listen, when you enter ; and by the sigh 
 with which they fall back again into their dull corners, on 
 finding that you only want medicine. Few people lounge in 
 the barbers' shops ; though they are very numerous, as 
 hardly any man shaves himself. But the apothecary's has its 
 group of loungers, who sit back among the bottles, with theit 
 hands folded over the tops of their sticks. So still and quiet, 
 that either you don't see them in the darkened shop, or mis- 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY. 44^ 
 
 take them — as I did one ghostly man in bottle-green, one day; 
 with a hat like a stopper — for Horse Medicine. 
 
 On a summer evening the Genoese are as fond of putting 
 themselves, as their ancestors were of putting houses, in every 
 available inch of space in and about the town. In all the 
 lanes and alleys, and up every little ascent, and on every 
 dwarf wall, and on every flight of steps, they cluster like bees. 
 Meanwhile (and especially on festa-days) the bells of the 
 churches • ring incessantly ; not in peals, or any known form 
 of sound, but. in a horrible, irregular, jerking, dingle, dingle, 
 dingle : with a sudden stop, at every fifteenth dingle or so, 
 which is maddening. This performance is usually achieved 
 by a boy up in the steeple, who takes hold of the clapper, or 
 a little rope attached to it, and tries to dingle louder than 
 every other boy similarly employed. The noise is supposed 
 to be particularly obnoxious to Evil Spirits ; but looking up 
 into the steeples, and seeing (and hearing) these young Chris- 
 tians thus, engaged, one might very naturally mistake them 
 for the Enemy. 
 
 Festa-days, early in the autumn, are very numerous. All 
 the shops were shut up twice within a week, for these holi- 
 days ; and one might, all the houses :in the neighborhood of a 
 particular church were illuminated, while the church itself was 
 lighted, outside, with torches ; and a grove of blazing links 
 was erected, in an open place outside one of the city gates. 
 This part of the ceremony is prettier and more singular a 
 little way in the country, where you can trace thp illuminated 
 cottages all the way up a steep hill-side ; and where you pass 
 festoons of taperu, wasting away in the starlight night, before 
 some lonely little house upon the road. 
 
 On these days, they always dress the church of the saint 
 in whose honor the festa is holden, very gayly. Gold-em- 
 broidered festoons of different colors, hang from the arches ; 
 the altar furniture is set forth ; and sometimes, even the lofty 
 pillars are swathed from top to bottom in tight-fitting draper- 
 ies. The, cathedral is dedicated to. St. Lorenzo. On St. 
 Lorenzo's day, we went into it, just as the sun was setting. 
 Although these decorations are usually in very indifferent 
 taste, the effect, just then, was very superb, indeed. For the 
 whole building was dressed in red; and the siriking sun, 
 streaming in, through a great red curtain in the chief doorway, 
 made all the gorgeousness its own. When, the sun went 
 
4SO PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 down, and it gradually grew quite dark inside, except for a 
 few twinkling tapers on the principal altar, and some small 
 dangling silver lamps, it was very mysterious and effective. 
 But, sitting in any of the churches towards evening, is like a 
 mild dose of opium. 
 
 With the money collected at a festa, they usually pay for 
 the dressing of the church, and for the hiring of the band, 
 and for the tapers. If there be any left (which seldom hap- 
 pens, I believe) the souls in Burgatory get the benefit of it. 
 They are also supposed to have the benefit of the exertions of 
 certain small boys^ who shake money-boxes^efore some mys- 
 terious little buildings like rural turnpikes^^hich (usually 
 shut up close) fly open on Red-letter days, and disdofe "ffi*^ 
 image and some flowers inside. 
 
 Just without the city gate, on the Albara road, is a small 
 house, with an altar in it, and a stationary money-box : also 
 for the benefit of the souls in Purgatory. Still further to 
 stimulate the charitable, there is a monstrous painting on the 
 plaLster, on either side of the grated door, representing a select 
 party of souls, frying. One of them has a gray mustache,,and 
 an elaborate head of gray hair; as if he had been taken out of 
 a hairdresser's window and cast into the furnace. There he 
 is : a most grotesque and hideously comic old soul : for ever 
 blistering in the -real sun, and melting in the mimic, fire, for 
 the gratification and improvement (and the contributions) of 
 the poor Genoese. 
 
 They are not a very joyous people, and are seldom seen 
 to dance on their holidays : the staple places of entertainment 
 among the women, being the churches and the public walks. 
 They are very good-tempered, obliging, and industrious. In- 
 dustry has not made them clean, for their habitations are ex- 
 tremely filthy, and their usual occupation on a fine Sunday 
 morning, is to sit at their doors, hunting in each other's heads. 
 But their dwellings are so close and confined that if those 
 parts of the city had been beaten down by Massena in the 
 time of the terrible Blockade, it would have at least occa- 
 sioned one public benefit among many misfortunes. 
 
 The Peasant Women, with naked feet and legs are so 
 constantly washing clothes, in the public tanks, and in every '>. 
 stream and ditch, that one cannot help wondering in the 
 midst of all this dirt, who wears them when they are clean 
 The custom is to lay the wet linen which is being operated 
 upon, on a smooth stone, and hammer away at it, with a fat 
 
PICTURES- FROM ITALY. 451 
 
 wboden mallet. This they do, as furiously as if they were re- 
 venging themselves on dress in general for being connected 
 with the Fall of Mankind. 
 
 It is not unusual to see, lying on the edge of the tank at 
 these times, or on another flat stone, an unfortunate baby, tightly 
 swathed up, arms and legs and all, in an enormous quantity 
 of wrapper, so that it is unable to move a toe or finger. This 
 custom (which we often see represented in old pictures) is 
 universal among the common people. A child is left any- 
 where without the possibility of crawling away, or is accident- 
 ally knocked off a shelf, or tumbled out of bed, or is hung up 
 to a hook now and then, and left danglihg like a doll at an 
 English rag-shop, without the least inconvenience to any- 
 body. 
 
 J was sitting one Sunday, soon after my artival,'in the little 
 counl!tf church of San Martino, a couple of miles from the 
 city, while a baptism took place. I saw the priest, and an 
 attendant with a large taper, and a mari^ and a woman,' and 
 some others ; but I had no more idea, until the ceremony was 
 all over, that it was a baptism, or that the curious little stiff 
 instrument, that was passed from one to another, iii the course 
 of the ceremony, by the handle — like a short poker — was a 
 child, than I had that it was my own christening. I borrowed 
 the child afterwards, for a minute or two (it was lying across 
 the font then), and found it very red in the face but perfectly 
 quiet, and not to be bent on any terms. The number of crip- 
 ples in the streets, soon ceased to surprise me. 
 
 There are plenty of Saints' and Virgin's Shrines, of couTse j 
 generally at the corners of streets. The favorite memento to 
 the Faithful, about Genoa, is a painting, representing a peas- 
 ant on his knees, with a spade and some other agricultural 
 implements beside him ; and the Madonna, with the Infant 
 Saviour in her arms, appearing to him in a cloud. This is the 
 legend of the Madonna della Guardia : a chapel on a moun- 
 tain within a few miles, which is in 'high repute. It seems 
 that this peasant lived all alone by himself, tilling some land 
 atop of die mountain, where, being a devout man, he daily 
 said his prayers to the Virgin in the open air ; for his hut was 
 a very poor one. Upon a certain day, the Virgin appeared to 
 him, as in the picture, and said, "Why do you pray in the 
 open air, and without a priest ? " The peasant explained be- 
 cause there was neither priest nor church at hand — a very un- 
 common complaint indeed in Italy. " I should wish, then," 
 
^e,2 PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 said the Celestial Visitor, " to have a chapel built here, in 
 which the prayers of the Faithful may be offered up." " But 
 Santissima Madonna," said the peasant, " I am a poor man ; 
 and chapels cannot be built without money. They must be 
 supported, too, Santissima ; for to have a chapel, and not sup- 
 port it, liberally, is a wickedness — a deadly sin." This senti- 
 ment gave great satisfaction to the visitor. " Go ! " said she. 
 "There is such a village in the valley on the left, and. such 
 another village in the valley on the right, and such another 
 village elsewhere,, that will gladly contribute to the building 
 of a chapel. Go to them ! Relate what you have seen ; and 
 do not doubt that sufficient money will be forthcoming to erect 
 my chapel, or that it will, afterwards, be handsomely main- 
 tained." All of which (miraculously) turned out to be quite 
 - true. And in proof of this prediction and revelation, there is 
 the chapel of the Madonna della Guardia, rich and flourish- 
 ing at this day. 
 
 The splendor and variety of the Genoese churches, can 
 hardly be exaggerated. The church of the Annunciata es- 
 pecially : built, like many of the others, at the cost of one 
 noble family, and now in slow progress of repair : from the 
 outer door to the utmpst height of the high cupola, is so elab- 
 orately painted and set in gold, that it looks (as Simond de- 
 scribes it, in his charrning book on Italy) like a great enam- 
 elled snuff-box. Most of the richer churches contain some 
 beautiful pictures, or other embellishments of great price, al- 
 most universally set, side by side, with sprawling effigies of 
 maudlin monks, and the venesttrash and tinsel ever seen. 
 
 It may be a consequence of the frequent direction of the 
 popular mind, and pocket, to the souls in Purgatory, but 
 there is very little tenderness for the bodies of the dead here. 
 For the very poor, there are, immediately outside one angle 
 of the walls, and behind a jutting point of the fortification, 
 near the sea, certain common pits — one for every day in the 
 year — which all remain closed up, until the turn of each 
 comes for its daily reception of dea,d bodies. Among the 
 troops in the town, there are usually some Swiss : more or 
 less. When any of these die, they are buried out of a fund 
 maintained by such of their counlrymen as are resident in 
 Genoa. Their providing coffins for these men is matter of 
 great astonishment to the authorities. 
 
 Certainly, the effect of this promiscuous and indecent 
 splashing down of dead people in so many wells, is bad. It 
 
PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 453 
 
 surrounds Death with revolting associations, that insensibly 
 become connected with those whom Death. is approaching. 
 Indifference and avoidance are the- natural result ; and all the 
 softening influences of the. great- sorrow are harshly disturbed. 
 
 There is a ceremony when an old Cavaliere of the like, 
 expires, of erecting a pile of benches in the cathedral,'to rep- 
 resent his bier ; covering them over with a pall of black vel- 
 vet ; putting his hat and sword on the top; making a little 
 square of seats about the whole ; and sending out formal in- 
 .vitations to his friends and acqiiaintances to come and sit 
 there, and hear Mass : which is performed at the ' principal 
 Altar, decorated with an infinity of candles for that purpose. 
 
 When the better kind of people die, or are at the point of 
 death, their nearest relations generally walk off : retiring into 
 the country for a little change, and leaving the body to be dis- 
 posed of, without any superintendence from them. The pro- 
 cession is usually formed, and the- coffin borne, and the fune- 
 ral conducted, by a body of persons called a Conftaternita, 
 :who, as a kind of voluntary: penance, undertake to perform 
 these offices, in regular .rotation, for the dead j but who, min- 
 gling something of pride- with tlieir humility, are dressed in a 
 loose garment covering their whole person, and wear a hood 
 concealing the face; with breathing holes and, apertures for 
 the eyes. The effect of this costume is very ghastly : es- 
 pecially in the case of a certain Blue Confratdrnita belonging 
 to Genoa, who, to say the least of them, are very ugly cus- 
 tomers,- and who look — suddenly encountered in their pious 
 ministrations in the -streets — as if, they were Ghoules or De- 
 mons, bearing off the body for themselves. 
 
 Although such a custom may be liable to ttie abuse attend- 
 ant oh many Italian customs, of being recognized as a means 
 of establishing a current account with Heaven, on which to 
 draw, tDO easily, for future bad actions, or as an expiation for 
 past misdeeds, it must be admitted to be a good one, and a , 
 practical one, and one involving unqXiestionahly good works. 
 A voluntary service like this, is surely better than the imposed 
 penance (not at all an infrequent one) of giving so many licks 
 to such and such a stone in the pavement of the cathedral ; 
 or than a vow to the Madonna to wear nothing but blue for 
 a year or two. This is supposed to give great delight above ; 
 blue being (as is well known) the Madonna's favorite color. 
 Women who ha-ve devoted themselves to this act of Faith, are 
 very commonly seen walking in the streets. ■■ ;' 
 
 SO 
 
454 PICTURES FKOM ITALY. 
 
 There are three. theatres in the city, besides an old one, 
 now rarely opened. The most important — the Carlo Felice : 
 the opera-house of Genoa — is a very splendid, commodious, 
 and beautiful theatre. A company of comedians were acting 
 there, when we arrived : and soon after their departure, a 
 second-rate opera company came; The great season is not 
 until the carnival, time-rin the spring. Nothdrig impressed 
 me, so much, in my visits here (which were pretty numerous), 
 as the uncommonly hard and cruel character of the audience, 
 who resent the slightest defect, take nothing good-humoredly, 
 .seem to be always lying in; wait for an opportunity to hiss,and 
 spare the actresses as little as the actors. But, as there is 
 nothing else of a. public nature at which they are allowed to 
 express the least disapprobation, perhaps they are resolved 
 to make the ihost of this opportunity. 
 
 There are a great number of Piedmontese officers too, 
 who: are allowed the privilege of kicking their heels in the pit, 
 for next to nothing : gratuitous, or cheap accommodation for 
 these gentlemen being insisted on, by the Governor, in all 
 public or semi-public _ entertainments. They are lofty critics 
 in consequence, and infinitely more exacting than if they made 
 the unhappy rnanager's fortune. 
 
 The Teatro Diurno, or Day Theatre, is a covered stage 
 in the open air, where the performances take place by day- 
 light, in the cool of the afternoon ; commencing at four or 
 five o'clodi, and lasting' some three hours. It is curious, sit- 
 ting airiong the audience, to have a fine view of the neighbor- 
 ing hills and houses, and to see the neighbors at their win- 
 dows looking on, and to hear the bells of the churches and 
 convents ringing at most complete cross-purposes with the 
 scene. Beyond this, and the novelty of seeing a play in the 
 fresh pleasant air, with the darkening evening closing in, 
 there is nothing very, exciting or characteristic in the perform- 
 ances. . The actors are indifferent; and though they some- 
 times itepreseht one of Goldoni's comedies, the staple of the 
 Drama iis French. Ariytliing like riatiohality is dangerous to 
 despotic governments, and Jesuit-beleaguered kings. 
 
 The Theatre of Puppets, or Marionetti — a famous com- 
 pany from Milan — is, without any exception, the drollest 
 exhibition,! ever beheld in my life. I never saw anything 
 so exquisitely ridiculous. They look between four and five 
 feet high, but are really much smaller ; for when a musician 
 in the orchestra happens to put his hat on the stage, it 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY. 451; 
 
 becomes alarmingly gigantic, and almost -blots out an actor. 
 They usually play a comedy, and a ballet. The comic man 
 in the comedy I saw one summer night, is a waiter in an hotel. 
 There never was such a locoHiotive actor, since the world 
 began. Great pains are taken with him. He has extra joints 
 in his legs : and a practical eye, with which he winks at the 
 pit, in a manner that is absolutely insupportable to a stranger, 
 but which the initiated audience, mainly composed of the 
 common people, receivfe (so they do everything else) quite as 
 a matter of course, and as if he were a man. His spirits are 
 prodigious. 'He continually shakes his legs, and winks hi? 
 eye. And there is a heavy faither with gray hair, who sits 
 down on the regular conventional stage-bank, and blesses his 
 daughter in the regular conventional way, who is tremendous. 
 No one would suppose it possible that a,nytlpiijig short of a 
 real man could be so tedious. It is the triumph of art. 
 
 In the balkt, an Enchanter runs with die Bride, in the 
 very hour of her nuptials. He brings her to his c^ve, and 
 tries to soothe: her. They sit down, on a sofa (the regular 
 sofa! in the regular place, O. P. Second Entrance , and a 
 procession of musicians epters ; one creature playing a drum, 
 and knocking himself off his legs at every blow. These failing 
 to delight her, dancers appear. Four first ; then two ; the two : 
 the flesh-colored two. The way in which they dance ; the 
 height to which they spring; the impossible and inhuman 
 extent to which they pirouette ; the revelation of tlieir, prepos- 
 terous legs ; the coming down with a pause, on the very tips 
 of their toes, when the music requires it ; the gentleman's 
 retiring up, when it is the lady's turn ; and the lady's retiri,ng 
 up, when it is the gentleman's turn ; the final passion of a 
 pas-de-deux ; and the going off with a bound ; — I shall never 
 see a real ballet, with a composed countenance again. 
 
 I went, another night, to see these Puppets act a play 
 called "St. Helenia, or the Death of Napoleon." It began 
 by the disclosure of Napoleon, with an immense head,- seated 
 on a sofa in his chamber at St., Helena ; to whpm his valet 
 entered with this obscure announcement : 
 
 " Sir Yew ud se on Low ? " (the ow, as in cow). 
 
 Sir Hudson' (that you could have seen his regimentals!) 
 was a perfect mammoth of a man, to Napoleon ; hideously 
 ugly ; with a irioustrously disproportionate face, and- a great 
 clump for the lower-jaw, to express his tyrarinical and obdurate 
 nature. He began his system of persecution, by calling his 
 
456 PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 prisoner " General Buonaparte ; " to -wkich the latter replied, 
 with the deepest tragedy, " Sir Yew ud se on I>ow, call me not 
 ■thus; Repeat that phrase; and leave me ! I am Napoleon, 
 Emperor of Prance ! " Sir Yew ud se on, nothing daunted, 
 proceeded to entertain- him with an ordinance of the British 
 Government, regulating the state he should: preserve, and the 
 furniture of his rooms ; and limiting his attendants to four or 
 five persons. " Four or five for me ! " said Napoleon. " Me ! 
 One hundred thousand men were lately at my sole command ; 
 and this English offiter talks of four or five for me J " Through- 
 out the piece, Napoleon (who talked very ■ like- the real 
 Napoleon, and was, for ever, having small soliloquies by him- 
 self) was very bitter on "these English officers," and "these 
 English soldiers ; " to the great satisfaction of the audience, 
 who were perfectly delighted to have Low bullied ; and who, 
 whenever Low said '"General Buonaparte" (which he always 
 did : always receiving the same correction), quite execrated 
 him. It would be hard to say why ; for Italians have little 
 cause to sympathize with Napoleoii, Heaven knows. 
 
 There was ho' plot at all, eieept that a French officer^ dis- 
 guised as an Englishman, came to propound a plan of -escape j 
 and being discovered, but not before Napoleon had magnani- 
 mously refused to steal his freedom, was immediately ordered 
 oft by Low to be hanged. In two very long speeches, which 
 Low made memorable, by winding up with " Yas ! " — to show 
 that he was English — ^which brought down thunders of ap- 
 plause. Napoleon was so: affected by this catastrophe, tliat 
 he fainted away on the spot, and- was carried out by two other 
 puppets. Judging from what followed, it would appear that 
 he never recovered the shock ; for the next act showed him, 
 in a clean- shirt, in his bed (curtains crimson and white), 
 where a lady, prematurely dressed in mourning; brbugltf two 
 little children, who kneeled down by the bedrside, while he 
 made a decent end ; the last word on his lips being " Vat- 
 terlo." 
 
 It was unspeakably ludicrous. Buonaparte's boots; were 
 so wonderfully beyond control, and did such marvellous things 
 of their own accord: doubling themselves up, and. getting 
 under tables, and dangling in the air, and sometimes skating 
 away with him, out of all human knowledge, when he was in full 
 speech— mischances which werenot rendered the less absurd, 
 by a settled melancholy depicted in his face. To put an end 
 to one conference with Low, he had to go to a table, and read- 
 
PICTUJiES FROM ITAL Y. 4-7 
 
 arbook: when it was the finest spectacle I ever beheld, to see 
 his body bending over the volume, like a boot-jack, and his 
 sentimental eyes glaring obstinately into the pit. He was 
 prodigiously good, in bed, with an immense collar to his shirt, 
 and his little hands outside the coverlet. So was Dr. Antom- 
 marchi, represented by a puppet with long lank bair, like 
 Mawworm's, who, in consequence of some derangement of his 
 wires., hovered about tlie couch like a yulture, and gave 
 medical opinions in the air. He was almost as good as Low, 
 though the latter was great at all tirnes— -;a decided brute and 
 villain, beyond all possibility of mistake. L;ow was especially 
 fine at the last, when, hearing the doctor and the valet say, 
 "The Emperoi is dead !" hepuUed out his watch,- and wound 
 up the piece (not the watch) by exclaiming, with characteristic 
 brutality, "Ha! ha! Eleven minutes to six ! The General 
 dead ! and the spy hanged ! " This brought the curtain down, 
 triumphantly. 
 
 There is not in Italy, they say (and, I believe. them), a 
 lovelier residence than the Palazzo Pescliiere, or Palace: of 
 the Fishponds, whither we removed as soon as our three 
 months' tenancy of the Pink Jail at Albaro had ceased and 
 determined. 
 
 It stands on a height within the walls of Genoa, but aloof 
 from the town : surrounded by beautiful gardens of. its own, 
 adorned with statues, vases, fountains, marble basins, terraces, 
 walks of orange-trees and lemon-trees, groves of roses and 
 qamellias. All its apartments are beautiful in th^ir proporr- 
 tions and decorations ; but the great hall, some ; fifty feet in 
 height, with three large windows at the end, overlooking the 
 whole town of .Genoa, the, harbor, and the neighboring, sea, 
 affords one of the most fascinating and delightful prospects 
 in the world, . Any house more cheerful and -habitable than 
 the great rooms are-, within, it. would; be difficult to conceive ; 
 and certainly nothing more delicious than the scene without, 
 iaSunshine or in' moonlight, could be, imagined. It is more 
 like an enchanted place in an Eastern story than a grave and 
 sober lodging. 
 
 How you may wander on, from room to room, and never 
 tire of the wild fancies on the walls and ceilings, as bright in 
 their fresh coloring as if they had been painted yesterday, j 
 or how one floor,' or even the great hall which opens on eight 
 other rooms,, is a spacious promenade ; or how there are cor- 
 
<^^g PICTURES FROM ITAL Y 
 
 ridors and bed-chambers above, whifeh we never use and 
 rarely visit, and scarcely know the -^vay through; -or how there 
 is a view of a perfectly different character on each of the four 
 sides of the building ; matters little. But that prospect from 
 the hall is like a vision to me. 1 go back to it, in fancy, as I 
 have done in calm reality a hundred times a day; and stand 
 there, looking out, with the sWeet scents from the garden rising 
 up about me, in a perfect dream of happiness, 
 
 There lies all Genoa, in beautiful confusion, with its many 
 churches, monasteries, and convents, pointing up into the 
 sunny sky ; and down below me, just where the roofs begin, 
 a solitary convent parapet, fashioned like a gallery, with an 
 iron across at the end, where sometimes early in the morning, 
 I have seen a little group of dark-veiled nuns gliding sorrow- 
 fully to and fro, and stopping now and theri to peep down 
 upon the waking world in which they have no part. Old 
 Monte Faccio, brightest of hills in good weather, but sulkiest 
 when storms are coming on, is here, upon the left. The Fort 
 within the Walls (the good King built'it to corhmand the town, 
 and beat the houses of the Genoese about their ears, in case 
 they shbuld be discontented) commands that lieight upon the 
 right. The bro^d sea lies Ijeyond, in front there ; and that 
 line of coast, beginning by the light-house, and tapering away^ 
 a mere speck in the rosy distance, is the beautiful coast road 
 that leads to Nice. The garden near at hand, among the 
 roofs -and- houses : all red with roses and fresh with little foun- 
 tains : is the Acqua Sola — a public promenade, where the 
 militarj* band plays gayly, and the white veils cluster thick, and 
 the Genoese nobility ride round, and round, and round, in state- 
 clothes and coaches at least, if not in absolute wisdom. Within 
 a stone's throw, as it seems, the audience of the Day Theatre 
 sit : their faces turned this way. But as the stage is hidden, 
 it is very odd. Without a knowledge of the cause, to see their 
 faces changed so suddenly from earnestness to laughter; and 
 odder stilly to hear the rounds upon rounds-of applause, rattling 
 in the evening air, to which the curtain falls. But, being Sunday 
 night, they act their best and most attractive play. And now, 
 the sun is going down, in such magnificent array of red, and 
 green, and golden ' light, as neither pen nor pencil could de- 
 pict ; and to the ringing of the vesper bells, darkness sets in 
 at onCBj without a twilight. Then, lights begin to shine in 
 Geiioa, and on the country road ; and the revolving lanthorn 
 out at Sea there, flashing, for an instant on this palace front 
 
PICTURES PROM ITALY. 
 
 4S9 
 
 and portico, illuminates it as if there: were, a bright moon 
 bursting froni behind a cloud:; then, merges it in deep obscu- 
 rity. And this, so far as I know, is the only reason why the 
 Genoese avoid it after dark, and think it haunted. 
 
 My memory will haunt it, many nights in time to come ; 
 but nothing worse, I will engage. The same Ghost will occa- 
 sionally sail away, as. I did one pleasant autumn evening, into 
 the bright prospect, and. snuff the morning air at Marseilles. 
 
 The corpulent hairdresser was still sitting in his slippers 
 outside his shop-door there, but -the twirling ladies in the win- 
 dow, with the natural . inconstancy of fheir sex, had ceased to 
 twirl, and were languishing, stock still, with their beautiful 
 faces addressed to blind corners of the establishment where 
 it was .impossible for admirers to peiietrate. 
 
 The steamer had come from. Genoa; in a, delicious run of 
 eighteen hours, and we were going to run back again by the 
 Cornice .road frbm Nice : irot being satisfied to have seen 
 only the OTitsidfis of the beautiful towns that rise in picturesque 
 white clusters from among the .oEvfi woods, and rocks, and 
 hills, upon the margin of the Sea. 
 
 The Boat which started for .Nice that night, at eight 
 o'clock, was very small, and so crowded with goods that there 
 was scarcely room to move ; neither wias there anything to eat 
 on board, except bread; nor to drmk, except coffee. But 
 being due at Nice at about eight or. so in the morning, this 
 was of no consequence : so when we began to wink at the 
 bright stars, in involuntary acknowledgment of their winking 
 at us, we turned into our births, in a crowds, but cool little 
 cabin, and slept soundly till morning. lof 
 
 The Boat, .being as dull and dogged ,a little boat as ever 
 was built, it „was; within an houK of noon when we turned 
 into Nice Harbor, where we very little expected anything 
 but breakfast. iFutwe were laden -with wool. Wool inust 
 not remain, .in the Custom-house at Marseilles? more; than 
 twelve /months at a stretch, without paying, duty. ;■ IS: is the 
 custom to tnake fictitious removals' of unsold w&ol to evade 
 this law ; to take it somewhere when. Ihe twelve months are 
 nearly. QuLji bring it straight back again} and warehouse it, 
 as a new cargo, for nearly twelve months longer. This wool 
 of. ours, had come originally from some place in the East. It 
 was recognized as- Eastern produce, the moment we entered 
 the harbor. Accordingly, the gay little Sunday boats, full of 
 holiday people, which had. come. .off' to greet usi.werewarned 
 
^6o J'ICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 away by the authorities; we were declared in quarantine; 
 and a great flag was solemnly run up to the mast-head on the 
 wharf, to make it known to all the town. 
 
 It was a very hot day indeed. We were unshaved, un- 
 washed, undressed, unfed, and could hardly enjoy the absurd- 
 ity of lying blistering in a lazy harbor, with the town looking 
 on from a respectful distance, all manner of whiskered men 
 in cocked hats discussing our fate at a remote guard-house, 
 with gestures (we looked very hard at them through telescopes) 
 expressive of a week's detention at least : and nothing what- 
 ever the matter all the time. But even in this crisis the brave 
 Courier achieved a triumph. He telegraphed somebody (/ 
 saw nobody) either naturally connected with the hotel, or put 
 €71 rapport with the establishment for that occasion only. The' 
 telegraph was answered, and in half an hour or less, there 
 came a loud shout from the guard-house.- The captain was 
 wanted. Everybody helped the captain into his boat. Every- 
 body got his luggage, and said we were going. The captain 
 rowed away, and disappeared behind a little jutting corner of 
 the Galley-slaves' Prison : and presently came back with some- 
 thing, very sulkily. The brave Courier met him at the side, 
 and received the something as its rightful owner. It was a 
 wicker basket, folded in a linen cloth; and in it were two 
 great bottles of wine, a roast fowl, some salt fish chopped with 
 garlic, a great loaf of bread, a dozen or so of peaches, and a 
 few other trifles. When we had selected our own breakfast, 
 the brave Courier invited a chosen party to partake of these' 
 refreishments, and assured them that they. need not be der 
 terred by motives of delicacy, as he would order a second bas- 
 ket to be furnished at their expense. Which, he did — no one 
 knew how — and by and by, the captain being again sum- 
 moned, again sulkily returned with another something ; over 
 which my popular attendant presided as before ; carving with 
 a clasp-knife, his own personal property, sometliing- smaller 
 than a Roman ;Swprd, 
 
 The whole j)arty on board were made merry by these 
 unexpected supplies ;' but none more so than a loquacious 
 little Frenchman, who got drunk in five minutes, andia sturdy 
 Cappuccino Friar, who had taken everybody's fancy mightily, 
 and was one of the best friars in the world, I verily believe.- 
 
 He had a free, open countenance ; and a rich brown, flow- 
 ing beard ; and was a remarkably handsome man, of about 
 fifty. He had come up to us, early in the morning, and in- 
 
PICTURES FROM ITAL J . 461 
 
 quired whether we were sure to be at Nice by eleven ; saying 
 that he particularly wanted to. know, because if we reached it 
 by that time he would have to perforjn Mass, and must deal 
 with the consecrated wafer, fasting; whereas if there: were 
 no chance of his being in time, he would immediatelv break- 
 fast. He made this communication, under the idea that the 
 brave Courier was the captain ; and indeed he looked much 
 more like it than anybody else on board. Being assured that 
 we should arrive in good time, he fasted, and talked, fasting, 
 to everybody, with the most charming good humor ; answerr 
 ing jokiesj at the expense of friars, with other jokes at the 
 expense of laymen, and saying that friar as he wasj he would 
 engage to take up the two strongest men on board, one after 
 the other, with his teeth, and carry them ;along the deck. 
 Nobody gave him the opportunity, but I dare say he could 
 have done it ; for he was a gallant, noble figure of a man, 
 even in the Cappuccino dress, which is the ugliest and. most 
 ungainly that can well be. 
 
 All this had given great delight to the loquacious French- 
 man, who ;graduallyijia,ti!(priized the Friar very much, and 
 seemed to commiserate him as one who might have been born 
 a Frenchman himself, but for an unfortunate destiny. : Al- 
 though his patronage was such as a mouse might. bestow upon 
 a lion, he had a vast opinion of its condescension ; ahd in 
 the warmth ;df that sentiment, occasionally rose on tiptoe, to 
 slap the Friar on the back. 
 
 When the baskets arrived : it being then too late for Mass : 
 the Friar went to work bravely : eating prodigiously of the 
 cold meat and breaxl, drinking deep draughts of the wincj 
 smoking cigars, .taking snuff, sustairtipg an uninterrupted; con- 
 versation with all hands, and occasibmally ruiining to the 
 boat's side and hailing somebody on shfare with the intelli- 
 gence that we must be got out of this quarantine somehow or 
 other, as he had to take part in 'a great religious procession 
 in the afternoon. Aftej this, he would come back, laughing 
 lustily from pure good humor : while tlie Frenchman livrinkled 
 his small face into, ten thousand creases, and said how droll 
 it was,- and what a brave: boy was that:Friar! At length the 
 heat of the sun without, and the wine within, made f' the 
 Frenchman; sleepy. So, in the noontide 1 of his patronage of 
 his gigantic prof egdj. he: lay down among, the wool, and began 
 tO'sntore. .•.;• ■ '■: , •: hi ! .-. ■ ;. ' ■ :,•• 
 
 It was four o'clock before we were released : and the 
 
462 
 
 PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 Freiichmati, dirty' and woolly, and ■ snuffy, was still sleeping 
 when the Friar went ashore. As soon as we were free, we all 
 hurried away, to wash and dress, that we might make a de- 
 cent appearance at the procession ; and I saw no more of the 
 Frenchman until we' took up our station in the main street to 
 see it pass, when he squeezed himself into a front place elab- 
 orately renovated; threw back his little coat, to show a broad- 
 barred velvet waistcoat, sprinkled all over with stars; then 
 adjusted himself and his cane so as utterly to bewilder and 
 transfix the Friar; when he should appear. 
 
 The procession was a very long one, and included an im- 
 mense number of people, divided into small parties; each 
 party chanting nasally, on its own account, without reference 
 to any other, and producing a most- dismal result.. There 
 were angels, crosses, Virgins carried oni -. fiat boards, sur- 
 rounded by Cupids, crowns, saints, missals, infantry,. tapers, 
 monks, nunSj relics, dignitaries of fhe church in green hats, 
 walking under crimson parasols : and^ here and there, a spe- 
 cie s of ;s acred strefet-lamp hoisted on a pole. We looked out 
 anxiously for the Cappuccfni, and presently their broWn robes 
 and corded girdles were seen coming on, in a body. 
 
 I observed die little Frenchman chuckle over the idea that 
 when the Friar saw him in the 'broad-barred waistcoat, he 
 would . mentally exclaim, " Is. that my Patron ! ' That distin- 
 guished man ! " and would be covered with contusion ! Ah ! 
 never was the Frenchman so deceived. As our friend the 
 Cappuccfni advanced, with folded arms, he looked straight 
 into the visage of the little Frenchman, with a bland, serene, 
 composed abstraction, not to be described. There was not 
 the faintest trace of recognition or amusement on his features ; 
 not the smallest consciousness of bread and meat, wine, snuff, 
 or cigars. " C'est lui-mSme," I heard the little Frencliman 
 sayy in some doubt. Oil yes, it was himself. It was not his 
 brother or his nephew, very like him. It was be. He walked 
 in great state : being one of the Superiors of the Order : and 
 looked his part to admiration. There never was anything so 
 perfect of its kind as the contemplative way in which he al- 
 lowed his!placid'gaze.to rest on us, his late companions, as if 
 he had never seen us. in his life and didn't see us then. The 
 Frenchman, quite humbled, took off his hat at last, but the 
 Friar still passed on, with the same imperturbable serenity; 
 and the broad-barred waistcoat, fading into the crowd, was 
 seen no more. 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY. 463 
 
 The piroeession wound up ■w^th a discharge of musketry 
 that shook all the windows in the town. Next afternoon we 
 started for Genoa, by the famed Cornice road. 
 
 The half-French, half-Italian Vetturfno, who undertook, 
 wiitbihis little rattling. carriage and pair, to convey ns thither 
 in three days, was a careless, good-looking fellow, -Whose light- 
 heartedness and singing propensities knew no bounds as Jong 
 as we went on smoothly. So long, he had a word and a smik, 
 and a flick of his •whip, for all the peasant girls, and odds 
 and ends of the Somnambula for all the' echoes. So long, he 
 went jingling through every little village, with bellis on hia. 
 horses and rings in his ears: a, very meteor of. gallantry and 
 cheerfulness. But, it was highly characteristic to «ee him 
 under a slight reverse of circumstances, 'when, in one part of 
 the journey, we came to a narrow place whete a wagon had 
 broken down and stopped up the road. His hands were 
 twined iii his hair immediately, aS if a combination of all the 
 direst acciidents in life had suddenly fallen on' his devoted 
 head. . He swore in French, prayed in Italian, and went -up 
 and down, beating his feet on the ground in a very ecstasy of 
 despair. There were various carters- and mule-driverS' assem- 
 bled round the. broken wagon, ahd at last some rnanof an 
 original turn of mind, proposed that a general and joint effort 
 should be made to get thlHgi' to-rights again, and clear the 
 way— ^an 'idea! which I verily ^believe Would never have pre- 
 sented itself = to • our friend, though we had remained there 
 until now. It was done at no great cost of labor ; bttt at 
 every pause in the doing, his hands were wound' in his hair 
 again, as if there were no ray of hope to lighten' hisi misery. 
 The. moment he was oh his box once more, and clattering 
 briskly down hill, he returned to the Somnambtila and the 
 peasant girls, as if it were not in the power of misfortune to 
 depress him. , 
 
 :Much of the romance of the beautiful towns and villages 
 on this beautiful road, disappears when jfliey are entered, for 
 many of them are very miserable. The ■' streets are ..narrow, 
 dark, and dirty ; the inhabitants lean and squalid ; and the 
 withered old women, with their wiry gray hair twisted up into 
 a knot on the top of the head, like a pad to carry loads on, 
 are so intensely ugly, both along the Riviera, and in Genoa, 
 too, that, seen straggling about in dim doorways with th'sir 
 spindles, or crooning together in by-corners, they are like a 
 population of Witches — except that they certainly are not ti? 
 
464 PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 be suspected of brooms or any other instrument of cleanliness. 
 Neither are the pig-skins, in common use to hold wine, and 
 hung out in the sun in all directions, by any means orna- 
 mental, as they always preserve the form of very bloated pigs, 
 with their heads and legs cut off, dangling upsidenddwn by 
 their own tails. 
 
 These towns, as they are seen in the approach,- however : 
 nestling,; with their clustering roofs and towers, among trees 
 on steep, hill-sides, or built upon the brink of noble bays : are 
 charming. The vegetation is, everywhere, luxuriant' and 
 beautiful, and the Palm-tree makes a novel feature in the 
 novel scenery. In one town, San ■ Remo — a. most extiaordir 
 nary place, built on gloomy open arches, so that one might 
 ramble underneath the whole town — there are pretty terrace 
 gardens ; in other towns, there is the clang of shipwrights' 
 hammers, and the building of small vessels, on the beach. 
 In some of the broad bays, the fleets of Europe might ride at 
 anchor. In every case, each little group of houses presents, in 
 the distance, some enchanting confusion of picturesque and 
 fanciful shapes. . . . . 
 
 The road itself — now high above the glittering sea, which 
 breaks against the foot of ; the precipice : now turning. inland 
 to sweep itheshorjsof a bay: now crossing the stony bed oi 
 a mountain stream : now low down, on the beach : now wind- 
 ing among riven rocks of many forms and colors: now 
 chequered by a solitary ruined toWer, one of a chain of towers 
 built, in old time,! to protect the coast from the invasions of 
 the Barbary Corsairs — presents new beauties every moment. 
 When, its own striking scenery, is passed, and. it trails on 
 through a long line of suburb, lying on the flat sea-shore, to 
 Genoa, then, the changing glimpses, of tha:t noble city aind its 
 harbor, awaken a new source of interest ; freshened by every 
 huge, unwieldy, half-inhabited old house in its outskirts : and 
 coming to its climax when the: city gate is reached, and all 
 Genoa with its beautiful harbor, and neighboring hills, bursts 
 proudly on the view. 
 
PICTURES FROM JT4LY. 465 
 
 TO PARMA, MODENA, AND BOLOGNA. 
 
 - I STROLLED away from Genoa on the 6th. of November, 
 bound for a good ;many places,i:(England among them), but 
 first for Piacenza ; for which town , \ started in the coupe of a 
 machine something Hke.a travelling, caravan, in company with 
 the brave Courier, and a lady mth a large dog, whp. howled 
 dolefully, at intervals, all night. . It was very wet, and very 
 cold ; very' jdark, and. very dismal ; we travelled at the rate 
 of barely four miles an hour and stopped nowhere for refresh- 
 ment. At ten o'clock next morning, we changed coaches 
 at Alessandria,' where we were packed up in another coach 
 (the body whereof would haVe been small for a fly), in company 
 with a very old priest ; a young Jesuit, his companion — who 
 carried their breviaries and other books, and whoi in the- ex- 
 ertion of getting into the coach, had made a gash of pink leg 
 between his black: stocking and his black knee-shorts, that 
 reminded one of Hamlet in Ophelia's closet, only it was 
 visible on both legs — a provincial Avvocato ; and a gentleman 
 with a red nose that had an uncommon and singular sheen 
 upon it, which I never observed inithe human subject before. 
 In this way we travelled on, until four o'clock in the afternoon ; 
 the roads being still very heavy, and the coach very alow. 
 To mend ,tbe matter, the old priest was troubled with cramps 
 in his legs, so that he had to give a terrible yell every ten 
 minutes or so, and be hoisted out by the united efforts of the 
 compan.y ; the coach always stopping for him, with great 
 gravity. This disorder, and the roads, formed the main 
 subject of conversation. Finding, in the afternoon, that the 
 coupe had discharged two people, and had only one passen- 
 ger inside — a monstrous ugly Tuscan, with, a great purple 
 mustache, of which no man could see the endsi when he had 
 his hat on — I took advantage of its better accommodation, 
 and in company with this gentleman (who was very conversar 
 tional and good-humored) travelled on, until neatly eleven 
 o'clock at night, when tiie driver reported that b.i^, qpuldn't 
 think of going, any farther, and we accordingly made a halt 
 at a place called Stradella. ,3 
 
 The inii >was a series of strange galleries surrounding a 
 yard; where our coa/jb' and a', wagon or two, and a lot of 
 fowls and;:firew©odjjwere);sill. heaped up together, higgledy- 
 
466 PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 piggledy ; so that you didn't know, and couldn't have taken 
 your oath, which was a fowl and which was a cart. We fol- 
 lowed a' sleepy man with a- flaring totch?; infb a gJ^t, cold 
 room, where there were two immensely broad beds, on what 
 looked like two immensely broad deal dining-tablesLj another 
 deal table of similar dimensions in the middle of the bare 
 floor ; four windows; and two chairs. Somebody said: it was 
 my room ; and I walked up and down it, for half an hour -or 
 so, staring at the Tuscan, the old priest, the young piiest, 
 and the Avvocato (Red-Nose lived in the towtr^ aM had 
 gone home), who sat upon their beds, and stared at me in 
 return. 
 
 The rather dreary whimsicality of this stage of the/pro- 
 ceedings, is interrupted by an announcement from 1:he Brave 
 (he has been cooking) that supper is ready ; and to the priest's 
 Chamber ('the next rdom and the counterpart of mine) we all 
 adjourn. The first dish is a cabbage, boiled witii a great 
 quantity of rice in a tureen full of watery and flavored; with 
 cheese. It is So hot, and we are so cold, that- it appears 
 iliflost jolly. The second dish' is some little bits of pork, 
 fried with pigs' kidneys. The third, two red fowls. The 
 fourth, two little red turkeys. The fifth, a huge stew of garlic 
 and truffles, and I don't know what else ; and this concludes 
 the entertainment. 
 
 Before I can sit down in my own chamber, and think; it of 
 the dampest, the door opens, and the Btave comes moving in, 
 in the middle of such a quantity of fuel that he looks like 
 Birnam Wood taking a winter walk. He kindles this heap in 
 a twinkling, and produces a jorum of hot brandy and'water j 
 for that bottle of his keeps company with the seasons, aiui 
 now holds nothing but the purest eati de vte.- When he has 
 accomplished this feat, he retires for the night ; and I hear 
 him, for an hour afterwards, and indeed until ;f fall asleep, 
 making jokes in some out-house (apparently under the pUlow), 
 where he is smoking cigars with a party of -confidential 
 friends. He never was in the house in his life before ; but 
 he knows everybody everywhere, before he his beerl anywhere 
 five minutes ; arid' is certain to have attracted to; himself, in 
 the meantime, the enthusiastic devotioh of the whole establish- 
 ment. ; - 
 
 This is at twelve o'clock at night. At four o'clock next 
 morning, he is up again, fresher than a new-blown rose ; 
 makingblazingfeeswitllDut the 'least authority from the land- 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY. 4C7 
 
 lord j producing mugs of scalding coffee wben nobody else 
 can get anything but cold water ; ' and going out into the dark 
 streets, and roaring for fresh milk, on the chance of some- 
 body with a cowlgetting up to supply it. While the horses 
 are " coming," I stumble out into the town too. It seems to 
 be all one little Piazza, with a cold damp wind blowing in 
 and out of the arches, alternately, in a sort of pattern. But 
 it is profoundly dark, and raining heavily; and I shouldn't 
 know it to-morrow, if I were tdken ' there to try. Which 
 Heaven forbid. 
 
 The horses arrive in about an hour. In the interval, the 
 driver swears ; sometimes Christian oaths, sometimes Pagan 
 oaths. Sometimes, when it \% a long, compound oath, he 
 begins with Christianity and merges into Paganism. Various 
 messengers are despatched ; not so much after the hbrses, as 
 after each dther ; for the first meSseiiger never comes bafek, 
 and all the rest imitate him. At length the horses appear, 
 sutroundfed by all the messengers ; sOme kicking them, and 
 some dragging them, and all shouting abuse to them. Then, 
 the old priest, the ypung priest, the Awocato, the Tuscan, 
 and all of us, take our' places ; and sleepy voices proceeding 
 from the doors of extraordinary hutches in divers parts of the 
 yard, cry out " Addio cornfere mio ! Buon' viaggio, corriJire ! " 
 Salutations which the courier, with his face one monstrous 
 grin, returns in likle manner as we go jolting and vvallowing 
 away, through the mud. 
 
 At Piacenza, which was four or five hours' journey from 
 the inn at Stradella, we broke up our little company before 
 the hotel door, with divers manifestations bf friendly feeling 
 on all sides. The old priest was taken with the dramp again, 
 before he had got half-way down the street ; and the young 
 priest laid the bundle of books on a door-step, while' he duti- 
 fully rubbed the old gentlema:n's legs. The client of the 
 Avvoc^to was waiting for him at the yard-gate, and kissed him 
 on each cheek, with suth a resounding smack, that I am afraid 
 he had either a very, bad case, or a Scantily-furnished purse. 
 The Tuscan, vidth a cigar in his moutli', Vvent loitering off, 
 carrying his hat in his hand that he might the better trail up 
 the ends of his dishevelled mustache. And the brave: Courier, 
 as he and I strolled away to look about us, begah immediately 
 to entertaifi me with the private histories and family affairs' of 
 the virhffl* party. ' 
 
 A -bitywn, decayed, old' town, -Pikcenza ik ' A deserted, 
 
468 PICTUnES PROM ITAL V. 
 
 solitary, grass-grown place, with ruined ramparts, ; half filled- 
 up trenches, which afford, a frowsy pasturage tp the lean kine 
 that wander, about them ; and streets of stern Jiojises, moodily 
 frowning at the other houses over the way, The sleepiest 
 and shabbiest of soldiery go wandering about.rwith the double 
 ' curse of laziness, and poverty, uncouthly wrinkling their mis' 
 fitting regimentals ; the dirtiest of children play with their im- 
 promptu toys (pigs and mud), in the feeblest ctf gutters ; and 
 the gauntest of dogs trot-in and out of tUe- dullest pf arch- 
 Avays, in perpetual search of something to eat, which, th?y 
 never seem toiindj A mysterious.and boJ^ijjr Palace, guarded 
 by two colossal statues, twin Genii of the place, stands gravely 
 in' the midst of the idle town ; and the king witli.the marble 
 legs, who flourished in the time of the tliousand - and one 
 Nights, might live contentedly inside of it, aii^- never have 
 the energy, in; his upper half: of flesh and blood, to want to 
 come out. 
 
 What "a strange, half-sorrowful, and half-delicious dpze it is, 
 to ramble through these places gone to sl^ep and basking in 
 the sun ! Each, in its turn, appears to be of all the mouldy, 
 dreary, God-forgotten towns in the vfide world, the chief. 
 Sitting on this hillock where |a bastion used to be, and where 
 a rioisy fortress was, in the time of tbe old Roman- station 
 here, I became awa.re ,tliat I Ijad never known: till now, what 
 it is to be lazy. A dormouse must surely be in very much the 
 same condition before he retires under the wool in his cage ; 
 or a tortoise before he buries liiraself. . I.feel that I am getting 
 rusty. .That any attempt to tlrinjij would .be : accompa-nied 
 wijh a creaking noise. That there is nothing, anywhere, to 
 be done, or needing to be done. That there is, no more 
 human -progress, notion, effort, ,pr advancement, of any kind 
 beyond this. That the whole .scbeme, stopped here centuries 
 ago, land laid dpyra to lest until the Day of Judgment. 
 
 N^ever while the brave Courier lives ! Behold him jingling 
 out of Piacenza, and. staggering this way, in tlie tallest posting- 
 cbaise ever seen, so tliat he lool^s out of the front winciow as 
 if he were peeping over , a garden wall ; while tbf .postilion, 
 concentrated essence of all the shabbiness of ItaJy, pauses for 
 a momentin.his: animated conversation, tqtouch his ha.t,to a 
 blunt-nosed; little Virgin, hardfy less shabby than hiinself, ; en- 
 shrine^ ii^ a plaster Punch's' sl^ow: outside the town. ; 
 
 In Genoa, and thereabouts, they" train the vines on trelji^ 
 Y^ork, suppprted on square cluiftsy pillars, whicjh, iij themselves, 
 
PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. ^gg 
 
 are anything but picturesque. But, liere, they twine them 
 around trees, and let them trail among the hedges ; and the 
 vineyards are full of trees, regularly, planted for this purpose, 
 each with his own vine twining" and clustering about it. Their 
 leaves are now of the brightest gold and deepest red ; and 
 never was anything so enchantingly graceful and full of beauty. 
 Through miles of these delightful forms: and colors, the road 
 winds itS'way. The wild festoons, the elegant wreaths, and 
 crowns, and garlands of all shapes ; the fairy nets flung over 
 great treesy and making them prisonersin sport ; the tumbled 
 liea{» and mounds of exquisite shapes upon the ground ; how 
 rich and beautiful they are! And every now and then, a 
 long, long line of trees, will be all bound and: garlanded to- 
 gether : as if they had taken hold of one another, and were 
 coming dancing down tlie field ! 
 
 Parnia has cheerful,- stirring streets, for an Italian town ; 
 and corisequently is not so characteristic as many places of less 
 note. Always excepting the retired Piazza, where the Cathe- 
 dral, Baptistery, and Campanile — ancient buildings, of a som- 
 bre brown, embellished with innumerable grotesque monsters 
 and dreamy-looking creatures carved in inarble and red stone 
 —are clustered in a noble and magnificent repose. Their silent 
 presence was only invaded, when I saw them, by the twitter- 
 ing of the many birds that were flying in and out of the crev- 
 ices in the stones and little nooks in the architecture, where 
 they had made their nests. They were busy, rising from the 
 cold shade of Temples made with hands,, into the sunny air of 
 Heaven. Not so the worshippers within, who were listening 
 to the same drowsy chant, or kneeling before the same kinds 
 of images and tapers, or whispering, with their; heads bowed 
 down, in the selfsame dark confessionals, as I had left in 
 Genoa and everywhere else. 
 
 The decayed and mutilated paintings; with Tvhich this 
 church is covered, have, to my thinking, a remarkably mpurn- 
 fur and depressing influence. It is miserable to see great 
 works of' art— something of the Souls of Painters — perishing 
 and fading away, like human forms. This cathedral is odor- 
 ous with, the rotting of Correggio's frescoes in the Cupola, 
 Heaven knows how beautiful they may have been at one time. 
 Connoisseurs fall into raptures with them now ; but such a 
 labyrinth of arms and legs : such heaps of foreshortened limbs, 
 entangled and involved and jumbled together ; no operative 
 surgeon, gone mad, could imagine in his wildest delirium. 
 
470 PICTUJiES FROM ITALY. 
 
 There is a very interesting subterranean church, here : the 
 roof supparted by marble pillars, behind each of which there 
 seemed to be at least one beggar in ambush : to say.nothing 
 of the tombs and secluded alta,rs. From every one i of these 
 lurking-places, such crowds of phantom-looking men and 
 women, leading other men and women with twisted: limbs, oi 
 chattering jaws, or paralytic gestures, or idiotic heads, or 
 some other sad infirmity, came hobbling out to beg, that if the 
 ruined frescoes in the cathedral above, had been silddenly ani- 
 mated, and had retired to this lower church, they could hardly 
 have made a greater confusion, or exhibited a more confound- 
 ing display of arms and legs. 
 
 There is Petrarch's Monument, too ; and tliere is .the Bap- 
 tistery, with its beautiful arches and immense. font,;- and ithere 
 is a gallery containing some very remarkable pictures, whereof 
 a few were being copied by hairy-faced artists, with little vel- 
 vet caps more off their heads than on. _ There is the Famese 
 Palace, too ; and in it one of the dreariest spectacles of decay 
 that ever was seen — a grand, old, gloomy theatre, mouldering- 
 away. ^ 
 
 It is a large wooden structure, of tiie horse-shoe shape ; 
 the lower seats arranged upon, the Roman plan, but above 
 them, great heavy chambers, rather than boxes, where tlte 
 Nobles sat, remote in their proud state. Such desolation as 
 has fallen on this theatre, enhanced in the spectator's faacy 
 by its gay intention and design, none but wonns can be famil- 
 iar with. A hundred and ten years have passed,;sinc;e any 
 play was acted here. The sky shines in through the gashes 
 in the roof ; the boxes are dropping down, wasting, away, and 
 only tenanted by rats ; damp and mildew smear thet faded 
 colors, and make spectral maps upon the panels > lean, rags 
 are dangling down where there were- gay festoons on the Pros- 
 cenium J theistage has rotted so, that a narrow wooden gallery 
 is thrown across it, or it would sink beneath the tread, and 
 bury the visitor in the gloomy depth beneatli. The desolation 
 and decay impress themselves on all the senses. The air has 
 a mouldering smell, and an earthy taste ; any stray outer 
 soundsthat struggle in with' some lost sunbeam, are muffled 
 and heavy; and the worm, the maggot, and the rot have 
 changed the stirface of the wood beneath the touch, as time 
 will seam and roughen a smooth hand. If ever Ghosts act 
 plays, they act thefti on this ghostly stage. 
 
 It was most delicious weather, when we came into Mo- 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY. 471 
 
 denay where the darkness of the sombre colonnades over the 
 footways skirting the main street on either side, was made re- 
 freshing and agreeable by the bright sky, so wonderfully blue. 
 I passed from all the glory of the day, into a dim cathedral, 
 where High Mass was performing, feeble tapers were burn- 
 ing, people were kneeling in all directions before all manner 
 of shrines, and officiating priests were crooning the usual 
 chant, in the usual, low dull, drawling, melancholy tone. 
 
 Thinking how strange it was, to find, in every stagnant 
 town, this same Heart beating with the same monotonous 
 pulsation, the centre of the same torpid, listless system, I 
 came out by another door, and was suddenly scared to death 
 by a blast from the shrillest trumpet that ever was blown. 
 Immediately, came tearing round the corner, an equestrian 
 company from Paris : marshalling themselves under the walls 
 of the church, and flouting, with their horses' heels, the grif- 
 fins, hons, tigers, and other monsters in stone and marble, 
 decorating its exterior. First, there came a stately nobleman 
 with a great deal of hair, and no hat, bearing an enormous 
 banner, on which Was inscribed, Mazeppa ! to-night! Then, 
 a Mexican chief, with a' great pear-shaped club on his 
 shoulder, like Hercules. Then six or eight Roman chariots : 
 each with a beautiful lady irt extremely short petticoats, and 
 unnaturally pink tights, erect within : shedding beaming looks 
 upon the crowd, in which there was a latent expression of 
 discomposure and' anxiety, for which I couldn't account, 
 until, as the opened back of each chariot presented itself, I 
 saw the immense difficulty with which the pink legs maintained 
 their perpendicular, over the uneven pavement of the town : 
 which gave me quite a new idea of the ancient Romans and 
 Britons. The procession was brought to a close, by some 
 dozerr indomitable warriors of different- nations, riding two 
 and two, "and' haughtily surveying the tame population of 
 Modena : among whom, however, they occasionally conde- 
 scended to scatter largesse in the form of a few handbills. 
 After caracolling among the lions and tigers, and proclaim- 
 ing that evening's entertainments with blast of triimpet, it 
 then filed off, by the other end of the square, and left a new 
 and greatly increased dulness behind. 
 
 ■ When the procession had so entirely passed away, that 
 the shrill trumpet was mild in the distance, arid the tail of the 
 last horse was hopelessly round the corner,' the people who 
 bad Gorae oiit of the church to stare at it, went back again. 
 
^-2 PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 But one old lady kneeling on the ' pavement within, near the 
 door, had seen it all,: and had been immensely interested, with- 
 out getting up; and this ,old lady's eye, at that juncture, I 
 happened to catch : to our mutual confusion. She cut our em- 
 barrassment very short, however, by crossing herself devoutly, 
 and going down, at full length, on her face, before a figure in 
 a fancy petticoat and a gilt- crown ; which waS.so like one of 
 the procession-figures, that perhaps at this hour ^ she may 
 think the whole appearance a celestial vision. Anyhow, I 
 must certainly have ■ forgiven hex her interest in the Circus, 
 though I had been her father confessor. • .. ; / 
 
 :: There was a little fiery-eyed old man with a crooked, 
 shoulder, in the cathedral, who took it very ill that I made no 
 effort to see the bucket-(kept in an old tower) which the peo- 
 ple of Modena -took away from the people of Bologna in the 
 fourteenth century, and about which there was war made and 
 a mock-heroic poem by Tassome, too. Being quite cotitent,, 
 however, to look at the outside of the tower, and feast, in im- 
 agination, on the bucket within ; and preferring to loiter in 
 the;shade of the tall Campanile, and about the cathedral; I 
 have no personal knowledge of this bucket, even at the pres- 
 ent time. 
 
 Indeed, we were at Bologna, befdre the little old man (or 
 the Guide-Book) would have considered that we had half done 
 justice to the wonders;of Modena. But it is such a delight 
 to me to leave new Scenes behind, and still go, on, encounter- 
 ing newer scenes — and, moreover, I have such a per\'erse dis- 
 position in respect of' sights tliat are cut, and dried, and dic- 
 tated^ — that I fear I sin against similar authorities in every 
 place I visit. 
 
 ■ Be this as it may, in the pleasant Cemetery at Bologna, I 
 found myself walking next Sunday morningj^ among the stately 
 m>arble tombs and colonnades, in company with a crowd of 
 Peasants, and escorted by a little Cicerone of that town, who 
 was excessively anxious for the ' honor of the place, and most 
 solicitous to divert ^ my attention from the bad monuments: 
 whereas he was never tired of extolling the good ones. See-! 
 ing this little man (a good-humored little man he was, who 
 seemed to have nothing in his face but shining teeth and 
 eyes) looking wistfully at a certain plot of grass, I asked.him 
 who was .buried there. ," The poor people, Signore," he said, 
 with a shrug and a smile, and stopping ,to look back at me — 
 for he always went on a little before, and- took off his hat to 
 
PICTURES FROAI TTAL Y. 473 
 
 introduce every new monument. • " Only ttie poor, Signore ! 
 :It's very cheerful. It's very lively. How green it is, how 
 cool 1 It's like a meadow! There are five," — holding all the 
 fingers of his right hand to express the number, which an 
 Italian peasant will always do, if it be within the coiispass of 
 his ten fingers, — " there are five, of my little children buried 
 there, Signore ; just there ; a little to the fight. Well ! Thanks 
 to God! It's Very cheerfuL How green it is, how cool it 
 is ! It's quite a meadow ! " 
 
 He looked me very hard in the face, and seeing I was 
 sorry for him, took a pinch of snufi (every CicerOnc takes 
 snuff), and made a little bow ; partly in deprecation of his 
 having alluded to such a subject, and partly in memory of the 
 children and of his favorite saint. It was as unaffected and as 
 perfectly natural ' a little bow, as ever man made. Immedi- 
 ately afterwards, he took his hat off altogether, and begged 
 to introduce me to the next monument ; and his eyes and his 
 teeth shone brighter than before. 
 
 THROUGH BOLOGNA AND FERRARA. 
 
 There was such a very smart official in attendance at the 
 Cemetery where the little Cicerone had buried his children, 
 that when the little Cicerone suggested to me in a whisper, 
 that there would be no offence in presenting this officer, in re- 
 turn for some slight extra service, with a couple of pauls 
 (about tenpence, English money), I looked incredulously at 
 his cocked hat, wash-leather gloves, well-made uniform, and 
 dazzling buttons, and rebuked the little Cicerone with a grave 
 shalce of the head. For, in splendor of appearance, he was at 
 least equal to the Deputy Usher of the Black Rod ; and the 
 idea of his carrying, as Jeremy Diddler would say, " such a 
 thing as tenpence" away wiih him, seemed monstrous. He 
 took it in excellent part, however, when I made bold to give 
 it him, and pulled off his cocked hat with a flourish that 
 would have been a bargain at double the mone)'. 
 
 It seemed to be his duty to describe, .the monuments to 
 the people — at all events he was: doing so ; and when I com- 
 pared him, like Gulliver ii> Brobdignag, "with the institutions 
 
^y^ PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 of ray own beloved country, I could not refrain irom tears xif 
 pride and exultation." He had no pace at all ; no more than 
 a tortoise. He loitered as the people loitered, that they 
 might gratify their curiosity ; and positively allow them, now 
 and then, to read the inscriptions on the tombs. He was 
 neither, shabby, nor insolent, nor churlish, nor ignorant, • He 
 spoke his own language with perfect propriety, and sgeiaed 
 to consider himself, in his ' way,, a kind of teacher of the 
 people, and to entertain a just respect both for himself and 
 them. They would no more have such a man for a "Verger 
 in Westmiiiister Abbey, than they would let the people in (as 
 they do at Bologna) to see the monuments for nothing.* 
 
 Again, an ancient sombre town, under the briUiant sky; 
 with heavy arcades over the footways of the older streets, and 
 lighter and more cheerful archways in the newer portions of 
 the town. Again, brown piles of sacred buHdings, with more 
 birds flying in and out of chinks in the stones ; and more 
 snarling monsters for the bases, of. the pillars; Again, rich 
 churches, drowsy Masses, curling incense, tinkling bells, 
 priests in bright vestments : pictures, tapers, laced altar cloths, 
 crosses, images, and artificial flowers. 
 
 There is a grave and learned air about the city, and a 
 pleasant ^loom upon it, that would leave it, a distinct and 
 separate impression in the mind, among a crowd of cities, 
 though it were not' still further marked in the traveller's re- 
 membrance by the two brick leaning towers (sufficiently un- 
 sightly in themselves, it must be acknowledged), inclining 
 cross-wiseas if they were bowing stiffly to each other— -a most 
 extraordinary termination to the perspective of some of the 
 narrow streets. The collegssv and churches too, and palaces : 
 and above all the academy of Fine Arts, where there are a 
 host of interesting pictures, especially by Guido, Domeni- 
 CHINO, and Ludovico Caracci : give it a place of its own in 
 the memory. Even though these were not, and there were 
 nothing else to remember it by, the great Meridian on the 
 pavement of the church of San Petronio, where the sunbeams 
 mark the time among the kneeling people, would ^ve it a fan- 
 ciful and pleasant interest. 
 
 Bologna being very full of tourists, detained there by an 
 inundation which rendered the road to Florence impassable, 
 I was quartered up at the top, of an hotel, in an out-of-the-way 
 
 • Afarmore liberal and just recognition of the public has arisen in Westminister 
 Abbey since this was written. 
 
PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 47^ 
 
 room which I never could find : containing a bed, big enough 
 for a boarding-school, which I couldn't fall asleep in. The 
 chief among the waiters who visited this lonely retreat, where 
 there was no other company but the swallows in the broad 
 eaves over the window, was a man of one idea in connection 
 with the English ; and the subject of this Mrmless, monoma- 
 nia, was Lord Eyron. I made the discovery, by accidentally 
 remarking to him, at breakfast, that the matting with which 
 the floor was covered, was very comfortable at that season, 
 when he immediately replied that ^ Milor Beeron had been 
 much attached to that kind of matting. Observing, at that 
 same moment, that I took no milk, he exclaimed with enthusi- 
 asm, that Milor Beeron had never touched it. At first, I took 
 it for granted, in my innocence, that he had been one. of the 
 Beeron servants ; but no, he said, no, he was ;n the habit of 
 speaking about my Lord,'to English gentlemen ; that was all. 
 He knew all about him, he said. In proof of it, he connected 
 him with every possible topic, from the Monte Pulciano wine 
 at dinner (which was grown on an estate he had owned), to 
 the big bed itself, which was the verj' model of his. When I 
 left the inn, he coupled with his final bow in the yard, a part- 
 ing assurance that the road by which I was going, had been 
 Milor Beeron's favorite ride; and before the horse's: feet had 
 well begun to clatter on the pavement, he ran briskly: up stairs 
 again, I dare say to tell some other Englishman in some other 
 solitary room that the guest- who: had just departed was Lord 
 Beeron's Jiving image. 
 
 I had entered Bologna by night — almost midnight-^and 
 all along the road thither, after our. entrance into the Papai 
 territory : which is not, in any part, supremely well governed. 
 Saint Peter's keys being. rather rusty now : the driver had so 
 worried abomt the danger of robbers in travelling after dark, 
 and had so infected the brave Courier, and: the two had been 
 so constantly stopping and getting up and down to look after 
 a portmanteau which was tied on behind, that I should have 
 felt almost obliged to any one who would have had the goodness 
 to take it away. Henee it was stipulated, that, whenever we 
 left Bologna, we should start so as hot to arrive at Ferrara 
 later than eight at night ; and a delightful afternoon and 
 evening journey it was, albeit through a flat district which 
 gradually became more marshy from the overflow of brooks 
 and rivers in the recent heavy rains. 
 
 At sunset, when I was walking on alone, while the horses 
 
476 
 
 PICTURES FKOM ITALY. 
 
 rested, I arrived upon a little scene, which, by one of those 
 singular, mental operations of which we are all conscious, 
 seemed perfectly familiar to me, and which I see distinctly 
 now. There was not much in it. In the blood red light, 
 there was a mournful sheet of water, just stirred by the even- 
 ing wind ; upon its margin, a few trees. .In the foreground 
 was a group of silent peasant girls leaning 'Over the parapet of 
 a little bridge, and looking, now up at the sky, now down into 
 the water; in the distance^ a deep bell ; the shade of ap- 
 proaching night on everything. If I had been murdered there, 
 in some former life, I could not have seemed to remember the 
 place more thoroughly, or with a more emphatic chilling of 
 the blood ; and the mere remembrance of it' acquired in that 
 minute, is so strengthened by. the imaginaiy recollection, that 
 I hardly think I could forget it. 
 
 More solitary, more depopulated, more deserted, old 
 Ferrara, than any city of the solemn brotherhood ! • The grass 
 so grows up in the silent streets, that any one might; malce 
 hay there, literally, while the sun shines. But the sun shines 
 with diminished cheerfulness in grim Ferrara ; and the people 
 are so few who pass and re-pass, through the .places; that the 
 flesh of its inhabitants might be grass indeed, and growing in 
 the squares, 
 
 I wonder why the head coppersmith in an Italian town, 
 always lives next door to the Hotel, or opposite : making the 
 visitor feel as if the beating hammers were his own heart, pal- 
 pitating with a deadly energy ! I wonder why jealous cor- 
 ridors surround the bedroom on all sideS, and fill it with 
 unnecessary doors tli at can't.be .shtit, and will not open, and 
 abut on pitchy darkness ! I wonder why it is not enough that 
 these distrustful genii stand agape at. one's -dneams all night, 
 but there must also be round open portholes, high in the wall, 
 suggestive, when a mouse or rat is hfeard behind the wainscot, 
 of a somebody scraping the wall with his toes, in his en- 
 deavors to reach one of these portholes and look in ! I won- 
 der why the faggots are so constructed, as to know of no effect 
 but an agony of heat when they are lighted and replenished, 
 and an agony of cold and suffocation at all other times ! I 
 wonder, above alV why it is the great feature of domestic archi- 
 tecture in Italian inns, that all the fire goes up the chimney, 
 except the smoke i 
 
 The answer matters little. Coppersmiths, doors, portholes, 
 smoke, and faggots, are welcome to me. Give me the smiling 
 
PICTURES PROM ITAL Y. 47^ 
 
 face of the attendant, man or woman ; tbe courteous manner ; 
 the amiable desire to please and to Ije pleased ; the light- 
 hearted^ pleasant, simple air — so many jewels set in dirt — and 
 I am theirs again to-morrow ! 
 
 Ariosto's house, Tasso's prison, a rare old Gothic cathe- 
 dral, and more churches of course, are the sights of Ferrara. 
 But the long silent streets, and the dismantled palaces, where 
 ivy waves in lieu of banners, and where rank weeds are slowly 
 creeping up the long-untrodden stairs, are the best sights of all. 
 
 The aspect of this dreary town, half an hour before sun- 
 rise one fine morning, when I left it, was as picturesque as it 
 seemed unreal and spectral. It was no matter that the peo- 
 ple were not yet out of bed ; for if they had all been up and 
 busy, they would have made but little difference in that desert 
 of a place. It was best to see it, without a single figure in 
 the picture ; a city of the dead, without one solitary survivor. 
 Pestilence might have ravaged streets, squares, and market- 
 places ; and sack and siege have ruined the old houses, bat- 
 tered down their doors and windows, and made breaches in 
 their roofs. In one part, a great tower rose into the air ; the 
 only landmark in the melancholy view. In another, a pro- 
 digious castle, with a moat about it, stood aloof : a sullen city 
 in itself. In the black dungeons of this castle, Parisina and 
 her lover were beheaded in the dead of night. The red light, 
 beginning to shine when I looked back upon it, stained its 
 walls without, as they have, many a time, been stained within, 
 in old days ; but for any sign of life they gave, the castle and 
 the city might have been avoided by all human creatures, from 
 the moment when the axe went down upon the last of the two 
 lovers ; and might have never vibrated to another sound 
 
 Beyond the blow tliat to the block 
 
 Pierced through with forced' and sullen shock. 
 
 Coming to the Po, which was greatly swollen, and running 
 fiercely, we crossed it by a floating bridge of boats, and so 
 came into the Austrian territory, and resumed our journey : 
 through a country of which, for some miles, a great part was 
 under water. The brave Courier and the soldiery had first 
 quarrelled, for half an hour or more, over our eternal pass- 
 port. But this was a daily relaxation with the Bjave, who 
 was always stricken deaf when shabby functionaries in uniform 
 came, as they constantly did come, plunging out of wooden 
 boxes to look at it — or in other words to beg — and who, 
 21 
 
^y8 PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 Stone deaf to my entreaties that the man might have a trifle 
 given him, and we resume our journey in peace, was wont to sit 
 reviling the functionary in broken English : while the unfortu- 
 nate man's face was a portrait of mental agony framed in the 
 coach window, from his perfect ignorance of what was being 
 said to his disparagement. 
 
 There was a postilion, in the course of this day's journey, 
 as wild and savagely good-looking a vagabond as you would 
 desire to see. He was a tall, stout-made, dark-complexioned 
 fellow, with a profusion of shaggy black hair hanging all over 
 his face, and great black whiskers stretching down his throat. 
 His dress was a torn suit of rifle green, garnished here and 
 there with red ; a steeple-crowned hat, innocent of nap, with 
 a broken and bedraggled feather stuck in the band ; and a 
 flaming red neckerchief hanging on his shoulders.- He was 
 not in the saddle, but reposed, quite at his ease, on a sort of 
 low foot-board in front of the postchaise, down amongst the 
 horses' tails — convenient for having his brains kicked out, at 
 any moment. To this Brigand, the brave Courier, when we 
 were at a reasonable trot, happened to suggest the practicabil- 
 ity of going faster. He received the proposal with a perfect 
 yell of derision ; brandished his whip about his head (such a 
 whip ! it was more like a home-made bow) ; flung up his heels, 
 much higher than the horses ; and disappeared, in a paroxysm, 
 somewhere in the neighborhood of the axletree. I fully 
 expected to see him lying in the road, a hundred yards behind, 
 but up came the steeple-crowned hat again, next minute, and 
 he was seen reposing, as on a sofa, entertaining himself with 
 the idea, and crying, " Ha ha ! what next. Oh the devil ! 
 Faster too ! Shoo — hoo — o — o ! " (Tliis last ejaculation, an 
 inexpressibly defiant hoot.) Being anxious to reach our imme- 
 diate destination that night, I ventured, by and by, to repeat 
 the experiment on my own account. It produced exactly the 
 same effect. Round flew the whip with the same scornful 
 flourish, up came the heels, down went the steepled-crowiied 
 hat, and presently he reappeared, reposing as before and 
 saying to himself, " Ha ha ! what next ! Faster too. Oh 
 the devil 1 Shoo — hoo — o — o ! " 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY. 4.- 
 
 AN ITALIAN DREAM. 
 
 I HAD been travelling for some days ; resting very little 
 in the night, and never in the day. The rapid and unbroken 
 succession of novelties that had passed before me, came back 
 like half-formed dreams ; and a crowd of objects wandered in 
 the greatest confusion through my mind, as I travelled on, by 
 a solitary road. At intervals, some one among them would 
 stop, as it were, in its restless flitting to and fro, and enable 
 me to look at it, quite steadily, and behold it in full distinct- 
 ness. After a few moments, it would dissolve, like a view in 
 a magic-lantern ; and while I saw some part of it quite plainly, 
 and some faintly, and some not at all, would show me another 
 of the many places I had lately seen, lingering behind it, and 
 coming through it. This was no sooner visible than, in its 
 turn, it melted into something else. 
 
 At one moment, I was standing again, before the brown 
 old rugged churches of Modena. As I recognized the 
 curious pillars with grim monsters for their bases, I seemed 
 to see them, standing by themselves in the quiet square at 
 Padua, where there were the staid old University, and the 
 figures, demurely gowned, grouped here' and there in the 
 open space about it. Then, I was strolling in the outskirts 
 of that pleasant city, admiring the unusual neatness of the 
 dwelling-houses, gardens, and orchards, as I had seen them a 
 few hours before. In their stead arose, immediately, the two 
 towers of Bologna ; and the most obstinate of all these 
 objects, failed to hold its ground, a minute, before the mon- 
 strous moated castle of Ferrara, which, like an illustration to 
 a wild romance, came back again in the red sunrise, lording 
 it over the solitary, grass-grown, withered town. In short, I 
 had that incoherent but delightful jumble in my brain, which 
 travellers are apt to have, and are indolently willing to encour- 
 age. Every shake of the coach in which I sat, half dozing in 
 the dark, appeared to jerk some new recollection out of its 
 place, and to jerk some other new recollection into itj and in 
 this state I fell asleep. 
 
 I was awakened after some time (as I thought) by the 
 stepping of the coach. It was now quite night, and we were 
 at the \vater-side. There lay here, a black boat, with a little 
 
^go PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 house or cabin in it of the same mournful color. When I 
 had taken my seat in this, the boat was paddled, by two men, 
 towards a great light, lying in the distance on the sea. 
 
 Ever and again, there was a dismal sigh of wind. It 
 ruffled the water, and rocked the boat, and sent the dark 
 clouds flying before the stars. I could not but think how 
 strange it was, to be floating away at that hour: leaving the 
 land behind, and going on, towards this light upon the sea. 
 It soon began to burn brighter ; and from being one light 
 became a cluster of tapers, twinkling, and shining out of the 
 water^ as the boat approached towards them by a dreamy 
 kind of track, marked out upon the sea by posts and pile^. 
 
 We had floated on, five miles or so, over the dark water, 
 when I heard it rippling in my dream, against some obstruc- 
 tion near at hand. Looking out attentively, I saw, throi^h 
 the gloom, a something black and massive — like a shore, but 
 lying close and flat upon the water, like a raft — ^which we 
 were gliding past. The chief of the two rowers said it was a 
 burial-place. 
 
 Full of the interest and wonder which a cemetery lying 
 out there, in the lonely sea, inspired, I turned to gaze upon it 
 as it should recede in our path, when it was quickly shut out 
 from my view. Before I knew by what, or how, I found that 
 we were gliding up a street — a phantom street ; the houses 
 rising on both sides, from the water, and the black boat glid- 
 ing on beneath their windows. Lights were shining from some 
 of these casements, plumbing the dfepth of the black stream 
 with their reflected rays, but all was profoundly silent. 
 
 So we advanced into this ghostly city, continuing to hold 
 our course through narrow streets and lanes, all filled and 
 flowing with water. Some of tlie corners where our way 
 branched off, were so acute and narrow, that it seemed impos- 
 sible for the long slender boat to turn them ; but the rowers, 
 with a low melodious cry of warning, sent it skimming on 
 without a pause. Sometimes, the rowers of another blkck 
 boat like our own, echoed the cry, and slackening their speed 
 (as I thought we did ours) would come flitting past us like a 
 dark shadow. Other boats, of the same sombre hue, were 
 lying moored, I thought, to painted pillars, near to dark mys- 
 terious doors that opened straight upon the water. Some of 
 these were empty ; in some, the rowers lay asleep ; towards 
 one, I saw some figures coming down a gloomy archway from 
 the interior of a palace : gayly dressed, and attended by torch- 
 
O.T. 
 
 THE CHIFF0KIE31. 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 481 
 
 bearers. It was but a glimpse I had of them ; for a bridge, 
 so low and close upon the boat that it seemed ready to fall 
 down and crush us : one of the many bridges that perplexed 
 the Dream : blotted them out, instantly. On we went, floating 
 towards the heart of this strange place^ — with water all about 
 us where never water was elsewhere — clusters of houses, 
 churches, heaps of stately buildings growing out of it — and, 
 everywhere, the same extraordinary silence. Presently, we 
 shot across a broad and open stream; and passing, as I 
 thought, before a spacious paved quay, where the bright lamps 
 with which it was illuminated showed long rows of arches and 
 pillars, of ponderous construction andgreat strength, but as 
 light to the eye as garlands of hoar-frost or gossamer — and 
 where, for the first time, I saw people walking-^arrived at a 
 flight of steps leading from the water to a large mansion, 
 where, having passed through corridors and galleries innum- 
 erable, I lay down to rest ; listening to the black boats stealing 
 up and down below the window on the rippling water, till I 
 fell asleep. 
 
 , The glory of the day that broke upon me in this Dream ; 
 its freshness, motion, buoyancy; its sparkles of the sun in 
 water ; its clear blue sky and rustling air ; no waking words 
 can tell. But, from my window, I looked down on boats and 
 barks ; on masts, sails, cordage, flags ; on groups of busy 
 sailors, working at the cargoes of these vessels ; on wide quays, 
 strewn with bales, casks, merchandise of many kinds ; on great 
 ships, lying near at hand in stately indolence; on islands, 
 crowned with gorgeous domes and turrets : and where golden 
 crosses glittered in the light, atop of wondrous churches, 
 springing from the sea ! Going down upon the margin of the 
 green sea, rolling on before the door, and filling all the streets, 
 I came upon a place of such surpassing beauty, and such 
 grandeur, that all the rest was poor and faded, in comparison 
 with its absorbing loveliness. 
 
 It was a great Piazza, as I thought ; anchored, like all the 
 rest, in the deep ocean. On its broad bosom, was a Palace, 
 more majestic and magnificent in its old age, than all the 
 buildings of the earth, in the high prime and fulness of their 
 youth. Cloisters and galleries : so light, they might have been 
 the work of fairy Jiarids: so strong that centuries had battered 
 them in vain : wound round and round this palace, and en- 
 folded it with a Cathedral, gorgeous in the wild luxuriant 
 fancies of the East. At no great distance from its porch, a 
 
482 
 
 PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 lofty tower, standing by itself, and rearing its proud head, 
 alone, into the sky, looked out upfon the Adriatic Sea. Near 
 to the margin of the stream, were two ill-omened pillars of 
 red granite ; one having on its top, a figure with a sword and 
 shield ; the other, a winged lion. Not far from these again, a 
 second tower : richest of the rich in all its decorations : even 
 here, where all was rich : sustained aloft, a great orb, gleaming 
 with gold and deepest blue : the Twelve Signs painted on it, 
 and a mimic sun revolving in its course around them : while 
 above, two bronze giants hammered out the hours upon a 
 sounding bell. An oblong square of lofty houses of the 
 whitest stone, surrounded by a light and beautiful arcade, 
 formed part of this enchanted scene ; and, here and there, gay 
 masts for flags rose, tapering, from the pavement of the un- 
 substantial ground. 
 
 I thought I entered the Cathedral, and went in and out 
 among its many arches : traversing its whole extent. A grand 
 and dreamy structure, of immense proportions ; golden with 
 old mosaics ; redolent of perfumes ; dim with the smoke of 
 incense ; costly in treasure of precious stones and metals, 
 glittering through iron bars ; holy with the bodies of deceased 
 saints ; rainbow-hued with windows of stained glass ; dark with 
 carved woods and colored marbles ; obscure in its vast 
 heights, and lengthened distances ; shining with silver lamps 
 and winking lights ; unreal, fantastic, solemn, inconceivable 
 throughout. I thought I entered the old palace ; pacing silent 
 galleries and council-chambers, where the old rulers of this 
 mistress of the waters looked sternly out, in pictures, from the 
 walls, and where her high-prowed galleys, still victorious on 
 canvas, fought and conquered as of old. I thought I wan- 
 dered through its halls of state and triumph — bare and empty 
 now ! — and musing on its pride and might, extinct : for that 
 was past ; all past ; heard a voice say, " Some tokens of its 
 ancient rule, and some consoling reasons for its downfall, may 
 be traced here, yet ! " 
 
 I dreamed that I was led on, then, into some jealous rooms, 
 communicating with a prison near the palace ; separated from 
 it by a lofty bridge crossing a narrow street ; and called, I 
 dreamed, The Bridge of Sighs. 
 
 But first I passed two jagged slits in a stone wall ; the 
 lions' mouths — now toothless — ^where, in the distempered 
 horror of my sleep, I thought denunciations of innocent men 
 to the old wicked Council, had been dropped through, many a 
 
PICTURES PROM ITAL Y. 483 
 
 time, when the night was dark. So, when I saw the council- 
 room to which such prisoners were taken for examination, and 
 '.he door by which they passed out, when they were con- 
 demned — a door that never closed upon a man with life and 
 hope before him — my heart appeared to die within me. 
 
 It was smitten harder though, when, torch in hand, I de- 
 scended from the cheerful day into two ranges, one below 
 another, of dismal, awful, horrible stone cells. They were 
 quite dark. Each had a loop-hole in its massive wall, where, 
 in the old thije, every day, a torch was placed: — I dreamed — 
 to light the prisoner within, for half an hour. The captives, 
 by the glimmering of these brief rays, had scratched and cut 
 inscriptions in the blackened vaults. I saw them. For their 
 labor with a rusty nail's point, had outliyed their agony and 
 them, through many generations. 
 
 One cell, I saw, in which no man remained for more than 
 four and twenty hours ; being marked for dead before he 
 entered it. Hard by, another, and a dismal one, whereto, at 
 midnight, the confessor came — a monk brown-robed, and 
 hooded — ghastly in the day, and free bright air, but in the 
 midnight of that murky prison, Hope's extinguisher, and 
 Murder's herald. I had my foot upon the spot, where, at the 
 same dread hour, the shriven prisoner was strangled ; and 
 struck my hand upon the guilty door — low browed and steal- 
 thy — through which the lumpish sack was carried out into a 
 boat, and rowed away, and drowned where it was death to cast 
 a net. 
 
 Around this dungeon stronghold, and above some part of 
 it ; licking the rough walls without, and smearing them with 
 damp and sljme within : stuffing dank weeds and refuse into 
 chinks and crevices, as if the very stones and bars had mouths 
 to stop : furnishing a smooth road for the removal of the 
 bodies of the secret victims of the State — a road so ready that 
 it went along with them, and ran before them, like a cruel 
 officer — flowed the same water that filled this Dream of mine, 
 and made it seem one, even at the time. 
 
 Descending from the palace by a staircase, called, I 
 thought, the Giant's — I had some imaginary recollection of 
 an old man abdicating, coming, more slowly and more feebly, 
 down it, when he heard the bell, proclaiming his successor — I 
 glided off, in one of the dark boats, until we came to an old 
 arsenal guarded by four marble lions. To make my Dream 
 more monstrous and unlikely, one of these had words and 
 
484 
 
 PICTURES FROM ITAL V. 
 
 sentences upon its body, inscribed there, at an unknown time, 
 and in an unknown language; so that their purport was a mys- 
 tery to all men. 
 
 There was little sound of hammers in this place for build- 
 ing ships, and little work in progress ; for the greatness of the 
 city was no more, as I have said. Indeed, it seemed a very 
 wreck found drifting on the sea ; a strange flag hoisted in its 
 honorable stations, and strangers standing at its helm. A 
 splendid barge in which its ancient chief had gone forth, 
 pompously, at certain periods, to wed the ocean, lay here, I 
 thought, no more ; but in its place, there was a tiny model, 
 made from recollection like the city's greatness ; and it told 
 of what had been (so are the strong and weak confounded in 
 the dust) almost as eloquently as the massive pillars, arches, 
 roofs, reared to overshadow stately ships that had no other 
 shadow now, upon the water or the earth. 
 
 An armory was there yet. Plundered and despoiled ; but 
 an armory. With a fierce standard taken from the Turks, 
 drooping in the dull air of its cage. Rich suits of mail worn 
 by great warriors were hoarded there ; crossbows and bolts ; 
 quivers full of arrows ; spears ; swords, daggers, maces, shields, 
 and heavy-headed axes. Plates of wrought steel and iron, to 
 make the gallant horse a monster cased in metal scales ; and 
 one spring-weapon (easy to be carried in the breast) designed 
 to do its office noiselessly, and made for shooting men with 
 poisoned darts. 
 
 One press or case I saw, full of accursed instruments of 
 torture : horribly contrived to cramp, and pinch, and grind 
 and crush men's bones, and tear and twist them with the tor- 
 ment of a thousand deaths. Before it, were two iron helmets, 
 with breast-pieces : made to close up tight and smooth upon 
 the heads of living sufferers ; and fastened on to each, was a 
 small knob or anvil, where the directing devil could repose 
 his elbow at his ease, and listen, near the walled-up ear, to 
 the lamentations and confessions of the wretch within. There 
 was that grim resemblance in them to the human shape — tliey 
 were such moulds of sweating faces, pained and cramped — 
 that it was difficult to think them empty ; and terrible distor- 
 tions lingering within them, seemed to follow me, when, taking 
 to my boat again, I row off to a kind of garden or public 
 walk in the sea, where there were grass and trees. But I for- 
 got them when I stood upon its farthest brink — I stood there 
 in my dream — and looked, along the ripple, to the -setting 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY. 485 
 
 sun ; before me, in the sky and on tlie deep, a crimson flush j 
 and behind me the whole city resolving into streaks of red and 
 purple, on the water. 
 
 . In the luxurious wonder of so rare a dream, I took but 
 little heed of time, and had but little understanding of its 
 flight. But there were idaysi and nights in it ; and when the 
 sun was high and when the rays of lamps were crooked in the 
 running water, I was still afloat, t thought : plashing the slip- 
 pery walls and houses with cleavings of the tide, as my black 
 boat, borne upon it, skimmed along the streets. 
 
 Sometimes, alighting at the doors of churches and vast 
 palaces, I wandered on, from room to room, from aisle to 
 aisle, tlirough labyrinths of rich altars, ancient monuments ; 
 decayed apartments where the furniture, half awful, half gro- 
 tesque, was mouldering away. Pictures were there, replete 
 with such iinduring beauty and expression : with such passion, 
 truth and power : that they seemed so many young and fresh 
 realities among a host of spectres. I thought these, often 
 intermingled with the old days of the city : with its beauties, 
 tyrants, captains, patriots, merchants, courtiers, priests : nay, 
 with its very stones, and bricks, and public places ; all of 
 which lived again, about me, on the walls. Then, coming 
 down some marble staircase where the water lapped and 
 oozed against the lower steps, I passed into my boat again, 
 and went on in my dream. . 
 
 Floating down narrow lanes, where carpenters, at work 
 with plain and chisel in their shops, tossed the light shaving 
 straight upon the water, where it lay like weed, or ebbed away 
 before me in a tangled heap. Past open doors, decayed and 
 rotten from long steeping in the wet, through which some scanty 
 patch of vine shone green and bright, making unusual shad- 
 ows on the pavement with its trembling leaves. Past quays 
 and terraces, where women, gracefully veiled, were passing 
 and repassing, and where idlers were reclining in the sun- 
 shine, on flagstones and on flights of steps. Past bridges, 
 where there were idlers too ; loitering and looking over. 
 •Below stone balconies, erected at a giddy height, before the 
 loftiest windows of the loftiest houses. Past plots of garden, 
 theatres, shrines, prodigious piles of architecture — Gothic — 
 Saracenic — ^fanciful with all the fancies of all times and 
 countries. Past buildings that were high, and low, and black, 
 and white, and straight, and crooked ; mean and grand, crazy 
 and : Strong. Twining among a tangled lot of boats and 
 
,^86 PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 barges, and shooting out at last into a Grand Canal! There, 
 in the errant fancy of my dream, I saw old Shylock passing to 
 and fro upon a bridge, all built upon with shops and hum- 
 ming with the tongues of men ; a form I seemed to know for 
 Desdemona's, leaned down through a latticed blind to pluck 
 a flower. And, in the dream, I thought that Shakspeare's 
 spirit was abroad upon the water somewhere : stealing through 
 tlae city. 
 
 At night, when two votive lamps burnt before an image 
 of the Virgin, in a gallery outside the great cathedral, near the 
 roof, I fancied that the great piazza of the Winged Lion was 
 a blaze of cheerful light, and that its whole arcade was thronged 
 with people ; while crowds were diverting themselves in 
 splendid coffee-houses opening from it— which, were never 
 shut, I thought, but open all night : long. When the bronze 
 giants struck the hour of midnight on the bell, I thought the 
 life and animation of the city were all centred here ; and as I 
 rowed away, abreast the silent quays, I only saw them dotted, 
 here and there, with sleeping boatmen wrapped up in their 
 cloaks, and lying at full length upon the stones. 
 
 But close about the quays and churches, palaces and pris- 
 ons : sucking at their walls, and welling up irito the secret 
 places of the town : crept the water always. Noiseless and 
 watchful : coiled round and round it, in its many folds, like 
 an old serpent : waiting for the time, I thought, when people 
 should look down into its depths for any stone of the old city 
 that had claimed to be its mistress. 
 
 Thus it floated me away, until I awoke in the old market- 
 place at Verona. I have, many and many a time, thought 
 since, of this strange Dream, upon the water : half-wondering 
 if it lie there yet, and if its name be Venice. 
 
 BY VERONA, MANTUA, AND MILAN, ACROSS THE 
 PASS OF THE SIMPLON INTO SWITZERLAND. 
 
 I HAD been half afraid to go to Verona, lest it should at 
 all put me out of conceit with Romeo and Juliet. But, I was 
 no sooner come into the old market-place, than the misgiving 
 vanished. It is so fanciful, quaint, and picturesque a place, 
 
PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 487 
 
 formed by such an extraordinary and rich variety of fantastic 
 buildings, that there could be nothing better at the core of 
 even this romantic town : scene of one of the most romantic 
 and beautiful of -stories. 
 
 It was natural enough, to go straight from the Market- 
 place, to the House of the Capulets, now degenerated into a 
 most miserable little inn. Noisy vetturini and muddy market- 
 carts were disputing possession of the yard, which was ankle- 
 deep in dirt, with a brood of splashed and bespattered geese ; 
 and there was a grimryisaged dog, viciously panting in a 
 door-way, who would certainly have had Romeo by the leg, 
 the moment he put it over the wall, if he had existed and 
 been at large in those times. The orchard fell into other 
 hands, and was parted off many years ago ; but there used to 
 be one attached to the house — or at all events there may 
 have been,^and the hat (Cappello) the ancient cognizance of 
 the family, may still be seen, carved in stone, over the gate- 
 way of the yard. The geese, the niarket-carts, their drivers, 
 and the dog, were somewhat in the way. of the story, it must 
 be confessed; and it would have been pleasanter to have 
 found the house empty, and to have been able to walk 
 through the disused rooms. But the hat was unspeakably 
 comfortable ; and the place where the garden used to be, 
 hardly less so. Besides, the house is a distrustful, jealous- 
 looking house as one would desire to see, though of a very 
 moderate size. So I was quite satisfied with it, as the veri- 
 table mansion of old Capulet, and.was correspondingly grate- 
 ful in my acknowledgments to an extremely unsentimental 
 middle-aged lady, the Padrona of the Hotel, who was loung- 
 ing on the threshold looking a;t the geese ; and who at least 
 resembled the Capulets in the one particular of being very 
 great indeed in the " Family " way. 
 
 From Juliet's home, to Juliet's tomb, is a transition as 
 natural to the visitor, as to fair Juliet herself, or to the proud- 
 est Juliet that ever has taught the torches to burn bright in 
 any time. So, I went off, with a guide, to ap old, old garden, 
 once belonging to an old, old convent, I suppose ; and being 
 admitted, at a shattered gate, by a bright-eyed woman who 
 was. washing clothes, went down some walks where fresh 
 plants and young flowers were prettily growing among frag- 
 ments of old wall, and ivy-covered mounds ; and was shown a 
 little tank, or waterrtrough, which the bright-eyed woman- 
 drying her arms upon her 'kerchief, called " La tomba di 
 
^88 PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 Giulietta las fortunata." With the best disposition in the 
 world to believe, I could do no more than believe that the 
 bright-eyed woman believed ; so I gave her that much credit, 
 and her customary fee in ready money. It was a pleasure, 
 rather than a disappointment, that Juliet's resting-place was 
 forgotten. However consolatory it may have been to Yorick's 
 Ghost, to hear the feet upon the pavement overhead, and, 
 twenty times a day, the repetition of his name, it is better for 
 Juliet to lie out of the track of tourists, and to have no visit- 
 ors but such as come to graves in spring-rain, and sweet air, 
 and sunshine. 
 
 Pleasant Verona ! With its beautiful old palaces, and 
 charming country in the distance, seen from terrace walks, 
 and stately, ballustraded galleries. With its Roman gates, 
 still spanning the fair street, and casting on the sunlight of 
 to-day, the shade of fifteen hundred years ago. With its 
 marble-fitted churches, lofty towers, rich architecture, and 
 quaint old quiet thoroughfares, where shouts of Montagues 
 and Capulets once resounded, 
 
 And made Verona's ancient citizens 
 Cast by their gravse, beseeming ornaments, 
 To' wield old partizans. 
 
 With its fast-rushing river, picturesque old bridge, great 
 castle, waving cj'presses, and prospect so delightful, and so 
 cheerful ! Pleasant Verona ! 
 
 In the midst of it, in the Piazza di Bra — a spirit of old 
 time among the familiar realities of the passing hour — is the 
 great Roman Amphitheatre. So well preserved, and carefully 
 maintained, that every row of seats is there, unbroken. Over 
 certain of the arches, the old Roman numerals may yet be 
 seen ; and there are corridors, and staircases, and subterra- 
 nean passages for beasts, and winding ways, above ground and 
 below, as when the fierce thousands hurried in and out, in- 
 tent upon the bloody shows of the arena. Nestling in some 
 of the shadows and hollow places of the walls, now, are smiths 
 with their forges, and a few small dealers of one kind or 
 other ; and there are green weeds, and leaves, and grass, upon 
 the parapet. But little else is greatly changed. 
 
 When I had traversed all about it, with great interest, and 
 had gone up to the topmost round of seats, and turning from 
 the lovely panorama closed in by the distant Alps, looked 
 down into the'building, it seemed to lie before me like the in- 
 side of a prodigious hat of plaited straw, with an enormously 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY 489 
 
 broad brim and a shallow crown ; the plaits being represented 
 by the f our-and-forty rows of seats. The ■ comparison is a 
 homely and fantastic one, in sober remembrance and on 
 paper, but it was irresistibly suggested at the moment, never- 
 theless.. 
 
 An equestrian troop had been there, a short time before — 
 the same troop, I dare say, that appeared to the old lady in 
 the church at Modena — and had scooped out a little rifig at 
 one end of the arena j where their performances had taken 
 place, and where the marks of their horses' feet were still 
 fresh. I could not but picture to myself, a handful of specta- 
 tors gathered together on one or two of the old stone seats, and 
 a spangled Cavalier being gallant, or a Policinello funny; with 
 the grim walls looking on. Above all, I thought how 
 strangely those Roman mutes would gaze upon the favorite 
 comic scene of the travelling English, where a British noble- 
 man (Lord John), with a very loose stomach : dressed in a 
 blue tailed coat down to his heels, bright yellow breeches, and 
 a white hat : comes abroad, riding double on a rearing horse, 
 with an English lady (Lady Betsy) in a straw bonnet and 
 green veil, and a red spencer ; and who always carries a gi- 
 gantic reticule, and a put-up parasol. 
 
 'I walked through and through the town all the rest of the 
 day, and could have walked there until now, I think. In one 
 place, there was a very pretty modern theatre, where they had 
 just performed the opera (always popular in Verona) of 
 Romeo and Juliet. In another there was a collection, under 
 a colonnade, of Greek, Roman, and Etruscan remains, pre- 
 sided over by an ancient man who might have been an Etruscan 
 relic himself ; for he was not strong enough to open the iron 
 gate, when he had unlocked it, and had neither voice enough 
 to be audible when he described the curiosities, nor sight 
 ■enough to see them : he was so very old. In another place, 
 ■ there was a gallery of pictures : so abominably bad, that it 
 was quite delightful to see them mouldering away. But any- 
 where : in the churches, among the palaces, in the streets, on 
 the bridge, or down beside the river : it was always pleasant 
 Verona, and in my remembrance always will be. 
 
 I read Romeo and Juliet in my own room at the inn that 
 night — of course, no Englishman had fever read it there, be- 
 fore — and set out for Mantua next day at sunrise, repeating 
 to myself (in the coupe of an omnibus, and next to the con- 
 ductor, who was reading the Mysteries of Paris), 
 
^gio PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 There is no world without Verona's walls 
 But purgatory, torture, hell itself. 
 Hence-banisiied-is banished from the world. 
 And world's exile, is d^ath — — 
 
 which reminded me that Romeo was only banished five-and 
 twenty miles after all, and rather disturbed my confidence in 
 his energy-and boldness. 
 
 Was the way to Mantua as beautiful, in his time, I won- 
 der ! Did it wind through pasture land as green, bright with 
 the same glancing streams, and dotted with fresh clumps of 
 graceful trees ! Those purple mountains lay on the horizon, 
 then, for certain : and the dresses of these peasant girls, who 
 wear a great, knobbed, silver pin like an English "life-pre- 
 server " through their hair behind, can hardly be much changed. 
 The hopeful feeling of so bright a morning, and so exquisite 
 a sunrise, can have been no stranger, even to an exiled lover's 
 breast ; and Mantua itself, must have broken on him in the 
 prospect, with its towers, and walls, and water, pretty much 
 as on a common-place and matrimonial omnibus. He made 
 the same sharp twists and turns, perhaps, over two rumbling 
 drawbridges ; passed through the like long, covered, wooden 
 bridge ; and leaving the marshy water behind, approached 
 the rusty gate of stagnant Mantua. 
 
 If ever a man were suited to his place of residence, and 
 his place of residence to him, the lean Apothecary and Mantua 
 came together in a perfect fitness of thingSw It may have been 
 more stirring then, perhaps. If so, the Apothecary was a man 
 in advance of his time, and knew what Mantua would be, in 
 eighteen hundred and forty-four. He fasted much, and that 
 assisted him in his foreknowledge. 
 
 I put up at the Hotel of the Golden Lion, and was in my 
 own room arranging plans with the brave Courier, when there 
 came a modest little tap at the door, which opened on an 
 outer gallery surrounding a court-yard ; and an intensely 
 shabby little man looked in, to inquire if the gentleman would 
 have a Cicerone to show the town. His face was so very 
 wistful and anxious, in the half-opened doorway, and there 
 was so, much poverty expressed in his faded suit and litde 
 pinched hat, and in the thread-bare worsted glove with wliich 
 he held it — not expressed the less, because these were 
 evidently his genteel clothes, hastily slipped on — that I would 
 as soon have trodden on him as dismissed him. I engaged 
 him on the instant, and he stepped in directly. 
 
 While I finished the discussion in which I was engaged, 
 
PICTURES FROM ITA LY. 4g I 
 
 he stood, beaming by himself in a corner, making a feint of 
 brushing my hat with his arm. If his fee had been as many 
 napoleons as it was francs, there could not have shot over the 
 twilight of his shabbiness such a gleatn of sun, as lighted up 
 the whole man, now that he was hired. 
 
 " Well ! " said I, when I was ready, " shall we go out 
 now ? " 
 
 " If the gentleman pleases. It is a beautiful day. A little 
 fresh, but charming ; altogether charming. The gentleman 
 will allow me to open the door. This is the Inn Yard. The 
 court-yard of the Golden Lion ! The gentleman will please 
 to mind his footing on the stairs." 
 
 We were now in the street. 
 
 "This is the street of the Golden Lion. This, the outside 
 of the Golden Lion. The interesting window up there, on the 
 first Piano, where the pane of glass is broken, is the. window 
 of the gentleman's chamber ! " 
 
 Having viewed all these remarkable objects, I inquired if 
 there were much to see in Mantua. 
 
 "Well! Truly, no. Not much ! So, so," he said, shrug- 
 ging his shoulders apologetically. 
 
 " Many churches? " 
 
 " No. Nearly all suppressed by the French." 
 
 " Monasteries or convents "i " 
 
 "No. The French again! Nearly all suppressed by 
 Napoleon." 
 
 " Much business ? " 
 
 "Very little business.' 
 
 " Many strangers ? " 
 
 " Ah Heaven ! " 
 
 I thought he would have fainted. 
 
 " Then, when we have seen the two large churches yonder, 
 what shall we do next ? " said I. 
 
 He looked up the street, and down the street, and rubbed 
 his chin timidly ; and then said, glancing in my face as if a 
 light had broken on his mind, yet with an humble appeal to 
 my forbearance that was perfectly irresistible : 
 
 " We can take a little turn about the town, Signore ! " (Si 
 pub far 'un piccolo giro della citta.) 
 
 " It was impossible to be anything but delighted with the 
 proposal, so we set oil together in great good-humor. In the 
 relief of his mind, he opened his heart, and gave up as much 
 of Mantua as a Cicerone could. 
 
492 
 
 PICTURES FROM JTAL Y. 
 
 " One must eat," he said ; " but, bah ! it was a dull place, 
 without doubt ! " 
 
 He made as much as possible of the Basilica of Santa 
 Andrea — .a noble church — and of an inclosed portion of the 
 pavement, about which tapers were burning, and a few people 
 kneeling, and under which is said to be preserved the Sang- 
 real of the old Romances. This church disposed of, and an- 
 other after it (the cathedral of San Pietro), we went to the 
 Museum, which was shut Up. " It was all the same," he said ; 
 " Bah ! There was not much inside ! " Then, we went to see 
 the Piazza del Diavolo, built by the Devil (for no particular 
 purpose) in a single night ; then, the Piazza Virgiliana ; then, 
 the statue of Virgil — our Poet, my little friend said, plucking 
 up a spirit, for a moment^ and putting his hat a little on one 
 side. Then we went to a dismal sort of f arm'-yard, by which 
 a picture gallery was approached. The moment the gate of 
 this retreat was opened, some five hundred geese came wad- 
 dling round us, stretching out their necks, and clamoring in 
 the most hideous manner, as if they were ejaculatingj. " Oh ! 
 here's somebody come to see the Pictures ! Don't go up ! 
 Don't go up ! " While we went up, they waited very quietly 
 about the door in a crowd, cackling to one another occasion- 
 ally, in a subdued tone j but the instant we appeared again, 
 their necks came out like telescopes, and setting up a great 
 iioise, which meant, I have no doubt, " What, you would go, 
 would you ! What do you think of it ! How do you like it ! " 
 they attended us to the outer gate, and cast us forth, deri- 
 sively, into Mantua. 
 
 The.geese who saved the Capitol, were, as compared to 
 these. Pork to the learned Pig. What a gallery it was! I 
 would take their opinion, on a question of art, in preference 
 to the discourses of Sir Joshua Reynolds. 
 
 Now that we were standing in the street, after being thus 
 ignominiously escorted thither, my little friend was plainly re- 
 duced to the " pfcGolo gfrxD," or little circuit of the town, he had 
 forinerly proposed. But my suggestion that we should visit 
 the Palazzo Tfe (of which I had heard a great deal, as a 
 strange wild place) imparted new life to him, and away we 
 went. 
 
 The secret of the length of Midas's ears, would have been 
 more extensively known, if that servant of his, who whispered 
 it to the reeds, iad lived in Mantua, where there are reeds aud 
 rushes enough to have published it to all the world. The 
 
PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 493 
 
 Palazzo Tfe stands in a swamp, among this sort of vegetation \ 
 and is, indeed, as singular a place as I ever saw. 
 
 Not for its dreariness, though it is very dreary. Not for 
 its danSpness, though it is very damp. Not for its desolate 
 condition, though it is as desolate and neglected as house can 
 be. But chiefly for the unaccountable nightmares with which 
 its interior has been decorated (among other subjects of more 
 delicate execution), by Giulio ^ Romano. There. is a leering 
 Giant over a certain chimney-piece, and there are dozens of 
 Giants (Titans warring with Jove) on the walls of another 
 room, so inconceivably ugly and grotesque, that it is marvel- 
 lous how any man can have imagined such creatures. In the 
 chamber in which they abound, these monsters, with swollen 
 faces and cracked cheeks, and every kind of distortion of look 
 and limb, are depicted as staggering under the weight of 
 falling buildings, and being overwhelmed in the ruins ; up- 
 heaving masses of rock, and burying themselves beneath ; 
 vainly striving to sustain the pillars of heavj' roofs that topple 
 down upon their heads ; and, in a word, undergoing and doing 
 every kind of mad and demoniacal destruction. The figures 
 are immensely large, and exaggerated to the utmost pitch 
 of , uncouthness ; the coloring is harsh and disagreeable ; 
 and the whole effect most like (I should imagine) a vio- 
 lent rush of blood to the head of the spectator, than any 
 real picture set before him ■by the hand of an artist. This 
 apoplectic performance was shown by a sickly-looking woman, 
 whose appearance was referable, I dare say, to the bad air of 
 the marshes ; but it was difficult to help f eeliiig as if she were 
 too much haunted by the Giants, and they were frightening 
 her to death, all alone in that exhausted cistern of a Palace, 
 among the reeds and rushes, with the mist hovering about 
 outside, and stalking round and round it continualty. 
 
 Our walk through Mantua showed us, in almost every 
 street, some suppressed church : now used for a warehouse, 
 now for nothing at all : all as crazy and dismantled as they 
 could be, short of tumbling down bodily. The marshy town 
 was so intensely dull and flat, that the dirt upon it seemed 
 not to have come there in the ordinary course, but to have 
 settled and mantled on its surface as on standing water. And 
 yet there were some business dealings going on, and some 
 profits realizing ; for there were arcades full of Jews, where 
 those extraordinary people were sitting outside their shops, 
 contemplating their stores of stuffs, and woollens, and bright 
 
454 PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 handkerchiefs, and trinkets ; and looking, in all respects, as 
 wary and business-like, as their brethren in Houndsditch,' 
 London. 
 
 Having selected a Vetturino from among the neighboring 
 Christians, who agreed to carry us to Milan in two days and 
 a half, and to start, next morning, as soon as the gates were 
 opened, I returned to the Golden Lion, and dined luxuriously 
 in my own room, in a narrow passage between two bedsteads ; 
 confronted by a smoky fire, and backed up by a chest of 
 drawers. At six o'clock next morning, we were jingling in 
 the dark through the wet cold mist that enshrouded the 
 town ; and, before noon, the driver (a native of Mantua, and 
 sixty years of age or thereabouts) began to ask the way to 
 Milan. "' 
 
 It lay through Bozzolo ; formerly a little republic, and now 
 one of the most deserted and poverty-stricken of towns : 
 where the landlord of the miserable inn (God bless him ! it 
 was his weekly custom) was distributing infinitesimal coins 
 among a clamorous herd of women and children, whose 
 rags were fluttering in the wind and rain outside his door, 
 where they were gatliered to receive his charity. It lay 
 thfough mist, and mud, and rain, and vines trained low 
 upon the ground,, all that day and the next ; the first sleep- 
 ing-place being Cremona, memorable for its dark brick 
 churches, and immensely high -tower, the Torrazzo — ^to say 
 nothing of its violins, of which it certainly produces none in 
 these degenerate days ; and the second, Lodi. Then we went 
 on, through more mud, mist, and rain, and marshy ground : 
 and through such a fog, as Englishmen, strong in the faith of 
 their own grievances, are apt to believe is nowhere to be 
 found but in their own country, until we entered the paved 
 streets of Milan. 
 
 The fog was so dense here, that the spire of the far-famed 
 Cathedral might as well have been at Bombay, for anything 
 that could be seen of it at that time^ But as we halted to re- 
 fresh, for a few days then, and returned to Milan again next 
 summer, , I had ample opportunities of seeing the glorious 
 structure in all its majesty and beauty. 
 
 All Christian homage to the saint who lies within it ! There 
 are many good and true saints in the calendar, but San Carlo 
 Borromeo has — if I may quote Mrs. Primrose on such a sub- 
 ject — " my warm heart." A charitable doctor to the sick, a 
 munificent friend to the poor, and this, not in any spiriti of 
 
PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 49S 
 
 blind bigotry, but as the bold opponent of enormous abuses 
 in the Romish church, I honor his memory. I honor it none 
 the less, because he was nearly slain by a priest, suborned, 
 by priests, to murder him at the altar : in acknowledgment of 
 his endeavors to reform a false and hypocritical brotheriiood 
 of monks. Heaven shield all imitators of San Carlo Borromeo 
 as it shielded him ! A reforming Pope would need a little 
 shielding, even now. 
 
 The subterranean chapel in which the body of San Carlo 
 Borromeo is preserved, presents as striking and as ghastly a 
 contrast, perhaps, as any place can show. The tapers which 
 are lighted down there, flash and gleam on a-lti-rilievi in gold 
 and silver, delicately wrought by skilful hands, and represent- 
 ing the principal eventsln the life of the saint. Jewels, and 
 precious mefals, shine and sparkle on every side. A wind- 
 lass slowly removes the front of the altar; and, within it, in a 
 gorgeous shrine of gold and silver, is seen, through alabaster, 
 the shrivelled mummy of. a man: the pontifical robes with, 
 which it is adorned, radiant with diamonds, emeralds, rubies ; 
 every costly and magnificent gem. The shrunken heap of 
 poor earth in the midst of this great glitter, is more pitiful than 
 if it lay upon a duijghill. There is not a ray of imprisoned 
 %ht in all the flash and' fire of jewels, but seems to mock the 
 dusty holes where eyes were, once. Every thread of silk in 
 the rich vestments seems only a provision from the worms 
 that spin, for the behoof of worms that propagate in sepul- 
 chres. 
 
 In the old refectory of the dilapidated Convent of Santa 
 Maria delle Grazie, is the work of art, perhaps, better known 
 than any other in the world : the Last Supper, by Leonardo 
 da Vinci — with a door cut through it by the intelligent Do- 
 mincan friars, to facilitate their operations at dinner tiine. 
 
 I am not mechanically acquainted with the art of painting, 
 and have no other means of judging of a picture than as I 
 see it resembling and refining upon, nature, and presenting 
 graceful combinations of forms and colors. I am, therefore 
 no authority whatever, in reference to the " touch " of this or 
 that master ; though I know very well (as anybody may, who 
 chooses to think about the matter) that few very great mas- 
 ters can possibly have painted, in the compass of their lives, 
 one-half of the pictures that bear their names, and that are 
 recognized by many aspirants to a reputation for taste, as un- 
 doubted originals. But this, by the way. Of the Last Sup- 
 
496 
 
 PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 per, I would simply observe, that in its beautiful composition 
 and arrangement, there it is, at Milan, a wonderful picture, 
 and that, in its original coloring, or in its original expression 
 of any single face or feature, there it is not. Apart from the 
 damage it has sustained from damp, decay, or neglect, it has 
 been (as Barry shows) so retouched upon, and repainted, and 
 that so clumsily, that many of the heads are, now, positive 
 deformities, with patches of paint and plaster sticking upon 
 them like wens, and utterly distorting the expression. Where 
 the original artist set that impress of his genius on a face, 
 which, almost in a line or touch, separated him from meaner 
 painters and made him what he was, succeeding bunglers, 
 filling up, or painting across seams and cracks, have been 
 quite unable to imitate his hand ; anffputting in some scowls, 
 or frowns, or wrinkles, of their own, have blotched and spoiled 
 the work. This is so well established as an historical fact, 
 that I should not repeat it, at the risk of being tedious, but 
 for having observed an English gentleman before the picture, 
 who was at great pains to fall into what I may describe as 
 mild convulsions, at certain minute details of expression which 
 are not left in it. Whereas, it would be comfortable and 
 rational for travellers and critics to arrive at a general under- 
 standing that it cannot fail to have been a work of extraor- 
 dinary merit, once : when, with so few of its original beauties 
 remaining, the grandeur of the general design is yet sufficient 
 to sustain it, as a piece replete with interest and dignity. 
 
 We achieved the other sights of Milan, in due course, and 
 a fine city it is, though not so unmistakably Italian as to 
 possess the characteristic qualities of many towns far less im- 
 portant in themselves. The Corso, where the Milanese gen- 
 try ride up and down in carriages, and rather than not do 
 which, they would half starve themselves at home, is a most 
 noble public promenade, shaded by long avenues of trees. 
 In the splendid theatre of La Scala, there was a ballet of 
 action performed after the opera, under the title of Prome- 
 theus : in the beginning of which, some hundred or two of 
 men and women represented our mortal race before the re- 
 finements of the arts and sciences, and loves and graces, came 
 on earth to soften them. I never saw anything more effec- 
 tive. Generally speaking, the Pantomimic action of the 
 Italians is more remarkable for its sudden and impetuous 
 character than for its delicate expression ; but, in this case, 
 the drooping monotony : the weary, miserable, listless, moping 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY. 4^5, 
 
 life : the sordid passions and desires of human creatures, 
 destitute of those elevating influences to which we owe so 
 much, and to whose promoters we render so little ; were ex- 
 pressed in a manner really powerful and affecting. I should 
 have thought it almost impossible to present such an idea so 
 strongly on the stage, without the aid of speech. 
 
 Milan soon lay behind us, at five o'clock in the morning ; 
 and before the golden statue on the summit of the cathedral 
 spire was lost in the blue sky, the Alps, stupendously con- 
 fused in lofty peaks and ridges, clouds and snow, were tower- 
 ing in our path. 
 
 Still, we continjied to advance toward them until night- 
 fall ; and, all day long, the mountain tops presented strangely 
 shifting shapes, as the road displayed them in different points 
 of view. The beautiful day was just declining, when we came 
 upon the Lago Maggiore, with its lovely islands. For how- 
 ever fanciful and fantastic the Isola Bella may be, and is, it 
 still is beautiful. Anything springing out of that blue water, 
 with that scenery around it, must be. 
 
 It was ten o'clock at night when we got to Domo d'Ossola, 
 at the foot of the Pass of the Simplon. But as the moon was 
 shining brightly, and there was not a cloud in the starlit sky, 
 it was no time for going to bed, or going anywhere but on. 
 So, we got a little carriage, after some delay, and began the 
 ascent. 
 
 It was late in November ; and the snow lying four or five 
 feet thick in the beaten road on the summit (in other parts 
 the new drift was already deep), the air was piercing cold. 
 But, the serenity of the night, and the grandeur of the road, 
 with its impenetrable shadows, and deep glooms, and its sud- 
 den turns into the shining of the moon, and its incessant roar 
 of falling water, rendered the journey more and more sublime 
 at every step. 
 
 Soon leaving the calm Italian villages below us, sleeping 
 in the moonlight, the road began to wind among dark trees, 
 and after a time emerged upon a barer region, very steep and 
 toilsome, where the moon shone bright and high. By degrees 
 the roar of water grew louder ; and the stupendous track, 
 after crossing the torrent by a bridge, struck ki between two 
 massive perpendicular walls of rock that quite shut out the 
 moonlight, and only left a few stars shining in the narrow 
 strip of sky above. Then, even this was lost, in the thick 
 darkness of a cavern in the rock, through which the way was 
 
498 
 
 PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 pierced ; the terrible cataract thundering and roaring close 
 below it, and its foam and spray hanging, in a mist, about the 
 entrance. Einerging from this cave, and coming again into the 
 moonlight, and across a dizzy bridge, it crept and twisted up- 
 ward, through the Gorge of Gondo, savage and grand beyond 
 description, with smooth-fronted precipices, rising up on either 
 hand, and almost meeting overhead. Thus we went, climbing 
 on our rugged way, higher and higher all night. Without a 
 moment's weariness : lost in the contemplation of the black 
 rocks, the tremendous heights and depths, the fields of smooth 
 snow lying, in the clefts and hollows, and the fierce torrents 
 thundering headlong down the deep abyss. 
 
 Towards daybreak, we came among the snow, Where a 
 keen wind was blowing fiercely. Having, with some trouble, 
 awakened the inmates of a wooden house in this solitude ; 
 round which the wind was howling dismally, catching up the 
 snow in wreaths and hurling it away : we got some breakfast 
 in a room built of rough timbers, but well warmed by a stove, 
 and well contrived (as it had need to be) for keeping out the 
 bitter storms. A sledge being then made ready, and four 
 horses harnessed to it, we went, ploughing, through the snow. 
 Still upward, but' now in the cold light of morning, and with 
 the great white desert on which we travelled, plain and clear. 
 
 We were well upon the summit of the mountain : and had 
 before us the rude cross of wood, denoting its greatest alti- 
 tude above the sea: when the light of the rising sun, struck, 
 all at once, upon the waste of snow, and turned it adeep red. 
 The lonely grandeur of the scene, was then at its height. 
 
 As we went sledging on, there came out of the Hospice 
 founded by Napoleon, a group of Peasant travellers, mth 
 staves and knapsacks, who had rested there last night : at- 
 tended by a Monk or two, their hospitable entertainers, 
 trudging slowly forward with them, for company's sake. It 
 was pleasant to give them good-morning, and pretty, looking 
 back a long way after them, to see them looking back at us, 
 and hesitating presently, when one of our horses Stumbled 
 and fell, whether or no they should return and help us. But 
 he was soon up again, with the assistance of a rough wag- 
 oner whose team had stuck fast there too ; and when we had 
 helped him ^out of his difficulty, in return, we left him slowly 
 ploughing towards them, and went softly and swiftly forward, 
 on the brink of a steep precipice, among the mountains 
 pines. 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY. 4pg 
 
 Taking to our wheels again, soon afterwards, we began 
 rapidly to descend j passing under everlasting glaciers, by 
 means of arched galleries, hung with clusters of dripping ici- 
 cles J under and over foaming waterfalls ; near places of refuge, 
 and galleries of shelter against sudden danger; throtigh 
 caverns over whose arched roofs the avalanches slide, in 
 spring, and bury themselves in the unknown gulf beneath. 
 Down, over lofty bridges, and through horrible ra\'ines : a 
 little shifting speck in the vast desolation of ice and snow, 
 and monstrous granite rocks ; down through the deep Gorge 
 of the; Sal tine, and deafened by the torrent plunging madly 
 down, among the riven blocks of rock, into the level country, 
 far below. GradtiaJly down, by zig-zag roads, lying between an 
 upward and a downward precipice, into warmer weather, calmer 
 air, and softer scenery, until there lay before us, glittering like 
 gold or silver in the thaw and sunshine, the metal-covered, 
 red, green, yellow, domes and church-spires of a Swiss t6wn. 
 
 The business of these recollections being with Italy, and 
 my business, consequently, being to scamper back thither as 
 fast as possible, I will not recall (though I am sorely tempted) 
 how the Swiss villages, clustered at the feet of Giant moun- 
 tains, looked like pl-aythings ; or how confusedly the houses 
 were heaped and piled together; or how there were very 
 narrow streets to shut the howling winds out in the winter 
 time ; and broken bridges, which the impetuous torrents, 
 suddenly released in spring, : had swept away. Or how 
 there were peasant women here, with great round fur caps : 
 looking, when they peeped out ^ of casements and only their 
 heads were seen, like a population of Sword-bearers to' the 
 Lord Mayor of London ; or how the town of Vevay, lying on 
 the smooth lake of Geneva, was beautiful to see ; or how the 
 statue of Saint Peter in the street at Fribourg, grasps the 
 largest key that ever was beheld ; or how Fribourg is illustri- 
 ous for its two suspension bridges, and its grand cathedral 
 organ. 
 
 Or how, between that town and Bile, the road meandered 
 among thriving villages of wooden cottages, with overhanging 
 thatched roofs, and low protrudiiig windows, glazed with 
 Small round panes of glass' like crown-pieces ; or how, in 
 every little Swiss homestead, with its cart or wagon carefully 
 stowed away beside the house, its little garden, stock of , 
 poultry, and groups of red-cheeked children, there was an 
 air of comfort, very new and very pleasant- after Italy ; or how 
 
Soo 
 
 PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 the dresses of the women changed again, and there were no 
 more sword-bearers to be seen ; and fair white stomachers, 
 and great black, fan-shaped, gauzy-looking caps, prevailed 
 instead. 
 
 Or how the country by the 'Jura mountains, sprinkled with 
 snow, and lighted by the moon, and musical with falling water, 
 was delightful ; or how, below the windows of the great hotel 
 of the Three Kings; at Bale, the swollen Rhine ran fast and 
 green ; or how, at Strasbourg, it was quite as fast but not as 
 green : and was said to be foggy lower down : and, at that late 
 time of the year, was a far less certain means of progress, than 
 the highway road to Paris. 
 
 Or how Strasbourg itself, in its magnificent old Gothic 
 Cathedral, and its ancient houses with their peaked roofs and 
 gables, made a little gallery of quaint and interesting views ; 
 or how a crowd was gaithered inside the cathedral at noon, to 
 see the famous mechanical clock in motion, striking twelve. 
 How, when it struck twelve, a whole army of puppets went 
 through many ingenious evolutions ; and, among them, a huge 
 puppet-cock, perched on the top, crowed twelve times, loud 
 and clear. Or how it was wonderful to see this cock at great 
 pains to clap its wings, and strain its throat; but obviously 
 having no connection whatever with its own voice ; which was 
 deep within the clock, a long way down. 
 
 Or how the road to Paris was one sea of mud, and thence 
 to the coast, a little better for a hard frost. Or how the cliffs 
 of Dover were a pleasant sight, and England was so wonder- 
 fully neat — though dark, and lacking color on a winter's day, 
 it must be conceded. 
 
 Or how, a few days afterwards, it was cool, recrossing the 
 channel, with ice upon the decks, and snow lying pretty deep 
 in France. Or how the Malle Poste scrambled through the 
 snow, headlong, drawn in the hilly parts by any number of 
 stout horses at a canter ; or how there were, outside the Post- 
 office Yard in Paris, before daybreak, extraordinary adven- 
 turers in heaps of rags, groping in the snowy streets with little 
 rakes, in search of odds and ends. 
 
 Or how, between Paris and Marseilles, the snow being 
 then exceeding deep, a thaw came on, and the mail waded 
 rather than rolled for the next three hundred miles or so ; 
 breaking springs on Sunday nights, and putting out its two 
 passengersto warm and refresh themselves pending the re- 
 pairs, in miserable billiard-rooms, where hairy company, col- 
 
PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 5 o L 
 
 lected about stoves, were playing cards ; the cards being very 
 like themselves — extremely limp and dirty. 
 
 Or how there was detention at Marseilles from- stress of 
 weather ; and steamers were advertised to go, which did not 
 go ; or how the good Steam-packet Charlemagne at length put 
 out, and met such weather that now she threatened to run 
 into Toulon, and now into Nice, but, the wind moderating, did 
 neither, but ran on into Genoa harbor instead, where the • fa- 
 miliar Bells rang sweetly in my ear. Or how there was a 
 travelling party on board, of whom one member was- very ill 
 in the cabin next to mine, and being ill was cross, and there- 
 fore declined to give up the' Dictionary, Which be kept under 
 his pillow ; thereby obliging his companions to come down to 
 him, constantly, to ask what was the Italian for a lump Of 
 sugar-^a -glass of brandy and water — what's o'clock ? and so 
 forth: which he always insisted on looking out, with his own 
 sea-sick eyes, declining to entrust the book to any man alive. 
 
 Like G-RUMio, I might have told you, in detail, all this and 
 something more — but to as little purpose — Were I not deterired 
 by the remembrance that my business is with Italy. There- 
 fore, like Grumio's story, " it shall die in oblivion." 
 
 TO ROME BY PISA AND SIENA. 
 
 There is nothing in Italy, more beautiful to me, than the 
 coast-road between Genoa and Spezzia. On one side : some- 
 times far below, sometimes nearly on a level with the road, 
 and often skirted by broken rocks of many shapes: there is 
 the free blue sea, with here and there a picturesque felucca 
 gliding slowly on ; on the other side are lofty hills, ravines be- 
 sprinkled with white cottages, patches of dark olive woods, 
 country churches with their light open towers, and country 
 houses gayly painted. On every bank and knoll by the way* 
 side, the wild cactus and aloe flourish in exuberant profusion j 
 and the gardens of the bright villages along the road, are seen 
 all blushing in the summer-time with clusters of the Bella- 
 donna, and are fragrant in the autumn and winter with golden 
 oranges and lemons. 
 
 ■ Some of the villages are inhabited, almost exclusively, by 
 
502 
 
 PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 fishermen ; and it is pleasant to see their great boats hauled 
 upon the beach, making little patches of shade, where they 
 lie asleep,: or where the wonieij and children sit romping and 
 looking out to sea, while they mend their, nets upon the shore. 
 There is one town, Cainoglia, with its little harbor on the sea, 
 hundreds of feet below the road ; where families of mariners 
 live, wh,o, time out of mind,- ha,ve owned coasting-vessels in 
 that placej and have traded to Spain and else^vhere. Seen 
 from the road above, it is like a tiny model on the margin of 
 the dimpled water, shining in the surt,: iDeseended into, by 
 the winding mule-tracks, it is a perfect miniature of a primi- 
 tive seafaring town ; the saltest, roughest, most piratical little 
 place that ever was seen. Great rusty iron rings and mooring- 
 chains, capstans, and fragments of old masts and spars, choke 
 up the; way ; hardy rough-weather boats, and seamen's cloth- 
 ing, l^utter in the little harbor or axe drawn qvX on the sunny 
 stones to dry ; on the parapet of the rude pier, a few amphib- 
 ious-looking fellows lie asleep, with their legs daj^gJiog over 
 the wall, as though earth or water were all one to them, and 
 if they slipped in, they would float away, dozing comfortably 
 among the fishes; the church ig bright with trophies: of the 
 sea, and votive offerings, in commemoration of escape from 
 storm and shipwreck. The dwellings not immediately abut- 
 ting on the harbor are approached by blind low archways, and 
 by crooked steps, as if in darkness and in difficulty of access 
 they should be like holds of ships, or inconvenient cabins 
 under water ; and^vierywhQre,;there is a smell offish, and sea- 
 weed, and old rope. 
 
 The coast-road whence Camoglia is descried so far below, 
 is famous, :in. the, warm season, especially in some parts near 
 Genoa, for fire-flies. Walking there on a dark night, I have 
 seenitmg.de one sparkling firmament by these beautiful in- 
 sects : so that the distant stars were pale against the flash and 
 glitter that spangled every olive wood aind. hill-side, and per- 
 vaded, the whole air. 
 
 It was not in such a season, however, that we traversed 
 this road on our way- to Rome. The middle of January was 
 only just past, and it was very gloomy and dark weather; very 
 wet besides. In crossing the fine pass of . Bracco, wa en- 
 countered such a storm of mist and rain, that we travelled in 
 a cloud tfoe whole way. There might have been no Medi- 
 terranean in the world, for anything that we saw of it there, 
 except when a sudd§n gust of wind, clearing the mist before 
 
PICTURES FROM TTAL Y. 503 
 
 it, for a moment, showed the agitated sea at a great .depth 
 below, lashing the distant rocks, and spouting up its foam 
 furiously. The rain was incessant ; every brook and torrent 
 wis greatly swollen ; and such a deafening leaping, and roar- 
 ing, and thundering of wafer, I never heard the like of in my 
 life. 
 
 Hence, when we came to Spezzia, we found that the Magra, 
 an unbridged river on the high-road to Pisa, was too high to 
 be safely crossed in the Ferry Boatj and were fain to wait 
 until the afternoon lof next day, when it had, in some degree, 
 subsided. Spezzia, however, is a good place to tarry at jby 
 reason, firstly, of its beautiful bay ; secondly, of its ghostly 
 Inn ; thirdl)', of the head-dress of the women, who wear, on 
 one side of their head, a small doll's straw hat, stuck" oa to 
 the hair ; which is certainly the oddest and. most roguish 
 head-gear that ever was invepted. ... 
 
 The Magra ^afely crossed in the Ferry Boat— the passage 
 is not by any means agreeable, when the current is swollen and 
 strong — we arrived at Carrara, within a few hours. In good 
 time next morning, we got some ponies, and went out to see 
 the marble quarries. . -, 
 
 They are four or five great glens, running up into a. range 
 of lofty hills, until, they can run no longer, and are stoppeii by 
 being abruptly strangled by Nature. The quarries, ". or 
 caves," as they call them there, are so many openings, high 
 up in the hills, on either side of these passes, where they blast 
 and excavate for marble : which may turn out; good or bad : 
 may make a man's fortune very quickly, or luia him by the 
 great expense of working what is worth nothing. Some of 
 these caves were opened by the ancient Romans, and remaiti 
 as they left them to this hour. Many others are beir^ worked 
 at this moment ; others are to be begun to-morrow, next week, 
 next month ; others are unbought, unthought of ; and marble 
 enough for more ages than have passed since titie place was 
 resorted to, lies hidden everywhere-: patiently awaiting its 
 time of discovery. 
 
 As' you toil and clamber up one of these steep gorges 
 (having left your pony soddening his girths in water, a. mile or 
 two lower down) you hear, every now and , then, echoing 
 among the hills, in a low tone, more silent than the previous 
 silence, a melancholy warning bugle, — a signal to the miners 
 to withdraw: Then, there is a thimdering, and echoing from 
 hill to hill, and perhaps a splashing up of great fragpaentSi of 
 
^ 04 PICTURES FROM ITAL Y.. 
 
 rock into :the air; and on you toil again until, some othei 
 bugle sounds, in a new direction, and you stop directly, lest 
 you should come within the range of the new explosion. 
 
 There were numbers of men, working high up in these hills 
 — on the sides — clearing away, and sending down the broken 
 masses of stone and earth, to make way for the blocks of 
 marble that had been discovered. As these came rolling 
 down from unseen hands. into the narrow valley, I could not 
 help thinking of the deep glen (just the same sort of glen) 
 where the Roc left Sinbad-the Sailor; and where the mer- 
 chants from ..the heights above, flung down great pieces. of 
 meat for the diamonds to stick to. There were no eagles 
 here to darken the sun in their swoop, and pounce upon them; 
 but it was as wild and fierce as if there had been, hundreds. 
 
 But the road, the road down which- the marble cornea, how- 
 ever immense the blocks ! The genius of the country, and the 
 spirit of its institutions^ pave that road : repair it, watch it, 
 keep it going! Conceive a channel of water running over a 
 rocicy bed, beset with great heaps of stone of all shapes and 
 sizes, winding down the middle of tliis valley ; and that being 
 the road — because it was the road five hundred years ago J 
 Imagine the^ clmnsy carts of five hundred years ago, being 
 used to this hour, and drawn, as they usedto be, five hundred 
 years ago, :by oxen,' whose ancestors were worn to death five 
 hundred years ago, as their unhappy descendants are now, in 
 twelve months, by the suffering and agony of this cruel work ! 
 Two pair, four pair, ten pair, twenty pair, to one block, accord- 
 ing to its size ; down it must come, this way. In their strug- 
 gling from stone to stone, with their enormous loads behind 
 them, they die frequently upon the spot ; and not they alone ; 
 for their passionate drivers, sometimes tumbling down in their 
 energy, are crushed to death beneath the wheels. But it was 
 good five hundred years ago, and it must be good now; and 
 a railroad down one of these steeps (the easiest thing in the 
 world) would be fiat blasphemy. . 
 
 When we stood aside, to see one of these cars drawn by 
 only a pair of oxen (for it had but one small block of marble 
 on it), coming down, IJiailed, in my heart, the man who sat 
 upon the heavy yoke, to keep it on the neck of the poor beasts 
 — and who faced badcwards : not before him — as the very 
 Devil of true despotism. He had a great rod inhis.hand, 
 with an iron point ; and when .they could plough and force 
 their way through the loose bed of the torrent no longer, and 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 i°i 
 
 came to a stop, he poked it into their bodies, heat it on their 
 heads, screwed it round and round in their nostrils, got them 
 on a yard or two, in the madness of intense pain ; repeated 
 all these _ persuasions, with increased intensity of purpose, 
 when they, stopped again ; got them on, once more ;> forced and 
 goaded them to an abrupter point of the descent ; and when 
 their writhing and smarting, and the weight behind them, 
 bore them plunging down the precipice in a cloud of scattered 
 water, whirled ;his rod above his head, and gave a great whoop 
 and hallo, as if he had achieved something, and had no idea 
 that they might shake him ofif, and blindly mash his brains 
 upon the road, in the noon-tide of his triumph. • 
 
 Standing in one of the many studii, of Carrara, that after- 
 noon — for it is a great workshop, full of beautifully-finished 
 copies in marble, of almost every figure, group, and bust, we 
 know — it seemed, at first, so strange to me that those exquisite 
 shapes, replete with grace, and thought, and delicate repose, 
 should grow out of all this toil, and sweat, and torture !; But 
 I soon found a parallel to it, and an explanation of it, in every 
 virtue that springs up in miserable ground, and every good 
 thing that has its birth in sorrow and distress, And, looking 
 out of the sculptor's great window, upon the marble mountains, 
 all red and glowing in the decline of day, but stern and solemn 
 to the last, I thought, my God ! how many quarries of human 
 hearts and souls, capable of far more beautiful results, are left 
 shut up. and mouldering away: while pleasure-travellers 
 through, life, avert their faces, as they pass, and shudder at 
 the gloom and ruggedness that conceal them !, 
 
 The then reigning Duke of Modena, to. whom this territory 
 in part belonged, claimed the proud distinction of being the 
 only sovereign in Europe who had not recognized Louis; 
 Philippe as King of the French ! He was not a wag, but 
 quite in earnest. He was also much opposed to railroads ; 
 ^nd if certain lines in contemplation by other potentates, on 
 either side of him, had been executed, would have probably 
 enjoyed the satisfaction of having an omnibus plying to and 
 fro across his not very vast dominions, to forward travellers 
 from one terminus to another. 
 
 Carrara, shut in by great hills, is very picturesque and 
 bold. Few tourists stay there ; and the people are nearly all 
 connected, in one way or other, with the working of marble. 
 There are also villages among the caves, where the .workmen 
 live. It contains a beautiful little Theatre,, newly Isuilt ; and 
 
5o6 PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 It is an interesting custom thete, to form the Chorus of labor- 
 ers in the marble qiuafries, who are self-taught and sing by ear. 
 I heard them in a comic opera, and in an act bf " Norma ; " 
 and they acquitted themselves very well ; unlike^ the common 
 people: of Italy generally, who (with some exceptions among 
 the N6aJ3oIitans) sing vilely out of tune, and have very dis- 
 agreeable singing voices. 
 
 From the summit of a lofty hill beyond Carrara, the first 
 view of the fertile plain in which the town of Pisa lies — with 
 Leghorn, a purple spot in the flat distance— is enchanting. 
 Nor is it only distance that lends enchantiment to the view; 
 for the fruitful country, and rich woods of olive-trees through 
 which the road isubsequently passes, render it delightful. 
 
 The moon was shining when we approached Pisa, and for 
 a long time we could see, behind the Wall, the leaning Tower, 
 all awry in the uncertain light ; the shadWy original of the 
 old pictures in school-books, setting forth " The Wonders of 
 the World." Like most things connected in their first asso- 
 ciations with school-books and school-times, it was too small. 
 I felt it keenly. It was nothing like so high above the wall 
 as I had hoped.- It Was another of the many deceptions 
 practised by Mr. Harris, Bookseller, at the comer of St. Paul's 
 Churchyard, London. His Tower was a fiction, but this was 
 a reality — and, by comparison, a sh6rt reality. Still, it looked 
 very well, and very strange, and was quite as much out of the 
 pet^endicular as Harris had represented it to be. The quiet 
 air of Pisa too ; the big guard-house at the gate, with only two 
 little soldiers in it ; the streets with scarcely any show of people 
 in thern ; arid the Arho, floving quaintly through the centre 
 of the town ; were excellent. So, I bore no malice in my heart 
 against Mr. Harris (remembering his good intentions), but for- 
 gave him "before dinner, and went out, full of confidence, to 
 see the Tower next morning. 
 
 I might have known better ; but; somehow, I had expected 
 to see it, casting its long shadow on a public street where peo- 
 ple came'aiid went all diy. It "was a surprise to me to find it 
 in agrave ffetired place, apart frohi the general resort, and 
 carpeted with smooth green turf. But, the group of buildings, 
 clustered on and about this verdant carpet : comprising the 
 Tower, the Baptistery, the Cathedral, and the Chureh of the 
 C'ampo Santo : is perhaps the most remarkable and beautiful 
 in the whole world ; and from being clustered there, together, 
 away from the ordinary transactions and details of the towi^ 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY. 507 
 
 thisy have a singularly venerable and impressive character. Jt 
 is the architectural essence of a rich old city, with all its 
 common life and common habitations pressed out, and filtered 
 away. 
 
 SiMOND compares the Tower to the usual pictorial repre- 
 sentations in children's books of the Tower of Babel. It is 
 a happy simile, and conveys a better idea of the building than 
 chapters of labored description. Nothing can exceed the 
 grace and lightness of the structure ; nothing can be more re- 
 markable than its general appearance. In the course of the 
 ascent to the: top (which is by;an easy staircase), the inclina- 
 tion is liot very apparent ; but, at the summit, it becomes so, 
 and gives one the sensSition of being in a ship that has heeled 
 over, through the action of an ebb-tide. The effect upon the 
 Ifiw side, so to speak — looking over from the galleiy, and see- 
 ing the shaft recede to its base— is very startling ; and I saw 
 a nervous traveller hold on to the Tower involuntarily, after 
 glancing down, as if he had some idea of propping it up. The 
 view within, from the ground — looking up, as through a 
 planted tube-rris ■ also very curious. It certainly inclines as 
 much as the most sanguine tourist could desire. The natural 
 impulse of ninety-nine people out of a hundred, who were 
 about to recline upon the grass bielow it, to rest, and contem- 
 plate the adjacent buildings,. wouldprobably be, not to take up 
 their position under . the leaning side ; it is so very niuch 
 aslant. 
 
 The manifold beauties of the Cathedral and Baptistery 
 need no recapitulation from me ; though in this case, as in a 
 hundred others, I find it difficult to separate my own delight 
 in recalling them, from your weariness in hayitig them re- 
 called. There is a picture of St. Agnes, by Andrea del Sairto, 
 in the former, and there are a variety of rich columns in the 
 latter, that tempt me strongly. 
 
 It is, I hope, no breacli of my resolution not to be temptesd 
 into elaborate descriptions, to remember the Campo Santo ; 
 where grass-grown graves are dug in earth brought more than 
 six hundred years ago, from th©: Holy Land; and where there 
 ^rCj surrounding them^ such cloisters, with such playing lights 
 and shadows falling through their delicate tracery on the 
 stone paveme^nt, as surely the dullest memory could never 
 forget. On the walls of this solemn and lovely place, are 
 ancient frescoes, very much obliterated and decayed, but very 
 (^ii^ripus. As usually happens in almost any collection of 
 
5 o8 PICTURES FROM JTAL Y. 
 
 paintings, of any sort, in Italy, where there are many heads, 
 there is, in one of them, a striking accidental likeness of Na- 
 poleon. At one time, I used to please my fancy with the 
 speculation whether these old painters, at their work, had a 
 foreboding knowledge of the man who would one day arise to 
 wreak such destruction upon art : whose soldiers would make 
 targets of great' pictures, atid stable their horses among tri- 
 umphs of architecture. But the same Corsican face is so 
 plentiful in some parts of Italy at this day, that a more com- 
 monplace solution of the coincidence is unavoidable. 
 
 If Pisa be the seventh wonder of the world in right of its 
 Tower, it may claim to be, at least, the second or third in 
 right of its beggars. They waylay the unhappy visitor at 
 every turn, escort him to every door he enters at, and lie in 
 wait for him, with strong reinforcements, at every door by 
 which they know he must come out. The grating of the por- 
 tal on its hinges is the signal for a general shout, and the mo- 
 ment he appears, he is hemmed in, and fallen oh, by heaps of 
 rags and personal distortions. The ibeggars seem to embody 
 all the trade and enterprise of Pisa, 'Nothing else is stirring, 
 but warm air. Going through the streets, the fronts of the 
 sleepy houses look like backs. They are all so still and 
 quiet, and unlike houses with people in them, that the greater 
 part of the city has the appearance of a city at daybreak, or 
 during a general siesta of the population. Or it is yet more 
 like those backgrounds of houses in common prints, or old 
 engravings, where windows and doors are squarely indicated, 
 and one figure (a beggar of course) is seen walking off by it- 
 self into illimitable perspective. ■^' ■■'• 
 
 Not so Leghorn (made illustrious by Smollett's grave), 
 which is thriving, business-like^ matter-of-fact place, where 
 idleness is shouldered out of the way by commerce. The 
 regulations observed there, in reference to trade and mer- 
 chants, are very liberal and free ; and the town, of course, 
 benefits by them. Leghorn has a bad name in connection 
 with stabbers, and with some justice it must be allowed ; for, 
 not many years ago, there was an assassination club there, the 
 members of which bore no ill-will to aiiybody in particular, but 
 stabbed people (quite strangers to them) in the streets at night, 
 for the pleasure and excitement of the recreation. I think the 
 president of this amiable society, was a shoemaker. He was 
 taken, however, and the -Club was broken up. It would, 
 probably, have disappeared in the natural course of event* 
 
PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. ^ og 
 
 before the railroad between Leghorn and Pisa, which is a 
 good one, and has already begun to astonish Italy with a pre- 
 cedent of punctuality, order, plain dealing, and improvement 
 — the most dangerous and heretical astoiiisher of all. There 
 must have been a slight sensation, as of earthquake, surely, 
 in the Vatican, when the first Italian railroad was thrown 
 ODen. 
 
 Returning to Pisa, and hiring a good-tempered Vetturfno, 
 and his four horses, to take us on to Rome, we travelled through 
 pleasant Tuscan villages and cheerful scenery all day. The 
 road-side crosses in this part of Italy are numerous and curious. 
 There is seldom a %ure on the crosSj though there' is some- 
 times a face ; but they are remarkable for being . garnished 
 with little models in wood, of every possible object that can 
 be connected with the Saviour's death. The cock that crowed 
 when Peter had denied his Master thrice, is usually pierched 
 on the tip-top •,' and an ornithological phenomenon he gener- 
 ally is. Under him, is the inscription. Then, hung on to the 
 cross-beam, are the spear, the reed with the sponge of vin- 
 egar and water at the end, the coat without seam for which the 
 soldiers cast lots, the dice-box with which they threw for it, 
 the hammer that drove in the nails, the pincers that pulled 
 them out, the ladder which was set against the cross, the 
 crown of thorns, the instrument of flagellation, the lanthorn 
 with which Mary went to the tomb (I suppose), and the sword: 
 with which Peter smote the sen'ant of the high priest, — a per- 
 fect toy-shop of little objects, repeated at every four or five. 
 mileSj all along the highway. 
 
 On the evening of the second day from Pisa, we reached 
 the beautiful old city of Siena;. There was what they called 
 a Carnival, in progress ; but, . as its secret lay in a score or 
 two of n^elancholy people walking tfp and down the principal 
 street in common toy-shop masks, and being more melan- 
 choly, if possible, than the same sort of people in England,. I 
 say lio more of it. We went off, betimes next-nioming, to seie 
 the Cathedral, which is wonderfully picturesque inside and; 
 out, especially the latter — also the market-place, or great Pi- 
 azza, whidi is a large square, with a great broken-nosed foun- 
 tain in it : some quaint Gothic houses : and a high square 
 brick tower ; outside the top of which — a curious feature in 
 such views in Italy — hangs an enormous bell. It is, like a- bit 
 of Venice;, without the water. . There, are some icturious! old: 
 Palazzi in lie .town, which is very anciertt y and without hay-. 
 
, , o PJCTOHES FJiOM ITAL V 
 
 ing (for. me) : the interest of Verona, or Genoa, it is very 
 dreamy and fantastic, and most interestii^. 
 ' We went on again, as soon as we had seen these things, 
 and going over a rather bleak country (there had been notli- 
 ing but vines until now : mere walking-sticks at . that season 
 of the 'year), stopped, as usual, between end and two hours i:i 
 the middle of the day, to rest the horses ; that being a part 
 of every Vetturino contract. We then went on again, through 
 a region gradually becoming bleaker and wilder, until it be- 
 came as bare and desolate as any Scottish moors. Soon after 
 dark, we halted for the night, at the osteria of -La Scala : a 
 perfectly lone house, where the family were sitting round a 
 great fire in the kitchen, raised on a stone pldtform three or 
 four feet high, and' big enough for the roasting of an 6x. On 
 the upper,'and only other floor of this hotel, there was agreat 
 wild rambling s41a; with one very little window in a by-comer, 
 and four black doors opening into four black bedrooms in va* 
 rious directions. To say nothing of anoflier large black door, 
 opening into another large black s41a, with the staircase com- 
 ingi abruptly through a kind of trap-door in the floor, and the 
 rafters of the roof looming above : a suspicious little press 
 skulking in one obscure corner j and all the knives- in' itlie 
 house lying about in various directions. The iii*-place was 
 of the purest Italian architecture, so that it was perfectly im- 
 possible to see it for the smoke. The waitress was like a 
 dramatic brigand's wife, and wore the same style of dress 
 upon her head. The dogs barked like mad ; the echoes re- 
 turned the compliments bestowed upon them ; there Was not 
 another house ^within twelve miles ; and things had a dreary, 
 and rather a cut-throat, appearance. 
 
 They were not improved by rumors of Tobbers having 
 Come out, strong and boldty, within a few nights ; and of their 
 having stopped the mail very near that place. They were 
 known to have ■waylaid some travellers not long before, on 
 Mount Vesiuvius itself, and were the talk at all the roadside 
 inns. As they were no business of ours, however (for we had 
 very little with us to lose); we made ourselves merry on the 
 subiject, and were very soon as comfortable as need be. We 
 had the usual dinner in this solitary' house ; and a very good 
 dinner' it is, when you are used to it. TTiere is something 
 with a Vegetable or some rice in it, which is a sort of short- 
 hand or arbitrary character for soup, and whidi tastes very 
 well, when you have flavored it witSi plenty of grated cheese, 
 
PlCTUIiES FkOM ITALY. 51 1 
 
 lots of salt, and abundance of pepper. There is the half fowl 
 of which this soup has been made. There is a stewed pigeon, 
 with the gizzards and livers of himself and other birds stuck 
 all round him. There is a bit of roast beef, the size of a 
 small-French roll. There are a scrap of Parmesan cheese, 
 afld five little withered apples, all huddled together on a small 
 plate, and crowding one upon the other, as if each were try- 
 ing to save itself from the chance of being eaten. Then there 
 is coffee J and then there is bed. You don't mind brick 
 floors ; you don't mind yawning doors, nor banging windows ; 
 you ddn't mind your own horses being stabled under the bed ; 
 and so close, that every time a horse coughs or sneezes, hie 
 wakes you. If you are goocl-hurnored to the '^people about 
 you, and speak pleasantly, and look cheerful, take my word 
 for it you (nay be well entertained in die very worst Italian 
 Inn, and always in the most obliging manner, and may go 
 from one end of the country to the other (despite all stories 
 to the contrary) without any great trial of yOur"patience any- 
 where. Especially, when you get such Wine in flasks, as the 
 Orvieto, and the Monte Pulciano. 
 
 It was a bad morning when we left this place ; and we 
 wentj for twelve miles, over a country as barren, as stony, and 
 as wild, as Cornwall in England, until we came to Radicofani, 
 where there is a ghostly, gobliri inn: once a hunting-seat, be- 
 longing to the Dukes of Tuscany. It is full of such rambling 
 corridors, and gaunt robitis,' that all the murdering and phan- 
 tom tales that ever were writteh might have originated in that 
 one house. There are some horrible old Palazzi in Genoa : 
 one in particular, not unlike it, outside : but there is a wmd- 
 ing, creaking, wormy, rustling, door-opening, foot-on-staircase- 
 faffifig -character about this Radicofani Kotel, siich as I never 
 sawj anywherfe elsfe. The town, such as it is, hangs on i hill- 
 Side above the house, and in front of it. The iiiKabitants are 
 all' beggars ; and as soon as they see a carriage coming, they 
 swdop down upon it, like so many birds of prey. '* 
 
 When we got On the mountain pass, which lies beyond this 
 place, the wind (as they had forewarned us at the inn) was so 
 terrific, that we were obliged to take niy other half out of the 
 eKririage, lest she should -be blown over, carriage and all, and 
 to hang to it, on the windy side (as well as we could foir laugh- 
 ing), to prevent its goiiig; Heav6ri' knows where. - For mere 
 force of wittdj this land-storm might have competed with an 
 Atlantic g4le, and had a feasonablfe chance of coming off vie 
 
512 fICTUKES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 torious. The blast came sweeping down great gullies in a 
 range of mountains on the right : so that we looked with posi- 
 tive awe at a great morass on the left, and saw that, there was 
 not a bush or twig to hold by. It: seemed as if, once blown, 
 from our feet, we must be swept out to sea, or away, into 
 space. There was snow, and hail, and rain, and lightning 
 and thunder ; and there were rolling, mists, travelling with in- 
 credible velocity. It was dark, awful, and solitary to the last 
 degree ;, there were mountains, above mountains, veiled in 
 angry clouds ; and there was such a wrathful, rapid, violent, 
 tumultuous hurry, everywhere, as rendered the scene un- 
 speakably exciting and grand. 
 
 It was a relief to get out of it, notwithstanding ; and to 
 cross even the dismal dirty Papal Frontier. After passing 
 through two little towns ; in one of wliich, Acquapendejite, 
 there was also , a " Carnival " in progress : consisting of one 
 man dressed and maskied as a woman, and one woman dressed 
 and masked as a man, walking, ankle-deep, through, the muddy 
 street^ in a very ftieilancholy manner: we came, at dusk^ 
 within sight of the Lake of Eolsena, on whose bank there is a 
 little town of , the same name, mpch celebrated for malaria. 
 WJth the exception of this poor .place, there is not, a cottage 
 on the banks of the lake, or near it (for nobody dare sleep 
 there) ;, not a boat upon itsiyaters: pot a stick or stake to 
 break the dismal monotony of sevenrand-twenty watery miles. 
 We were ;late in getting in, the roads being very bad from 
 heavy rains ; and,, after dark, the dulness of the scene was 
 quite intolerable. 
 
 We entered on a very, different, and a finer scene of deso- 
 lation, nex,! night, at sunset. We had passed through Mon- 
 tefiaschone [(famous for its- wine) and Viterbo (for its foun- 
 tains) : and, after clitnbing- up a long hill of eight or ten miles' 
 extent, ^came suddenly upon the margin of. a solitary lake : in 
 one p^rt yery beautfiul, with a luxuriant wood ; in another, 
 very barren, and shut in by bleak volcanic hills. Where this 
 lake flows, there stood, of old, a city. It was swallowed up 
 one day • and ip its stead, this water, rose. Thiere are ancient 
 traditions (common to many parts of the world) of the ruined 
 city having. beei> seen below, when the ;water was clear; but 
 ho,weyer that may be, from this spot of earth it vanished. 
 The ground came bubbling up above.it ; and the water too; 
 and here , they stand, like ghosts on whom the other world 
 close(J sud^nly,, .and;'yfhQi,hav^ iiq me^ns, .of getting ;^cK 
 
PICTURES. FROM ITAL Y. 5 1^ 
 
 again. They seem to be waiting the course of ages, for the 
 next earthquake in that place ; when they will plunge below 
 the ground, at its first yawning, and be seen no more. The 
 unhappy city below, is not more lost and dreary, than these 
 fire-charred hills and- the stagnant water, above., The red 
 sun looked strangely on them, as with the knowledge that 
 they were made for caverns and darkness ; and the melan- 
 choly water oozed and sucked the mud, and crept quietly 
 among the marshy grass and reeds^ as if the overthrow of all 
 the ancient towers and house-tops, and the death of all the 
 ancient people born and bred there, were yet heavy on its 
 conscience. 
 
 A short ride from this lake, brought us to Ronciglione ; a 
 little town like a large pig-sty, where we passed the night. 
 Next morning at seven o'clock, we started for Ropie. , < ' 
 
 As soon as we were out of the pigrsty, we entered on the 
 Campagna Romana ; an undulating flat (as you know), where 
 few people can live ; and whe;re, for miles and miles,, there is 
 nothing to relieve the terrible monotony and g;loom. Of all 
 kinds of country that could, by possibility, lie outside the 
 gates of Rome, this is the aptest,and fittest burial-ground for 
 the Dead City. So sad, so quiet, so sullen ; so secret in its 
 covering up of great masses of ruin, and hiding them ; so like 
 the waste places into which the men possessed with devils 
 used to go and howl, and rend themselves, in the old days of 
 Jerusalem. We had to traverse thirty miles of this Campa,gna ; 
 and for two-and^twenty we went on and on, jseeing nothing 
 but now and then a lonely house, or a villanpus-looking 
 sjiepherd.: with matted hair all over his face, and himself 
 wrapped to the chin in a ; frowsy brown mantle, tending, his 
 sheep. At the end of that, distance, we stopped to, refresh the 
 horses, and to get some luncli, in. a common malaria-shakeii 
 despondent little public-house, whose every inch of wall and 
 beam, inside, was (according to custom), painted and deco; 
 rated in a way so miserable that every room Looked like the 
 wrong side of anotl?er room, and with its wretched imitation 
 of drapery, and lop-sided little daubs of lyres, seerned to have 
 been plundered from behind the scenes of some travelling 
 circus. 
 
 When we were fairly going off again, we began, in a perfect 
 fever, to strain our eyes for Rome ; and when, after a,nother 
 mile or two, the Eternal City appeared, at length, in the dis- 
 tance ; it looked like — 1 am half afrai4, to write the word—* 
 
 33 
 
. I^ PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 like LONDON ! ! ! There it lay, Under a thick cloud, with 
 innumerable towers, and; steeples, and roofs of houses, rising 
 up into the sky, and high above them all, one Dome. I 
 swear, that keenly as I felt the seeming absurdity of the com- 
 parison, it was so like London, at that distance, that if you 
 could have shown it me, in a glass, I should have taken it for 
 nothing else. 
 
 ROME. 
 
 We entefed the Eternal City, at about four o'clock in the 
 afternoon, on the thirtieth of January, by the Porta del Po- 
 polo, and came immediately — it was a dark, muddy day, ahd 
 there had been heavy I'aiti— On the skirts of the Catnival. 
 We did not, then, know that we were only looking at the fag 
 end of the masks, whO Wfere -driving slowly round and round 
 the Piazza until they could find a- promising opportunity for 
 falling into the stream of carriages, and 'getting,- in good' time, 
 into the thick of the festivity ; arid eOming among them so ab- 
 ruptly, all travel-stained and weary, was not coming very well 
 prepared to enjoy the scene. 
 
 We had crossed the Tiber by the POnte Mplle two or three 
 miles before. It had looked as yellow as it ought to look, 
 and hurrying On between its woni^way and miry banks, had 
 a promising aspect of desolation and niin. The masquerade 
 dresses on the fringe of the Carnival, did great violence to 
 this promise. There were no great ruins, no solemn tokens 
 Of antiquity, to be seen ; — they all lie 6ti the other side of the 
 city. There seemed to be long streets of common-place 
 shops a,rid houses, suCh as are to be found in any European 
 town ; there were busy people, equipages, ordinary walkers to 
 and fro 5 a rhnlfitude of chattering strangers. It was Ho more 
 my Rome ; the Rome of anybody's fanCy, man or boy ; de^ 
 graded and fallen arid lyirig asleep in the suii artiong a heap of 
 ruins : than the Place de la Concorde jn Paris is. A cloudy 
 sky, a dull cold rain, and muddy streets, 1 was prepared for, 
 but not for this : arid I confess to having gone to bed, that 
 night, in avery indifferent humor, and with a very considerable 
 quenched erfthiisiasm. 
 
PICTURES PROM ITAL Y. 515 
 
 Immediately on going out next day> we hurried off to St. 
 Peter's. It looked immense in- the distance, but :distinctly 
 and decidedly small, by comparison, on a near approach. 
 The beauty of the Piazza, on which it stands, with its clusters 
 of exquisite columns, and its gushing fountains — so fresh, so 
 broad and free, and beautiful- — nothing can exaggerate. The 
 first burst of the interior, .in all its expansive majesty and 
 gloiy :. and, most of all, the looking up into the Dome : is a 
 sensation never to be forgotten. But, there were preparations 
 for a Festa ; the pillars of stately marble were swathed in 
 some impertinent frippery of red and yellow ; the altar, and 
 entrance to the subterranean chapel : which is before it : in 
 the centre of the church : were like a goldsmith's shop, or one 
 of theropeningscfenesinavery.lavishpantomine. And though 
 I had ^s high a sense of the beauty of the building^ (I hope) 
 as it is possible to entertain; I ielt no veiy strong emotion. 
 I have been infinitely more affected in many English cathe- 
 drals When the organ has been playing, and in many English 
 country churches when the congregatioh have been singing. I 
 had a much greater sense of mystery and wonder, in the Ca- 
 thedral of San Mark at Venice. j ; ; 
 
 When we came out of the church again (»e stood nearly 
 an hour staring up into thedome : and wouLdnbthave " gone 
 over" the Cathedral then, for any n36ney)j we said to the 
 coachman, "Go to the Coliseum." ;. Iii a quarter of an hour 
 or so, he istopped at the gate, and we went in. 
 , . It is no fiction, but plain, sober, honest Truth, to say : so 
 suggestive and distinct is it /at this hour : that, for a moment 
 — ^actually in passing in — they who will, may have the whole 
 ^eat pile before them, as it used to be, with thousands of 
 eager faces staring down into the arena, and such a whirl of 
 strife, and blood, and dust going on there, as no language can 
 describe. Its solitude, its awful beauty, and its utter desola- 
 tion, strike upon the stranger the next moment, like a softened 
 sorrow J and never in his life, perhaps,; will he be so moved 
 and overcome by any sight, not immediately cotmected with 
 his. own affections and afBictions. . 
 
 To see it crumbling there, an inch a year ; its walls and 
 arches overgrown with green ; its corridors open to the day ; 
 the long grass growing in its porches ; young trees of yester- 
 day, springing up on its ragged parapets, and bearing fruit : 
 chance produce of the seeds dropped there by the birds who 
 build their nests within its chinks and crannies; to see its 
 
5 1 6 PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 Pit of Fight filled up with earth, and the peaceful Cross 
 planted in the centre ; to climb into its upper halls, and look 
 down on ruin, ruin, ruin, all about it ; the triumphal arches of 
 Constantine, Septimus Severus, and Titus; the Roman 
 Forum ; the Palace of the Caesars ; the temples of the old 
 religion, fallen down and gone ; is to see the ghost of old 
 Rome, wicked wonderful old city, haunting the very ground 
 on which its people trod. It is the most impressive^ the most 
 stately, the most solemn, grand, majestic, mournful sightjcon- 
 ceivable. Never, in its bloodiest crime, can the sight of the 
 gigantic Coliseum, full and running over with the lustiest life, 
 have moved one heart, as it must move all who look upon it 
 now, a ruin. God be thanked : a ruin. 
 
 As it tops the other ruins : standing there, a mountain 
 among graves : so do its ancient influences outlive all other 
 remnants of the old mythology and old butchery of Rome, in 
 the nature of the fierce and cruel Roman people. The Italian 
 face changes as the visitor approaches the city ; its beauty 
 becomes devilish ; and there is scarcely one countenance in a 
 hundred, among the common people in the streets, that would 
 not be at home and happy in a renovated Coliseum to-morrow. 
 
 Here was Rome indeed at last : and such a Rome as no 
 one can imagine in its full and awful grandeur ! We wandered 
 out upon the Appian Way, and then went on, through miles 
 of ruined tombs and broken walls, with here and there a 
 desolate and uninhabited bouse ; past the Circus of Romulus, 
 where the course of the chariots, the stations of the judges, 
 competitors, and spectators, are yet as plainly to be seen as 
 in old time : past the tomb tsf Cecilia Metella : past all in- 
 closure, hedge, or stake,.wall or fence : away; upon the open 
 Campagna, where on that side of Rome, nothing is to be 
 beheld but Ruin. Except where the distant Apennines 
 bound the view upon the left, the whole wide prospect is one 
 field of ruin. Broken aqueducts; left in the most picturesque 
 and beautiful clusters of arches ; broken temples ; broken 
 tombs. A desert of decay, sombre and desolate beyond all 
 expression j and with a history in every stone that strews the 
 ground. 
 
 On Sunday, the Pope assisted in the performance of High 
 Mass at St. Peter's. The effect of the Cathedral on my mind, 
 on that second visit, was exactly what it was at first, and what 
 it remains after many visits. It is not religiously impressive 
 
PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. cry 
 
 or affecting. It is an immense edifice, with no one point for 
 the mind to rest upon; and it tires. itself with wandering 
 round and round. The very purpose :of the place, is not ex- 
 pressed in any thing, you see there, unless you examine its I 
 details — and all examination of details is incompatible with 
 the place itself. It might be a Pantheon, or a Senate House, 
 or a great architectural trophy, having no other object than 
 an architectural triumph. There is a black statue of St. Peter, 
 to be sure, under a red canopy ; which is 'larger than life, and 
 which is constantly having its great toe kissed by good Catho- 
 lics. You cannot help seeing that : it is so very prominent 
 and popular. But it does not heighten the effect .of the temple, 
 as a work of art ; and it is not expressive — to me at least — of 
 its high purpose. 
 
 A large space behind the altar, was fitted up with boxes, 
 .shaped like those at the Italian Opera in England, but in 
 their decoration much more gaudy. In the centre of the kind 
 of theatre thus railed off, was a canopied dais with the Pope's 
 chair upon it. The pavement was covered with a carpet of 
 the brightest green ; and what with this green, and the intoler- 
 able reds and crimsons, and gold borders of the hangings, 
 the whole concern looked like a stupendous Bonbon^ On 
 either side of the altar, was a large box for lady strangers. 
 These were filled witli. ladies in black dresses and black veils. 
 The gentlemen of the Pope's guard, in red coats, leather 
 breeches, and jackbootSj guarded all this reserved space, with 
 drawn swords that were very flashy in every sense : and from 
 the altar all down the nave, a broad lane was kept clear by the 
 Pope's Swiss guard, who wear a quaint striped surcoat, and 
 striped tight legs, and carry hialberds like those -Which are 
 usually shouldered by those theatrical supernumeraries, who 
 never can. get off the stage fast enough, and who may be 
 generally observed to linger in the enemy's camp after the 
 open country, held by the opposite forces, has been split up 
 the middle .by a convulsion of Nature. 
 
 I got upon the border of the green carpet, in company 
 with a great many other gentlemen, attired in black (no other 
 passport is necessary), and stood there at my ease, during the 
 performance of Mass. The singers were in a crib of wirework 
 (like a large meat-safe or bird-cage) in. one corner ; and sang 
 most atrociously. All about the . green carpet, there was a 
 slowly moving crowd of people : talking to each other : star- 
 ing at the Pope through eye-glasses : defrauding one another, 
 
c j8 pictures from ital y. 
 
 in moments of partial curiosity, out of precarious seats on the 
 bases of pillars : and grinning hideously at the ladies. Dotted 
 here and there, were little knots of friars (Francescani, or 
 Cappuccfni, in their coarse brown dfes$es and peaked hoods) 
 making a strange contrast to thegaudy ecclesiastics of higher 
 degree, and having their humility gratified to the utmost, by 
 being shouldered about, and elbowed right and left, on all 
 sides. Some of these had muddy sandals aiid umbrellas, and 
 stained garments ; having trudged in from the country. The 
 faces of the greater part were as -coarse and heavy as their 
 dress ; their dogged, stupid, monotonous stare at' all the glory 
 and splendor, having some^^ing in it, half miserable, and hafi 
 ridiculous. 
 
 ilpon the green carpet itself, and gathered round the altai^ 
 was a perfect army of cardinals and priests, in red, gold,- pur- 
 ple, violet, white, and fine linen. Stragglers from these, went 
 to and fro among the crowd, conversing two and two, or giv- 
 ing and receiving introductions, and exchanging salutations ; 
 other functionaries in black gowns^ and Other functionaries in 
 court-dress6s, were similarly engaged. In the midst of all 
 these, and stealthy Jesuits creeping in and out, and the ex- 
 treme restlessness of the Youth of England, who were perpet- 
 ually wandering about, soma -few steady persons in black 
 cassocks, who had knelt doiwn with their faces to thewall^ and 
 ■were poring over therr missals^ became, unintentionally, a sort 
 of human man-traps, and with their own devout legs, tripped 
 up other people's by the dozen. 
 
 There was a igreat pile of candles lying down on the floor 
 near me, which a very old man in a rusty black gown with an 
 open work tippet, like a summer ornament for a fireplace in 
 tissue-paper, made himself very busy in dispensing to all the 
 ecclesiastics : one a-piece. They loitered about with these 
 for some time, under their arms like walking-sticks, or in their 
 bands like truncheons. At a certain period of the ceremony, 
 however, each carried his candle up to the Pope, laid it across 
 his two knees tobe blessed, took it back again, and filed off. 
 This was done in a very attenuated procession, as you may 
 suppose, and occupied a long time. Not because it takes 
 long to bless a candle through and tlrrough, but because there 
 were so- many candles to be blessed. At last they were all 
 blessed ; and then they were all lighted ; and then the Pope 
 was taken up, chair arid all, and carried round the church. 
 
 I must say, that I never saw anything, out of November, 
 
PIGTURES FROM ITAL Y. ^ i g 
 
 SO like the popular English commemoration of the fifth of that 
 month. A bundle of matches and a lantern, would have 
 made it perfect. Nor did the Pope, himself, at all mar the 
 resemblance, though he has a pleasant and venerable face ; 
 for, as this part of the ceremony makes him giddy and sick, 
 he shuts his eyes when it is performed : and having his eyes 
 shut and a great mttrfe on his head, and his head' itself wag- 
 ging to and fro as they shook him in carrying, he looked as if 
 his mask were going to tuitoble- off. The two immense fans 
 which are always borne, one on either side of him, accom- 
 panied him, of course, on this occasion. 'K% tliey carried him 
 along he blessed the people with the mystic sign ; and as he 
 passed them, they kneeled ddwn. When he had made the 
 round of the church, he was brought back again, and if I am 
 not mistaken, this performance was repeated, in the whole 
 three times. There was, certainly, nothing solemn or effective 
 in it ; and certainly very much that Was droll and tawdry. 
 But this remark applies to the whole ceremony, except the 
 raising of the Host, when every man in the guard dropped on 
 one knee instantly, and dashed his naked sword on the ground ; 
 which had a fine effect. 
 
 The next time I saw the Ga:thedral, was, some two or three 
 weeks afterwards, when I climbed up into the ball ; and then, 
 the hanging-s being taken down, and the Gaiffet taken up, but 
 all the framework left, the remnants of these decorations 
 looked like an exploded cracker. 
 
 The Friday and Saturday having been solemn Festal days, 
 and Sunday being always a.diesnon in carnival proceedings, we 
 had looked forward, with some impatience and curiosity, to the 
 beginning of the new week : Monday atid Tuesday being the 
 two last and best days of the Carnival. 
 
 On the Monday afternoon at one or two o'clock, there be- 
 gan to be a great rattling of carriages into the court-yard of 
 the hotel ; a hurrying to and fro of all the servants in it ; and, 
 now and then, a swift shooting across some doorway or bal- 
 cony, of a str^gling stranger in a fancy dress : not yet suffi- 
 ciently well used to the same, to wear it with confidence, and 
 defy public opinion. All the carriages Were open, and had 
 the linings carefully covered with white cotton or calico, to 
 prevent their proper decorations from being spoiled by the 
 incessant pelting of sugar-plums ; and people were packing 
 and dramtniftg into every vehicle as it Waited for its occupants, 
 
5 2 o PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 enormous sacks and baskets full of these confetti, together 
 with such heaps of flowers, tied up in little nosegays, that some 
 carriages were not only brimful of flowers, but literally jiun- 
 ning over : scatteringyat every shake and jerk of the springs, 
 some of their I abundance on the ground. Not to-be behind- 
 hand in. these essential particulars, we caused two very respect- 
 able sacks of sugar-plums (each about three feet high) and a 
 large clothes-basket full of flowers to be conveyed into our 
 hired barouche, with all speed. And frorn our place of ob- 
 servation, in one of the upper balconies of the hotel, we con- 
 templated these arrangement's with the liveliest satisfaction. 
 The carriages now beginning to take up their company, and 
 move away, we got into ours, and drove off too, armed with 
 little wire masks for our faces ; the sugar-plums, like Falstail's 
 adulterated sack^ having lime in their composition. 
 
 The Corso is a street a mile long ; a street of shops, and 
 palaces, and private houses, sometimes opening into a broad 
 piazza. There are verandas and balconies, of all shapes and 
 sizes, to almost every house — not on one story alone, but often 
 to one room or another on every story-^put there in general 
 with so little order or regularity, that if, year after year, and 
 season after season, it had rained balconies, hailed balconies, 
 snowed balconies, blown balconies, they could scarcely have 
 come into existence in a more disorderly manner. 
 
 This is the great fountain-head and focus of the Carnival. 
 But all the streets in which the Carnival is held, being vigi- 
 lantly kept by dragoons, it is necessary for carriages, in the 
 first instance, to pass, in linfe, down another thoroughfare, and 
 so come into the Corso at the end remote from the Piazza del 
 Popolo ; which is one of its terminations. Accordingly, we 
 fell into the string of coaches, and, for some time, jogged^ on 
 quietly enough ; now crawling on at a very slow walk. ;; now 
 trotting halfra-dozen yards ; now backing fifty ; and now stop- 
 ping altogether ; as the pressure in front obliged us. If any 
 impetuous carriage dashed out of the rank and clattered for- 
 ward, with the wild idea of getting on faster,: it was suddenly 
 met, or overtaken, by a trooper on horseback, who, deaf as 
 his own drawn sword to all remonstrances, immediately escort- 
 ed it back to the very end of the row, and made it a dim speck 
 in the remotest perspective. Occasionally, we interchanged 
 a volley of confetti with the carriage next in, front, or the car- 
 riage next behiiid ; but as yet, this capturing of stray and 
 errant coaches h-j the military, was the chief amusement. 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 S2J 
 
 Presently, we came into a narrow street, where, besides onC 
 line of carriages going, there was another line of carriages 
 returning. Here the sugar-plums and the nosegays began to 
 fly about, pretty smartly; and I was fortunate enough to 
 observe one gentleman attired as a Greek warrior, eatch a 
 light-whiskered brigand on the nose (he was in the very act of 
 tossing up a bouquet to a young lady in a first-floor window) 
 with a;precision that was much applauded by the bystanders. 
 As this. victorious Greek was exchanging a facetious remark 
 with a stout gentleman in a door-way — one-half black and one- 
 half white, as if he had been peeled up the middle — ^who had 
 offered him his congratulations on this achievement, he re- 
 ceived on orange from a house-top, full on his left ear, and was 
 much surprised, not to say discomfited. Especially, as he 
 was standing up at the time ; and in consequence of the car- 
 riage moving on suddenly, at the same moment, staggered 
 ignominiously, and buried himself among his flowers. - 
 J ■ Some quarter of an hour of this sort of progress, brought 
 us to the Corso ; and any thing so gay, so bright, and lively as 
 the whole scene there^ it would be difficult to imagine. From 
 all the innumerable balconies : from the remotest and highest,' 
 no less than from the; lowest and nearest : hangings of bright 
 red, bright green, bright blue, white and gold, were fluttering 
 in the brilliant sunlight. From windows, and from parapets, 
 and tops of houses, streamers of the richest colors, and dra- 
 peries of the gaudiest and most sparkling hues, were floating 
 out upon the street. The buildings seemed to have been liter- 
 ally turned inside out, and to have all their gayety towards the 
 highway. Shop-fronts were taken down; and the windows 
 filled with company, like boxes at a shining theatre ; doors 
 were carried off their hinges, and long tapestried groves, hung 
 with garlands of flowers and evergreens, displayed within j 
 builders' scaffoldings were gorgeous temples, radiant in silver, 
 gold, and crimson ; and in every nook and corner, from the 
 pavement to the chimney-tops, where women's eyes could 
 ghsten, there they danced, and laughed, and sparkled, like the 
 light in water. Every sort of bewitching madness of dress 
 was there. Little preposterous scarlet jackets ; quaint old 
 stCHnachers, more wicked than the smartest bodices ; Polish 
 pelisses, strained and tight as ripe gooseberries ; tiny Greek 
 caps, all awry, and clinging to the dark hair. Heaven knows 
 how ; every wild, quaint, bold, shy, pettish, madcap fancy had 
 its illustration in a dress ; and every fancy was as dead forgot- 
 
^22, PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 ten by its owner, in the tumult of merriment, as if the three old 
 aqueducts that still remain entire had brought Lethe into 
 Rome, upon their sturdy arches, that morning. 
 
 The carriages were now three abreast ; in broader places 
 four ; often stationary for a long time together ; always one 
 close mass of. variegated brightness ; showing, the whole street- 
 ful, through the storm of flowers, like flowers of a larger growth 
 themselves. In some, the horses were richly caparisoned 
 in magnificent trappings ; in others they were decked from 
 head to tail, with flowing ribbons. Some were driven by 
 coachmen with enormous, double faces : one face leering at 
 the horses : the other eo-cking its extraordinary eyes into the 
 carriage: and both rattling again, under the hail of sugar- 
 plums. Other idrivers were attired as women, wearing long 
 ringlets, and no bannet-S;, and looking more ridiculous in any 
 real difhculty with the horses (of which, in such a concourse,; 
 there were a great many) than tongue can tell, or pen de- 
 scribe. Instead of sitting in the carriages, upon the seats, the 
 handsome Roman women, to see and to be seen the better, 
 sit in the heads of the barouches, at this time of general license,! 
 with their feet upon the; cushions — and oh the flowimg skirts, 
 and dainty waists, the blessed shapes and laughing faces, the. 
 free, good-humored, gallant figures that they make i There 
 were great vans, too, full of handsome girls — thirty, or more 
 together, perhaps^ — and the broadsides that were poured into, 
 and poured out of, these fairy fire-shops, splashed the air with 
 flowers and bon-bons for ten minutes at a time. . Carriages,! 
 delayed long in one place, would begin a deliberate engager 
 ftient with other rcarriages^ or with people at the lower winr 
 dows ; and the spectators at some upper, balcony or window, 
 joining in the fray, and attacking both parties, would empty 
 down great bags of confdtti that descended like a doud, and 
 in an instant made them white as millers. Still, carriages on 
 carriages, dresses on dresses, colors on colors, crowds upon. 
 crowdS, without end. Men and boys clinging to the: wheels] 
 of coaches,, and holding on behind, and following in their 
 wake, and diving in among the horses' feet to pick up scat- 
 tered flowers to sell again ; maskers on foot (Uie drollest gens 
 erally) in fantastic exaggerations of court-dresses, surveying' 
 the throng through enormous eye-glasses, arid always trans' 
 ported with an ecstasy of love, on the discovery of any parties- .■ 
 ularly old lady at a window ; long strir^s of Policinelli, layingi 
 about them with blown bladders at the ends of sticks ; a ' 
 
PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 523 
 
 wagonful of madmen, screaming and tearing to the life ; a 
 coachful of grave mamelukes, with their horse-tail standard; 
 set up in the midst ;; a party of ; gipsy-Mwomen engaged in ter- 
 rific .conflict with a shipful of sailors ; a man-monkey on a 
 pole, surrounded by strange animals with pigs?)facesj and Jions' 
 tails, carried under their arms,:or-wom gracefully over their: 
 shoulders ; carriages on carriages, dresses on dresses, colors 
 on !K)loES, crowds upon crowds, without end. Not many ac- 
 tual characters sustained, or represented, perhaps, consider- 
 ing the number dressed, but the main pleasure of the scene 
 consisting in its entire good temper ; in its bright, and in- 
 'fimte^and flashing variety; and in its entire abandonment 
 to the mad humor of the time^an abandonment so perfect, 
 so contagious, so irresistible, that the steadiest foreigner 
 fights up to his middle in flowers and sugar-plums, like the 
 Tifildesti Roman of them all, and thinks of nothing else till 
 half-past four o'clock, when he is suddenly reminded (to his 
 great regret) that this is not the whole business of his exist-, 
 ence, by hearing the trumpets sound, and seeing the dragoons 
 begin to clear the street. 
 
 How it ever is cleared for the race that takes place at five, 
 or how the horses- ever go through the race, without going 
 over the people, is more than I can say. But the carriages 
 get out into the by-streets, or up into the Piazza del Popolo, 
 and some people sit in temporary galleries in the latter place, 
 and tens of thousands line the Corso on both sides, when the 
 horses are brought but: into ithe Piazza — to the foot of that 
 same column which, for centuries, looked down; upon . the 
 games and chariot-races in the Circus Maximus. 
 
 At a given signal they are started off. Down the live lane, 
 the whole length of the Corso, they fly like the wind : rider- 
 less, as all the world knows : with : shining ornaments upon 
 their backs, and twisted in their plaited manes : and with 
 heavy little balls stuck full of spike^ dangling at their sides, 
 to goad them on. The jingling of. these trappings, and the 
 rattling of their hoofs upon the hard stones ; the dash and 
 fury of their speed along tha echoing street; nay, the very 
 cannon that are fired — these noises are nothing to the roaring 
 of the multitude : their shouts : the clapping of their hands. 
 But it is soon over-^almost instantaneously. More cannon 
 shake the town. The horses have jjlunged into the carpets 
 put across the street to stop them ; the goal is reached ; the 
 prizes are won (they are given, in part, by the poor Jews, as a 
 
524 PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 compromise for not running foot-races themselves) '; and tliere 
 is an end to that day's sport. 
 
 But if the scene be bright, and gay, and crowded, on the 
 Jast day but one, it attains, on the concluding day, to such a 
 height of glittering color, swarming life, and frolicsome up. 
 roar, that the bare recollection of it makes me giddy at tlus 
 moment. The same diversions, greatly heightened and inten- 
 sified in the ardor with which -they are pursued, go on until 
 the same hour.: The race is repeated ; the cannon are fired ; 
 the shouting and clapping of hands are renewed ] the cannon 
 are fired again; the race is over; and the prizes are won. 
 But the carriages : ankle-deep with sugar-plums within, and so 
 be-fiowered and dusty without, as to be hardly recognizable 
 for the same vehicles that they were, three hours ago : instead 
 of scampering off in all directions, throng into tlie Corse, 
 where they are soon wedged together in a scarcely moving 
 mass. For the diversion of the Moccoletti, the last gay mad- 
 ness of the Carnival, is now at hand ; and sellers of httle ta- 
 pers like what are called Christmas candles in England, are 
 shouting lustily on every side, "Moccoli, Moccoli! Ecco 
 Moccoli ! " — a new item in the tumult ; quite abolishing that 
 other item of " Ecco Fiori ! Ecco Fior — r — r ! " which has 
 been making itself audible, over all the rest, at intervals, the 
 whole day through. 
 
 As the bright hangings and dresses are all fading into one 
 dull, heavy, uniform color in the decline of the day, lights be- 
 gin flashing, here and there : in the windows, on the house- 
 tops, in the balconies, in the carriages, in the hands of. the 
 foot-passengers : little by little :, gradually, gradually : more 
 and more : until the whole long street is one great glare and 
 blaze of fire. Then, e\'erybody present has but one engross- 
 ing object ; that is, to extinguish other people's candles, and 
 to . keep his own alight ; and everybody : man, woman, or 
 child, gentleman or lady, prince or peasant, native or foreigner: 
 yells and screams^ and roars incessantly, as a taunt to the 
 subdued, " Senza Moccolo,' Senza Moccolo ! " (Without a 
 light ! Without a light !) until nothing is heard but a gigan- 
 tic chorus of those two words, mingled with peals of laughter. 
 
 The spectacle, at this time, is one of the most extraordi- 
 nary that can be imagined. Carriages coming slowly by, with 
 everybody standing on the seats or on the box, holding, up 
 their lights at arms' length, for greater safety ; some in paper 
 shades ; some with a buneh of undefended little tapers, kin- 
 
• PICTURES FROM ITALY. 525 
 
 died together j some with blazing torches ; some with feeble 
 little candles ; men on foot, creeping along, among the wheels, 
 watching their opportunity, to make a spring at some particular 
 light, and dash it out ; other people climbing up into carriages, 
 to get hold of them by main force ; others, chasing some un- 
 lucky wanderer, round and round his own coach, to blow put 
 the light he has begged or stolen, soiuewhere, before he can 
 ascend to his own company, and enable them to light their 
 extinguished tapers ; others, with their hats off, at a carriage- 
 door, humbly beseeching some kind-hearted lady to oblige 
 them with a light for a cigar, and when she is in the fulness of 
 doubt whether tojcbmply or no, blowing out tlie candle she is 
 guarding so tenderly with her little hand ;, other people at tlie 
 windows, fishing for candles with lines and hpoks, orjetting 
 down long willow-wands with handkerchiefs at the end, and 
 flapping them out, dexterously,; when the bearer is at the height 
 of his triumph ; others, biding their time in corners, with im- 
 mense extinguishers like halberds, and suddenly coming down 
 upon glorious torches ; others, gathered round one coach, and 
 sticking to it ; others, raining oranges and nosegays at an ob- 
 durate little lantern, or regularly storming a pyramid of men, 
 holding up one man among them, who carries one feeble little 
 wick above his head, with whidi ■ he defies them all ! Senza 
 Moccolo ! Senza Moccolo ! Beautiful women, standing up 
 in 'coaches, pointing in derision at extinguished lights, and 
 clapping their hands, as they pass on, crying, " Senza Moc- 
 colo ! Senza Moccolo ! "; low balconies full of lovely faces 
 and gay dresses, struggling with assailants in the streets ; 
 some repressing them as they climb up, some bending down, 
 some' leaning over, some shrinking back — delicate arms and 
 bosoms — graceful figures — glowing lights^ fluttering dresses, 
 Senza Moccolo, Senza Moccolo, Senza Moc-co-lo-o-o-o ! — 
 when in the wildest enthusiasm of the cry, and fullest ecstg,sy 
 of the sport, the Ave Maria rings from the church steeples, 
 and the Carnival is over in an instant — put out like a taper, 
 with a breath ! 
 
 There was a masquerade at the theatre at night, as dull 
 and senseless as a London- one, and only remarkable for the 
 summary way in which the house was cleared at eleven 
 o'clock : which was done by a line of soldiers forming along 
 the wall, at the back of the stage, and sweeping the whole 
 company out before them, like a broad broom. The game gf 
 the Moccoletti (the word, in the singular, -MOccQletto, is the 
 S3 
 
526 PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. . 
 
 diminutive of Moccolo, and means a little lamp or candle, 
 snuff) is supposed by some to be a ceremony of burlesque 
 mourning for the death of the Carnival : candles being indjs-, 
 pensable to Catholic grief. But whether it be so, or be a 
 remnant of the ancient Saturnalia, ; or an incorporation of 
 both, or have its origin in any thing else, I shall always re- 
 member it, and the frolic, as a brilliant anid most captivating 
 sight : no less remarkable for the unbroken goad-humor of 
 all concerned, down to the very lowest (and. among those who 
 scaled the carriages, were many of the commonest men and 
 boys), than for its innocent vivacity. ■ For, odd as it may 
 seem to say so, of a sport so full of thoughtlessness and per^ 
 sonal display, it is as free from any taint of immodesty as any 
 general mingling of the two sexes can possibly be ; and there 
 seems to prevail, during its progress, a feeling of general, 
 almost childish, simplicity and confidence, which one thinks 
 of with a pang, when the Ave Maria has rung it away, for a 
 whole year. 
 
 Availing ourselves of a part of the quiet interval between 
 the termination of the Carnival and the beginning of the 
 Holy Week : when everybody had run away from the one, and 
 few people had yet begun to run back again for the other : we 
 went conscientiously to woik, to see Rome. And, by the 
 dint of going out early every morning, and coming back late 
 every evening, and -laboring hard all day, I believe we made 
 acquaintance with every post and; pillar in the city, aiid tlie 
 country round ; and in particular, explored so many churches, 
 that I abandoned that part of the enterprise at last, before it 
 was half finished, lest I should never, of my own accord;, go 
 to church again, as long as I lived. But, I managed, almost 
 every day, at one time or other, to get back to the Coldseum, 
 and out upon the open Campagna, beyond the Tomb of 
 Cecilia Metella. 
 
 We often encountered, in these expeditions, a company of 
 English Tourists, with whom I had an ardent, but ungratified 
 longing, to establish a speaking acquaintance. They were 
 one Mr. Davis, and a small circle of friends. It was inipas- 
 sible not to know Mrs. Davis's name, from her being always 
 in great request among her party, and her party being every- 
 where. During the Holy Week, they were in every part of 
 every scene of every ceremony. For a fortnight or three 
 weeks before it, they were in every tomb, and every church, 
 
PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. ^ 2 7 
 
 arid every ruin, and every Picture Gallery ; and I hardly ever 
 observed Mrs. Davis to be silent for a moment. Deep under- 
 ground, high up in St. Peter's, out on the Campagna, and 
 stifling in the Jews' quarter, Mrs. Davis turned up, all the 
 same. I don't think she ever saw anything, or ever looked 
 at anything ; and she had always lost something out of a straw 
 -hind-basket, and was trying to fiiid it, with all her might and 
 main, among an immense quantity of English halfpence, 
 which lay; like sands upon the sea-shore, at the bottom of it. 
 There was a professional Cicerone al-vyays attached to the 
 party (which had been brought over from Loiidon, fifteen or 
 twenty strong, by contract), and if he so much as looked at 
 Mrs. Davis, She invariably cut him short by saying, " There, 
 God bless the man, don't worrit me ! I don't understand a 
 word you say, and shouldn't if you was to talk till you was 
 •black in the face ! " Mr. Davis always had a snuff -colored 
 great-coat on, and carried a great green umbrella in his hand, 
 and had a slow curiosity constantly devouring him, which 
 prompted him to do extraordinary things, such as taking the 
 covers off urns in tombs, and looking in at the ashes as if 
 they were pickles — and tracing out inscriptions with the fer- 
 rule of his urribrella, and saying, with intense thoughtfulness, 
 " Here's a B you see, and there's a R, and this is the way we 
 goes on in ; is it ! " His antiquarian habits occasioned his 
 "bding frequently in the rear of the rest ; and one of the ago- 
 nies of Mrs. Davis, and the party in general, was an lever- 
 present fear that Davis would be lost. This caused them to 
 Scream for him, in the strangest places, and at the most im- 
 ■ptoper seasons. And when he came, slowly emerging out of 
 some sepulchre or other, like a peaceful Ghoule, saying, 
 "Here I am!" Mrs. Davis invariably replied, "You'll be 
 ' buried alive iii a foreign country, Davis, and it's no use trying 
 to prevent you ! " 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Davis, and their party, had, probably, been 
 broiight from London in about nine or ten days. Eighteen 
 hundred years ago, the Roman legions under Claudius, pro- 
 tested against being led into Mr. and Mrs. Davis's country, 
 urging that it lay beyond the limits of the world. 
 
 Among what may be called the Cubs or minor Lions of 
 Rome, there was one that amused me mightily. It is always 
 to be found there ; and its den is on the great flight of steps 
 that lead from the Piazza di Spagna, to the Church of Trfnita 
 del Monte. In plainer words, these steps ate the great place 
 
5 28 PICTURES FROM ITAL ¥. 
 
 of resort for. the artists' " Models," and there they are con- 
 stantly waiting to be hired. The first time I went up there, I 
 could not conceive why the faces seemed familiar to me ; why 
 they appeared to have beset me, for years, in every possible 
 variety of action and costume ; and how it came to pass that 
 they started up before me, in Rome, in the broad day,, like so 
 many saddled and bridled nightmares. I soon found that we 
 had made acquaintance, and improved it, for several years, 
 on the walls of various Exhibition Galleries. There is one 
 old gentleman, with long white hair and an immense beard, 
 who, to my knowledge, has gone half through the catalogup 
 of the Royal Academy. This is the, venerable, or patriarchal 
 model. He carries a long staff ; and every knot and twist 
 in that staff I have seen, faithfully delineated, innumerable 
 times. There- is another man in a blue cloak, who always 
 pretends to be asleep in the sun (when there is any), and who, 
 I neeJ not say, is always very wide awake, and very attentive to 
 the disposition of his legs. This is the dolcefar' niente xaa^ii. 
 There is another, man in a brown cloak, whq leans against a 
 ■wall, with his arms folded*in his mantle, and looks out of the 
 corners of his eyes : which are just visible beneath his broad 
 slouched hat. This is the assassin model. There is another 
 man, who constantly looks over his own shoulder, and is 
 always going away, but never does. This is; the haughty, or 
 scornful model. As tQ Domestic Happiness, and Holy Fam- 
 ilies, they should come very cheap, for there are lumps of 
 them, all up the steps ; and the cream of the thing, is, that 
 they are ^11 the falsest vagabonds in the world, especially 
 made up for the purpose, and having no counterparts in Rome 
 or any other part of the. ha.bi table globe. 
 
 My recent me;ntion of the Carnival, reminds me of its 
 being said, to be a mock mourning (in the ceremony with 
 which it closes), for the gayfeties and merry-rnakings before 
 Lent; and this, again reminds me of the real funerals and 
 mourning processions of Rome, which, like those in most 
 other parts of Italy, are rendered chiefly reinarkabie to a For- 
 eigner, by the indifference with whieh.ithe.mere clay is univer- 
 sally regarded, after life, has left it. And this is not from the 
 survivors having had time to dissociate the memory of the 
 dead from their well-remembered appearance and fonn on 
 earth ; for the inferment follows too speedily after death, for 
 that : almost,a,lwAys taking place within four-and-twenty hours, 
 and sometimes, within'twielye. ... 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY. ^29. 
 
 ' At Rome, there is the same arrangement ot Pits in a 
 great, bleak, open, dreary space, that! have already described 
 as existing in Genoa. When I visited it, at noonday, I saw a 
 solitary coffin of plain deal : uncovered by any shroud or pall, 
 and so slightly rnade, that the hoof of any wandering mule 
 *ould haive crushed it in ; carelessly tumbled down, all on 
 one side, on the. door of' one of the pits — and there left, by 
 itself, in the wind and sunshine. " How does it cbme to be 
 left here ? " I asked the man who showed me the place. 
 " It was brbtight here half an hour ago, Signore/' he said. I 
 remembered to have met the procession on its return ; strag- 
 gling a'tvay at a good round pace. " When will it be put in 
 the pit?" I asked him. "When the cart comes, and it is 
 opened to-night," he sa:id. " Ho* much does it cost to be 
 brought here in this way, instead of coming in the cart ? " I 
 asked him. " Ten scudi," he said (about two pounds, two- 
 and-sixpence, English). " The other bodies, for whdm noth- 
 ing is paid, are taken to the church of' the SaHta Maria della 
 Consolazione," he ciDntinued, " and brought here altogether, 
 in the cait at night." I stood, J moment, looking at the 
 coffin, which had two initial letters scrawled upon the top ', 
 and turned away, with an expression in my face; I suppose, of 
 not much liking its exposure in that manner: for he.' said, 
 shrugging his shoulders with great vivacity, and giving a 
 pleasant smile, " But he's dead, Signore, lie's dead. Why not ? " 
 
 Among the innumera;ble churches, there is one I must 
 select for separate mention. It is the church of the Ara 
 Gceli, supposed to be built' on- the site of the old Temple of 
 Jupiter Feretrius ; and approached, on one side, by a long 
 keep flight of stepfe, which seem incomplete without some 
 group of bearded soothsayers on the top. It is remarkable 
 for the possession of a miraculous Bapibi'no, or wooden doll, 
 representing the Infant Saviour ;' arid I first saw this miracu- 
 lous Bambfno, in legal phrase, itii manner following, that is 
 to say : 
 
 We had strolled into the church one afternoon, and were 
 looking down its long vista of gloomy pillars (for all these 
 ancient churches built upon the ruins of old temples, are dark 
 and sad), when the Brave came running in, with a grin upon 
 his face that stretched it from ear to ear, and ithplored us to 
 follow him, without a moment's delay, as they were going to 
 ihow the Bambfno to a select 'party. Wea^ccordingly hurried 
 
530 PICTURES PROM ITALY. 
 
 off to a sort of chapel, or sacristy, hard by the chief altar,- but 
 not in the church itself, wluere the select party, consisting of 
 two or three Catholic gentlemen and ladies (not Italians), 
 were already assembled: and wkere one hollpw-cheeked' 
 young monk was lighting up divers candles, while anoth^ 
 was putting on some cleric^ robes over his coarse brown 
 habit. The candles were on a kind of altar, and above it 
 were two delectable figures, such as you would see at any 
 English fair, representing the Holy. Virgin, and Saint Joseph, 
 as I suppose, bending in devotion over a wooden box, or 
 coffer; which was shut. ; --• 
 
 The hollow-cheeked monk,, number One, havings finished 
 lighting the candles, went, down on his knees, in a corner, 
 before this set-piece ; and the monk number Two, having put 
 on a pair of highly ornamented and gold-bespattered gloves, 
 lifted down the coffer with great reverence,^ a-nd set it on the 
 altar. Then, with many genuflexions, and mtKttering certain 
 prayers, he opened it, and let down the front, and took off 
 sundry coverings of satin and lace from the inside,,. The 
 ladies had been on their knees fromthe commencement^ and 
 the gentlemen now dropped down devoutly, as he :exposed, 
 to view a little wooden doll, in face very like Ge^ijeiral Tom 
 Thumb, the American Dwarf: gorgeously dressed, in satin 
 and gold lace, and actually blazing with rich jewels. These; 
 was scarcely a spot upon its Httle breast, or neck, or stomach, 
 but was sparkling with the costly offerings of the Faithful. 
 Presently, he lifted it out of the, • box, ajjd carrying it round 
 among the kneelers, set its face against the f oreligad of every 
 one, and tendered its clumsy foot to diem to kiss^ — a cere- 
 mony which they ajl performed down to a dirty little raga- 
 muffin of a boy who had walked in from the street. Wheii 
 this was done, he laid it in the box again : and the company, 
 rising, drew near,, and commended the jewels in whispers. In 
 good time, he replaced the coverings, shut up the box, put it 
 back in its plaice, locked up- the whole concern (Holy Family 
 and all) behind a pair of folding-doors ; took off his priestly 
 vestments ; and received the customary " small charge,." while 
 his companion, by means of an extinguisher fastened to the 
 end of a long stick, put out the lights, one after another. 
 The candles being all extinguished, and the money all col- 
 lectedj they retired, and so did the spectators. 
 
 I met this same Bambino, in die street a short time after- 
 wards, going, in great state. to,t|ie house of some sick person. 
 
PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. ^ 3 1 
 
 It is taken to all parts of Rome' for this purpose, constantly j 
 but, I understand that it is not always as successful as could 
 be wished ; for, making its appearance at the bedside of weak 
 and nervous people in extremity, accompanied by a numerous 
 escort, it not unfrequently frightens them to death. It is 
 most popular in cases of child-birth, where it has done such 
 wonders, that if a lady be longer than usual in getting through 
 her difficulties, a messenger is despatched, with all speed, to 
 solicit the immediate attendance of the Bambfno. It is a very 
 valuable property, and much confided in — especially by. the 
 religious body to whom it belongs.- 
 
 I am happy to know that it is not considered immaculate, 
 by some who are good Catholics, and who are behind the 
 scenes, from what was told me by the near relation of a Priest, 
 himself a Catholic, and a gehtleman of learning and intelli- 
 gence. This Priest made my informant promise that he 
 Would, on no account, allow the Bambino to be borne into the- 
 bedroom of a sick lady, in whom they were both interested. 
 " For," said he, " if they (the monks) trouble her with it, and 
 intrude themselves into her room, it will certainly kill her." 
 My informant accordingly looked out of the window when it 
 came; and, with many thanks, declined to open the door. 
 He endeavored, in another case, of which he had no other 
 knowledge than such as he gained as a passer-by at the mo- 
 ment, to prevent its being carried into a small unwholesome 
 chamber, where a poor giri was dying. But, he strove against 
 it unsuccessfully, and she expired while the crowd were press- 
 ing round her bed. 
 
 Among the people who drop into St. Peter's at their 
 leisure, to kneel on the pavement, and say a quiet prayer, 
 there are certain schools and seminaries, priestly and other- 
 wise, that come in, twenty or thirty strong. These boys 
 always kneel down in single file, one behind the other, with 
 a tall grim master in a black gown, bringing up the rear : like 
 a pack of cards arranged to be tumbled down at a touch, 
 with a disproportionately large Knave of clubs at the end. 
 When they have had a minute or so at the chief altar, they 
 scramble up, and filing off to the chapel of the Madonna, or 
 the sacrament, flop dowm again in the same order ; so that if 
 anybody did stumble against tne master, a general' and sudden 
 overthrow of the whole line must inevitably ensue. 
 
 The scene in all the churches is the strangest possible. 
 The same monotonous, heartless, drowsy chaunting, always 
 
532 PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 going on ; the same dark building, darker irom the brightness 
 of the street without ; the same lamps dimly burning ; the 
 self-same people kneeling here and there; turned towards 
 you, from one: altar or other, the same priest's back, with 
 the same large cross embroidered on it ; however different in 
 size, in shape, in wealth, in architecture, this church is from 
 that, it is the same thing still. There are the same dirty 
 beggars stopping in their muttered prayers to beg ; the same 
 miserable, cripples exhibiting their deformity at the doors ; the 
 same blind men, rattling little pot's like kitchen pepppr-castors : 
 their depositories for alms ; . the same preposterous crowns of 
 silver stuck upon the painted heads of single saints and 
 Virgins in crowded. pictures, so that a little figure on a moun- 
 tain has a head-dress bigger than the temple in the toreground, 
 or adjacent miles of landscape:; the same favorite shrine or 
 figure, smothered with little silver hearts and crosses, and the 
 like : the staple trade and show of all the jewellers; the same 
 odd mixture of respect and indecorum, faith and phlegm : 
 kneeling on the stones, and spittng on them, loudly ; getting 
 up from prayers to beg a little, or to pursue some other worldly 
 matter: and then kneeling down again, to resume the contrite 
 supplication at the point where it was interrupted. In one 
 church, a kneeling lady got up from her prayer, for a moment, 
 to offer us her card, as a teacher of Music ; and in another, a 
 sedate gentleman, with a very thick walking-staff, arose from 
 his devotions to belabor his dog, who was growling at another 
 dog: and whose yelps and howls- resounded through the 
 church, as his master quietly relapsed into his former train of 
 meditations-keeping his eye upon the dog, at the same time, 
 nevertheless. 
 
 Above all, there is always- a receptacle, for the contribu- 
 tions of the Faithful, in some form or other. Sometimes, it is 
 a money-box, set up between the worshipper, and the wooden 
 life-size figure of the Redeemer ; sometimes, it is a little chest 
 for the maintenance of the Virgin ; sometimes, an appeal on 
 behalf of a p&pular Bambino ; sometimes, a bag at the end of 
 a long stick, thrust among the people here and there, and vigi- 
 lantly jingled by an active Sacristan ; but there it always is, 
 and, very often, in many shapes in the same church, and doing 
 pretty well in all. Nor, is if wanting in the open air — the 
 streets and roads — for, often as you are walking along, think- 
 ing about anything rather than a tin-canister, tliat object 
 pounces out upon you from a little house by the wayside ; and 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY. 533 
 
 on its top is painted, " For the Souls in Purgatoty ; " an appeal 
 which the bearer, repeats a great many times, as he rattles it 
 before you, much as Punch rattles the cracked bell which his 
 sanguine disposition makes an organ of. 
 
 And this, tfeminds me that some Roman altars of peculiar 
 sanctity, bear the inscription, " Every Mass performed at this 
 altar frees a soul from Purgatory." I have never been able 
 to find out the charge for one of these services, but they 
 should needs be expensive. There are several Crosses in 
 Rome too, the kissing of which, confers indulgences for vary- 
 ing terms. That in the centre of the Coliseum, is worth a 
 hundred days : and people may be seien kissing it frprii morn- 
 ing to itight. It is curious that sonie of these crosses seem to 
 acquire -an arbitrary popularity : this very one ahiong them. 
 In another part of the Coliseum there' is a cross upon a marble 
 slab, with the inscription, " Who kisses this cross shall be: en- 
 titled to Two hundred and forty days' indulgence." Btit I 
 saw no one person kiss it, though day after day, I sat in the 
 arena, and saW scores upon scores of peasants pass it, on their 
 way to kiss the other. 
 
 • To single out details from the great dream of Roman 
 Churches, would be the wildest occupation in the world. But 
 St. Stefano Rotondo, a dampi, mildewed vault of an old church 
 in' the outskirts of Rome, will always stn.iggle uppermost in 
 my mind, by reason of the hideous paintings With which its 
 walls are covered. These represent the martyrdoms of saints 
 and early Christians ; and such a panorama of horror and 
 butchery no man could imagine in his sleep, though he were 
 to eat a whole pig raw, for supper. - Gray-bearded men being 
 boiled, fried, grilled, crimped, singed, eaten by wild beasts, 
 worried by dogs, buried alive, torn asunder by horses,' chopped 
 up small With hatchets : women having their breasts torn 
 with iron pinchers, their tongues cut out, their ears screwed 
 off, their jaws broken, their bodies Stretched upon the rack, or 
 skinned upon the stake, or crackled up and melted in the fire '. 
 these are among the mildest' suTsjects. ' So insisted on, and 
 labored at, besides, that every sufEerer gives you the same occa- 
 sion for wonder as poor old Duncan awoke, in Lady Macbeth, 
 when she marvelle.d at his bavfng so much blood in him. 
 
 There is an upper chamber- in the Mamertine prisons, over 
 what is said to have been — and very possible may have been 
 — the diingeon of St. Peter. This chamber is now fitted up 
 as an otatoiy, dedicated to that' saint ; and it lives, as a dis'' 
 
534 PICTURES FROM ITAL V. 
 
 tinct and separate place, in my recollection,, too. It, is very 
 small and low-roofed ;, and tlie dread and glooin of the pon- 
 derous, obdurate old prison are on it, as it they had come up 
 in a dark mist through the floor. ; Hanging on the walls, 
 among the ,clus.ter,e4 votive offerings, are objects at once 
 strangely in keeping, and strangely at variance,^ wtl?^:the place 
 ■ — rusty daggers, knives, pistols, clubs, divers instruments of 
 violence and murder, brought here, fresh from use^ and hung 
 up to propitiate offended Heaven : as if the blood, upon them 
 would, drain off in consecrated ?iir, and.have no voice to cry 
 with, it is alt so silent and so close, and tomb-like; and the 
 dungeons below are so black and stealthy, and stagnant, and 
 naked ; tliat ttiis. little dark spot becomes a dream within a 
 dream : and in the vision pf great churches which come: roll- 
 ing past me like a sea, it.is a small wave by itself, that melts 
 into no other wave, and does not flow on with the rest. 
 
 It is an awful thing to think of the enormous caverns: that 
 are entered from some Roman churches, and undermine the 
 city. Many churches have crypts and subterranean, chapels 
 of great size, which, in the ancient time, were baths, and se- 
 cret chambers of temples, and what not : but I do not speak 
 of them. Beneath the church of St. Giovanni and St. Paolo, 
 there are the, jaws of a terrific range of caverns, h^ewn out of 
 the rock, and said to have a.nother outlet underneath, the Cpli: 
 seum — tremendous darknesses of vast extent, half -buried in the 
 earth and unexplorable, where the dull torches, flashed by the 
 attendants, glimmer down long ranges of distant vaifltsi branch- 
 ing to the right and left, like streets in a city of the dead ; and 
 show the cold damp stealing down the walls, drip-dropj drip-drop 
 to join the pools of water that lie here and there, and never, saw, 
 and never will see, one ray qf the sun. ; Some accounts make 
 these the prisons of the wild, bieasts destined for the amphithe- 
 atre : some the prisons of the condemnedgladiators ; some, both. 
 But the legend most appalling tp: the fancy is, that in the up- 
 per range (for there are two stories of these caves), the Early 
 Christians destined to be eaten at the Coliseum Shows, heard 
 the wild beasts, hungry for them, roaring down below ; until, 
 upon the night ajid solitude of their captivity,, there burst the 
 Sudden, noon and IJfe of the vasit theatre crowded, tp the para- 
 pet, and of these, their dreaded neighbors, bounding in ! 
 
 Below the church of San Sebastiano, two miles beyond, the 
 gate of San Sebastiano, on the Appian Way, is the entrance to 
 5ie catacombs of Rome — quarries in the old time, but after-. 
 
PICTURED PROM ITALY. 
 
 'iz^ 
 
 wards; the hidmg-places of the Christians. These ghastly 
 passages have been explored for twenty miles ; and form a 
 chain of labyrinths, sixty miles in circumference. 
 
 A gaunt Franciscan friar, with a 1vild bright eye, was our 
 only guide down inta this profound and dreadful place. The 
 narrow ways and openings hither and thither, coupled with 
 the dead and heavy air, soon blotted out, in all of us, any re- 
 collection of the track by which we had come ; and I could 
 hot help thinking, " Good Heaven, if, in a sudden fit of mad- 
 ness, he shbuld dash the torches out, or i£ he should be seized 
 with a fit, what would become of us ! " Gn we wandered, 
 among martyr's graves : passing great subterra-nean vaulted 
 raads, diverging in all directions, and choked up with heaps 
 of stones, that thieves and murderers may, not take refuge 
 there, and form a population under Rome, even worse than 
 that which lives between it and the sun. Graves, graves, 
 graves ; Graves of men, of women, of their little children, who 
 ran crying to the persecutors, "We are Christians ! We are 
 Christians ! " that they might be murdered with their parents ; 
 Graves with the palm of martyrdom roughly cut iiito theii^ 
 stone boundaries, and littlie niches^ made to hold a vessel of 
 the martyrs' blood ; Graves of . some who lived down here, 
 for years together, ministering to the rest, and preaching 
 truth, and hope, and comfort, from the rude altars, that bear 
 witness to their fortitude at this hour ; more roomy graves, 
 but far more terrible, where hundreds, being surprised, were 
 hemmed in and walled up;: buried before Death, and killed 
 by slow starvation; 
 
 " The Triumphs of the Faithi are not above ground in our 
 splendid churches," said the friar, looking round upon us, as 
 we stopped to rest in one of the low passstges, with bones and 
 dust surrounding us on every side. " They are here ! Among 
 the Martyrs' Graves ! " He was a gentle, earnest man, and 
 said it from his heart; but when I thought how Christian men 
 have dealt with one another ; how, perverting our rhost merci- 
 ful religion, they have hunted down and tortured, burnt and 
 beheaded, strangled, slaughtered, and oppressed each other; I 
 picturfed to myself an: agony surpassing any that this Dust had 
 suffered with the breath of life yet lingering in itj and how 
 these great and constant hearts would have been shaken^^^ 
 how they would have quailed and drooped — if a fore-knowl* 
 edge of the deeds that professing Christians would commit in 
 the Great Naniefor which they died, could have rent them 
 
536 PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 with its own unutterable anguish, on the cruel wheel, and 
 bitter cross, and in the fearful fire. 
 
 Such are the spots and patches in my dream of churches, 
 that remain apart, and rkeep their separate identity. I have 
 a fainter recollection, sometimes of the relics ; of the frag- 
 ments of the pillar of the Temple that was rent in twain ; of 
 the portion of the table that was spread for the Last Supper j 
 of the well at which the' woman of Samaria gave water to Our 
 Saviour : of two columns from the house of Pontius Pilate ; of 
 the stone to which the Sacred hands were bound, when the 
 scourging was performed ; of the gridiron of Saint Lawrence, 
 and the stone below it, marked with the frying of his fat and 
 blood ; these set a shadowy mark on some cathedrals, as an 
 old story, or a fable might,: and stop them for an instant} as 
 they flit before me. The rest is a vast wilderness of conse- 
 crated buildings of all shapes and fancies, blending one with 
 another ; of battered pillars of old Pagan temples, dug up 
 from the ground, and forced, like giant captives, to support 
 the: roofs of Christian churches ; of pictures, bad, and wonder- 
 ful, and impious, and ridiculous ; of kneeling people, curling 
 incense, tinkling bells, arid: sometimes (but not often) of a 
 swelling organ ; of Madonne, with their breasts stuck full of 
 swords, arranged in a half-circle like a modern fan ; of actual 
 skeletons of dead saints, hideously attired in gaudy satins, 
 silks, and velvets trimmed with gold : their, withered crust of 
 skull adorned with precious jewels, or with chaplets" of crashed 
 flovvers ; sometimes, of people gathered round the pulpit, and 
 a monk within it stretching out the crucifix, and preaching 
 fiercely : the sun just streaming down throi^ some high win- 
 dow on the sail-cloth stretched above him and across the 
 church, to keep his high-pitched voice from being lost among 
 the echoes ' of the roof. Then my tired memory comes out 
 upon a flight of -steps, where knots of people are asleep, or 
 baskingdn the light ; and strolls away, among the rags, and 
 smells, and palaces, and hovels, of an old Italian street. 
 
 On one Saturday morning (the ^ eighth of March), a man 
 was beheaded here. Nine or ten months before, he had way- 
 laid a Bavarian countess, travelling as a pilgrim to Rome — 
 alone and on foot, of course^and performing, it is said, that 
 act of piety for the fourth time. He saw her change a piece 
 of gold at Viterbo, where h^ lived ; followed her ; bore her 
 company on her journey for some forty miles or more, on the 
 
PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. ^37 
 
 treacherous pretext of protecting her ; attacked her, in tlie 
 fulfilment of his unrelenting purpose, on the Campagna, 
 within a very short distance of Rome, near, to what is called 
 (but what is not) the Tomb of Nero ; robbed -her ; and beat 
 her to ideath with her own pilgrim's staflF. He was newly 
 married, and gave some of her appajel to his wife : saying that 
 he had bought it at a fair. She, however, who had seen the 
 pilgrim-countess passing through their town, recognized some 
 trifle as having belonged to her. Her husband then told her 
 what he had done. She, in confession, told a priest ; and the 
 man was taken, within four days after the commission of the 
 murder. 
 
 There are no fixed times for the administration of justice, 
 or its execution, in this unaccountable country ; and he had 
 been in prison ever since. On the Friday, as he was dining 
 with the other prisoners, they came; and told liim he was to 
 be beheaded next morning, and took him away. It is very 
 unusual to execute in Lent ; but his crime being a very bad 
 one, it was deemed advisable to make an example of him at 
 that time, when great numbers of pilgrims were coming 
 towards Rome, from all parts, for the Holy Week. I heard 
 of this on the Friday evening, and saw the bills up at the 
 churches, calling on the people to pray for the. criminal's 
 soul. So, I determined to go, and see him executed.- 
 
 The beheading was appointed for fourteen and a-half 
 o'clock, Roman time : or a quarter before nine in the fore- 
 noon. I had two friends with me ; and as we did not know 
 but. that the crowd might be veiy great, we were on the spot 
 by half-past sevtn. The place of execution was near the 
 church of San Giovanni decollato (a doubtful compliment to 
 Saint John ;the Baptist) in one of the impassable back streets 
 Avithout any footway, of which a great part of Rome is com- 
 posed — a street of rotten houses, which do not seem to belong 
 to anybody, and do not seem to have ever been inhabited, 
 and certainly were never built on any plan, or for any parti- 
 cular purpose, and have no window-sashes, a:nd are a little 
 like deserted breweries, and might be; warehouses but for 
 having nothing in them. Opposite to one of these, a white 
 house, the scaffold was built. An untidy, unpainted, uncouth, 
 crazy-looking thing of course : some seven feet high, perhaps ; 
 with a tall, gallows shaped frame rising above it, in which was 
 the knife, charged with a ponderous mass of iron, all ready to 
 descend, and glittering brightly in the morning-sun, whenever 
 it looked out, now and then, from behind a cloud. 
 
538 PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 There were not many people lingering about ; and these 
 were kept at a considerable distance from the scaffold, by 
 parties of the Pope's dragoons.. Two or three hundred foot- 
 soldiers were under arms, stariding: at ease in clusters here 
 and there ; and the officers were walking up and down in twos 
 gjnd threes, chattiiig together, and smoking cigars. 
 
 At the end of the street, was an open space, where there 
 would be a dust-heap, and piles of broken crockery, aiid 
 mounds of vegetable refuse, but for such things being thrown 
 anywhere and everywhere, in Rome, and favoring no parti- 
 cular sort of locality. We got into a kind of wash-house,i be- 
 longing to a dwelling-house on this spot ; and standing there 
 in an old cart, and on a heap of cart-wheels piled against the 
 Wall, looked, through a large grated window, at the scaffold, 
 and straight down the street beyond it, until, in consequence 
 of its turning off abruptly to the left, our perspective was 
 brought to a sudden termination, and had a corpulent officer, 
 in a cocked hat, for its crowning feature. 
 
 Nine o'clock struck, and ten o'clock struck, and nothing 
 happened. AIL the bells of all" the churches rang as usual. 
 A little parliament of dogs assembled in the open space, and 
 chased each other, in and out among the soldiers. Fierce- 
 looking Romans of the lowest class, in blue cloaks, russet 
 cloaks, and rags uncloaked, came and went, and talked to- 
 gether. Women and children fluttered,, on the skirts of the 
 scanty crowd. One large muddy spot was left- quite bare, like 
 a bald place on a man's head. A cigar-mercbarit, with an 
 earthern pot of charcoal ashes iii one hand, went up and 
 down, crying his wares. A pastry-merchant divided his at- 
 tention between the scaffold and his customers. Boys tried 
 to climb up WaUs, and tumbled down again. Priests and 
 monks elbowed a passage for themselves among the people, 
 and stood on tiptoe for a sight of the knife ; then went away. 
 Artists, in inconceivable hats of the middle-ages, and beards 
 (thank Heaven ! ) of no age at all, flashed picturesque scowls 
 about them from ..their stations in the throng. One gentleman 
 (connected with the finfe artSj I presunie) went up and! down 
 in a pair, of Hessian-boots, with a red beard hanging down on 
 his breastj and his long and bright red hair, plaited into- two 
 tails, one on either side of his- head, which fell over his 
 shoulders in front of him, very nearly to his waist, and were 
 carefully entwined and braided ! 
 
 Eleven o'clock struck ; and still nothing: happened. A ru- 
 
PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. g3g 
 
 mor got. about, among the crowd, that tlie criminal would not 
 eonfess ; in which case, the priests would keep him until the 
 Ave Maria (sunset) ; for it is their merciful custom never 
 finally to turn the crucifix away from a man at that pass, as 
 one refusing to be shriven, and consequently a sinner aban- 
 doned ©f the Saviour, until then, People began to drop off. 
 The officers shrugged their shoulders and looked doubtful. 
 The dragoons, who came riding up below our window, every 
 now and then, to order an unlucky hackney-coach or cart 
 away,, as soon as it had comfortably established itself, and 
 was covered with exulting people (but never before),, becam^ 
 imperious and quick-tempered. .The bald place hadn't a strag- 
 gling hair upon it ; and the corpulent officer, crowning the 
 perspective, took a world of snuff. 
 
 Suddenly, there, was a noise of trumpets. "Attention ! " 
 was among the foot-soldiers instantly. They -yvere marched 
 up to the scaffold and formed round it. The dragoons gal- 
 loped to their nearer stations too. The guillotine became the 
 centre of a wood of bristling bayonets and shining sabres. 
 The people closed round nearer, on fhe flank of the soldiery. 
 A long straggling stream of men and boys, who had accom- 
 panied the procession from the prison, came pouring into the 
 open space. The bald spot was scarcely distinguishable from 
 the rest. The cigar and pastry-merchants resigned all 
 thoughts of business, for the moment, and abandoning them- 
 selves wholly to pleasure, got good situations in the crowd. 
 The perspective ended, now, in a troop of dragoons. And 
 the corpulent officer, sword in hand, looked hard at a church 
 close to him, which he could see, but we^ the.crowd, could not. 
 
 After a short delay, some monks were' seen approaching 
 to the scaffold from this church ; and above their heads, com 
 ing on slowly and gloomily, the effigy of Christ upon the cross, 
 canopied with black. This was carried round the foot of the 
 scaffold, I to the front, and turned towards the criminal, that 
 he might see it to the last. It was hardly in its place, when 
 he appeared on the platform, bare-footed; his hands bomid; 
 and with the collar and neck of his shirt cut away, almost to 
 the shoulder. A young man — six-and-twenty — vigorously 
 made, and well-shaped. Face pale ; small dark mustache ; 
 and dark brown hair. 
 
 He :had refused to confess, it seemed, without first having 
 Jhis wife brought to see him ; and they had sent an escort for 
 her, which had occasioned the delay. 
 
5 4o PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 He immediately kneelfed down, below the knife. His 
 neck fitting into a hole, made for the purpose, in a cross 
 plank, was shut down, by another plank above; exactly like 
 the pillory. Immediately below him was a leathern bag. 
 And into it his head rolled instantly. 
 
 The executioner was holding it by the hair, and walking 
 with it round the scaffold, showing it to the people,- before 
 one quite knew that the knife had fallen heavily, and with a 
 rattling sound. 
 
 When it had travelled round the four sides of the scaffold, 
 it was set upon a pole in front — a little patch of black and 
 white, for the long street to stare at, and the flies to settle on. 
 The eyes were turned upward, as if he had avoided the sight 
 of the leathern bag, and looked to the crucifix. Every tinge 
 and hue of life had it left in that instant. It was dull;, cold, 
 livid, wax. The body also. 
 
 There was a great deal of blood. When we left the win- 
 dow, and went close up to the scaffold, it was very dirty ; one 
 of the twd men who were throwing water Over it, turning to 
 help the other lift the bbdy into a shell, picked his way as 
 through mire. A strange ' appearance was the apparent an- 
 nihilation Of the neck. The head was taken off so close; that 
 it seemed as if the knife had narrowly escaped crushing the 
 jaw, or shaVing off the ear ; and the body looked as if there 
 were nothing left above the shoulder. 
 
 Nobody cared, or was at all affected. There was no mani- 
 festation of disgust, or pity, or indignation, or sorrow. My 
 empty pockets were tried, several • times, in the crowd imme- 
 diately below the scaffold, as the corpse was being put into 
 its coffin. It was an ugly, filthy, careless, sickening spec- 
 tacle ; meaning nothing but butchery beyond the momentary 
 interest, to the one wretched actor. Yes! Such a sight 
 has 6fie meaning and one warnmg. Let me not forget it. 
 T"he speculators in the lottery station themselves at favorable 
 points for counting the gouts of blood that spirt out, here or 
 there ; and Buy- that number. It is pretty sure to have a run 
 'upori it. 
 
 The body was carted away indue time, the knife cleansed, 
 the ■ scaffold taken down, and all the hideous apparatus re- 
 moved. The executioner : an outlaw ex officio (what a satire 
 on the Punishment!) who dare not, for his life, cross the 
 Bridgeof St. Angelo but to do his work : retreated to his lair, 
 and the show was over. 
 
PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 541 
 
 At the head of the collections in the palaces of Rome, the 
 Vatican, of course, with its treasures of art, its enormous gal- 
 leries, and staircases, and suites upon suites of immense cham- 
 bers, ranks highest and stands foremost. Many most noble 
 statues, and wonderful pictures, are there ; nor is it heresy 
 to say that there is' a considerable amount of rubbish there, 
 too. When any old piece of sculpture dug out of the ground, 
 finds a place in a gallery because it is old, and without any 
 reference ■to its intrinsic merits: and finds admirers by the 
 hundred, because it is there, and for no other reason on earth : 
 there will be no lack of objects, very indiiferent in the plain 
 eyesight of any one who employs so vulgar a property, when 
 he may wear the spectacles of Cant for less than nothing, and 
 establish himself as a man of taste for the mere trouble of 
 putting them on. 
 
 I unreservedly confess, for myself, that I cannot leave my 
 natural perception of what is natural and true, at a palace- 
 door, in Italy or elsewhere, as I should leave my shoes if I 
 were travelling in the East. I cannOf forget that there are 
 certain expressions of face, natural to certain passions, and as 
 Unchangeable in their nature as the gait of a lion, or the flight 
 of an eagle. I cannot disihiss from my certain knowledge, such 
 common-place facts as the ordinary proportion of men's arms, 
 and legs, and heads ; and when I meet with performances that 
 do violence to these experidnces and recollections, no matter 
 where they may be, I cannot hotiestly admire them, and think 
 it best to say so ; in spite of high critical advice that we should 
 sometimes feig'rt an admiration, though we have it not. 
 
 Therefore, I freely acknowledge that when I see a Jolly 
 'Jburig Waterman representing a cherubim, or a Barclay and 
 "?ferkins's Drayman depicted as an Evangelist,- 1 see nothing 
 to commend or admire in the performance, howeter great its re- 
 puted Painter. Neither am I 'p'artial to libellous Angels, who 
 pky on fiddles and bassoons, for the edification of sprawling 
 monks apparently in liquor. Nor to those Monsieur Tonsons 
 of galleries. Saint Francis and Saint Sebastian ; both of whom 
 I submit should have very uncommon and rare merits, as 
 works of art, to justify their compound multiplication by Ital- 
 ian Painters. 
 
 It seems to me, too, that the indiscriminate and deter- 
 mined raptures in which some critics indulge, is incompatible 
 ■With the true appreciaftion of the really great and transcenderit 
 works. I cannot imagine, for eXairtple, how the resolute 
 
542 PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 champion of undeserving pictures can soar to the amazing 
 beauty of Titian's great picture of the Assumption of the Vir- 
 gin at Venice ; or how the man who is truly affected by the 
 sublimity of that exquisite production, or who is truly sensi- 
 ble of the beauty of Tintoretto's great picture of the Assem- 
 bly of the Blessed in the same place, can discern in Michael 
 Angelo's Last Judgment, in die Sistine chapel, any general 
 idea, or one pervading thought, in harmony with the stupen- 
 dous subject. He who will contemplate Raphael's masterpiece, 
 the Transfiguration, and v/ill go av:ay into another chamber of 
 that same Vatican, and contemplate another design of Ra- 
 phael, representing (in incredible caricature) the miraculous 
 stopping of a great fire by Leo the Fourth — and who will say 
 that he admires them both, as works of extraordinary genius 
 — must, as I think, be wanting in his powers of perception in 
 one of the two instances, and, probably, in the high and lofty 
 one. 
 
 It is easy to suggest a doubt, but I have a great doubt 
 whether, sometimes, the rules of art are not too strictly 
 observed, and whether it is quite well or agreeable that we 
 should know beforehand,, where this figure will be turning 
 round, and where that figure will be lying down, and where 
 there will be drapery in folds, and so forth. When I observe 
 heads inferior to the subject, in pictures of merit, in Italian 
 galleries, I do not attach that, reproach to the Painter, for I 
 have a suspicion that these great men, who were, of necessity, 
 very much in the hands of monks and priests, painted monks 
 and priests a great deal too often. I frequently see, in pic- 
 tures of real power, heads quite below the story and the 
 painter:, and I invariably observe; that those heads are of the 
 Convent stamp, and have their counterparts among the Con- 
 vent inmates of this hour ; so, I have settled with myself that, 
 in such cases, the lameness was not with the painter, but with 
 the vanity and ignorance of certain of his employers, who 
 would be aposdes — on canvas, at all events. 
 
 The exquisite grace and beauty of Canova's statues ; the 
 wonderful gravity and repose of many of the ancient works in 
 sculpture, both in the Capitol and the Vatican j and tlie 
 strength and fire of many others ; are, in their different ways, 
 beyond all reach of words. They are especially impressive 
 and delightful, after the works of Bernini and his disciples, in 
 whiph the churches of Rome, from St. Peter's downward, 
 abound ; and which are, I verily believe, the most detestable 
 
FICTURES FROM ITAL ¥. ^ 43 
 
 dass of productions in the wide world, I would infinitely 
 rather (as mere works of art) look upon the three deities of the 
 Past,, the Present, and the Future, in the Chinese Collection, 
 than upon the best of these breezy maniacs ; whose eyery fold 
 of drapery is blown inside-out ; whose smallest vein, or artery, 
 is as big as an ordinary forefinger ; whose hair is like a nest 
 of lively snakes ;_ and whose attitiides put all other extrav- 
 agance to shame. Insomuch that I do honestly believe, there 
 can be no place in the wfjrld, where such intolerable abortions, 
 begotten of the sculptor's chisel, are to be found in such pro- 
 fusion, as in Rome. 
 
 There is a fine collection of Egyptian antiquities in the 
 Vatican ; and the ceilings of the rooms in which they are 
 arranged, are painted to represent a starlight sky in tlie 
 Desert. It may seem an odd idea, but it is very effective, 
 "the grim, half-human monsters from the temples, look, more 
 grim and monstrous underneath the deep dark blue ; it sheds 
 a .strange uncertain gloomy air on everything^ — a mystery 
 adapted to the objects; and you leave them, as you find them, 
 sh'rouded in a solemn night. 
 
 In the private palaces, pictures are seen to the best advan- 
 tage. There are seldom so many in one place that the atten- 
 tion need become distracted, or the eye confused. You see 
 them very leisurely ; and are rarely interrupted by a crowd of 
 people. There are portraits innumerable, by Titian, and 
 Rembrandt, and Vandyke ; heads by Guido, and Domenichino, 
 and Carlo Dolci; various subjects by Correggio, and Murillo, 
 and Raphael, and Salvator Rosa, and Spagnoletto— -many of 
 which it would be difficult, indeed, to praise too highly, or to. 
 praise enough ; such is their tenderness and grace ; their 
 noble elevation, purity, and beauty. 
 
 The portrait of Beatrice di Cenci, in the Palazzo Berberini, 
 b a picture almost impossible to be forgotten. Through the 
 tianscendent sweetness and; beauty of the face, there is a 
 smnething shining out, that haunts me. I see it now, as I see ' 
 thispaper, or my pen. The head is loosely draped in white ; 
 the light hair falling down below the linen folds. She has 
 turned suddenly towards you ; and there is an expression in 
 the eyes — although they are very tender and gentle — as if the 
 wildness qf a momentary terror, or distraction, had been 
 stru^led With and overcome, that instant; and nothing but a 
 celestial hope, and, a beautiful sorrow, and a desolate earthly 
 helplessness remained. Some stories say that Guido paintei 
 
e^^ PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 it, the night before her execution ; sorte other stories, that he 
 painted it from memory, after having seen her, on her way to 
 the scaffold. I am willing to believe that, as you see her on 
 his canvas, so she turned towards him, in the crowd, from the 
 first sight of the' axe, and stamped upon his mind a look which 
 he has stamped on mine as though I had stood beside him in 
 the concourse. The guilty palace of the Cenci : blighting a 
 whole quarter of the town, as it stands withering away by- 
 grains: had that face, to my fancy, in its dismal porch,and'- 
 at its black blind windows, and flitting up' and down its dreary 
 stairs, and growing out of the darkness of the ghostly galleries. 
 The Histciry is v^ritte'n in the Painting ; written, in the dying 
 girl's face, by Nature's own hand. And oh ! how in that one 
 touch she puts to' flight (instead of making kin) the puny world 
 that claim to be related to her, in right of poor, conventional 
 forgeries ! 
 
 I saw in the Palazzo Spada, the statue of Pompey ; the 
 statue at whose base Csesar fell. A stern, tremendous figure! 
 I imagined one of greater finish : • of the last refinement : 
 full of delicate touches : losing its distinctness, in the giddy 
 eyes of one whose blood was ebbing before it, and settling 
 into some such rigid majesty as this, as Death came creeping 
 over the upturned face. 
 
 The excursions in the neighborhood of Rome are charm- 
 ing, and would be full of interest were it only for the changing 
 views they afford, of the wild Campagna. But, every inch of 
 ground, in every direction, is rich in associations, and ■' in 
 natural beauties. There is Albano, with its lovely lake and 
 wooded shore, and with its wine, that certainly has not im- 
 proved since the days of Horace, arid in these times hardly 
 justifies his panegyric. There is squalid. Tivoli, with the river 
 Anio, diverted from its course, and plunging down, headlong, 
 soine eighty feet in search of it. With it's picturesque Temple 
 of the Sibyl, perched high on a crag ; its minor waterfalls 
 glancing and sparkling in the sun * arid one good cavern 
 yawning darkly, where the river takes a fearful plunge and 
 shoots on, low down undef beetling rocks. There, too, is the 
 Villa d'Este, deserted and decaying among groves of melan-' 
 choly pine and cypress-trees, where it seems to lie- in state. 
 Then, there is Frascati, and, on the steep above it, the mins 
 of Tusculum, where Cicero lived, and wrote, and adorned his 
 favorite house (some fragments of it may yet be seen there), 
 and where Gato was born. We saw its- ruined amphitheatre 
 
PICTt/RES FROM ITAL Y. ^45 
 
 on a gray dull day, when a shrill March wind was blowing, 
 and when the scattered stones of the old city lay strewn about 
 tlie lonely eminence, as desolate and dead as the ashes of a 
 long extinguished fire. 
 
 One day we walked out, a little party of three, to Albano, 
 fourteen niilep dista,nt ; possess^ by a great desire to go 
 therelsy the ancient Appian way, long since ruined and over- 
 grown. We started ;at half-past seven in the morning, and 
 within an hour or so were out upon the open Campagna. For 
 twelve miles we went climbing on, over an unbroken succes- 
 sion of mounds, and heaps, and hills, of ruin.; Tombs and 
 temples, overthrown and prostrate ; small fragments of 
 columns, friezes, pediments 5 great blocks of granite and 
 marble; mouldering arches, grass-grown and decayed; ruin 
 enough to build a spacious city from ; lay strewn about us. 
 Sometimes, loose walls, built up from these fragments by the 
 shepherds, came across our path ; sometimes, a ditch between 
 two mounds of broken stones, obstructed our progress ; some- 
 tiipes, the fragments thernselves, rolling from Ijeneath our 
 feet, made it a toilsorne rnatter to advance ; but it was always 
 ruin. Now, we, tracked a, piece of the old road, above the 
 ground ; now traced it, underneath a grassy covering, as if 
 that were its grave ; but all the way was ruin. In the distaiice, 
 ruined aqueducts went stalking on their giant course along 
 the plain ; and every breath of wind that swept towards us, 
 stirred early flowers and grasses, springing up, spontaneously, 
 on miles of ruin The unseen larks above us, who alone dis- 
 turbed the awful silence, had their nests in ruin ; and the 
 fierce herdsmen, clad in. sheepskins, who now and then 
 scowled out upon us from their sleeping nooks, were housed 
 in ruin. The aspect of the desolate Campagtia in One direc- 
 tion, where it was most level, reminded me of an American 
 prairie ; but iwhat is the solitude of a region where men haye 
 never dwelt, to that ,of a Desert, where a mighty race have 
 lefjt their foot-prints in the earth from which they have van- 
 ished ; rwhere , the resting-places of their Dead, have fallen 
 like their Dead ; and the broken hour glass of Time is but a 
 heap of idle dust ! Returning, by the road, at sunset ! and 
 looking, from the distance, on the course we had taken in the 
 morning, I almost felt (as I had felt when I first saw it, at 
 that hour) as if the sun would never rise again, but looked its 
 last, that night, upon a ruined wpild- 
 . To come again on Rome, by, mooplight, after such an ex- 
 
540 
 
 PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 pedition, is a fitting close to such a day. The narrow streets, 
 devoid of footways, and choked, in every ©bscure comer, by 
 heaps of dunghill-rubbish, contrast so strongly, in their 
 cramped dimensions, and their filth, and darkness, with the 
 broad square before some haughty church : in the centre of 
 which, a hieroglyphic-covered obelisk, brought from Egypt m 
 the days of the Emperors, looks strangely on the foreign 
 scene about it ; or perhaps an ancient pillar, with its honored 
 statue overthrown, supports a Christian saint : Marcus Aure- 
 lius giving place to Paul,- and Trajan to St. Peter. Then- 
 there are the ponderous buildings reared from the spoliation 
 of the Coliseum, shutting out the moon, like mountains : while 
 here and there, are broken arches and rent walls, through 
 which it gushes freely, as the life comes pouring from a 
 wound. The little town of miserable houses, walled, and shut 
 in by barred gates, is the quarter where the Jews are locked 
 up nightly, when the clock strikes eight — a miserable place, 
 densely populated, and reeking with bad odors, but where 
 the people are industrious and money-getting. In the day- 
 time, as you make your way along the taarrow streets, you see 
 them all at work : upon the pavement, oftener than in their 
 dark and frouzy shops : furbishing old clothes, and driving 
 bargains. 
 
 Crossing- from these patches of thick darkness, out into 
 the moon once more, the fountain of Trevi, welling 
 from a hundred jets, and rolling over mimic rocks, is 
 silvery to the eye and ear. In the narrow little throat of 
 street, beyond, a booth, dressed out with flaring liattips, and 
 boughs of trees, attracts a group of sulky Romans round its 
 smoky coppers of hot broth, and cauliflower stew; its- trays 
 of fried fish, and its flasks of wine. As you rattle round the 
 sharply-twisting corner, a lumbering sound is heard. The 
 coachman stops abruptly, and uncovers, as a van comes 
 slowly by, preceded by a man who bears a large cross; by a 
 torch-bearer ; and a priest : the latter chau-nting as he goes. 
 It is the Dead Cart, with the bodies of the poor, on their 
 way to burial in the Sacred Field outside the walls, where 
 they will be thrown into the pit that will be covered with a 
 stone to-night, and sealed up for a year. 
 
 But whether, in this ride, you pass by obelisks, or col. 
 umns : ancient temples, theatres, houses, porticoes, or forums : 
 it is strange to see, how every fragment, whenever it is possi- 
 ble, has been blended into some modern structure, and rhade 
 
PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. ^ ^y 
 
 to serve some modern purpose — a wall, a dwelling-place, a 
 granary, a Stabler-some use for which it never was designed, 
 and associated with which it- cannot otherwise than lamely 
 assort. It is stranger still, to see how many ruins of the old 
 mythology : how many fragments of obsolete legend and ob- 
 servance : have been incorporated into the worship of Chris- 
 tian altars here ; and how, in numberless respects, the false 
 faith and the true are fused into a monstrous union. 
 
 From one part of the city, looking out beyond the walls, a 
 squat and stunted pyramid (the burial-place of Caius Cestius) 
 makes an 'Opaque triangle in the moonlight. But, to an Eng- 
 lish traveller, it serves to mark the grave of Shelley too, 
 whose ashes lie beneath a little garden near it. Nearer still, 
 almost within its shadow, lie the bones of Keats, "whose 
 name is writ in water," that shines brightly in the landscape 
 of a calm Italian night. 
 
 The Holy Week in Rome is supposed to offer great at- 
 tractions to all visitors ; but, saving for the sights of Easter 
 Sunday, I would counsel those who go to Rome for its own 
 interest, to avoid it at that time. The ceremonies, in gen- 
 eral, are of the most tedious and ■wearisome kind ; the heat and 
 crowd at every one of them, painfully oppressive ; the noise, 
 hubbub, and confusion, quite distracting. We abandoned the 
 pursuit of these shows, very early in the proceedings, and 
 ■betook ourselves to the Ruins again. But, we plunged into 
 the crowd for a share of the best of the sights ;■ and what we 
 saw, I will describe to you. 
 
 At the Sistine chapel, on the Wednesday, we saw very lit- 
 tle, for by the time we reached it (though we were early) the 
 besieging crowd had filled it to the door, and Overflowed into 
 the adjoining hall, where they were struggliftg, and squeez- 
 ing, and mutually expostulating, and making great rushes 
 every time a lady was brought out faint, as if at least fifty 
 people could be accommodated in her vacant standing-room. 
 Hanging in the doorway of the chapel, was a heavy curtain, 
 and this curtain, some twenty people nearest to it, in theit 
 anxiety to hear the chaunting of the Miserere, were continu- 
 ally plucking at, in opposition to each other, that it might 
 not fall down and stifle the sound of the voices. The conse- 
 ' quence was, that it occasioned the most extraordinary confu- 
 sion, and seemed to wind itself about the unwary, like a 
 Serpent. Now, a lady was wrapped tip in it, and couldn't be 
 
548 PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 unwound. Now, the voice of a stifling gentleman was heard 
 inside it, beseeching to belet out. Now, two muflaed. arms, 
 no man could, aay of which sex, struggled in it as in a sack. 
 Now, it was carried: by a rush, bodily overhead into the 
 Chapel, like an awning. Now,, it came out the other way, 
 and blinded one of the Pope's S.wiss Guard, Wfho had arrived, 
 that moment, to set things to rights. 
 
 Being seated at a little . distance, among two or three of 
 the Pope's gentlemen, who were very weary and counting the 
 minutes— as perhaps his Holiness was top — ^we,had be^t):^ 
 opportunities: of observing this ecc^ptric entertainment, than 
 of hearing the Miserere. Sometimes, there was a swell of 
 mournful voices that sounded very pathetic and sad, and died 
 away, into a low strain again j but that viras all we heard. 
 
 At another time, there was the Exhibition of the Relics in 
 Saint Peter's, which took place at between sue and seven 
 o'clock in the evening, and was striking from the cathedral 
 being dark and gloomy, and having a great many people in 
 it. The place into which the relics were brought, one by one, 
 by a party of three priests,, was a high balcony near the chief 
 altar. This was the only lighted part of the church. Tljere 
 are always a, hundred and twelve lamps burning near the altar, 
 and there were two tall tapers, 'besides, near the black 
 statue of St. Peter J but these were nothing in such an im- 
 mense edifice. The gloom and the general up-turning of 
 faces to (the- balcony, and the prostration of true believers on 
 the pavement, as shining objects, like pictures, or looking- 
 glasses, were brought out and shown, had something effec- 
 tive in it, despite the very preposterous manner in which they 
 were held up for the general, edification, and the great eleva- 
 tion at which they were displayed ; which one would think 
 rather calculated to diminish the comfort derivable from a full 
 conviction of their being genuine. 
 
 , On the Thursday, we went to see the Pope convey the 
 Sacrament from the Sistine chapel, to deposit it in the, Ca- 
 pella Paolina, another chapel in the Vatican ; — a ceremony 
 emblematical of the entombment of the Saviour before His 
 Resurrection. We waited in a great gallery with a great 
 crowd of people (threerfourths of them English) for an hour 
 or so, while they were chaunting the Miserere, in the Sistine 
 chapel again, Botli chapels opened out of the gallery ; and 
 the general attentioii was concentrated on the occasional 
 opening and shutting of the door of the one for which the 
 
. PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 5^^ 
 
 i^Pope was ultimately bound. None of these openings disclosed 
 anything more tremendous than a man on a ladder, lighting 
 a great quantity of candles ; but at each and every opening, 
 there was a terrific rush made at this ladder and this man, some- 
 thing like (I should think) a charge of the heavy British cav- 
 alry at Waterloo. The man was never brought down, how- 
 ever, nor the ladder; for it performed the strangest antics in 
 the world among the crowd — where it was carried by the man 
 when the candles were all lighted ; and finally it was stuck up 
 against the gallery wall, in a verj' disorderly manner, just bie- 
 fore the opening of the other chapel, and thei commencement 
 of a new chaunt, announced the approach of his Holiness. 
 At this crisis, the soldiers of the guard, who had been poking 
 the crowd into all sorts of shapes, formed down the gallery : 
 and the procession came up, "between the two lines they made. 
 
 There were a lew choristers, and then a great many priests, 
 walking two and two, and carrying-r-rthe good-looking priests 
 at least — their lighted tapers, so as to throw the light with a 
 good effect upon their faces : for the room was darkened. 
 Those who were not handsome, or who had not long beards, 
 carried their tapers anyhow, and abanc^oned themselves to 
 spiritual contemplation. Meanwhile the chaunting was very 
 jijonotonous and dreary. The procession passed on, slowly, 
 into the chapel, and the drone of voices went on, and came 
 on, with it, until the Pope himself appeared, walking under 
 a white satin canopy, and bearing the covered Sacrament in 
 both hands ; cardinals and canons clustered round him, malcing 
 a brilliant show. The soldiers of the guard knelt dovvn 
 as he passed; all the bystanders bowed ; and so he passed 
 on into, the chapel : the white satin canOpy. being removed 
 from over him at the door, and a white satin parasol hoisted 
 over his poor old head, in place of it. A few more couples 
 brought up the rear, and passed into the chapel also. Then, 
 the chapel door was shut ; and it was all over ; and everybody 
 hurried off headlong, as for life or death, to see something 
 else, and say it wasn't worth the trouble. 
 
 I think the most popular and most crowded sight (except- 
 ing, those of Easter Sunday and Monday, which are open to 
 all classes of people) was the Pope washings the feet of Thir- 
 teen men, representing the twelve apostles,, and Judas Iscariot. 
 The place in which. this pious office is performed, is one of 
 'the chapels of St. Peter's, which is gayly decorated for the 
 occasion ; the thirteen sitting, " all of a row," on a very high 
 24 
 
55° 
 
 PICTURES FROM- ITAL r. 
 
 bench, and looking particularly uncomfortable, with the eyesi 
 of Heaven knows - how .many English, French, American, 
 Swiss, Germans, Russians, Swedes, Norwegians, and other 
 foreigners, nailed to their faces all the time. They are robed 
 ■in white ; and on their heads they wear a. stiff white cap, like 
 a large English porter-pot, without a handle. Each carries in 
 his hand, a nosegay, of the. size of a fine cauliflower; and 
 two of them', en this occasion, wore spectacles : which, remem- 
 bering the characters they sustained, I thought a droll appen- 
 dage to their costume. There was a great ■ eye to character. 
 St. John was represented by a good-looking young man. St. 
 Peter, by aigrave-looking old gentlemanj with a flowing brown 
 beard ; and Judas Iscariot by such an enormous hypocrite (I 
 could not make out, though, whether the expression of his 
 face was real or assumed) that if he had acted the part to the 
 deatb and had gone away and hanged himself, he would have 
 left nothing to be desired. . 
 
 As the two large boxes, appropriated to ladies at this 
 sight, were full to. the throat, and gettii^- near was hopeless, 
 we posted off, along with a great crowd, to be in time at tha 
 Table, where the Pope, in person, waits on these Thirteen ; and 
 after a prodigious struggle at the Vatican staircase, and several 
 personal conflicts with the Swiss guard, the whole crowd swept 
 into the room. It was a longr gallery hung with drapery of 
 white and red, with another great box for ladies (who are 
 obliged to dress in black at these ceremonies, and to wear black 
 veilis),: a royal boxior the King of Naples and his party; and 
 the table itself, which, set out like a ball supper, and orna- 
 mented with golden figures of the real apostles, was arranged 
 on an elevated platform on one side of tlie gallery. The 
 counterfeit apostles' knives and forks were laid out on that 
 side of the table "which was nearest to the wall, so that they 
 might be stared at again,' without let or hindrance. 
 
 The body of the room was full of male strangers; the 
 crowd immense; the heat veiy great; and the pressure some- 
 times frightful. It was at its height, when the stream 
 came pouring in, from the feet-washing ; and then there were 
 such shrieks and outcries, that a party of Piedmontese dra- 
 goons went to the rescue of the Swiss, guard, and .helped them 
 to calm the tumult. 
 
 The ladies were piarticularly ferocious, in their struggles 
 fot places. - One ladj of my acquaintance was seized round 
 the waist, in the ladies' box, by a strong matron, and hoisted 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY. 5 5 j 
 
 out of her place; and there was another lady (in a back row 
 in the same box) who improved her position by sticking a 
 large pin into the ladies before her. 
 
 The gentlemen about me were remarkably anxious to see 
 what was on the table ; and one Englishman seemed to have 
 emtarked the whole energy of his nature in the determination 
 to discover whether there was any mustard. "By Jupiter 
 there's vinegar ! " I heard him say to his friend, after he had 
 stood on 'tiptoe an immense time, and had been crushtjd and 
 beaten on all sides. " And there's oil ! 1 saw them distinctly, 
 in cruets ! Can any gentleman in front there see mustard or 
 the table ? Sir, will you oblige me i 1 Do you see a Mustard 
 Pot?" . f; 
 
 The apostles and Jud^ appearing on the platform, aftet 
 much expectation, were marshalled in line, in front of the 
 table with Peter at the top ; and a good long stare was taken 
 at them by the company, svhile twelve of them took a long 
 smell at their nosegays, and Judas — moving his lips very 5)br 
 trusively — engaged in inward prayer. Then the Pope, clad in 
 a scarlet robe, and -wearing on his head a skull-cap. of white 
 satin, appeared in the midst of a crowd of Cardinals and 
 other dignitaries, and took in his hand a little golden ewer, 
 from which he poured a little water over one of Peter's hands 
 while one attendant held a golden basin; a second a fine 
 cloth ; a third, Peter's nosegay, which was taken from him 
 during the operation. This his Holiness performed with con- 
 siderable expedition, on every man in the line (Judas, I ob- 
 served, to be particularly Overcome by his condescension); and 
 then the whole Thirteen sat down to dinner. Grace said by 
 the Pope. Peter in the chair. 
 
 There was white wine, and red wine: and the dinner 
 looked very good. The courses appeared in portions, one for 
 each apostle : and these being presented to the Pope, by 
 Cardinals upon their knees, were by him handed to the Thir- 
 teen. The manner in which Judas grew more white-livered 
 over his victuals, and languished, with his head on one side, 
 as if he had no appetite, defies all description. Peter was a 
 good, sound, old man, and went in, as the saying is, " to win : " 
 eating everything that was given him (he got the best : being 
 first in the row) and saying, nothing to anybody. The 
 didies appeared to be chiefly composed of fish and vegetables. 
 The Pope helped the Thirteen to wine also ; and, during the 
 whole dinner, somebody read something aloud, out of a large 
 
552 PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 book — the Bible, I presume— which nobody could hear, and 
 to which nobody paid the least attention. The Cardinals, 
 and other attendants, smiled to each other, from time to time, 
 as if the thing were a great farce; and if they thought so, 
 there is little doubt they were, perfectly right. His Holiness 
 did what he had to do, as a sensible man gets through a 
 troublesome ceremony,. and seemed very glad when it was all 
 over. 
 
 The Pilgrims' Suppers ; where lords and ladies waited on 
 the Pilgrims, in token of humility^ arid ■ dried their feet when 
 they had been well washed by deputy, were very attractive. 
 But, of all the many spectacles of dangerous rehance on out- 
 ward observances, in themselves mere empty forms, none 
 struck me half so much as the Scala Santa* or Holy Staircase, 
 which I saw several times, but to the greatest advantage; or 
 disadvantage, on Good Friday. . 
 
 This holy staircase is composed of eight-and^twenty steps, 
 said to have belonged to Pontius Pilate's house, and to be the 
 identical stairs on which Our Saviour trod, in coming down 
 from the Judgment-seat. Pilgrims ascend it only on their 
 knees. It is steep ; and, at the; summit is a chapel, reported 
 to be full of relics ; into which they peep, through some iron 
 bars, and then come down again, by one of. two side stair- 
 cases, which are not sacred, and may be walked on.. 
 
 On Good Friday, there were, on a moderate computation, 
 a hundred people,' slowly shuffling up these stairs, on their 
 knees, at one time ; 'while others, who were going up, or had 
 come down — and a few who had done both, and were going 
 up again for the second time — stood loitering in the porch: be- 
 low, where an old gentleman in a sort of watch-box, rattled a 
 tin canister, with a slit in the top, incessantly, to remind them 
 that he took the money. : The majority were country-people, 
 male and female. There were four or five Jesuit priests, 
 however, and some half-dozen -well dressed women. A whole 
 school of boys, twenty at least, were about half-way up — 
 evidently enjoying it very much. They were ail wedged to- 
 gether, pretty closely ; but the rest of the compan)' gave the 
 boys as; wide a berth as possible, in consequence of their be- 
 traying some recklessness in the management tjf their boots. 
 
 I never in my life, saw anything at once so ridiculous, and 
 so unpleasant; as this sights-ridiculous in the absurd inci- 
 dents inseparable from it ; and unpleasant in- its senseless and 
 unmeaning degradation. There are two steps to begin with. 
 
PICTURES FROM ^TAL Y. 553 
 
 and then a rather broad landing. The more. rigid climbers 
 went along this landing on their knees, as wefi as up the 
 stairs; and the figures they cut, in their shuffling progress 
 over the level surface, no description can paint. Then, t(8< 
 see them watch their opportunity, from the porch, and (XfTn 
 where there was a place next the v/all ! . And to see pfie man 
 with an umbrella (brought on purpose, for it,wa^i--dr'fine day) 
 hoisting hiniself, unlawfully, from stair to stair! And to ob- 
 serve a demure lady of fifty-five or; so, looking back, every 
 now and then, to assure herself that her legs were properly 
 disposed ! 
 
 ' There were such odd differences in the speed of different 
 people, too. Some got on as if they were doing a match 
 against time ; others stopped to say a prayer on ever}' step. 
 This man touched every stair with his forehead, and kissed 
 it ; that man scratched his head all the way. The boys got 
 on brilliantly, and were up and down again befoi?e the old 
 kdy had accomplished her half-dozen stairs. But most of 
 the penitents came down, very sprightly and fresh, as having 
 done a. real good substantial deed which it would take a good 
 deal of sin to counterbalance ; and the old gentleman in 
 the watch-box was down upon them with his canister while 
 they were in this humor, I promise you. . . 
 
 ■ As if such a progress were not in its nature inevitably 
 droll .enoiigh, there lay, on the .top of the stairs, a wooden 
 figure on a crucifix, resting on a sort of great iron saucer : so 
 rickety and unsteady, that whenever an enthusiastic person 
 kissed the figure, with more than usual devotion, or threw a 
 coin into the saucer, with more than common. readiness (for 
 it served in this respect as a second or supplementary canis- 
 ter), it gave a great leap and rattle, and nearly, shook the at- 
 tendant lamp, out : horribly frightening the people further 
 down, and throwing the guilty party into unspeakable embar- 
 rassment. 
 
 On Easter Sunday, as well as on the preceding Thursday, 
 the Pope bestows his benediction on the people, from thft 
 balcony in front of St. Peter's. This Easte.r Sunday was a 
 day so bright and' blue : so cloudless, balmy, wonderfully 
 bright : that all the previous bad weather vanished from the 
 recollection in a tnoiiient. I had seen the Thursday's Bene- 
 diction dropping damply on some, hundreds of umbrellas,; but 
 there was not a sparkle then, in all the hundred fountains of 
 Rome^r^uch fountains as they are ! — and on this Sunday 
 
SS4 
 
 PICTURES FROM- ITALY. 
 
 morning they were running diamonds. The miles of: misera- 
 ble streets through . which we drove (compelled to a certain 
 course by. the Pope's dragoons : the Roman police- on 
 such occasions) were so full of color, that nothing in them 
 was capable- of wearing a faded aspect. The common peo- 
 ple came out in their gayest dresses ; the richer people in 
 their smartest vehicles ; Cardinals rattled to the church of 
 the Poor Fishermen in their state carriages ; shabby magnifi- 
 cence flaunted its thread-bare liveries and tarnished cocked 
 hats, in the sun ; and every coach in Rome was put in requi- 
 sition for the Great Piazza of St. Peter's. 
 
 One hundred and fifty thousand people were there at least ! 
 Yet there was ample room. How many carriages were there 
 I don't know ; yet there was room for them too, and to spare. 
 The great steps of the church were densely crowded. There 
 were many of the Contadini, from Albano (who delight in 
 red), in that part of the square, and the mingling of brigjht 
 colors in the crowd was beautiful. Below the steps the troops 
 were ranged. In the magnificent proportions of the place 
 they looked like a bed of flowers. Sulky Romans, lively 
 peasants from the neighboring country, groups .of- pilgrims 
 from distant parts of Italy, sight-seeing foreigners of all na- 
 tions, made a murmurin the clear air, like so many insects ; 
 and high above them all, plashing and bubbling,^ and making 
 rainbow colors in the light, the two delicious fountains welled 
 and tumbled bountifully. 
 
 A Jiind of bright cai^et was hung over the front of the 
 balcony ; and the sides of the great window were iedecked 
 with crimson drapery. An awning was stretched^ too, over 
 the top, to screen the old man from the hot rays of the sun. 
 As noon approached, all eyes were turned up to this window. 
 In due time, the chair was seen approaching to the front, with 
 the gdgantio- fans of peacock's feathers, close behind. The 
 doll within it (for the balcony is very high) then rose up, and 
 stretched out its tiiiy arms, while all the male spectators in 
 the square uncovered, and some, but not by any means the 
 greater part, kneeled down. The guns upon the ramparts of 
 the Castle of St. Angelo proclaimed, next moment, that the 
 benediction was given ; drums beat ; trumpets sounded ; arms 
 clashed; and the great mass below,, suddenly breaking into 
 smaller heaps, and scattering here and there in rills, was 
 Stirred like particolored sand. 
 
 What a bright noon it was, as we rode away ! The Tiber 
 
PIC TU RES FROM IT A L K. 
 
 555 
 
 was no longer 5'ellow, but blue. There was a blush on the 
 old bridges, that made them fresh' and hale again. The Pan- 
 theon, with its majestic front, all seamed and furrowed like 
 an old face, had summer light upon its battered walls. Every 
 squalid and desolate, hut in the Eternal City (bear witness 
 every gritn old palace, to the filth and misery of the plebeian 
 neighboi" that elbows it, as certain as Time has laid its grip 
 on its patrician head !) was fresh and new with some ray of 
 the sun. The very prison in the crowded street, a whirl of 
 carriages and jjeoi^le, had some striy sense of the day, drop- 
 ping through its chinks and crevices : and dismal prisoners 
 who could not wind their faces round the barricading of ffie 
 blocked-up windows, stretched out their hands, and clinging 
 to the rusty bars, tiirhed them towards the overflowing street : 
 as if it were a cheerful fire, and could be shared in, that way. 
 
 But, when the night came on, without a cloud to dim the 
 full moon, what a sight it was to see the Great Square 
 full once more, and the whole church, fiom the cross to the 
 ground, lighted with innumerable' lanterns, tracing oUt the 
 architecture, and winking and shining all round the colonnade 
 of the piazza I Atid what a sense of exultation, joy, delight, 
 it was, when the great bell struck half-past seven — on the in- 
 stant — to behold one bright red mass of fire, soar gallantly 
 from the top of the cupola to the extremest smnmit of the 
 cross, and the moment it leaped into its place, become the 
 signal of a bursting out of countless lights, as greati, ^"fl ^^^r 
 and blazing as itself, from evei^y part of the gigantic church ; 
 so that every cornice, capital, and smallest prnanjent pf,stone^ 
 expressed itself in fire : and the black .^olid groundwork of the 
 enormous dome seemed to grow transparent as an eggshell ! 
 
 A train of gunpowder, an electric chain — nothing could 
 be fired, more suddenly and swiftly, than this, second illumin- 
 ation ; and when we had got away, and gone upon a distant 
 height, and. looked towards it twd liouts afterwards, there it 
 ■ still stood, ' shining and glitternig in the calm tiight like .a 
 jewel! Not a line qf its proportions wanting ; not ail angle 
 blunted ; not an atom of its radiance lobt. 
 
 The nejtt nights-Easter Monday-^lhere was a great dis- 
 play o^ fireworks from the Castle of St. Angelo. , We hired 
 a room in an opposite house, and made our way, to ouf 
 places, in good time, thi'ough a dense mob of i)eople choking 
 u'p the square in front, and all the aven\ies leading to it : and 
 so loading the bridge by which the castlfe is approached, that 
 
5 ^6 PICTURES FROM IT A L Y. 
 
 it! seemed ready to .sink into the rapid Tiber below. There 
 are statues on this bridge (execrable works) and, among 
 them, great vessels full of burning tow were .placed i glaring 
 strangely on the faces of the crowd, an^ not less strangely 
 on the stone counterfeits above them. . ; , 
 
 The show began with a tremendous discharge of cannon ; 
 and then, for- twenty minutes or half an hour, the -whole 
 castle was one incessant sheet of fire, and labyrinth of blaz- 
 ing wheels of every color, size, and speed : while rockets 
 streamed !into the sky, not by ones or twos, or scores, but 
 hundreds at a time. The concluding burst — the Girandola 
 —was like the blowing up into the air of the whole mas- 
 sive castle, without smoke or dust. 
 
 In half an hour afterwards, the immense concourse had 
 dispersed ; the moon was looking calmly down upon htr 
 wrinkled image in the river ; and half-a-dozen men and boys, 
 with bits of lighted candle in their hands : moving here and 
 there, in search of anything worth having, that might have 
 been dropped in the press: had the whole scene to them- 
 selves. 
 
 By way of contrast we rode out into old ruined Rome, 
 after all this firing and booming, to -take our leave of the 
 jColiseum. I had seen it by moonlight before (I could never 
 get through a day without going back to it), but its tremen- 
 idous solitude that night is past all telling. The ghostly 
 pillars in the Forum ; the Triumphal Arches of Old Em- 
 perors ; those enormous mas,ses of ruins which were once their 
 palaces J the grass grown mounds, that mark the graves of 
 ruined temples ; the stones of the Via Sacra, smooth with 
 the tread of feet in ancient Rome ; even these were dimmed, 
 in their transcendent melancholy, by the dark ghost of its 
 bloody holidays, erect and grim.; haunting the old scene j 
 despoiled by pillaging Popes and fighting Princes,, but not 
 laid ; wringing wild hands pf weed, and grass, and bramble ; 
 and lamenting to the. night in every gap and broken arch — 
 the shadow of its awful self, immovable ! 
 
 As we lay down on the! grass of the Campagna, next day, 
 on our way to Florence, hearing the larks sing, we saw that 
 a little wooden cross had been erected on the spot where the 
 poor Pilgrim Couiitess was murdered. So, we piled some 
 loose stones about it, as the beginning of a mound to her 
 memory, and wondered if we should ever rest there again, 
 and look back at Rome. 
 
PICTURES FROM. ITALY. -57 
 
 A RAPID DIORAMA. 
 
 We are bound for Naples ! And we cross the threshold 
 of the Eternal City at yonder gate, the Gate, of San Giovanni 
 Laterano, where the two last objects that attract the notice 
 of a departing visitor, and the two first objects that attract 
 the notice of an arriving one, are a proud church and a 
 decaying ruin — good emblems of Rome. ■ 
 
 Our way lies over the Campagna, which looks more 
 solemn on a bright blue day like this, than beneath a daj-ker 
 sky J the great extent of ruin being plainer to the eye: and 
 the sunshine through the arches of the broken aqueducts, 
 showing other broken arches shining through them in the 
 melancholy distance. When we have traversed it, and: look 
 back. from Albano, its dark undulating surface lies below, us 
 like a stagnant lake, or like a broad dull Lethe flowing round 
 the walls of Rome, and separating it from all- the world ! 
 How often have the Legions, in triumphant march, gone glit- 
 tering across that purple waste, so silent and unpeopled now ! 
 How often has the train of captives looked, with . sinking 
 hearts, upon the ■ distant city, and beheld its population pour- 
 ing out, to hail the return of their conqueror ! What riot, 
 sensuality and murdej, have run mad in the vast palaces now 
 heaps of brick and shattered marble! What glare of fires, 
 and the roar of popular, tumult, and wail of pestilence and 
 famine, have come sweeping over the wild plain where noth- 
 ing is now heard but the wind, and where the solitary lizards 
 gambol unmolested in the sun ! 
 
 The train of wine-carts going into Rome, each driven by a 
 shaggy peasant reclining beneath a little gipsy-fashioned can- 
 opy of sheepskin, is ended now, and we go toihng up into a 
 higher country where there are trees. The next- day brings 
 lis on the Pontine Marshes, wearily flat and lonesome, and 
 overgrown with brushwood, and swamped with water, but 
 with a fine road made across them, shaded by a long, long 
 avenue. Here and there, we pass a solitary guard-house ; 
 here and there a hovel, deserted, and walled up. Some 
 herdsmen loiter on the banks of the stream beside the; road, 
 and sometimes a fiatrbpttomed boat, toyired by a .man, comes 
 
5 5 8 PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 rippling idly along it. A horseman passes occasionally, carry- 
 ing a long gun cross-wise on the saddle before him, and at- 
 tended by fierce dogs ; but there is nothing else astir save 
 the wind and the shadows, until we come in sight of Ter- 
 racina. • " . 
 
 How blue and bright the sea, rolling below the windows 
 of the-inn so famous iii. robber stories!. How picturesque 
 the great crags and points of rock overhanging to-morrow's 
 narrow road,- where galley-slaves are working in the quarries 
 above, and the sentinels; who guard them lounge on the sea- 
 shore! AH- nightthere is the murmur of the sea beneath the 
 stars ; and, in the morning, just at daybreak, the prospect sud- 
 denly becoming expanded, as if by a miracle, reveals — in the 
 far distance, across the sea there ! — Naples with its islands, 
 and Vesuvius spouting fire ! Within a quarter of an h6ur, the 
 whole is gone as if it were a vision in the clouds, and there is 
 nothing but the sea and sky. 
 
 The Neapolitan frontier crossed, after two hours' travel- 
 ling ; and the hungriest of soldiers and custom-house officers 
 with difficulty appeased ; we enter, by a gateless portal, into 
 the first Neapolitan town — Fondi. 'Take note of Fondi, in 
 the name of all that is wretched and beggarly. 
 
 A filthy qhannel of mud and refuse meanders down the 
 centre of the miserable streets, fed by obscene rivulets that 
 trickle from the abject houses. There is not a door, a win- 
 dow, or a shutter ; not a roof, a wall, a post, or a pillar, in all 
 Fondi, but is decayed, and crazy, and rotting away. The 
 wretched history -of the town, with all its sieges and pillages 
 by Barbarossa and the rest, might have been acted last year. 
 How thB gaunt dogs that sneak about the miserable streets, 
 come to be alive, and undevoured by the people, is one of the 
 enigmas of the world. 
 
 .A hollow-cheeked and scowling people they- are ! All 
 beggirs ; but that's nothing. Look at them as they gather 
 round. - Some, are too indolent to come downstairs, or are 
 to,o wisely mistrustful of the stairs, perhaps, to venture : ,so 
 stretch out their lean hands from upper windows, and howl; 
 others, come flocking about us, fighting and jostling one an- 
 other, and demanding, incessantly, charity for the' love of 
 God, charity for the love of the Blessed Virgin, charity for 
 the love of all the Saints. A group of miserable children, 
 almost- naked, screaming forth the same petition, discover 
 that they can see themselves reflected in the vairtilsh of the 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY. -^n 
 
 carriage, and begin to dance and make grimaces, that they 
 may have the pleasure of seeing their antics repeated in tiiis 
 mirror. A crippled idiot, in the act of striking one of them 
 who drowns his clamorous demand for charity, observes his 
 togry counterpart in the panel,- stops short, and thrusting 
 out his tong;u€, begins to wag his- head and chatter. The 
 shrill cry raised- at this, awakens half-a-dozen wild creatures 
 wrapped in frowsy brown cloaks, who are Lying on the church- 
 steps with pots and pans for sale. These, scrambling up, 
 approach, and beg defiantly. " I am hungry.. Give me some- 
 thing. Listen to me me, Signor. I am hungry ! " Then, a 
 ghastly old woman, fearful of being too late, -comes hobbling 
 down the street, stretching out one' hand, and scratching her- 
 self all the way with the other, and screaming, long befone, she 
 can be heard, " Charity, charity ! I'll go and pray for you 
 directly, beautiful lady, if you'll give me charity ! " Lastly, 
 thertiembers of a brotherhood for burying- the dead.: hideously 
 masked, and attired. \ti shabby black robes, white at the 
 skirts, with the splashes of many muddy winters: escorted 
 by a dirty priest, and a congenial cross-bearer : come hurry- 
 ing past. Surroundedi)y this motley concourse, we move out 
 of Fondi : bad bright eyes glaring atus, out of the darlcJiess 
 of fevery crazy tenement, like glistening fragments of its filth 
 and putrefaction. 
 
 A noble-mountain-pass, with the ruins of a fort on a strong 
 eminence, traditionally called the Fort of Fra Diavolo ; the 
 did town of Itri, like a device in pastry, biiilt up, almost per- 
 |tefiflicularly, on a hill, and approached by long steep flights 
 br'^eps] beautiful Mbla di Gaeta, whose wines, likes those 
 of Albano, have degenerated since the days of Horace, or his 
 taste for' wine was bad: which is not likely of oneJTvho enjoyed 
 it so much, and extolled it so well ; another night upon the 
 road at St. Agata ; a rest nej^t day at Capua, which is pictur- 
 esque, but hardly so seductive to a traveller now, as the sol- 
 tiiers of Praetorian Rome were wont to find the ancient city 
 of that name ; a flat road among vines festooned and looped 
 from tree to tree ; and Mount Vesuvius close at hand at last ! 
 — its cone and summit whitened with snow ; and its smoke 
 hanging over it, in the heavy atmosphere of the dajr, IHce a 
 dense cloud. So we go,^ rattling down hill, into Naples. <.■■'■ 
 
 A funeral is coming up the street, towards us. The body, 
 on an open bier, borrie on a kind of palanquin, covered with 
 a gray cloth of- crimson and gold. The mourners, in wMte 
 
560 PICTURES FROM ITALy. 
 
 >;owns and masks. If there be death abroad, life is well re- 
 presented too, for all Naples would seem to be out of doors, 
 and tearing to and fro in carriages. Some of these, the com- 
 mon Vetturfno vehicles, are drawn by three horses abreast, 
 decked with smart trappings and great abundance of brazen 
 ornament, and always going very fast. Not that their loads 
 are light ; for the smallest of them has at least six people in- 
 side, four in front, four or five more hanging on behind, and 
 two or three more, in a net or bag beloW' the axle-tree, where 
 they lie half-suffocated with mud and dust. Exhibitor^ . of 
 Punch,, buffo singers with guitars, reciters of poetry, reciters 
 of stories, a row of cheap exhibitions with clowns and show- 
 men, drums, and truinpets, painted cloths representing the 
 wonders within, and admiring crowds assembled wiQiout, 
 assist the whirl and bustle. Ragged lazzaroni lie asleep in 
 doorways, archways, and kennels ; the gentry, gayly dressed, 
 are dashing up and down in carriages on the Chiaja, or walk- 
 ing in the Public Gardens ; and quiet letter-writers, perched be- 
 hind their little desks and inkstands under the Portico of the 
 Great Theatre of San Carlo, in the public street, are waiting 
 for clients. ^ 
 
 Here is a galley-slave in chains, who wants a letter written 
 to a friend. He approaches a clerklyrlooking man, sitting 
 under the comer arch, and makes his bargain. He has ob- 
 tained permission of the sentinel who guards him : who 
 stands near, leaning against the wall and cracking nuts. 
 The galley-slave dictates in the ear of the Ijetter-writer, what 
 he desires to say ; and as he can't read writing,. looks intently 
 in his face, to read there whether he sets down faithfully what 
 he is told. After a time, the galley-slave becomes discursive 
 — incoherent. The secretary pauses and rubs his chin. The 
 galley-slave is voluble and energetic. The secretary, at length, 
 catches the idea, and with the air of a man who knows how 
 to word it,, sets it down ;, stopping, now and then, to glance 
 back at his text adiniringly. • The galley-slave is silent. The 
 soldier stoically cracks his nuts. Is there anything more to 
 say ? inquires, the letter-writer. No more. Then listen, friend 
 of mine. He reads it through. The galley-slave is quite en. 
 chanted. It is folded^ and addressed, and given to him, and 
 he pays the fee. The secretary falls back indolently in his 
 chair, and takes a book. The galley-slave gathers up an 
 empty sack. The seiitinel throws away a handful of nut 
 shellsj shoulders his musket, and away tliey go together. 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY. 361 
 
 Why do the beggars rap their chins constantly, with their 
 riglit hands, when you look at tbera ? Everything is done in 
 pantomimje in Naples, and that is the conventional sign for 
 hunger. A man who is quarrelling with another, yonder, lays 
 the palm of his right hand on the back of his left, and shakes 
 the two thumbs — expressive of a donkey's ears — whereat his 
 adversary is goaded to desperation. Two people batgaining 
 for fish, the buyer empties an, imaginary waistcoat pocket 
 when he .is told the price, and walks away without a word : 
 having thoroughly conveyed to the seller that he considers it 
 too dear. Two people in carriages, meeting, one touches his 
 lips, twice or thrice, holding up the five fingers of his right 
 hand, and gives a horizontal cut in the air with the palm. 
 The other nods briskly, and goes his way. He has been in- 
 vited to a friendly dinner at half-past five o'clock, and will 
 certainly come. 
 
 All over Italy, a peculiar shake of the right hand from the 
 wrist, with the fore-finger stretched out, expresses a negative 
 -^the only negative beggars will ever understand. But, in 
 Naples, those five fingers are a copious language. 
 
 All this, and every other kind of out-door life and stir, and 
 maccaroni-eating at sunset, and flower-selling all day long, 
 andibegging and stealiilg everywhere and at a,ll hours, you 
 see upon: the bright sea-shore, where the waves of the bay 
 sparkle merrily. But; lovers and hunters of the picturesque, 
 let us not keep too studiously out of view the miserable de- 
 pravity, degradation, and wretchedness, with which this gay 
 JSfeapolitan life is inseparably associated ! It is not well to 
 find Saint Giles's so repulsive, and the Porta Capuana so at- 
 teactive. A pair of naked legs and a ragged red scarf, do 
 not make all the difference between what is , interesting and 
 what is coarse and odious ? Painting and poetizing for ever, 
 if you will, the beauties of this most beautiful and lovely spot 
 of earth, let us, as our duty; try to associate a new picturesque 
 with some faint recognition of man's destiny and capabilities ; 
 more hopeful, I believe, among the ice and snow of the 
 North Pole, than- in the sun and bloom of Naples. 
 
 Capri — once made odious by the deified beast Tiberius — 
 Ischia, Procida, and the thousand distant beauties of die Bay, 
 lie .in the blue sea yonder, changing in the mist and sunshine 
 twenty times a-day. now close at hand, now far off, now un- 
 seen. The fairest country in the worjd, is spread about us. 
 Whether we turn towards the Miseno shore of the splendid 
 
202 PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 watery amphitheatre, and go by the Grotto of Pbsilipo to the 
 Grotto del Cane and away to Baia: : or take the other way, 
 towards Vesuvius and Sorrento, it is one succession of delights. 
 In the last-named direction, where, over doors and archways, 
 there are countless little images of San Geraiaro, with his 
 Canute's hand stretched out, to check the fury of the Burning 
 Mountain; we are carried pleasantly, by a railroad on the 
 beautiful Sea Beach, past the town of Torre del Greco, built 
 upon the ashes of the former town destroyed by an eruption 
 of Vesuvius, within a hundred years ; and past the fiat-roofed 
 houses, granaries, and maccaroni manufactories; to Castel-a- 
 Mare, with its ruined castle, now inhabited by fishermen, 
 standing in the sea upon a heap of rocks. Here, the railroad 
 terminates ; but, hence we may ride on, by an unbroken suc- 
 cession of enchanting bays, and beautiful scenery, : sloping 
 from the highest summit of Saint Angelo, the highest neigbr 
 boring mountain, down to the water's edge — among vineyard's, 
 olive-trees, gardens of oranges and lemons, orchards, heaped 
 up rocks, green gorges in the hills^and by the bases of snow- 
 covered heights, and through small towna with handsome, 
 dark-haired women at the doors — and pass delicious summer 
 villas — to Sorrento, where the Poet Tasso drew his insfjiration 
 from the beauty surrounding him. Returning, we may climb 
 heights above Gastel-a-Mare, and looking down among the 
 boughs and leaves, see the crisp water glistening in the sun ; 
 and clusters of white houses in distant Naples, dwindling, in 
 the great extent of prospect,' down to dice. The coming back 
 to the city, by the beach again, at sunset : with the glowing 
 sea on one side, and the darkening mountain, with its smoke 
 and flame, upon the other : is a sublime conclusion to the 
 glory of the day. 
 
 That church by the Porta Capuana — ^near the old fisher- 
 market in the dirtiest quarter of dirty Naples, where the revolt 
 of Massaniello began — is memorable for havmg been the 
 scene of one of his earliest proclamations to the people, and 
 is particularly remarkable for nothing else,- unless it be its 
 waxen and bejewelled Saint in a glass case, with two odd 
 hands ; or the enormous number of beggars who are constant 
 ly rapping their chins there, like a battery of castanets. . The 
 cathedral with the beautiful door, and the columns of African 
 and Egyptian granite that once ornamented the temple of 
 Apollo, contains the famous sacred blood of San Gennaro 
 or Januarius : wliich is preserved in two phials in a silver taber- 
 
• PICTURES FROM ITALY. ^63 
 
 nacle, and miraculously liquifies thre£ times a-year, to the 
 great admiration of the people. At the same moment, the 
 stone (distant some miles) where the Saint suffered martyr- 
 dom, becomes faintly red. It is said that the officiating priests 
 turn faintly red also, sometimes, when these miracles occur. 
 
 The old, old men who live in hovels at the entrance of 
 these ancient catacombs, and who, in their age and infirmity, 
 seem waiting here, to be buried themselves, are members of a 
 curioiis body, called the Royal Hospital, who are the official 
 attendants at funerals. Two of these old spectres totter 
 away, with lighted tapers, to show the caverns of death^as 
 unconcerned as if they were immortal. They were used as 
 burying-places for three hundred years ; and, in , one part, is a 
 large pit full of skulls and bones, said to be the sad remains 
 of a great mortality occasioned by a plague. In the rest 
 there is nothing but dust. They consist, chiefly, of great wide 
 corridors and labyrinths, hewn out of the rock. At the end 
 of some of these long passages, are unexpected glimpses, of 
 the daylight, shining down from above. It looks as ghastly 
 and as strange : among the torches, and the dust, and the 
 dark vaults: as if it, too, were dead and buried. 
 
 The present burial-place lies out yonder, on a hill between 
 the city and Vesuvius. The old Campo Santo wilh its three 
 hundred and sixty-five pits, is only used for those who die in 
 hospitals, and prisons, and are. unclaimed by their friends. 
 The graceful new cemetery, at no great distance from it, 
 though yet unfinished, has already many graves among its 
 shrubs and flowers, and airy colonnades. It might be reaf 
 sonably objected elsewhere,, that some of the tombs are mere- 
 tricious and too fanciful j but the general brightness seems 
 to justify it here ; and Mount Vesuvius, separated from them 
 by a lovely slope of ground, exalts and saddens the scene. 
 
 If it be solemn to behold from this new City of the Dead, 
 with its dark smoke hanging in the clear sky, how much more 
 awful and impressive is it, viewed from the ghostly .ruins of 
 HetcUlaneum and' Pompeii ! 
 
 Stand at the ^bottom of the great market-place of Pompeii, 
 and look up the silent streets, through the ruined temples of 
 Jupiter aid Isis, over the broken houses with' their inmost 
 Sanctuaries bpen to the day, away to Mount Vesuvius, bright 
 and snowy in the peaceful distance ; and lose all count of 
 time, and heed of other things, in the strange and melancholy 
 sensation of seeing the Destroyed and the Destroyer making 
 
j64 PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 this quiet picture in the sun. Then, ramble on, and see, at 
 every turn, the little familiar tokens of human habitation : and 
 every-day pursuits ; the chafing of the bucket-rope in the 
 stone rim of the exhausted well ; the track of carriage-wheels 
 in the pavement of the street; the marks, of drinking-vessels 
 on the stone counter of the wine-shop ; the amphorae in pri- 
 vate cellars, stored away so many hundred _years! ago, and un- 
 disturbed to this hour — all rendering the solitude and deadly 
 lonesomeness of the place, ten thousand times more solemn, 
 than if the volcano, in its furj', had swept the city from the 
 earth, and sunk it in the bottom of the sea. 
 
 After it was shaken by the earthquake which preceded the 
 eruption, workmen were employed in shaping out, in stone, 
 new ornaments for temples and other buildings that had 
 suffered. Here lies their work, outside the city gate, as if 
 they would return to-morrow. 
 
 In the cellar of Diomede's house, where certain skeletons 
 were found huddled together, close to the door, the impression 
 of their bodies on the ashes, hardened with, the; ashes, and 
 became stamped and fixed there, after they had shrunk, in- 
 side, to scanty bones. So, in the theatre of Herculaneum, a 
 comic mask, floating on the stream when it was hot and liquid, 
 stamped its mimic features in it as it hardened into stone ; 
 and now, it turns upon the stranger the fantastic look it turned 
 upon the audiences in that, same theatre two thousand years 
 ago. 
 
 Next to the wonder of going up and down the streets, and 
 in and out of the houses, and traversing the secret chambers 
 of the temples of a religion that has vanished from the earth, 
 and finding so many fresh traces of remote antiquity : as if 
 the course of Time had been stopped after this desolation, 
 and there had been no nights and days, months, years, and 
 centuries, since : nothing is more impressive and terrible than 
 the many evidences of the searching nature of the ashes, as 
 bespeaking their irresistible power, and the impossibility of 
 escaping them. In the wine-cellars, they forced their way 
 iiito the earthen vessels j displacing the wine and choking 
 them, to the brim, with dust. In the tombs,, they forced the 
 ashes of- the dead from the funeral urns, and rained new ruin 
 even into them. The mouths, and eyes, and skulls of all the 
 skeletons, were stuffed with this terrible hail. In .Herculaneum 
 where the flood was of- a different and a heavier kind, it rolled 
 in, like a sea. Imagine a deluge of water turned . to rnarble 
 at its height — and that is what is called " the lava " here. 
 
PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. c6 e 
 
 Some workmen were digging the gloomy well on the brink 
 of which we now stand, looking down, when they came on 
 some of the stone benches of the theatre — those steps (for 
 such they seem) at the bpttom of tht; excavation — and found 
 the buried city of Herculaneum. Presently going down, with 
 lighted tdrches, we are perplexed. by great walls of monstrous 
 thickness, rising up between the benches, shutting out the 
 stage, obtruding tlieir shapeless forms in absurd places, con- 
 fusing the whole plan, and making it a disordered dream. We 
 cannot, at first, believe, or picture, to ourselves, that This came 
 rolling in, and drowned the city ; and that all that is not here, 
 has been cut away, by the axe, like solid stone. But this per- 
 ceived and understood, the horror and oppression of its pres- 
 ence are indescribable. 
 
 Many of the paintings on the walls in the roofless cham- 
 bers of both cities, or carefully removed to the museurn at 
 Naples, are as fresh and plain, as if they had been executed 
 yesterday. Here are subjects of still life, as provisions, dead 
 game, bottles, glasses, and. the like ; familiar classical stories, 
 or mythological fables, always forcibly and plainly told ; con- 
 ceits of cupids, quarrelling, sporting, working at trades ; 
 theatrical rehearsals ; poets reading their productions to their 
 friends; inscriptions chalked upon the walls ; political squibs, 
 advertisements, rough drawings by schoolboys ; everything to 
 people and restore the ancient cities, in the fancy of their won- 
 dering visitor. Furniture, too, you see, of every kind — lamps, 
 tables, couches ; vessels for eating, drinking, and cooking ; 
 workmen's tools, surgical instruments, tickets for the . theatre, 
 pieces of money, personal ornaments, bunches of keys found 
 clenched in the grasp of skeletons, helmets of guards and 
 warriors ; little household bells, yet musical with their old do- 
 mestic tones. 
 
 The least among these objects, lends its aid to swell the 
 iiUerest of Vesuvius, and invest it with a perfect fascination. 
 The looking, from either ruined city, into the neighboring 
 grounds overgrown with beautiful vines and. luxuriant trees; 
 and remembering that house upon house, temple on temple, 
 building ;after building, and street -after street are still lying 
 underneath the roots of all the quiet cultivation, waiting tOi be 
 turned up to the light of day ; is something so wonderful, so full 
 of mystery, so captivating to the imagination, that one would' 
 think it would be paramount, and yield to nothing else. To 
 nothing but Vesuvius; but the mountain is the genius of the 
 
566 PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 scene. From ever3rindication of the ruin it has worked, we look, 
 again, with an absorbing interest to where its smoke is rising 
 up into the sky. It is beyond us; as we tread the ruined 
 Streets: above us, as we stand upon the ruined walls ; We fol- 
 low it through every vista of broken columns, as we wander 
 through the ernpty court-yards of the houses ; and through 
 the garlandings and interlacings of every wanton vine. Turn- 
 ing away to Pffistum yonder, to see the awful structures built, 
 the least aged of them, hundreds of years before the birth of 
 Christ, and standing yet,, erect in lonely majesty, upon the 
 wild, malaria-blighted plain — we watch Vesuvius as; it disap- 
 pears from the prospect, and watch for it again, on our return, 
 with the same thrill of interest : as the doom and destiny of 
 all this beautiful country, biding its terrible time. 
 
 It is very warm in the sun,' on this early spring-day, when 
 we return from Psestum, but verj'cold inthe shade : insomucli, 
 that although we may lunch, pleasantly, at noon, in the open 
 air, by the gate of Pompeii, the neighboring rivulet supplies 
 thick ice for our wine. But, the sun is shining brightly ; there 
 is not a cloud or speck of vapor in the whole blue sky, look- 
 ing down upon the bay of Naples ; and the moon will be at 
 the full to-niglit. No matter that the snow and ice lie thick 
 upon the summit of Vesuvius, or that we have- been on foot 
 all day at Pompeii, or that croakers maintain that strangers 
 should not be on the mountain by night, in such an unusual 
 season. Let us; take advantage of the fine weather ; make the 
 best of our way to Resina. the little village at the foot of the 
 mountain ; prepare ourselves, as well as we can^ on so short 
 a notice, at the guide's house ; ascend at once, and have sun- 
 set. half-way up, noon-light at the top, and midnight to come 
 down in ! ■ ' i 
 
 At four o'clock in the afternoon, there is a terrible uproar 
 in the little stable-yard of Signibr Salvatore, tlae recognized 
 head-guide, with the gold band round his cap ; and thirty 
 under-guides who are a,ll scuffling and screaming at. once, are 
 preparing half-a-dozen saddled ponies, three littexs, and some 
 stout staves, for the journey. Every one of the thirty, quar- 
 Tels with the other twenty-nine, and frightens • the six ponies ; 
 and as much of the village as can possibly squeeze itself into 
 the little stable-yard, participates in the tumult, and gets trod- 
 den on by the cattle. 
 
 After much violent skirmishing, and more noise than would 
 suffice for the storming of Naples, the procession starts. The 
 
riCTUKES FROM ITALY. 567 
 
 head-guide, who is liberally paid for all the attendants, rides 
 a little in advance of the party ; the other thirty guides pro- 
 ceed on foot. Eight go forward with the litters that are to be 
 used by and by ; and the remaining two-and-twenty beg. 
 
 We ascend, gradually, by Stony lanes like rough broad 
 flights of stairs, for some time. At length, we leave these, 
 and the vineyards on either side of them, and emerge upon a 
 bleak bare region where the lava lies confusedly, in enormous 
 rusty masses : as if the earth had been ploughed up by. burn- 
 ing thtinderbolts. And now we halt to see .the sun set. The 
 change that falls upon the dreary region, and on the whole 
 mountain, as its red light fades, and the night comes on — and 
 the unutterable solemnity and dreariness that reign around, 
 who that has witnessed it, can ever forget ! 
 
 It was dark, when after winding, for some time, over the 
 broken ground, we arrive at the foot of' the cone : which is 
 extremely steep, and seems to rise, almost perpendicularly, 
 from the spot where we dismount. The only light'is reflected 
 from the snow, deep, hard, and white, with which the cone is 
 covered. It is now intensely cold, and the air is^ piercing. 
 The thirty-one have brought no torches, knowing that the 
 moon will rise before we reach the top. Two of the litters 
 are devoted to the two ladies ; the third, to a rather heavy 
 gentleman from Naples, whose hospitality and good-nature 
 have attached him to the expedition, and determined him to 
 assist in doing the honors of the mountain. The rather heavy 
 gentleman is carried by fifteen men ; each of the ladies by 
 half-a-dozen. We who walk, make the best use of our staves ; 
 and so the whole party begin to labor upward over the snow, 
 — as if they were toiling to the summit cf an antediluvian 
 Twefth-cake. 
 
 We are a long time toiling up ; and the head-guide looks 
 oddly about him When one of the company — not an Italian 
 though an habitud of the mountain for many years : whom 
 we will call, for our present purpose, Mr. Pickle of Portici — 
 suggests that, as it is freezing hard, and the usual footing of 
 ashes is covered by the snow and ice, it will surely be difficult 
 to descend. But the sight of the litters above, tilting up and 
 down, and jerking from this side to that, as the bearers con- 
 tinually slip and tumble, diverts our attention ; more especi- 
 ally as the whole length of the rather heavy gentleman, is, at 
 that moment, presented to us alarmingly: foreshortened,, with 
 his head downwards. 
 
j68 PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 The rising. of the moon soon afterwards, revives the. flag- 
 ging spirits of die bearers. Stimulating each other with their 
 usual watchword, " Courage, friend ! It is to eat maccaroni ! " 
 they press on, gallantly, for the summit. 
 
 From tinging the top of the snow above us, with a band 
 of light, and pouring it in a stream through the valley below, 
 while we have been , lascending in the dark, the moon soon 
 lights the whole white roouiitain side, and the broad sea down 
 below, and tiny Naples in the distance, and every village in 
 the country round. The whole prospect is in this lovely state, 
 when we come upon the platform on the mountain-top — the 
 region of Fireman exhausted crater formed of great masses 
 of gigantic, cinders, like blocks of stone from some tremendous 
 water-fall, burnt up ; from every chink and crevice of which> 
 hot, sulphurous smoke is pouring out : while, from another 
 conical-shaped hill, the present crater, rising abruptly from 
 this platform at the end, great sheets of fire are streaming 
 forth : reddening the night with- flame, blackening it with- 
 smoke, and spotting it with red-hot stones and cinders, that 
 fly up into the air like feathers, and fall down like lead. What 
 words can paint the gloom and grandeur of this scene I 
 
 The broken ground ; the srnoke ; the sense of suffocation 
 from the sulphur ; die fear of falling down through the crevices 
 in the yawning ground; the stopping,, every now and then, 
 for somebody who is missing in the dark (for the dense smoke 
 now obscures the moon) ; the intolerable noise of the thirty ; 
 and the hoarse roaring of the mountain ; make it a scene of 
 such confusion, at the same time, that we reel again. But, 
 dragging the ladies through it, and across another exliausted 
 crater to the foot of the present Vol.cano, we approach close 
 to it on the windy side, and then sit down among the hot ashes 
 at its foot, and look up, in silence; faintly estimating ' the 
 action that is going on within, from its being full a hundred 
 feet higher, at this minute, than it was six weeks ago. 
 
 There is something in the fire and roar, that generates an 
 irresistible desire to get nearer to it. We cannot rest long, 
 without starting off, two of us, on our hands and knees, acom- 
 panied by the head guide, to climb to the brjm of the flaming 
 crater, and try to look in. Meanwhile, the thirty yell, as with . 
 one voice, that it is a dangerous proceeding, and call to us to 
 come back : frightening the rest of tlae party out of their. wjts. 
 
 What with their noise, and what with the trembling oif the 
 thin crust of ground, that seems about to open underneath our 
 
PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. ^gn 
 
 feet and plunge us in the burning gulf below (wliicli is the 
 real dangerj if there-be any) ;■ and what with the flashing oi 
 the fire in our faces, and the shower of red-liot ashes that i'= 
 raining down, and the choking smoke and sulphur; we may well 
 feel giddy and irrational, like drunken men. But," we contiive 
 to climb up to the brihi,.and look down, for a moment, into 
 the Hell of boiling fire below. Then, we all three come roll- 
 ing i down ; blackened and singed, and scorched, and hot, "and 
 giddy: and each with his dress alight in half-a-dozen places.; 
 
 You have read, a thousand times, that the usual way of de- 
 scending, is, by sliding down the ashes : which, forming a 
 gradually-increasing ledge below the feet, prevent too rapid a 
 descent. But, when we have crossed the two exhausted 
 craters on our way back, and are come to this precipitous 
 place, there is (as Mr. Pickle has foretold) no vestige of ashes 
 to be seen ; the whole being a smootih sheet of ice. 
 
 In this dilertima, ten or a dozen -of the guides cautiously 
 join hands, and make a chain of men ; of whom the foremost 
 beat, as well as they can, a rough track with their sticks, down 
 which we prepare to follow. The way. being fearfully steep, 
 and none of the party : even of the thirty : being able to keep 
 their feet for six paces together, the ladies are taken out of 
 tiieir litters, and placed, each between two careful persons ; 
 while others of the thirty, hold by their skirts, to prevent their 
 falling forward — a necessary precaution, tending to the im- 
 mediate and hopeless dilapidation of their apparel. The rather 
 heavy gentleman is abjured to leave his litter too, and be es- 
 corted; in a similar manner ; but he resolves to be brought 
 down as he was brought up, on the. principle that his fifteen 
 bearers are not likely to tumble all at once, -and that he is 
 safer so, than trusting to his own legs. 
 
 In this order, we. begin the descent : sometimes on foot, 
 sometimes shuffling on the ice : always proceeding much more 
 quietly and slowly, than on our upward way : and constantly 
 alarmed by the falling arriong us of somebody from, behind, 
 who endangers the footing of the whole party, and clings per- 
 tinaciously to anybody's ankles. It is impossible for the litter 
 to be in advance, too, as the track has to be made ; ' and its 
 appearance behind us, overhead — with some one or other of 
 the bearers always down, and the rather heavy gentleman with 
 his legs always in the air — is very threatening and frightful. 
 We have gone on thus, a very little way, painfully and anxiously, 
 but quite merrily, and regarding it as a great ^uccess-^and 
 
^ 7 o pre TURSS FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 have all fallen several times, and have all been stopped, some- 
 iiow or other, as we were sliding away^*^vfaen Mr. Pickle ot 
 Portici, in the act of remarking on these uncommon circum- 
 stances, as quite beyond his experience, stumbles, falls; disen- 
 gages himself, with quick presence of mind, from those about 
 him, plunges away head foremost, and rolls, over and over, 
 down the whole surface of the cone! 
 
 Sickening as it is to look, and be so powerless to help him, 
 I see him there, in the irioonlight — I have had such a dream 
 often — skimming over the white ice, like a cannon-ball, 
 Almost at the same moment, there is a cry from behind ; and 
 a. man who has carried a light basket of spare cloaks on his 
 head, comes rolling past, at the same frightful speed, closely 
 followed by a boy. At this climax of the chapter of accidents, 
 the remaining eight-and-twenty vociferate to that degree, that 
 a pack of wolves woiild. be music to them ! 
 
 Giddy, and bloody, and a mere bundle of rags, is Pickle 
 of Portici when we reach the place where we dismounted, aad 
 where the horseis are waiting ; but, thank God, sound in limb! 
 And never are we likely to be more glad to see a man alive 
 and on his feet, than to see him now — making light of it too, 
 though sorely bruised and in great pain. The boy is brought 
 into the- Hermitage on the Mountain, while we are at supper, 
 with his head tied up ; and the man is heard of some hours 
 afterwards. He too is bruised and stunned, but has broken 
 no bones ; the snow having, fortunately, covered all the larger 
 blocks of rock and stones, and rendered them harmless. 
 
 After a cheerful meal, and a good rest before a blazing 
 fire, we again take horse, and continue our descent to Salvia^' 
 tore's house — very slowly, by reason of our bruised friend being 
 hardly able to keep the saddle, or endure the pain of motion. 
 Though it is so late at night, or early in the morning, all the 
 people of the village are waiting about the: little stable-yard 
 when we arrive, and looking up the road by which we are 
 expected. Out appearance is hailed with a great clamor of 
 tongues, and a general sensation for which in our modesty we 
 are somewhat at a loss to account, until turning into the yard, 
 we find that one of a party of French gentlemen who were on 
 the mountain at the same time is lying on some straw in the 
 stable, with a broken limb : looking like Death, and suffering 
 great torture ; and that we were confidently supposed to have 
 encountered some worse accident. 
 
 So " well returned, and Heaven be praised ! " as the cheer- 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY. eyi 
 
 ftil Vetturiho, who has borne us company all the way from 
 Pisa, says, with all his heart! And away with his ready 
 horses, into sleeping Naples ! 
 
 It wakes again to Policmelli and pickpockets, buffo sing- 
 ers and beggars, rags, puppets, flowers, brightness, dirt, and 
 universal degradation ; airing its Harlequin suit in the sun- 
 shine, next day and every day ; singing, starving, dancing, 
 gaming, on the sea-shore ; and leaving all labor to the burning 
 mountain, which is ever at its work. 
 
 Our English dilettanti would be very pathetic on the sub- 
 ject of the national taate^ if they could hear an Italian opera 
 half as badly sung in England as we may hear the Foscari 
 performed, to-night, in the splendid theatre of San Carlo. But, 
 for astonishing truth and spirit in seizing and embodying the 
 real life about it, the shabby little San Carlino Theatre^the 
 rickety house one story high, with a staring picture outside : 
 down aniong the drums and trumpets, and the tumblers, and 
 the lady conjurer — is without a rival anywhere. 
 
 There is one extraordinary feature in the real life of 
 Naples, at which we may take a glance tbefore we go — the 
 Lotteries. 
 
 They -prevail in most parts of Italy, but are particularly 
 obvious, in their effects and influences, here. They are drawn 
 every Saturday. They bring an immense revenue to the 
 Government ; and diffuse a taste for gambling among the 
 poorest of the poor, which is veiy comfortable to the coffers 
 of the State, and very ruinous to themselves. The lowest 
 stake is one grain ; less than a farthing.' One hundred num- 
 ^er&^^from one to a hundred, inclusive — are put into a box. 
 Five are drawn. Those are the prizes. I buy three, numbers. 
 If one of them come up, I win a small prize. If two, some 
 hundreds of times my stake. If three, three thousand five 
 hundred times my stake. I stake (or play as they call it) 
 what I can upon my numbers, and buy what numbers I please. 
 The amount I play, I pay at the lottery, office, where I pur- 
 chase the ticket ; and it is stated on the ticket itselfi 
 
 Every lottery office keeps a printed book, an Universal 
 Lottery Diviner, where every possible accident and circum- 
 stance is provided for, and has a number against it. For in 
 stance, let us take two carlini — about sevenpence. On our 
 way to the lottery office, we run against a black man. When 
 we get there, we say gravely, " The Diviner." It is haaded 
 over the counter, as a serious matter of business. We look at 
 
jya PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 black man. Such a number. " Give us that." We look at 
 running against a person in the street. " Give us that." We 
 look at the name of the street itself. " Give us that." Now, 
 we have our three numbers. 
 
 If the roof of the theatre of San Carlo were to fall in, so 
 many people would play upon the numbers attached to such 
 an accident in the Diviner, that the Government would soon 
 close those numbers, and decline to run the risk of losing any 
 more upon them. This often happens. Not long ago, wheii 
 there was a fire in the King's Palace, there was such a des- 
 perate run oh fire, and king,- and palace,: that further stakes 
 on the numbers attached to those words in; the Golden Book 
 were forbidden. Every accident or event, is supposed, by the 
 ignorant populace, to be a revelation to the beholder,or party 
 concerned, in connection with the lottery. Certain people 
 who have a talent for dreaming fortunately, are much sought 
 after; and there are some priests wlro are constantly favored 
 with visions of the lucky numbers. ' 
 
 I heard of a horse running away with a man, and dashing 
 him down, dead, at the corner of a street; Pursuing thehorse 
 with incredible speed, was another man, who ran so. fast, that 
 he came Up, immediately after the accident. He threw him- 
 self upon his knees beside the unfortunate lider, and clasped 
 hi? hand with an expression of the wildest grief. "If you 
 have life," he said, " speak one word to me ! If you have 
 one gasp of breath left, mention your age for Heaven's sake, 
 that I may play that number in the lottery." 
 
 It is four o'clock in the afternoon, and we may go. to see 
 our lottery drawn. The ceremony takes place every Satur- 
 day, in the Tribunale, or Court of Justicerr^this singular, 
 earthy-smelling room, or gallery, as mouldy as an old cellar, 
 and as damp as a dungeon. At tlie upper end is a platform, 
 with a large horse-shoe table upon it; and a President and 
 Council sitting round — all Judges of the Law. The man on 
 the little stool behind the President, is the Capo Lazzarone, a 
 kind of tribune of the people, appointed on their behalf to see 
 that a;ll is fairly conducted : attended by a le%v personal 
 friends. A ragged, swarthy fellow he. is ; with long matted 
 hair hanging down all over his face : and covered, from head 
 to foot, with most unquestionably genuine dirt. All the body 
 of the room is filled with the commonest of the Neapolitan 
 people : and between them a:nd the platform, guarding the 
 steps leading to the 'atter, is a small body of soldiers. 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY. 573 
 
 There is some delay in the arrival of the necessary num- 
 ber of judges ; during which, the box, in which the numbers 
 are being placed, is a source of the deepest interest. When 
 the box is full, the boy who is to draw the numbers out of it 
 becomes the prominent feature of the proceedings. He is al- 
 ready dressed for his part, in a tight brown Holland coat, 
 with only one (the left) sleeve to it, which leaves liis right arm 
 bared to the shoulder, ready for plunging down into the 
 mysterious chest. 
 
 During the hush and whisper that pervade the room, all 
 eyes are turned on this young minister of fortune. People 
 begin to inquire his age, with a view to the next lottery ; and 
 the number of his brothers and sisters ; and the age of his 
 father and mother ; and whether he has any moles or pimples 
 upon him ; and where, and how many ; when the arrival of 
 the last judge but one (a little old man, universally dreaded 
 £is possessing the Evil Eye) makes a slight diversion, and 
 would occasion a greater one, but that he is immediately de- 
 posed, as a source of interest, by the officiating priest, who ad- 
 vances gravely to his place, followed by a very dirty little boy, 
 carrying his sacred vestments, and a pot of Holy Water. 
 
 Here is the last judge, come at last, and now he takes his 
 place at the horse-shoe table. 
 
 There is a murmur of irrepressible agitation. In the midst 
 of it, the priest puts his head into the sacred vestments, and 
 pulls the same over his shoulders. Then he says a silent 
 prayer ; and dipping a brush into the pot of Holy Water, 
 sprinkles it over the box and over the boy and gives them a 
 double-barrelled blessing, which the box and the boy are both 
 hoisted on the table to receive. The boy remaining on the 
 table, the box is now carried round the front of the platform, 
 by an atttendant, who holds it up and shakes it lustily all the 
 time ; seeming to say, like the conjurer, " There is no decep- 
 tion, ladies and gentlemen ; keep your eyes upon me, if you 
 please ! " 
 
 At last, the box is set before the boy ; and the boy, first 
 holding up his naked arm and open hand, dives down into the 
 hole (it is made like a ballot-box) and pulls out a number, 
 which is rolled up, round something hard, like a bonbon. This 
 he hands to the judge next him, who unrolls a little bit, and 
 hands it to the President, next to whom he sits. The 
 President unrolls it, very slowly. The Gapo Lazzarone leans 
 over his shoulder. The President holds it up, unrolled, to the 
 S6 
 
574 PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 Capo Lazzarone. The Capo Lazzarone, looking at it eagerly, 
 cries out, in a shrill loud voice, " Sessanta-due ! " (sixty-two)j 
 expressing the two upon his fingers, as he calls it out. Alas ! 
 the Capo Lazzarone himself has not staked on sixty-two. His 
 face is very long, and his eyes roll wildly. 
 
 As it happens to be a favorite number, however, it is 
 pretty well received, which is not always the case. They are 
 all drawn with the same ceremony, omitting the blessing. One 
 blessing is enough for the whole multiplication-table. The 
 only new incident in the proceedings, is the gradually deepen- 
 ing intensity of the change in the Capo Lazzarone, who has, 
 evidently, speculated to the very utmost extent of his means ; 
 and who, when he sees the last number, and finds that it is 
 not one of his, clasps his hands, and raises his eyes to the ceil- 
 ing before proclaiming it, as though remonstrating, in a secret 
 agony, with his patron saint, for having committed so gross a 
 breach of confidence. I hope the Capo Lazzarone may not 
 desert him for some other member of the Calendar, but he 
 seems to tlireaten it. 
 
 Where the winners may be, nobody knows. They certainly 
 are not present ; the general disappointment filling one with 
 pity for the poor people. They lopk : when we stand aside, 
 observing them, in their passage through the court-yard down 
 below : as miserable as the prisoners in the gaol (it forms a 
 part of the building), who are peeping down upon them, from 
 between their bars ; or, as the fragments of human heads which 
 are still dangling in chains outside, in memory of the good old 
 times, when their owners were strung up there, for the popu- 
 lar edification. 
 
 Away from Naples in a glorious sunrise, by the road to 
 Capua, and then on a three days' journey along by-roads, that 
 we may see, on the way, the monastery of Monte Cassino, 
 which is perched On the steep and lofty hill above the little 
 town of San Germano, and is lost on a misty morning in the 
 clouds. 
 
 So much the better, for the deep sounding of its bell, which, 
 as we go winding up, on mules, towards the convent, is heard 
 mysteriously in the still air, while nothing is seen but the gray 
 mist, moving solemnly and slowly, like a funeral procession. 
 Behold, at length the shadowy pile of building close before 
 us : its gray walls and towers dimly seen, though so near 
 and so vast : and the raw vapor rolling through its cloistew 
 heavily. 
 
PTCTUHES from ITAL Y. g^e 
 
 There are two black shadows Tvalking to and fro in the 
 quadrangle, near tLe statues of the Patron Saint and his sis- 
 ter ; and hopping on behind them, in and out of the old arches, 
 is a raven, croaking in answer to the bell, and uttering, at in- 
 tervals, the purest Tuscan. How like a Jesuit he looks ! 
 There never was a sly and stealthy fellow so at home as is 
 this raven, standing now at the refectory door, Wit4i his head 
 on one side, and pretending to glance another way, while he 
 is scrutinizing the visitors keenly, and listening with fixed at- 
 tention. What a dull-headed monk the porter becomes in 
 comparison ! 
 
 " He speaks like us ! " sayS the porter : " quite as plainly." 
 Quite as plainly, Porter. Nothing could be more expressive 
 than his reception of the peasants who are entering the gate 
 with baskets and burdens. There is a roll in his eye, and a 
 chuckle in his throat, which should qualify him to be chosen 
 Superior of an Order of Ravens. He knows all about it. 
 " It's all right," he says. " We know what we know. Come 
 along, good people. Glad to see you ! " 
 
 How was this extraordinary structure ever built in such a 
 situation, where the labor of conveying the stone, and iron, 
 and marble, so great a height, must have been prodigious ? 
 " Caw ! " says the raven-, welcoming tbe peasants. ■ How, 
 being despoiled by plunder, fire and earthquake, has it risen 
 from its ruins, and been again made what we now see it, with 
 its church so sumptuous and magnificent ? " Caw ! " says the 
 raven, welcoming the peasants. These people have a misera- 
 ble appearance, and (as usual) are densely ignorant, and all 
 beg, while the monks are chaunting in the chapel. " Caw ! " 
 says the raven, " Cuckoo ! " 
 
 So we leave him, chuckling and rolling his eye at the eon- 
 vent gate, and wind slowly down again through the cloud. At 
 last emerging from it, we come in sight of the village far beloW, 
 and the flat green country intersected by rivulets ; which is 
 pleasant and fresh to see after the obscurity and haze of the 
 convent — no disrespect to the raven, or the holy friars. 
 
 Away we go again, by muddy roads, and through the most 
 shattered and tattered of villages, where there is not a whole 
 window among all the houses, or a whole garment among all 
 the peasants, or the least appearance of anything to eat, in 
 any of the wretched hucksters' shops. The women wear a 
 bright red bodice laced before and ' behind, a white skirt and 
 the Neapolitan head-dress of square folds of linen, primitively 
 
576 PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 meant to ca'.ry loads on. The men and children wear 
 anything they can get. The soldiers are as dirty and ra- 
 pacious as the dogs. The inns are such hobgoblin places, 
 that they are infinitely more attractive and amusing than the 
 best hotels in Paris. Here is one near Valmontone (that 
 is Valmontone, the round, walled town on the mount opposite), 
 which is approached by a quagmire almost knee-deep. There 
 is a wild colonnade below, and a dark yard full of empty sta- 
 bles and lofts, and a great long kitchen with a great long 
 bench and a great long form, where a party of travellers, with 
 two priests, among them, are crowding round the fire while 
 their supper is cooking. Above stairs, is a rough brick gaf- 
 lery to sit in, with very little windows with very small patches 
 of knotty glass in them, and all the doors that open from it 
 (a dozen or two) off their hinges, and a bare board on tressels 
 for a table, at which thirty people might dine easily, and a fire- 
 place large enough in itself for a breakfast-parlor, where, as 
 the faggots blaze and crackle, they illuminate the ugliestand 
 grimmest of faces, drawn in charcoal on the whitewashed 
 chimney-sides by previous travellers. There is a flaring 
 country lamp on the table ; and, hovering about it, scratching 
 her thick black hair continually, a yellow dwarf of a woman, 
 who stands on tiptoe to arrange the hatchet knives; and takes 
 a flying leap to look into the water-jug. The beds in the 
 adjoining rooms are of the liveliest kind. There is not a soli- 
 tary scrap of looking-glass in the house, and the washing appa- 
 ratus is identical with the cooking utensils. But the yellow 
 dwarf sets on the table a good flask of excellent wine, holding 
 a quart at least ; and produces, among half-a-dozen other 
 dishes, two-thirds of a roasted kid, smoking hot. She is as 
 good-humored, too, as dirty, which is saying a great deal. So 
 here's long life to her, in the flask of wine, and prosperity to 
 the establishment. 
 
 Rome gained and left behind, and with it the Pilgrims who 
 are now repairing to their own hoines again — each with his 
 scallop shell and staff, and soliciting alms for the love of God 
 — we come, by a fair country, to the Falls of Terni, where the 
 whole Velino river dashes, headlong, from a rocky height, 
 amidst shining spray and rainbows. Perugia, strongly forti- 
 fied by art and nature, on a lofty eminence, rising abruptly 
 from the plain where purple mountains mingle with the distant 
 sky, is glowing, on its market day, with radiant colors. They 
 set oil it^ sombre but rich Gothic buildings admirably. The 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY. ^yy 
 
 pavement of its market-place is strewn with country goods. 
 Ail along the steep hill leading from the town, under the town 
 wall, there is a noisy fair of calves, lambs, pigSj horses, mules 
 and oxen. Fowls, geese, and turkeys, flutter vigorously among 
 their very hoofs ; and buyers, sellers, and spectators, cluster- 
 ing everywhere, block up the road as we come shouting down 
 upon them. 
 
 Suddenly there is a ringing sound among our horses. The 
 driver stops them. Sinking in his saddle, and casting up his 
 eyes to Heaven, he delivers this apostrophe, " Oh Jove Om- 
 nipotent ! here is a horse has lost his shoe ! " 
 
 Notwithstanding the tremendous nature of this accident, 
 and the utterly forlorn look and gesture (impossible in any 
 one but an Italian Vettun'no) with which it is announced, it is 
 not long in being repaired by a mortal Farrier, by whose as- 
 sistance we reach Castiglione the same night, and Ar^zo next 
 day. Mass is, of course, perfonning in its fine cathedral, 
 where the sun shines in among the clustered pillars, through 
 rich stained-glass windows : half revealing, half concealing the. 
 kneeling figures on the pavement, and striking out paths of 
 spotted light in the long aisles. 
 
 But, how much beauty of another kind is here, when, on a 
 fair clear morning, we look, from the summit of a hill, on 
 Florence ! See where it lies before us in a sun-lighted valley, 
 bright with the winding Arno, and shut in by swelling hills ; 
 its domes and towers, and palaces, rising from the rich coun- 
 try In a glittering heap, and shining in the sun like gold ! 
 
 Magnificently stern and sombre are the streets of beauti- 
 ful Florence ; and the strong old piles of building make 
 such heaps of shadow, on the ground and in the river, that 
 there is another and a different city of rich forms and fancies, 
 always lying at our feet. Prodigious palaces, constructed for 
 defence, with small distrustful windows heavily barred, and 
 walls of great thickness formed of huge masses of rough stone, 
 frown, in their old sulky state, on every street. In the midst 
 of the city — in the Piazza of the Grand Duke, adorned vyith 
 beautiful statues and the Fountain of Neptune — rises the 
 Palazzo Vecchio, with its enormous overhanging battlements, 
 and the Great Tower that watches over the whole town. In 
 its court-yard — rworthy of the Castle of Otranto in its ponder- 
 ous goom — is a massive staircase that the heaviest waggon 
 and the stoutest team of horses might be driven up. Within 
 it, is a Great Saloon, faded and tarnished in its stately deco* 
 
578 PICTURES FROM ITALY. 
 
 rations, and mouldering by grains, but recording yet, in pio- 
 tures on its walls, the triumphs of the Medici and the wars of 
 the old Florentine people. The prison is hard by, in an 
 adjacent court-yard of the buildings— a foul and dismal place, 
 where some men are shut up close, in small cells like ovens ; 
 and where others look . through bars and beg ; where some 
 are playing draughts, and some are talking to their friends, 
 who smoke^ the while, to purify the air ; arid some are buying 
 wine and fruit of women-vendors ; and all are squalid, dirty, 
 and vile, to look at. "They are merry enough, Signore," 
 says the Jailer. " They are all blood-stained here," he adds,' 
 indicating, with his hand, three-fourths of the whole building. 
 Before the hour is out, an old man, eighty years of age, quar- 
 relling over a bargain with a young girl of seventeen, stabs 
 her dead, in the market-place full of bright flowers ; and is 
 brought in prisoner, to . swell the number. 
 
 Among the four old bridges that span the river, the Ponte 
 Vecchio — that bridge which is covered with the shops of 
 Jewellers and Goldsmiths — is a most enchanting feature in 
 the scene. The space of one house, in the centre, being left 
 open, the view beyond, is shown as in a frame ; and that pre- 
 cious glimpse of sky, and water, and rich buildings,' shining so 
 quietly among the huddled roofs and gables on the bridge, is 
 exquisite. Above it, the Gallery of the Grand Duke crosses 
 the river. It was built to connect the two Great Palaces by a 
 secret passage ; and it takes its jealous course among the 
 streets and houses, with true despotism: going' where it lists, 
 and spurning every obstacle away, before it. 
 
 The Grand Duke has a worthier secret passage through- 
 the streets, in his black robe and hood, as a member of the 
 Compagnia della Misericordia, which brotherhood includes 
 all ranks of men. If an accident take place, their office is, 
 to raise the sufferer, and bear him tenderly to the Hospital. 
 If a fire break out, it is one of their functions to repair to the 
 spot, and render their assistance and protection. It is, also, 
 among their commonest offices, to attend and console the sick; 
 and they neither receive money, nor eat, nor drink, in any 
 house they visit for this purpose. Those who are on duty for 
 the time, are all called together, on a moment's notice, by the 
 tolling of the great bell of the Tower ; and it is said that the 
 Grand Duke has been seen^ at this sound, to rise from his 
 seat at table, and quietly withdraw to attend the summons. 
 
 In this ©ther large Piazza, where an irregular kind of 
 
PICTURES FROM ITALY. jyg 
 
 market is held, and stores of old iron and other small mer- 
 chandise are set out on stalls, or scattered on the pavement, 
 are grouped together, the Cathedral with its great Dome, the 
 beautiful Italian Gothic Tower the Campanile, and the Bap- 
 tistery with its wrought bronze do.ors. And here, a small un- 
 trodden square in the pavement, is "the Stone of Dante," 
 where (so runs the story) he was used to bring his stool, and 
 sit in contemplation. I wonder was he ever, in his bitter 
 exile, withheld from cursing the very stones in the streets of 
 Florence the ungrateful, by any kind remembrance of this old 
 musing-place, and its association with gentle thoughts of little 
 Beatrice ! 
 
 The chapel of the Medici, the Good and Bad Angels, of 
 Florence ; the church of Santa Croce where Michael Angelo 
 lies buried, and where every stone in the cloisters is eloquent 
 on great men's deaths ; innumerable ichurches, often masses 
 of unfinished heavy brickwork externally, but solemn and 
 serene within ; arrest our lingering steps, in strolling through 
 the eity. 
 
 . In keeping with the tombs among the cloisters, is the 
 , Museum of Natural History, famous through the woirld for its 
 preparations in wax ; begiilning;with models of leaves, seeds, 
 plants, inferior animals ; and gradually ascending, through 
 ' sepiarate organs of the human frame, up to the whole structure 
 of that wonderful creation, exquisitely presented, as in recent 
 death. Few admonitions of our frail mortality can be more 
 solemn and more sad, or strike so home upon the heart, as the 
 counterfeits of Youtla and Beauty that are lying there, upon 
 their beds, in their last sleep. 
 
 Beyond the walls, the whole sweet Valley of the Arno, the 
 convent at Fiesole, the Tower of Galileo, Boccaccio's house, 
 old villas and retreats ; innumerable spots of interest, all 
 glowing in a landscape of surpassing beauty steeped in the 
 richest light ; are spread before us. Returning from so much 
 brightness, how solemn and how grand the streets again, with 
 I their great, dark^ mournful palaces, and many legends : hot of 
 siege, and war, and might, and Iron Hand alone, but of the 
 triumphant growth of peaceful Arts and Sciences. 
 
 What li^t is shed upon the worldj at this day, from 
 amidst these rugged Palaces of Florence ! Here, open to all 
 comers, in their: beautiful and. calm retreats, the ancient Sculp- 
 tors are immortal, side by side with Michael Angelo, Canova, 
 Titian, Rembrandt, Raphael, Poets, Historians, Philosophers 
 
jSo PICTURES FROM ITAL Y. 
 
 — those illustrious men of history, beside whom its crowned 
 heads and harnessed warriors show so poor and small, and 
 are so soon forgotten. Here, the imperishable part of noble 
 minds survives, placid and equal, when strongholds of assault 
 and defence are overthrown j when the tyranny of the many, 
 or the few, or both, is but a tale ; when Pride and Power are 
 so much cloistered dust. The fire within the stern streets, 
 and among the massive Palaces and Towers, kindled by rays 
 from Heaven, is still burning brightly, when the flickering of > 
 war is extinguished and the household fires of generations 
 have decayed ; as thousands upon thousands of faces, rigid; 
 with the strife and passion of the hour, have faded out of the 
 old Squares and public haunts, while the nameless Florentine 
 Lady, preserved from oblivion by a Painter's hand, yet lives 
 on, in enduring grace and youth. 
 
 Let us look back on Elorence while we may, and when 
 its shining Dome is seen no more, go travelling through cheer-, 
 ful Tuscany, with a bright remernbrance of it ; for Italy will 
 be the fairer for the recollection. The summer time being 
 come : and Genoa, and Milan, and the Lake of Como lying 
 far behind us : and we resting at Faido, a Swiss village, near 
 the awful rocks and mountains, the everlasting snows and 
 roaring cataracts, of the Great Saint Gothard : hearing the 
 Italian tongue for the last time on this journey : let us part 
 from Italy, with all its miseries and wrongs, affectionately, in 
 our admiration of the beauties, natural and artificial, of which 
 it is full to overflowing, and in our tenderness towards a peo- 
 ple, naturally well-disposed, and patient, and sweet-tempered. 
 Years of neglect, oppression, and misrule, have been at work, 
 to change their nature and reduce their spirit; miserable 
 jealousies, fomented by petty Princes to whom union was 
 destruction, and division strength, have been a canker at their 
 root of nationality, and have barbarized their language ; but 
 the good that was in them ever, is in them yet, and a noble 
 people may be, one day, raised up from these ashes. Let us 
 enterfain that hope ! And let us not remember Italythe less 
 regardfuUy, because, in every fragment of her fallen Temples, 
 and every stone of her deserted palaces and prisons, she helps 
 to inculcate the lesson that the wheel of Time is.Tolling for an 
 end, and that the world is, in all great essentials, better, gen- 
 tler, more forbearing, and more hopeful, as it rolls 1 
 
AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 My readers have opportunities of judging for themselves 
 whether the influences and tendencies which I distrusted in 
 America had, at that time, any existence but in my imagina- 
 tion. They can examine for themselves whetlier there has 
 been anything in the public career of that country since, at 
 home or abroad, which suggests that those inflaences and 
 tendencies really did exist. As they find the fact, they will 
 judge me. If they discern any evidences of wrong-going, in 
 any direction that I have indicated, they will acknowledge 
 that I had reason in what I wrote. If they discern no such 
 indications, they will consider me altogether mistaken — ^but 
 not wilfully. 
 
 Prejudiced, I am not, and never have been, otherwise 
 than in favor of the United States. I have many friends in 
 America, I feel a grateful interest in the country, I hope and 
 believe it will successfully work out a problem of the highest 
 importance to the whole human race. To represent me as 
 viewing America with ill-nature, coldness, or animosity, is 
 merely to do a very foolish thing ; which is always a very 
 easy one. 
 
AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 GOING AWAY. 
 
 I SHALL never forget the one-fourth serious and three- 
 fourths comical astonishment, with which, on the morning of 
 the third of January eighteen-hundred-and-forty-two, I opened 
 the door of, and put my head into, a " state-room " on board 
 the Britannia steamrpacket, twelve hundred tons burthen per 
 register, bound for Halifax and Boston, and carrying Her 
 Majesty's mails. 
 
 That this state-room had been ' specially engaged for 
 "Charles Dickens, Esquire, and Lady," was rendered suffi- 
 ciently clear even to my scared intellect by a: very small manu- 
 script, announcing the fact, which was pinned on a very flat 
 guilt, covering a very thin mattress, spread like a surgical 
 plaster on a most inaccessible shelf. But that this was the 
 state-room concerning which Charles Dickens, Esquire, and 
 Lady, had held daily and nightly conferences for at least four 
 months preceding : that this could by any possibility be that 
 small snug chamber of the imagination, which CJiarles Dickens, 
 Esquire, with the spirit of prophecy strong, upon him, had 
 always foretold would contain at least one little sofa, and which 
 his lady, with a modest yet most magnificent sense of its 
 limited dimensions, had from the first opined would not hold 
 more than two enormous portmanteaus in some odd corner 
 out of ' sight (portmanteaus which could now no more be got 
 in at the door, not to say stowed away, than a giraffe could 
 be persuaded or forced into a flower-pot) : that this utterly 
 
^86 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 impracticable, thoroughly hopeless, and profoundly preposter- 
 ous box, had the remotest reference to, or connection with, 
 those chaste and pretty, not to Say gorgeous little bowers, 
 sketched by a masterly hand, in the highly varnished litho- 
 graphic plan hanging up in the agent's counting-house in the 
 city of London : that tiiis room of state, in short, could be 
 anything but a pleasant fiction and cheerful jest of the cap- 
 tain's, invented and put in practice for the better relish and 
 enjoyment of t-he-iesl/State-reom presently to be c^cjpsed : — 
 these were truths w,hich I, really cpiUl ript, for the .'moment, 
 bring my mind at all to bear upon or comprehend. And I sat 
 down upon a kind of horsehair slab, or perch, of which there 
 were two within ; and looked, without any expression of 
 countenance whatever, at some friends who had come on 
 board with us, and wlixS were crushing their faces into all 
 manner of shapes by endeavoring to squeeze them through 
 the small doorway. 
 
 We had experienced a pretty smart shock before coming 
 below, which, but that we were the most sanguine people liv- 
 ing, might have prepared us for the worst. The imaginative 
 artist to whom I have already made allusion, has depicted in 
 the same great workj a chamber of almost interminable per- 
 spective, furnished, as Mr. Robins would say, in a style of 
 more than Eastern splendor, and filled (but not inconveniently 
 so) with groups of ladies and gentlemen, in the very highest 
 state of enjoyment and vivacity. Before descending into the 
 bowels of the ship, we had passed from the deck into a long 
 narrow apartment, not unlike a gigantic hearse with windows 
 in the sides j having at the upper end a melancholy stove, at 
 which three oriour chilly stewards were warrtiing their hands j 
 while on either side, extending down its whole dreary length, 
 was a long, long table, over each of which a rack, fixed to the 
 low roof, and stuck full of drinking-glasses and cruet-stands, 
 hinted dismally at rolling seas and heavy weather. I had not 
 at that time seen the ideal presentiment of this diamber which 
 has since gratified me so much, but I observed that one of 
 our friends who had made- the arrangements for our voyage, 
 turned pale on entering, retreated on the friend behind him, 
 smote his forehead involuntarily, and said below his breath, 
 " Impossible 1 it cannot be!" or .words to that effect. He 
 recovered himself however by a great effort, and after a pre- 
 paratory cough or two, cried, with a ghastly smile which is 
 still before me, lookins: at the same time round the walK 
 
GOING AWA y. jgy 
 
 "■Ha! the breakfast-room, steward-^-eh ? " We all foresaw 
 wiiat the answer must be : we knew the agony he suffered. 
 He had often spoke of tJi& saloon; had taken in andlived upon 
 the pictorial idea j had usually given us tq understand, at 
 home, that to form a just conception of it, it would be neces- 
 sary to' multiply the size and furniture of an ordinary drawing- 
 room by seven, and then fall short of the reality. When the 
 man in reply avowed the truth ; the blunt, remorseless, naked 
 truth ; " This is the saloon, sir " — he actually reeled beneath 
 the blow. 
 
 In persons who were so soon to partj and interpose be- 
 tween tlieir else daily communication the formidable barrier 
 of many thousand miles of stormy space, and who> were for 
 that reason anxious to cast no other cloud, not even the pass- 
 ing shadow of a moment's disappointment or discomfiture, 
 upon the short interval of happy companionship that yet re- 
 mained to them — in persons so situated, the natural transition 
 from these first surprises was obviously into peals of hearty 
 laughter, and I can report that I, for one, being still seated 
 upon the slab or perch before-mentioned, roared outright until 
 the vessel rang again. Thus, in less than two minutes after 
 coming upon it for the first time, we all by common consent 
 s^eed that this state-room was the pleasantest and most 
 facetious and capital contrivance possible ; and that to have 
 had jt one inch larger, would have been quite a disagreeable 
 and deplorable state of things. And with this ; and with 
 showing how, — by very nearly closing the door, and twining 
 in and out like serpents, and by counting the little washing 
 slab as standing-room, — we could manage to insinuate four 
 people into it, all at one time ; and entreating each other to 
 observe how very airy it was (in dock), and how there was a 
 beautiful port-hole which could be kept open all day (weather 
 permitting), and how there was quite a large bull's-eye just 
 over the looking-glass which would render shaving a perfectly 
 easy and delightful process (when the ship didn't roll too 
 much) ; we arrived, at last, at the unanimous conclusion that 
 it was rather spacious than otherwise : though I do verily 
 believe that, deducting the two berths, one above the other, 
 th^n which nothing smaller for sleeping in was ever made 
 except coffins, it was no bigger than one of those hackney 
 cabriolets which have the door behind, and shoot their fares 
 out, like sacks of coals, upon the pavement. 
 
 Having settled this point to the perfect satisfaction of all 
 
jgg AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 parties, concerned and unconcerned, we sat down round the 
 fire in the ladies' cabin— just to try the effect. It was rather 
 dark, certainly ; but somebody said, " of course it wouldbe 
 light, at sea," a proposition to which we all assented ; echoing 
 " of course, of course ; " though it would be exceedingly diffi- 
 cult to say why we thought so. I remember, too, when we 
 had discovered and exhausted another topic of consolation in 
 the circumstance of this ladies' cabin adjoining our state-room, 
 and the consequently immense feasibility of sitting there at all 
 times and seasons, and had fallen into a momentary silence^ 
 leaning our faces on our hands and looking at the fire, one of 
 our party said, with the solemn air of a man who had made a 
 discovery, " What a relish mulled claret will have down here 1 " 
 which appeared to strike us all most forcibly ; as though there 
 were something spicy and high-flavored in cabins, which 
 essentially improved that composition, and rendered it quite 
 incapable of perfection an)fwhere else. 
 
 There was a stewardess, too, actively engaged in produc- 
 ing clean sheets and tableclotlis from the very entrails of the 
 sofas, and from- unexpected lockers, of such artful mechanism, 
 that it made one's head ache to see them opened one after 
 another, and rendered it quite a distracting circumstance to 
 follow her proceedings, and to find that every nook and comer 
 and individual piece of furniture was something else besides 
 what it pretended to be, and was a mere trap and deception 
 and place of secret stowage, whose ostensible purpose was its 
 least useful one. 
 
 God bless that stewardess for her piously fraudulent ac- 
 count of January voyages ! God bless her for^her clear recol- 
 lection of the companion passage of last year, when nobody 
 was ill, and everybody dancing from morning to night, and it 
 was " a run " of twelve days, and a piece of the purest frolic, 
 and delight, and jollity ! All happiness be with her for her 
 bright face and her pleasant Scotch tongue, which had sounds 
 of old Home in it for my fellow-traveller ; and for her predic- 
 tions of fair winds and fine weather (all wrong, or I shouldn't 
 be half so fond of her) : and for the ten thousand small frag- 
 ments of genuine womanly tact, by which, witliout piecing 
 them elaborately together, and patching them up into shape 
 and form and case and pointed application, she nevertheless 
 did plainly show that all young mothers on one side of the 
 Atlantic were near and close at hand to their little children 
 left upon the other ; and that what seemed to the uninitiated 
 
GOING AWAY. ^89 
 
 a .serious journey, was, to those who were in the secret, a 
 mere frolic, to be sung about and whistled at ! Light be lier 
 heart, and gay her merry eyes, for years ! 
 
 The state-room had grown pretty fast; but by this time it 
 liad expanded into something quite bulky, and almost boasted 
 a bay-window to view the sea from. So we went upon deck 
 again in high spirits ; and there, everything was in such a 
 state of bustle and active preparation, that the blood quick- 
 ened its pace, and. whirled through one's veins on that clear 
 frosty morning with involuntary mirthfulness. For every gal- 
 lant ship was riding slowly up and down, and every little boat 
 was splashing noisily in the water ; and knots of people stood 
 upon the wharf, gazing with a kind of " dread delight " on the 
 far-famed fast American steamer ; and one party of men were 
 " taking in the milk," or, in other words, getting the cow on 
 board ; and another were filling the icehouses to the very 
 throat with fresh provisions ; with butchers'-meat and garden- 
 stuff, pale sucking-pigs, calves' heads in scores, beef, veal, and 
 pork, and poultry out of all proportion; and others were coil- 
 ing ropes and busy with oakum yarns ; and others were lower- 
 ing heavy packages into .the hold ; and the purser's head was 
 barely visible as it loomed in a state of exquisite perplexity 
 from the midst of a vast pile of passengers' luggage; and 
 there seemed to be nothing goingon anywhere, or uppermost 
 in the mind of anybody, but preparations. for this mighty voy- 
 age. This, with the bright cold sun, the bracing air, the 
 crisply-curling water, the thin white crust of morning ice upon 
 the decks which crackled with a sharp and cheerful sound 
 beneath the lightest^tread, was irresistible. And when, again 
 ■ upon the shore, we turned and saw from the vessel's mast her 
 name signalled in flags of joyous colors, and fluttering by 
 their side the beautiful American banner with its stars and 
 stripes, — the long three thousand miles and more, and, longer 
 still, the six whole months of absence, so dwindled and faded, 
 that the ship had gone out and come home again, and it was 
 broad spring alleady in the Coburg Dock at Liverpool. 
 
 I have not inquired . among my rnedical acquaintance, 
 whether Turtle, and cold Punch, with Hock, Champagne, and 
 Claret, and all the slight et cetera usually included in an un- 
 limited order for a good dinner — especially when it is left to 
 the liberal construction of my faultless friend, Mr. Radleiy, of 
 the Adelphi Hotel — are peculiarly calculated to suffer a, sea- 
 change ; or whether a plain mutton-chop, and a glass or two 
 
jgo AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 of sherry, would be less likely of conversion into foreign and 
 disconcerting material. My own opinion is, that whether one 
 is discreet or indiscreet in these particulars, on the eve of a 
 sea-voyage, is a matter of little consequence ; and that, to use 
 a common phrase, " it comes to very much the same thing in 
 the end." Be this as it may, I know that the dinner of that 
 day was undeniably perfect ; that it comprehended all these 
 items, and a great many more ; and that we all did ample 
 justice to it. And I know too, that, bating a certain tacit 
 avoidance of any allusion to to-morrow ; such as may be supv 
 posed to prevail between delicate-minded turnkeys, and a 
 sensitive prisoner who is to be hanged next morning ; we got 
 on very well, and, all things considered, were merry enough; 
 
 When the morning — the morning — came, and we met at 
 breakfast, it was curious to see how eager we all were tp pre- 
 "Vent a moment's pause in' the conversation, and how astound- 
 ingly gay everybody was : the forced spirits of each member 
 of the little party having as much likeness to his natural mirth, 
 as hot-house peas at five guineas the quart, resemble in flavor 
 the growth of the dews, and air, and rain of Heaven. But as 
 one o'clock, the hour for going aboard, drew near, this volu- 
 bility dwindled away by little and little, despite the most per- 
 severing efforts to the contrary, until at last, the matter being 
 now quite desperate, we threw off all disguise ; openly specu- 
 lated upon where we should be this time to-morrow, this time 
 next day, and so forth ; and entrusted a vast number of mes- 
 sages to those who intended returning to town that night, 
 which were tp be delivered at home and elsewhere without 
 fail, within the very shortest possible space of time after the 
 arrival of the railway train at Euston Square. And commis- 
 sions and remembrances do so crowd upon one at such a time, 
 that we were still busied with this employment when we found 
 ourselves fused, as it were, into a dense conglomeration of 
 passengers and passengers' friends and passengers' luggage, 
 all jumbled together on the deck of a small steamboat, and 
 panting and snorting off to the packet, which had worked out 
 of dock yesterday afternoon and was now' lying at her moor- 
 ings in the river. 
 
 And there she is ! all eyes are turned to where she lies, 
 dimly discernible through the gathering fog of the early win- 
 ter afternoon ; every finger is pointed in the same direction ; 
 arid murmurs of interest and admiraftion — as " How beautiful 
 she looks ! " " How trim she is ! " — aje heard on every side. 
 
GOING AWAY. ^oj 
 
 Even the lazy gentleman with, his hat on one side and his 
 hands in his pockets, who has dispensed so much consolation 
 by mquiring with a yawn of another gentleman whether he is 
 "going across "^as if it were a ferry — even he condescends 
 to look that way, and nod his head, as who should say, " No 
 mistake about thai: " and not even the sage Lord Burleigh in 
 his nod, included half so much as this lazy gentleman of might 
 who has made the passage (as everybody on board has found 
 out already ; it's impossible to say how) thirteen times witl-^- 
 out a single accident ! There is another passenger very much 
 wrapped-up, who has been frowned down by the rest, and 
 morally trampled upon and crushed, for presuming to inquire 
 with a timid interest how long it is since the poor President 
 went down. He is standing close to the lazy gentleman, and 
 says with a faint smile that he believes She is a very strong 
 Ship; to which the lazy gentleman, looking first in his ques- 
 tioner's eye and then very hard in the wind's, answers unex- 
 pectedly and ominously, that She need. be. Upcin this the 
 lazy gentleman instantly falls very low in the popular estimaj' 
 tion, and the passengers, with looks of defiance, whisper to 
 each other that he is an ass, and an impostor, and clearly 
 don't know anything at all about it. 
 
 But we are made fast alongside the packet, whose huge 
 r-ed funnel is smoking bravely, giving rich promise of serious 
 intentions. Packing-cases, portmanteaus, carpet bags, and 
 boxes, are already passed from hand to hand, and hauled on 
 board with breathless rapidity. The officers, smartly dressed, 
 are at the gangway handing the passengers up the side, and 
 hurrying the men. In five minutes' time, the little steamer 
 is utterly deserted, and the packet is; beset and over-run by 
 its late freight, who instantly pervade the whole ship, and 
 are to be met with by the dozen in every nook and corner ; 
 swarming down below with their own baggage, and stumbling 
 over other people's ; disposing themselves comfortably in 
 wrong cabins, and creating a most horrible confusion by 
 having to turn out again ; madly bent upon opening locked 
 doors, and on forcing a passage into all kinds of out-of-the- 
 way places where there is no thoroughfare ; sending wild, 
 stewards, with elfin hair, to and fro upon the breezy decks on 
 unintelligible errands, impossible of execution : and in short, 
 creating the most extraordinary and bewildering tumult. In 
 the midst of all this, the lazy gentleman, who seems to have 
 no luggage of any kind — not so much as a friend, even — 
 
592 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 lounges up and down the hurricane deck, coolly puffing a 
 cigar ; and, as this unconcerned demeanor again exalts him 
 in the opinion of those who have leisure to observe his pro- 
 ceedings, every time he looks up at the masts, or down at the 
 decks, or over the side, they look there too, as wondering 
 whether he sees anything wrong anywhere, and hoping that, 
 in case he should, he will have the goodness to mention it. 
 
 What have we here? The captain's boat! and yonder 
 the captain himself. Now, by all our hopes and wishes, the 
 very man he ought to be ! A well-made, tight-built, dapper 
 little fellow ; with a ruddy face, which is a letter of invitation- 
 to shake him by both hands at once ; and with a clear, blue, 
 honest eye, that it does one good to see one's sparkling 
 image in. " Ring the bell ! " " Ding, ding, ding ! " the very 
 bell is in a hurry. "Now for the shore — ^who's for the 
 shore?" — " These gentlemen, I am sorry to say." They are 
 away, and never said, Good-b'ye. Ah! now they wave it 
 from the little boat. " Good-b'ye ! Good-b'ye ! " Three 
 cheers from them ; three more from us ; three more from them : 
 and they are gone. 
 
 To and fro, to and fro, to and fro again a hundred times ! 
 This waiting for the latest mail-bags is worse than all. If we 
 could have gone off in the midst of that last burst, we should 
 have started triumphantly : but to lie here, two hours and 
 more in the damp fog, neither staying at home nor going 
 abroad, is letting one gradually down into the very depths 
 of dulness and low spirits. A speck in the mist, at last ! 
 That's something. It is the boat we wait for ! That's more 
 to the purpose. The captain appears on the paddle-box with 
 his speaking trumpet ; the officers take their stations; all 
 hands are on the alert ; the flagging hopes of the passengers 
 revive ; the cooks pause in their savory work, and look out 
 with faces full of interest. The boat comes alongside ; the 
 bags are dragged in anyhow, and flung down for the moment 
 anywhere. Three cheers more : and as the first one rings 
 upon our ears, the vessel throbs like a strong giant that has 
 just received the breath of life ; the two great wheels turn 
 fiercely round for the first time ; and the noble ship, with 
 wind and tide astern, breaks proudly through the lashed and 
 foaming water. 
 
THE PASSAGE OUT 5^3 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE PASSAGE OUT. 
 
 We all dined together that day ; and a rather formidable 
 party we were : no fewer than eighty-six strong. The vessel 
 being pretty deep in the water, with all her coals on board 
 and so many passengers, and the weather being calm and 
 quiet, there was but little motion ; so that before the dinner 
 was half over, even those passengers who were most distrust- 
 ful of themselves plucked up amazingly ; and those who in 
 the morning had returned to the universal question, " Are 
 you a good sailor ? " a very decided negative, now either 
 parried the inquiry with the evasive reply, " Oh ! I suppose 
 I'm no worse than anybody else ; " or, reckless of all moral 
 obligations, answered boldly " Yes : " and with some irrita- 
 tion too, as though they would add, " I should like to know 
 what you see in »z?, sir, particularly, to justify suspicion ! " 
 
 Notwithstanding this high tone of courage and confidence, 
 I could not but Observe that very few remained long over 
 their wine ; and that everybody had an unusual love of the 
 open air; and that the favorite and most coveted seats were 
 invariably those nearest to the door. The tea-table, too, was 
 by no means as well attended as the dinner-table ; and there 
 was less whist-playing than might have been expected. Still, 
 with the exception of one lady, who had retired with some 
 precipitation at dinner-time, immediately after being assisted 
 to the finest cut of a very yellow boiled leg of mutton with 
 very green capers, there wera no invalids as yet ; and walk- 
 ing, and smoking, and drinking of brandy-and-water (but 
 always in the open air), went on with unabated spirit, until 
 eleven o'clock or thereabouts, when " turning in " — no- sailor 
 of seven hours' experience, talks of going to bed — ^became the 
 order of the night. The perpetual tramp of boot-heels on 
 the decks gave place to a heavy silence, and the whole 
 human freight was stowed away below, excepting a very few 
 stragglers, like myself, who were probably, like me, afraid to 
 go there. 
 
 To one unaccustomed to such scenes, this is a very strik- 
 ing time on shipboard. Afterwards, and when its novelty 
 
5g4 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 had long worn off, it never ceased to have a peculiar interest 
 and charm for me. The gloom through which the great 
 black mass holds its direct and certain course ; the rushing 
 water, plainly heard, but dimly seen ; the broad, white, glis- 
 tening track," that follows in the vessel's wake ; the men_ on 
 the look-out forward, who would be scarcely visible against 
 the dark sky, but for their blotting out some score of glisten- 
 ing stars ; the helmsman at the wheel, with the illuminated 
 card before him, shining, a speck of light amidst the darkness, 
 like something sentient and of Divine intelligence ; the mel- 
 ancholy sighing of the wind through block, and rope, and 
 chain ; the gleaming forth of light from every crevice, nook, 
 and tiny piece of glass about the decks, as though the ship 
 were filled with fire in hiding, ready to burst through any out- 
 let, wild with its resistless power of death and ruin. At first, 
 too, and even when the hour, and all the objects it exalts, 
 have come to be familiar, it is difficult, alone and thoughtful, 
 to hold them to their proper shapes and forms. They change 
 with the wandering fancy ; assume the semblance of things 
 left far away ; put on the well-remembered aspect of favorite 
 places dearly loved; and even people them with shadows. 
 Streets, houses, rooms ; figures so like their usual occupants,- 
 that they have startled me by their reality, which far exceeded, 
 as it seemed to me, all power of mine to conjure up the ab- 
 sent ; have, many and many a time, at such an hour, grown 
 suddenly out of objects with whose real look, and use, and 
 purpose, I was as well acquainted as with my own two hands. 
 My own two hands, and feet likewise, being very cold, 
 however, on this particular occasion, I crept below at mid- 
 night. It was not exactly comfortable below. It was decid- 
 edly close ; and it was impossible to be unconscious of the 
 presence of that extraordinary compound of strange smells, 
 which is to be found nowhere but on board ship, and which 
 is such a subtle perfume that it seems to enter at every pore 
 of the skin, and whisper of the hold. Two passengers' wives 
 (one of them my own) lay already in silent agonies on the 
 sofa ; and one lady's maid {my lady's) was a mere bundle on 
 the floor, execrating her destiny, and pounding her curl-papers 
 among the stray boxes. Everything sloped the wrong way : 
 which in itself was an aggravation scarcely to be borne. I 
 had left the door open, a moment before, in the bosom of a 
 gentle declivity, and, when I turned to shut it, it was on the 
 summit of a lofty eminence. Now every plank and timber 
 
tHE PASSAGE OUT. ene 
 
 creaked, as if the ship were made of wicker-work ; and now 
 crackled, like an enormous fire of the driest possible twigs. 
 There was nothing for it but bed ; so I "went to bed. 
 
 It was pretty much the same for the next two days, with a 
 tolerably fair wind and dry weather. I read in bed (but to 
 this hour I don't know what) a good deal ; and reeled on 
 deck a little ; drank cold brandy-and-water with an unspeak- 
 able disgust, and ate hard biscuit persfiveringly ; not ill, but 
 going to be. 
 
 It is the third morning. I am awakened out of my sleep 
 by a dismal shriek from my wife, who demands to know 
 ^Aether there's any danger. I rouse myself, and look out of 
 bed. The water-jug is plunging and leaping like a lively 
 dolphin ; all the small articles are afloat, except my shoes, 
 which are stranded on a carpet-bag, high and dry, like a 
 couple of coal-barges. Suddenly I see them spring into the 
 air, and behold the looking-glass, which is nailed to the wall, 
 sticking fast upon the ceiling. At the sartie time the door 
 entirely disappears, and a new one is opened in the floor. 
 Then I begin to comprehend that the state-room is standing 
 on its head. 
 
 Before it is possible to make any arrangement at all com- 
 patible with this novel state of things, the ship rights. Before 
 one can say " Thank Heaven ! " she wrongs again. Before 
 one can cry she is wrong, she seems to have started forward, 
 and to be a creature actually running of its own accord, with 
 broken knees and failing legs, through every variety of hole 
 and pitfall, and stumbling constantly. Before one can so 
 much as wonder, she takes a high leap into the air. Before 
 she has well done that, she takes a deep dive into the water. 
 Before she has gained the surface, she throws a summerset. 
 The instant she is on her legs, she rushes backward. And 
 so she goes on staggering, heaving, wrestling, leaping, diving, 
 jumping, pitching, throbbing, rolling, and rocking : and going 
 through all these movements, sometimes by turns, and some- 
 times altogether : until one feels disposed to roar for mercy. 
 
 A steward passes. " Steward ! " " Sir ? " " What is the 
 matter ? what do you call this ? " " Rather a heavy sea on, 
 sir, and a head-wind." 
 
 A head-wind 1 Imagine, a human face upon the vessel's 
 prow, with fifteen thousand Samsons in one bent upon driving 
 her back, and hitting her exactly between the eyes whenever 
 she attempts to advance an inch. Imagine the ship herself, 
 
^ g6 AMERICAN NO TES. 
 
 with every pulse and artery of her huge body swollen and 
 bursting under this maltreatment, sworn to go on or die. 
 Imagine the wind howling, the sea roaring, the rain beating;,: 
 all in furious array against her. Picture the sky both dark 
 and wild, and the clouds, in fearful sympathy with the waves, 
 making another ocean in the air. Add to all this, the clatter- 
 ing on deck and down below ; the tread of hurned feet ; the 
 loud hoarse shouts of seamen ; the gurgling in and out of 
 water through the scuppers ; with, every now and then, the 
 striking of a heavy sea upon the planks above, with the deep, 
 dead, heavy sound of thunder heard within a vault j— and 
 there is the head-wind of that January morning. 
 
 I say nothing of what may be called the domestic noises 
 of the ship ; such as the breaking of glass and crockery, the 
 tumbling down of stewards, the gambols, overhead, of loose 
 casks and truant dozens of bottled porter, and the very re- 
 markable and far from exhilarating sounds raised in their 
 various state-rooms by the seventy passengers who were too 
 ill to get up to breakfast. : I say nothing of them : for although 
 I lay listening to this concert for three or four days, I don't 
 think I heard it for more than a quarter of a minute, at the 
 expiration of which term, I lay down again, excessively sea- 
 sick. 
 
 Not sea-sick, be it understood, in the ordinary acceptation 
 of the term : I wish I had been : but in a form which I have 
 never seen or heard described, though I have no doubt it is 
 very common. I lay there, all the day long, quite coolly, and 
 contentedly; with no sense of weariness, with no desire to 
 get up, or get better, or take the air ; with no curiosit)', or 
 carej or regret, of any sort or degree, saving that I think I 
 can remember, in this universal indifference, having a kind 
 of lazy joy — of fiendish, delight, if anything so lethargic can 
 be dignified with the title — in the fact of my wife being 
 too ill to talk to me. If I may be allowed to illustrate my 
 state of mind by such an example, I should say that I was 
 exactly in the condition of the elder Mr. Willet, after the in- 
 cursion of the rioters into his bar at Chigwell. Nothing 
 would have surprised me. - If, in the momentary illumination 
 of any ray of intelligence that may have come upon me in 
 the way of thoughts of Home, a goblin postman, with a scar- 
 let coat and bell, had come into that little kennel before me, 
 broad awake in broad day, and, apologizing for being damp 
 through walking in the sea, had handed me a letter directed 
 
THE PASSAGE OUT. cgy 
 
 to myself, in familiar characters, I am certain I should not 
 have felt one atom of astonishment : I should have been per- 
 fectly satisfied. If Neptune himself had walked in, with a 
 toasted shark on his trident, I should ha,ve looked upon the 
 event as one of the very commonest ever3'day occurrences. 
 
 Once — once — I found myself on deck. I don't know 
 how I got there, or what possessed me to go there, but there I 
 was ; and completely dressed too, with a huge pea-coat on, 
 and a pair of boots such as no weak man in his senses could 
 ever have got into. I found myself standing, when a gleam 
 of consciousness came upon me, holding on to something. I 
 don't know what. I think it was the boatswain : or it may 
 have been the pump : or possibly the cow. I can't say how 
 long I had been there ; whether a day or a minute. I recol- 
 lect trying to think about something (about anything in the 
 whole wide world, I was not particular) without the smallest 
 efEect. I could not even make out which was the sea, and 
 which the sky, for the horizon seemed dnmk, and was flying 
 wildly about in all directions. Even in that incapable state, 
 however, I recognized the lazy gentleman standing before 
 me : nautically clad in a suit of shaggy blue, with an oilskin 
 hat. But I was too imbecile, although Iknew it to be he, to 
 separate him from his dress ; and tried to . call him, I remem- 
 berj Pilot. After another interval of total unconsciousness, I 
 found he had gone, and recognized another figure in its 
 place. It seemed to wave and fluctuate before me as though 
 I saw it reflected in an unsteady looking-glass ; but I knew it 
 for the captain ; and such was the cheerful influence of his 
 face, tliat I tried to smile : yes, even then I tried to smile. I 
 saw by his gestures that he addressed me ; but it was a long 
 time before I could make out that he remonstrated against 
 my standing up to my knees in water — ias I was ; of course I 
 don't know why. I tried to thank him, but couldn't. I 
 could only point to my boots — or wherever I supposed my 
 boots to be — and say in a plaintive voice, " Cork soles : " at 
 the same time endeavoring, I am told, to sit down in the pool. 
 Finding that I was quite insensible, and for the time a maniac, 
 he humanely conducted me below. 
 
 There I remained until I got better: suffering,. whenever 
 I was recommended to eat anything, an amount of anguish 
 only second to that which is said to be endured by the ap-. 
 parently drowned, in the process of lestoration to life. One 
 gentleman on board had a letter of introduction to me from a 
 
598 AMERICAN NO TES. 
 
 mutual friend in London. He sent it below with his card, on 
 the morning of the head-wind ; and I was long troubled with 
 the idea that he might be up, and well, and a hundred tirnes 
 a day expecting me to call upon him in the saloon. I im- 
 agined him one of those cast-iron images — I will notrcail them 
 men — who ask, with red faces, and lusty voices, what sea-sick- 
 ness means, and whether it really is as bad as it is repre- 
 sented to be. This was very torturing indeed ; and I don't 
 think I ever felt such perfect gratification and gratitude of 
 heart, as I did when I heard from the ship's doctor that he 
 had been obliged to put a large mustard poultice on this very 
 gentleman's stomach. I date my recovery from the receipt 
 of that intelligehce. 
 
 It was materially assisted though, I have no doubt, by a 
 heavy gale of wind, which came slowly up at sunset, when we 
 were about ten days out, and raged with gradually increasing 
 fury until morning, saving that it lulled for an hour a little 
 before midnight. There was something in the unnatural re- 
 pose of that hour, and in the after gathering of the storm, so 
 inconceivably awful and tremendous, that its bursting into full 
 violence was almost a relief. 
 
 The laboring of the ship in the troubled sea on this night 
 I shall never forget. " Will it ever be worse than this ? " was 
 a question I had often heard asked, when everything was 
 sliding and bumping about, and when it certainly did seem 
 difficult to comprehend the possibility of anything afloat being 
 more disturbed v/ithout toppling over and going down. But 
 what the agitation of a steam vessel is, on a bad winter's 
 night in the wild Atlantic, it is impossible for the most vivid 
 imagination to conceive. To say that she is flung down on 
 her side in the waves, with her masts dipping into them, and 
 that, springing up again, she rolls over on the other side, until 
 a heavy sea strikes her with the noise of a hundred great guns 
 and hurls her back — that she stops, and staggers, and shivers, 
 as though stunned, and then, with a violent throbbing at her 
 heart, darts onward like a monster goaded into madness, to 
 be beaten down, and battered, and crushed, and leaped on by 
 the angry sea — that thunder, lightning, hail, and rain, and 
 wind, are all in fierce contention for the mastery — that every 
 plank has its groan, every nail its shriek, and every drop o'f 
 water in the' great ocean its howling voice — ^is notliing. To 
 pay th^t all is grand, and all appalling and horrible in the last 
 degree, is nothing. Words cannot express it. Thoughts 
 
THE PASSAGE OUT. ^gc, 
 
 cannot convey it. Only a dream can call it up again, in all 
 its fury, rage, and passion. 
 
 And yet, in the very midst of these terrors, I was placed 
 in a situation so exquisitely ridiculous, that even then I had 
 as strange a sense of its absurdity as I have now, and could 
 no more help laughing than I can at any other comical inci- 
 dent, happening under circumstances the most favorable to 
 its enjoyment. ■ About midnight we shipped a sea, which 
 forced its way through the skylights, burst open the doors 
 above, and came raging and roaring down into the ladies' 
 cabin, to the unspeakable consternation of my wife and a lit- 
 tle Scotch lady — ^who, by the way, had previously sent a mes- 
 sage to the captain by the stewardess, requesting him, with 
 her compliments, to have a steel conductor immediately at- 
 tached to the top of eveiy mast, and' to the chimney, in order 
 that! the ship might not be struck by lightning. They and 
 the handmaid before-mentioned, being in such ecstasies of 
 fear that I scarcely knew what to do with them, I naturally 
 bethought myself of some restorative or comfortable cordial; 
 and nothing better occurring to me, at the moment, than hot 
 brandy-and-water, I procured a turnbler full without delay. 
 It being impossible to stand or sit without holding on, they 
 were all heaped together in one corner of a long sofa^ — a fix- 
 ture extending entirely across the cabin — where they clung to 
 each other in momentary expectation of being drowned. 
 When I approached this place with my specific, and was 
 about to administer it with iiiany consolatory expressions to 
 the nearest sufferer, what was toy dismay to see them all roll 
 slowly down to the other end. And when I staggered to that 
 end, and held' out the glass once more, how immensely baffled 
 were my good intentions by the ship giving another lurch, 
 and their all rolling back again ! I suppose I dodged them 
 up and down this sofa for at least a quarter of an hour, with- 
 out reaching them once ; and by the time I did catch them, 
 the brandy-and-water was diminished by constant spilling, to 
 a teaspoonful. To complete the group, it is necessary to 
 recognize in this disconcerted dodger, an individual very pale 
 from sea-sickness, who had shaved his beard and brushed 
 his hair, last, at Liverpool : and whose only article of dress 
 (hnen not included) were a pair of dreadnought trousers ; a 
 Mile jacket, formerly admired upon the Thames at Richmond; 
 no stockings ; and one slipper. 
 
 Of the outrageous antics performed by that ship next 
 
6oo AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 morning ; which made bed a practical joke, and getting up, by 
 any process short of falling out, an impossibility ; I say no- 
 thing. But anything like the utter dreariness and desolation 
 that met my eyes when I, literally " tumbled up " on deck at 
 noon, I never saw. Ocean and sky were all of one dull, 
 heavy, uniform, lead color. There was no extent of prospect 
 even over.the dreary waste that lay around us, for the sea ran 
 high, and the horizon encompassed us like a large black 
 hoop. Viewed from the air, or some tall bluff on shore, it 
 would have been imposing and stupendous, no doubt ; but 
 seen from the wet and rolling decks, it only impressed one 
 giddily and painfully. In the gale of last night the life-boat 
 had been crushed by one blow of the sea like a walnut-shell ; 
 and there it hung dangling in the air : a mere faggot of crazy 
 boards. The planking Of the paddle-boxes had been torn 
 sheer away. The wheels were exposed and bare ; and they 
 whirled and dashed their spray about the decks at random. 
 Chimney, white with crusted salt ; topmasts struck ; storm- 
 sails set ; rigging all knotted, tangled, wet, and dxooping : 
 a gloomier picture it would be hard to look upon. 
 
 I was now comfortably established by courtesy in the ladies' 
 cabin, where, besides ourselves, there were only four, other 
 passengers. First, the little Scotch lady before mentioned, 
 on her way to join her husband at New York, who had settled 
 there three years before. Secondly and thirdly, an honest 
 young Yorkshireman connected with some American house ; 
 domiciled in that same city, and carrying thither his beautiful 
 young wife to whom he had bepn married but a fortnight, and 
 who was the fairest specimen of a comely English country 
 girl I have ever seen. Fourthly, fifthly, and lastly, another 
 couple: newly married too,' if one might judge from the 
 endearments they frequently interchanged : of whom I know 
 no more than that they were rather a mysterious, run-away 
 kind of couple ; tiiat the lady had great personal attractions 
 also ; and that the gentleman carried more guns with 
 him than Robinson Crusoe, wore a shooting-coat, and had 
 two great dogs on board. On further consideration, I re- 
 member that he tried hot roast pig and bottled ale as a cure 
 for sea-sickness ; and that he took these remedies (usually in 
 bed) day after day, with astonishing perseverance. I may 
 add, for the information of the curious, that they decidedly 
 failed. 
 
 The weather continuing obstinately and almost unprece- 
 
THE PASSAGE OUT. 6or 
 
 (ientedly bad, we usually straggled into this cabin, more or 
 less faint and miserable, about an hour before noon, and lay 
 down on the sofas to recover; during which interval, the 
 captain would look in to communicate the state of the wind, 
 the moral certainty of its changing^ to-morrow (the weather 
 is al^yays going to improve : to-morrow, at sea), the vessel's 
 rate of sailing, and so forth. • Observations there were none 
 to tell us of, for there was no sun to take them by. But a 
 description of one day will serve for all the rest. Here it is. 
 The captain being gone, we compose ourselves to read, if 
 the place be light enough ; and if not, we doze and talk alter- 
 nately. At one, a bell rings, and the stewardess comes down 
 with a steaming dish of baked potatoes,, and another of roasted 
 apples ; and plates of pig's face, cold ham, salt beef ; or per- 
 haps a smoking mess of rare hot collops. We fall to upon 
 these dainties; eat as much as we can (we have great appe- 
 tites now) ; and are as long as possible about it. If the fire 
 will burn (it will sometimes) we are pretty cheerful. If it 
 Won't, we all remark to each other that it's very cold, rub our 
 hands, cover ourselves with coats and cloaks; and lie down 
 again to doze, talk, and read (provided as aforesaid), until 
 dinner-time. At five, another bell rings,, and the stewardess 
 reappears with another dish of potatoes — boiled this time — 
 and store of hot meat of various kinds : not forgetting the 
 roast pig, to be taken medicinally. We sit down at table 
 again (rather more cheerfully than before) ; prolong the meal 
 with a rather mouldy dessert of apples, grapes, and oranges; 
 iuid drink our -wine and brandy-and-water. The bottles and 
 glasses are still upon the table and the oranges and so forth 
 are rolling about according to their fancy and the ship's way, 
 when the doctor comes down, by special nightly invitation, to 
 join our evening rubber : immediately on whose arrival we 
 make a party at whist, and as it is a rough night and the 
 cards will not lie on the cloth, we put the tricks in our pock- 
 ets as we take them. At whjst we remain with exemplary 
 gravity (deducting a short time for tea and toast) until eleven 
 o'clock, or thereabouts ; when the captain comes down again, 
 in a sou'-wester hat tied under his chin, and a pilot-coat ; 
 making the ground wet where he stands. By this time the 
 card-playing is over, and the bottles and glasses are again 
 upon the table ; and after an hour's pleasant conversation 
 about the ship, the passengers, and things in general, the cap- 
 tain (who never goes to, bed, and is never out of humor) turns 
 
6o2 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 up his coat collar for the deck again ; shakes hands all round; 
 and goes laughing out into the weather as merrily as to a 
 birthday party. 
 
 As to daily news, there is no dearth of that commodity. 
 This passenger is reported to have lost fourteen pounds at 
 Vingt-et-un in the saloon yesterday ; and that passenger drinks 
 his bottle of champagne every day, and how he does it (being 
 only a clerk), nobody knows. The head engineer has distinctly 
 said that there never was such times — meaning weather — and 
 four good hands are ill, and have given in, dead beat. Several 
 berths are full of water, and all the cabins are leaky. The 
 ship's cook, secretly swigging damaged whiskey, has been 
 found drunk ; and has been played upon by the fire-engine 
 until quite sober. All the stewards have fallen down stairs at 
 various dinner-times, and go about with plasters in various 
 places. The baker is ill, and so is the pastry-cook. A new 
 man, horribly indisposed, has been required to fill the place 
 of the latter officer ; and has been propped and jammed up 
 with empty casks in a little house upon deck, and commanded 
 to roll out pie-crust, which he protests (being highly bilious) 
 it is death to him to look at. News ! A dozen murders on 
 shore would lack the interest of these slight incidents at sea. 
 
 Divided between our rubber and such topics as these, we 
 were running (as we thought) into Halifax Harbor, on the 
 fifteenth night, with Ifttle wind and a bright moon — indeed, 
 we had made the Light at its . outer entrance, and put the 
 pilot in charge — ^when suddenly the ship struck upon a bank 
 of mud. An immediate rush on deck took place of course ; 
 the sides were crowded in an instant ; and for a few minutes 
 we were in as lively a state of confusion as the greatest lover 
 of disorder would desire to see. The passengers, and guns, 
 and water-casks, and other heavy matters, being all huddled 
 together aft, however, to lighten her in the head, she was soon 
 got off ; and after some driving on towards an uncomfortable 
 line of objects (whose vicinity had been announced very early 
 in the disaster by a loud cry of " Breakers-a-head I ") and 
 much backing of paddles, and heaving of the lead into a con- 
 stantly decreasing depth of water, we dropped anchor in a 
 strange outlandish-looking nook which nobody on board could 
 recognize, although there was land all about us, and so close 
 that we could plainly see the waving branches of the trees. 
 
 It was strange enough, in the silence of midnight, and the 
 dead stillness tliat seemed to be created by the sudden and 
 
THE PASSAGE OUT. 603 
 
 unexpected stoppage of the engine which liad been clanking 
 and blasting in our ears incessantly for so many days, to 
 watch the look of blank astonishment expressed in every face - 
 beginning with the officers, traciiig it through all the passen- 
 gers, and descending to the very stokers and furnacemen, who 
 emerged from below, one by one, and clustered together in a 
 smoky group about the hatchway of the engine-room, compar- 
 ing notes in whispers. After throwing up a few rockets and 
 firing signal guns in the hope of being hailed from the land, 
 or at least of seeing a light — but without any other sight or 
 sound presenting itself — it was determined to send a boat on 
 shore. It was amusing to observe how very kind some of the 
 passengers were, in volunteering to go ashore in this same 
 boat : for the general good, of course : not by any means be- 
 cause they thought the ship in an unsafe position, or contem- 
 plated the possibility of her heeling over in case the tide were 
 running out. Nor was it less ainusing to remark how desper- 
 ately unpopular the poor pilot became in one short minute. 
 He had had his passage out from Liverpool, and during the 
 whole voyage had .been quite a notorious character, as a teller 
 of anecdotes and cracker of jokes. Yet here were the very 
 men who had laughed the loudest at his jests, now flourishing 
 their fists in his face, loading him with imprecations, and de- 
 fying him to his teeth as a villain. 
 
 The boat soon shoved off, with a lantern and sundry blue 
 lights on board ; and in less than an hour returned ; the offi- 
 cer in command bringing with him a tolerably tall young tree, 
 which he had plucked up by the roots, to satisfy certain dis- 
 trustful passengers whose minds misgave them that they were 
 to be imposed upon and shipwrecked, and who would on no 
 other terms believe that he had been ashore, or had done any- 
 thing but fraudulently row a little way into the mist, specially 
 to deceive them and compass their deaths. Our captain had 
 foreseen from the first that we must be in a place called the 
 Eastern passage ; and so we were. It was about the last 
 place in the world in which we had any business or reason to 
 be, but a sudden fog, and some error on the pilot's part, were 
 the cause. We were surrounded by banks, and rocks, and 
 shoals of all kinds, but had happily drifted, it seemed, upon 
 the only safe speck that was to be found thereabouts. Eased 
 by tills report, and by the assurance that the tide was past 
 the ebb, we turned in at three o'clock in the morning. 
 
 I was dressing about half -past nine next day, when the 
 
6o4 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 noise above hurried me on deck. When I had left it over- 
 night, it was dark, foggy, and damp, and there were bleak 
 hills all round us. Now, we were gliding down a smooth, 
 broad stream, at the rate of eleven miles an hour; our colors 
 flying gayly ; our crew rigged out in their smartest clothes ; 
 our officers in uniform again ; the sun shining as on a brilliant 
 April day in England ; the land stretched out on either side, 
 streaked with light patches of snow ; white wooden houses ; 
 people at their doors; telegraphs working; flags hoisted; 
 wharfs appearing ; ships ; quays crowded with people ; dis- 
 tant noises; shouts ; men and boys running down steep 
 places towards the pier : all more bright and gay and fresh to 
 our unused eyes than words can paint th^m. We came to a 
 wharf, paved with uplifted faces ; got alongside, and were 
 made fast, after some shouting and straining of cables ; 
 darted, a score of us along the gangway, almost as soon as it 
 was thrust out to meet us, and before it had reached the ship 
 — and leaped upon the firm glad earth again ! 
 
 I suppose this Halifax would have appeared an Elysium, 
 though it had been a curiosity of ugly dulness. But I carried 
 away with me a most pleasant impression of tlie town and its 
 inhabitants, and have preserved it to this hour. Nor was it 
 without regret that I came home, without having found an 
 opportunity of returning thither, and once more shaking:hands 
 with the friends I made that day. 
 
 It happened to be the opening of the Legislative Council 
 and General Assembly, at which ceremonial the forms ob- 
 served on the commencement of a new Session of Parliament 
 in England were so closely copied, and so gravely presented 
 on a small scale, that it was like looking at Westminster 
 through the wrong end of a telescope. The governor, as her 
 Majesty's representative, delivered what may be called the 
 Speech from the Throne. He said what he had to say man- 
 fully and well. The military band outside tlie building struck 
 up " God save the Queen " with great vigor before his Ex- 
 cellency had quite finished; the people shouted; the in's 
 rubbed their hands ; the out's shook their heads ; the Govern- 
 ment party said there never was such a good speech ; the 
 Opposition declared there never was such a bad one; the 
 Speaker and members of the House of Assembly withdrew 
 from the bar to say a great deal among themselves and do a 
 little : and, in short, everything went on, and promised to go 
 on, just as it does at home upon the like occasions. 
 
THE PASSAGE OUT. 605 
 
 The town is built on the side of a hill, the highest point 
 being commanded by a strong fortress, nor yet quite finished. 
 Several streets of good breadth and appearance extend from 
 its summit to tlie water-side, and are intersected by cross 
 streets running parallel with the river. The houses are 
 chiefly of wood. The market is abundantly supplied; and 
 provisions are exceedingly cheap. The weather being un- 
 usually mild at that time for the season of the year, there was 
 no sleighing : but there were plenty of those vehicles in yards 
 and by-places, and some of them, from the gorgeous quality 
 of their decorations, might have " gone on " without altera- 
 tion as triumphal cars in a melo-drama at Astley's. The day 
 was tmcommonly fine ; the air bracing and healthful ; the 
 whole aspect of the town cheerful, thriving, and industrious. 
 
 We lay there seven hours, to deliver and exchange the 
 mails. At length, having collected all our bags and all our 
 passengers (including two or three choice spirits, who, ha,ving 
 indulged too freely in oysters and champagne, were found 
 lying insensible on their backs in unfrequented streets), the 
 engines were again put in motion, and we stood off for Boston. 
 
 Encountering squally weather again in, the Bay of Fundy, 
 we tumbled and rolled about as usual all that night and all 
 next day. On the next afternoon, that is to say, on Saturday, 
 the twenty-second of January, an American pilot-boat came 
 alongside, and soon afterwards the Britannia steam-packet, 
 from Liverpool, eighteen days out, was telegraphed at Boston. 
 
 The indescribable interest with which I strained my eyes, 
 as the first patches of American soil peeped like molehills 
 from the green sea, and followed them, as they swelled, by 
 slow and almost iniperceptible degrees, into a continuous line 
 of coast, can hardly be exaggerated. A sharp keen wind 
 blew dead against us ; a hard frost prevailed on the shore ; 
 and the cold was most severe. Yet the air was so intensely 
 clear, and dry, and bright, that the temperature was not only 
 endurable, but delicious. 
 
 How I remained on deck, staring about me, until we came 
 alongside the dock, and how, though I had had as many eyes 
 as Argus, I should have had them all wide open, and all 
 employed on new objects — rare topics which I will not prolong 
 this chapter to discuss. Neither will I more than hint at my 
 foreigneu-like-mistake, in supposing, that a party of most active 
 persons, who scrambled on board at the peril of their lives as 
 we approached the wharf, were newsmen, answering to that 
 
6o6 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 industrious class at home ; whereas, despite the leathern 
 wallets of news slung about the necks of some, and the broad 
 sheets in the hands of all, they were Editors, who boarded 
 ships in person (as one gentleman in a worsted comforter 
 informed me), "because they liked the excitement of it." 
 Suffice it in this place to say, that one of these invaders, with 
 a ready courtesy for which I thank him here most gratefully, 
 went on before to order rooms at the hotel ; and that when I 
 followed, as I soon did, I found myself rolling through the 
 long passages with an involuntary imitation of the gait of Mr. 
 T. P. Cooke, in a new nautical melo-drama. 
 
 " Dinner, if you please," said I to the waiter. 
 
 " When ? " said the waiter. 
 
 "As quick as possible," said I. 
 
 " Right away ? " said the waiter. 
 
 After a moment's hesitation, I answered " No," at hazard. 
 
 " Not right away ? " cried the waiter, with an amount of 
 surprise that made me start. 
 
 I looked at him doubtfully, and returned, " No ; I would 
 rather have it in this private room. I like it very much." 
 
 At this, I really thought the waiter must have gone out of 
 his mind : as I believe he would have done, but for the inter- 
 position of another man, who whispered in his ear, " Directly." 
 
 " Well ! and that's a fact ! " said the waiter, looking help- 
 lessly at me : " Right away." 
 
 I saw now that " Right away " and " Directly " were one 
 and the same thing. So I reversed my previous answer, and 
 sat down to dinner in ten minutes afterwards ; and a capital 
 dinner it was. 
 
 The hotel (a very excellent one) is called the Tremont 
 House. It has more galleries, colonnades, piazzas, and pas- 
 sages than I can remember, or the reader would believe. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 BOSTON. 
 
 In all the public establishments of America, the utmost 
 courtesy prevails. Most of our Departments are susceptible 
 of considerable improvement in this respect, but the Custom- 
 
BOSTON. 607 
 
 house above all others would do well to take example from 
 the United States and render itself somewhat less odious and 
 offensive to foreigners. The servile rapacity of the French 
 officials is sufficiently contemptible j but there is a surly 
 boorish inciyility about our men, alike disgusting to all persons 
 who fall into their hands, and discreditable to the nation that 
 keeps such ill-conditioned curs snarling about its gates. 
 
 When I landed in America, I could not help being strongly 
 impressed with the contrast their Custom-house preserited, 
 and the attention, politeness and good-humor with which its 
 officers discharged their duty. 
 
 As we did not land at Boston, in consequence of some 
 detention at the wharf, until after dark, I received my first 
 impressions of the city in walking down to the Custom-house 
 on the morning after our arrival, which was Sunday. I am 
 afraid to say, by the way, how many offers of pews and seats 
 in church for thatlhoming were made to us, by formal note 
 of invitation, before we had half finished our first dinner in 
 America, but if I may be allowed to make a moderate guess, 
 without going into nicer calculation, I should say that at leasr 
 as many sittings were proffered us, as would have accommo- 
 dated a score or two of grown-up families. The number of 
 creeds and forms of religion to which the pleasure of our com 
 pany was requested, was in very fair proportion. 
 
 Not being able, in the absence of any change of clothes, 
 to go to church that day, we were compelled to decline these 
 kindnesses, one and all ; and I was reluctantly obliged to forego 
 the delight of hearing Dr. Channing, who happened to preach 
 that morning for the first time in a very long interval. I men- 
 tion the name of this distinguished and accomplished man 
 (with whom I soon afterwards had the pleasure of becoming 
 personally acquainted), that I may have the gratification of 
 recording my humble tribute of admiration and respect for 
 his high abilities and character ; and for the bold philanthropy 
 with which he has ever opposed himself to that most hideous 
 blot and foul disgrace-f-Slavery. 
 
 To return to Boston. When I got into the streets upon 
 this Sunday morning, the air was so clear, the houses were so 
 bright and gay ; the signboards were painted in such gaudy 
 colors ; the gilded letters were so very golden ; the bricks 
 were so yery red, the stone was so very white, the blinds and 
 area railings were so very green, the knobs and plates upon 
 tlie street doors so marvellously bright and twinkling ; and all 
 
6o8 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 so slight and unsubstantial in appearance — that every thor- 
 oughfare in the city looked exactly like a scene in a panto^ 
 miftie. It rarely happens in the business streets that a trades- 
 man, if I may venture to call anybody^ a tradesman, where 
 everybody is a ilierchant, resides above his store ; so that many 
 occupations are often carried on in one house, and the whole 
 front is cove,red with boards and inscriptions. As I walked 
 along, I kept glancing up at these boards, confidently expect- 
 ing to see a few of them change into something ; and I never 
 turned a comer suddenly without looking out for the cXovvl 
 and pantaloon, who, I had no doubt, were hiding in a doorway 
 or behind some pillar close at hand. As to Harlequin and 
 Columbine, I discovered immediately that they lodged (they 
 are always looking after lodgings in a pantomime) at a veiy 
 small clockmaker's one story high, near the hotel ; which, in 
 addition to various symbols and devices, almost covering the 
 whole front, had a great dial hanging out — to be jumped 
 through, of course. 
 
 The suburbs are, if possible, even more unsubstantial- 
 looking than the city. The white wooden houses (so white 
 that it makes one wink to look at them), with their green jalou- 
 sie blinds, are so sprinkled and dropped about in all direc- 
 tions, without seeming to have any root at all in the ground; 
 and the small churches and chapels are so prim, and bright^ 
 and highly varnished ; that I almost believed the whole affair 
 could be taken up piecemeal like a child's toy, and crammed 
 into a little box. 
 
 The city is a beautiful one, and cannot fail, I should im- 
 agine, to impress all strangers very favorably. The private 
 dwelling-houses are, for the most part, large and elegant ; the 
 shops extremely good ; and the public buildings handsome. The 
 State House is built upon the summit of a hill, which rises 
 gradually at first, and afterwards by a steep ascent, almost 
 from the water's edge. In front is a green enclosure, called 
 the Common. The site is beautiful : and from the top there 
 is a charming panoramic view of the whole town and neighbor- 
 hood. In addition to a variety of commodious offices, it con- 
 tains two handsome chambers ; in one the House of Represen- 
 tatives of the State hold their meetings : in the other, the Sen- 
 ate. Such proceedings as I saw here, were conducted with 
 perfect gravity and decorum ; and were certainly calculated to 
 inspire attention and respect. 
 
 There is no doubt that much of the intellectual refinement 
 
BOSTON. 609 
 
 and superiority of Boston, is referable to the quiet influence 
 of the University of Cambridge, which is within three or four 
 miles of the city. The resident professors at that university 
 are gentlemen of learning and varied attainments ; and are, 
 without one exception that I can call to mind, men who would 
 shed a grace Opon, and do honor to, any society in the civil- 
 ized world. Many of the resident gentry in Boston and its 
 neighborhood, and I think I am not mistaken in adding, a 
 large majority of those who are attached to the liberal pro- 
 fessions there, have been educated at the same school. What- 
 ever the defects of American universities may be, they dis- 
 seminate no prejudices ; rear no bigots ; dig up the buried 
 ashes of no old superstitions ; never interpose between the 
 people and their improvement ; exclude no man because of his 
 religious opinions ; above all, m. their whole course of study 
 and instruction, recognize a world, and a broad one too, lying 
 beyond the college walls. 
 
 It was a source of inexpressible pleasure to me to observe 
 the almost imperceptible, but not less certain effect, wrought 
 by this institution among the small community of Boston; 
 and to note at every turn the humanizing tastes and desires 
 it has engendered ; the affectionate friendships to which it has 
 given rise ; the amount of vanity and prejudice it has dis- 
 pelled. The golden calf they worship at Boston is a pigmy 
 compared with the giant effigies set up in other parts of that 
 vast counting-house which lies beyond the Atlantic ; and the 
 almighty dollar sinks into something comparatively insignifi- 
 cant, amidst a whole Pantheon of better gods. 
 
 Above all, I sincerely believe that the public institutions 
 and charities of this capital of Massachusetts are as nearly 
 perfect, as the most considerate wisdom, benevolence, and 
 humanity, can make them. I never in my life was more af- 
 fected by the contemplation of happiness, under circumstances 
 of privation and bereavement, than in my visits to these 
 establishments. 
 
 It is a great and pleasant feature of all such institutions in 
 America, that they are either supported by the State or as- 
 sisted by the State ; or (in the event of their not needing its 
 helping hand) that they act in concert with it, and are emphati- 
 cally the people's. I cannot but think, with a view to the 
 principle and its tendency to elevate or depress the character 
 of the industrious classes, that a Public Charity is immeasur- 
 ably better than a Private Foundation, no matter how munifi- 
 
6 1 o AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 cently the latter may be endowed. In our own country, where 
 it has not, until within these later days, been a very popular 
 fashion with governments to display any extraordinary regard 
 for the great mass of the people or to recognize their exist- 
 ence as improveable creatures, private charities, unexampled 
 in the history of the earth, have arisen to do an incalculable 
 amount of good among the destitute and afflicted. But the 
 government of the country, having neither act nor part in 
 them, is not in the receipt of any portion of the gratitude 
 thev inspire ; and, offering very little shelter or relief beyond 
 that which is to be found in the workhouse and the jail, has 
 come, not unnaturally, to be looked upon by the poor rather 
 as a stern master, quick to correct and punish, than a kind 
 protector, merciful and vigilant in their hour of need. 
 
 The maxim that out of evil cometh good, is strongly illus- 
 trated by these establishments at home ; as the records of the 
 Prerogative Office in Doctors' Commons can abundantlyprove. 
 Some immensely rich old gentleman or lady, surrounded by 
 needy relatives, makes, upon a low average, a will a-wee£ 
 The old gentleman or lady, never very remarkable in the best 
 of times for good:temper, is full of aches and pains from head 
 to foot J full of fancies and* caprices ; full of spleen, distrust, 
 suspicion, and dislike. To cancel old wills, and invent new 
 ones, is at last the sole business of such a testator's existence ; 
 and relations and friends (some of whom have been bred up 
 distinctly to inherit a large share of the property, and have 
 been, from their cradles, specially disqualified from devoting 
 themselves to any useful pursuit, on that account) are so often 
 and so unexpectedly and summarily cut off, and re-instated, 
 and cut off again, that the whole family, down to the remotest 
 cousin, is kept in a perpetual fever. At length it becomes 
 plain that the old lady or gentleman has not long to live ; and 
 the plainer this becomes, the more clearly the old lady or 
 gentleman perceives that everybody is in a conspiracy against 
 their poor old dying relative ; wherefore the old lady or gen- 
 tleman makes another last will — positively the last this time 
 — conceals the same in a china tea-pot, and expires next day. 
 Then it turns out, that the whole of the real and personal 
 estate is divided between half-a-dozen charities ; and ihat 
 the dead and gone testator has in pure spite helped to do a 
 great deal of good, at the cost of an immense amount of evil 
 passion and misery. 
 
 The~ Perkins Institution and Massachusetts Asylum for 
 
BOSTON. 61, 
 
 the Blind, at Boston, is superintended by a body of trustees 
 who make an annual report to the corporation. The indigent 
 blind of that State are admitted gratuitously. Those from the; 
 adjoining State of Connecticut, or from the States of Maine, 
 Vermont, or New Hampshire, are admitted by a warrant from 
 the State to which they respectively belong ; or, failing that, 
 must find security among their friends, for the payment of 
 about twenty pounds English for their first year's board and 
 instruction, and ten for the second, "After the first year," 
 say the trustees, " an account current will be opened with 
 each pupil ; he will be charged with the actual cost of his 
 board, which will not exceed two dollars per week ; " a trifle 
 more than eight shillings English ; " and he will be credited 
 with the amount paid for him by the State, or by his friends ; 
 also with his earnings over and above the cost of the stock 
 which he uses ; so that all his earnings over one dollar per 
 week will be his own. By the third year it will be known 
 whether his earnings will more than pay the actual cost of his 
 board ; if they should, he will have it at his option to remain 
 and receive his earnings, or not. Those who prove unable 
 to earn their own livelihood will not be retained ; as it is not 
 desirable to convert the establishment into an almshouse, or 
 to retain any but working bees in the hive. Those who by 
 physical or mental imbecility are disqualified from work, are 
 thereby disqualified from being members of an industrious 
 community ; and they can be better provided for in establish- 
 ments fitted for the infirm." 
 
 I went to see this place one very fine winter morning : an 
 Italian sky above, and the air so clear and bright on every 
 side, that even my eyes, which are none of the best, could 
 follow the minute lines and scraps of tracery in distant build- 
 ings. Like most other public institutions in America, of the 
 same class, it stands a mile ,or two without the town, in a 
 cheerful healthy spot ; and is an airy, spacious, handsome 
 edifice. It is built upon a height, commanding the harbor. 
 When I paused for a moment at the door, and marked how 
 fresh and free the whole scene was — what sparkling bubbles 
 glanced upon the waves, and welled up every moment to the 
 surface, as though the world below, like that above, were 
 radiant with the bright day, and gushing over in its fulness 
 of light : when I gazed from sail to sail away upon a ship at 
 sea, a tiny speck of shining white, the only cloud upon the 
 still, deep, distant blue — and, turning, saw a blind boy with 
 
6i2 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 liis sightless face addressed that way, as though he too had 
 some sense within him of tlia glorious distance : I felt a kind 
 of sorrow that the place should be so very light, and a strange 
 wish that for his sake it were darker. It was but momentary, 
 of course, and a mere fancy, but I felt it keenly for all that. 
 
 The children were at their daily tasks in different rooms, 
 except a few who were already dismissed,^ and were at play. 
 Here, as in many institutions, no uniform is worn : and I was 
 very glad of it, for two reasons. Firstly, because I am sure 
 that nothing but senseless custom and want of thought would 
 reconcile us to the liveries and badges we are so fond of at 
 home. Secondly, because the absence of these things presents 
 each child to the visitor in his or her own proper characteri, 
 with its individuality unimpaired ; not lost in a dull, ugly, 
 monotonous repetition of the same unmeaning garb : which is 
 really an important consideration. The wisdom of encourag- 
 ing a little harmless pride in personal appearance even among 
 the blind, or the whimsical absurdity of considering charity 
 and leather breeches inseparable companions, as we do, re- 
 quires no comment. 
 
 Good order, .cleanliness, and comfort, pervaded; every 
 corner of the building. The various classes, who were 
 gathered round their teachers, answered the questions put to 
 them with readiness and intelligerice, and in a spirit of cheer- 
 ful contest for precedence which pleased me very much. 
 Those who were at play, were gleesome and noisy as other 
 children. More spiritual and affectionate friendships appeared 
 to exist among them, than would be found among other young 
 persons suffering under no deprivation ; but this I expected 
 and was prepared to find. It is a part of the great scheme 
 of Heaven's merciful considerationfor the afflicted. 
 
 In a portion of the building, set apart for that purpose, 
 are workshops for blind persons whose education is finished, 
 and who have acquired a trade, but who cannot pursue it in 
 an ordinary manufactory because of their deprivation. Several 
 people were at work here ; making brushes, mattresses, and 
 so forth ; and the cheerfulness, industry, and good order dis- 
 cernible in every other part of the building, extended to this 
 department also. 
 
 On the ringing of a bell, the pupils all repaired, without 
 any guide or leader, to a spacious music-hall, where they took 
 their seats in an orchestra erected for that purpose, and 
 listened with manifest delight to a volilntary on tiie organ, 
 
BOSTON. 613 
 
 played by one of themselves. At its conclusion, the per- 
 former, a boy of nineteen or twenty, gave place to a girl ; and 
 to her accompaniment they all sang a hymn, and afterwards a 
 sort of chorus. It was very sad to look upon, and hear them, 
 happy though their condition unquestionably was ; and I saw 
 that one blind girl, who (being for the time deprived of the 
 use of her limbs, by illness) sat close beside me with her face 
 towards them, wept silently the while she listened. 
 
 It is strange to watch the faces of the blind, and see how 
 free they are from all concealment of what is passing in their 
 thoughts ; observing which, a man with eyes may blush to 
 contemplate the mask he wears. Allowing for one shade of 
 anxious expression which is never absent from their counte- 
 nances, and the like of which we may readily detect in our own 
 faces if we try to feel our way in the dark, every idea, as it 
 rises within them, is expressed with the lightning's speed and 
 nature's truth. If the company at a rout, or drawing-room at 
 court, could only for one time be as unconscious of the eyes 
 upon them as blind men and women are, what secrets would 
 come out, and what a worker of hypocrisy this sight, the loss 
 of which we so much pity, *ould appear to be ! 
 
 The thought occurred to me as I sat down in another 
 room, before a girl, blind, deaf, and dumb ; destitute of smell ; 
 and nearly so of taste : before a fair young creature with every 
 human faculty, and hope, and power of goodness and affection, 
 inclosed within her delicate frame, and but one outward sense 
 — the sense of touch. There she was, before me ; built up, 
 as it were, in a marble cell, impervious to any ray of light, or 
 particle of sound ; with her poor white hand peeping through 
 a chink in the wall, beckoning to some good man for help, 
 that an Immortal soul might be awakened. 
 
 Long before I looked upon her, the help had come. Her 
 face was radiant with intelligence and pleasure." Her hair, 
 braided by her own hands, was bound about her head, whose 
 intellectual capacity and development were beautifully ex- 
 pressed in its graceful outline, and its broad open brow ; her 
 dress, arranged by herself^ was a pattern of neatness and 
 simplicity ; the work she had knitted, lay beside her ; hei 
 writing book was on the desk she leaned upon. — >From the 
 mournful ruin of such bereavement, there had slowly risen up 
 this gentle, tender, guileless, grateful-hearted being. 
 
 Like other inmates of that house, she had a green ribbon 
 bound round her eyelids. A doll she had dressed lay near 
 
6i4 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 upon the ground. I took it up, and saw that she had made 
 a green fillet such as she wore herself, and fastened it about 
 its mimic eyes. 
 
 She was seated in a little enclosure, made by school-desks 
 and forms, writing her daily journal. But soon finishing this 
 pursuit, she engaged in an animated communication with a 
 teacher who sat beside her. This was a favorite mistress 
 with the poor pupil. If she could see the face of her fair in- 
 structress, she would not love her less, I am sure. 
 
 I have exti;acted a few disjointed fragments of her history, 
 from an account, written by that one man who has made her 
 what she is. It is a very beautiful and touching narrative ; 
 and I wish I could present it entire. 
 
 Her name is Laura Bridgman. " She was born in Han- 
 over, New Hampshire, on the twenty-first of December, 1829. 
 She is described as having been a very sprightly and pretty 
 infant, with bright blue eyes. She was, however, so puny and 
 feeble until she was a year and a half old, that her parents 
 hardly hoped to rear her. She v/as subject to severe fits, 
 which seemed to rack her frame almost beyond her power of 
 endurance : and life was held by the feeblest tenure : but 
 when a year and a half old, she seemed to rally ; the danger- 
 ous symptoms subsided ; and at twenty months old, she was 
 perfectly well. 
 
 " Then her mental powers, hitherto stinted in their growth, 
 rapidly developed themselves ; and during the four months of 
 health which she enjoyed, she appears (making due allowance 
 for a fond mother's account), to have displayed a consider- 
 able degree of intelligence. 
 
 " But suddenly she sickened again ; her disease raged 
 v/ith great violence during five weeks, when her eyes and ears 
 were inflamed, suppurated, and their contents were discharged. 
 But though sight and hearing were gone for ever, the poor 
 child's suilerings were not ended. The fever raged during 
 seven weeks ; for five months she was kept in bed in a dark- 
 ened room ; it was a year before she could walk unsupported, 
 and two years before she could sit up all day. It was now 
 observed that her sense of smell was almost entirely destroyed, 
 and, consequently, that her taste was much blunted. 
 
 " It was not until four years of age that the poor child's 
 bodily health seemed restored, and she was able to enter upon 
 her apprenticeship of life and the world. 
 
 " But what a situation was hers ! The darkness and tlie 
 
BOSTON. 6ic 
 
 silence of the tomb were around her : no mother's smile called 
 forth her answering smile, no father's voice taught her to imi- 
 tate his sounds : — they, brothers and sisters, were but forms 
 of matter which resisted her touch, but which differed not 
 from the furniture of the house, save in warmth, and in the 
 power of locomotion 5 and not even in these respects from the 
 dog and the cat. 
 
 " But the immortal spirit which had been implantedwithin 
 her could not die, nor be maimed nor mutilated : and though 
 most of its avenues of communication with the world were 
 cut off, it began to manifest itself through the others. As 
 soon as she could walk, she began to explore the room, and 
 then the house ; she became familiar with the form, density, 
 weight, and heat, of every article she could lay her hands upon. 
 She followed her mother, and felt her hands and' arms as she 
 was occupied about the house ; and her disposition to imitate, 
 led her to repeat everything herself. She even learned to 
 sew a little, and to knit." 
 
 The reader will scarcely need to be told, however, that the 
 opportunities of communicating with her, were very, very lim- 
 ited ; and that the moral effects of her wretched state soon began 
 to appear. Those who cannot be enlightened by reason, can 
 only be controlled by force ; and this, coupled with her great 
 privations, must soon have reduced her to a worse condition 
 than that of the beasts that perish, but for timely and unhoped^ 
 for aid. 
 
 " At this time, I was so fortunate as to hear of the child, 
 and immediately hastened to Hanover to see her. I found 
 her with a well-formed figure ; a strongly-marked, nervous- 
 sanguine temperament ; a large and beautifully-shaped head ; 
 and the whole system in healthy action. The parents were 
 easily induced to consent to her coming to Boston, and on 
 the 4th of October, 1837, they brought her to tlie Institution. 
 
 ". For a while, she was much bewildered ; and after wait- 
 ing about two weeks, until she became acquainted with her 
 new locality, and somewhat familiar with the inmates, the at- 
 tempt was made to give her knowledge of arbitrary signs, by 
 which she could interchange thoughts with others. 
 
 " There was one of two ways to be adopted ; either to go 
 on to build up a language of signs on the basis of the natural 
 language which she had already commenced herself, or to 
 teach her the purely arbitrary language in common use : that" 
 is, to give her a sign for every individual thing, or to give hei' 
 
6 1 6 AMERICAN NO TES. 
 
 a knowledge of letters by combination of which she niight 
 express her idea of the existence, and the mode and condition 
 of existence, of any thing. The former would have been easy, 
 but very ineffectual ; the latter seemed very difficult, but, if 
 accomplished, very effectual. I determined therefore to try the 
 'latter. 
 
 " The first experiments were made by taking articles in 
 common use, such as knives, forks, spoons, keys, &c., and 
 pasting upon them labels with iheir names printed in raised 
 letters. These she felt very carefully,' and soon, of course, 
 distinguished that the crooked liijes spoon, differed as much 
 from the crooked lines key, as the spoon differed from the key 
 in form. 
 
 "Then small detached labels, with the same words printed 
 upon them, were put into her hands ; and she soon observed 
 that they were similar to the ones pasted on the articles. She 
 showed her perception of this similarity by laying the label 
 /^fj/upon the key, and the label spoon upon the spoon. She 
 was encouraged here by the natural sign of approbation, pat- 
 ting on the head. 
 
 "The same process was then repeated with all the articles 
 which she could handle ; and she very easily learned to place 
 the proper labels upon them. It was evident, however, that 
 the only intellectual exercise was that of imitation and mem- 
 ory. She recollected that tlae label /5 (7^ >i was placed upon a 
 book, and she repeated the process first from imitation, next 
 from memory, with only the motive of love of approbation, 
 but apparently without the intellectual perception of any rdfe- 
 tion between the things. 
 
 "After a while, instead of labels, the individual letters 
 were given to her on detached bits of paper; they were ar- 
 ranged side by side so as to spell book, key, &:c. ; then they 
 were mixed up in a heap and a sign w^as made for her to ar- 
 range them herself so as to express the words book, key, Sac; 
 and she did so. 
 
 " Hitherto, the process had been mechanical, and the suc- 
 cess about as great as teaching a very knowing dog a variety 
 of tricks. The poor child had sat in mute amazement, and 
 patiently imitated everything her teacher did ; but now the 
 truth began to flash upon her : her intellect began to work : 
 she perceived that here was a way by which she could herselt 
 make up a sign of anything that was in her own mind, and 
 show it to another mind ; and at once her countenance lighted 
 
BOSTON. 617 
 
 up with a human expression : it was no longer a clog, or parrot : 
 it was an immortal spirit, eagerly seizing upon a ncAV link of 
 union with other spirits ! I could almost fix upon the moment 
 when this truth dawned upon her mind, and spread its light 
 to her countenance ; I saw that the great obstacle was over- 
 come ; and that henqeforwardt nothing but patient and perse- 
 vering, but plain and straightforward, efforts were to be used. 
 
 " The result thus far, is quickly related, and easily con- 
 ceived ; but not so was the process ; for many weeks of ap- 
 parently unprofitable labor were passed before it w^as effected. 
 
 " When it was said above, that a sign was made, it was in- 
 tended to say, that the action was performed by her teacher, 
 she feeling his hands, and then imitating the motion. 
 
 "The next step was to procure a set of metal types, with 
 the different letters of the alphabet cast upon their ends ; 
 also a board, in which were square holes, into which holes 
 she could set the types ; so that the letters on their ends 
 could alone be felt above the surface. 
 
 "Then, on any article being handed to her, for instance, 
 a pencil, or a watch, she would select the component letters, 
 and arrange them on her board, and read them with apparent 
 pleasure. 
 
 " She was exercised for several weeks in this way, until 
 her vocabulary became extensive ; and then the important 
 step was taken of teaching her how to represent the different 
 letters by the position of her fingers, instead of the cumbrous 
 apparatus of the board and types. She accomplished this 
 speedily and easily, for her intellect had begun to work in aid 
 of her teacher, and her progress was rapid. 
 
 " This was the period, about three months after she had 
 commenced, that the first report of her case was made, in 
 which it was stated that ' she has just learned the manual 
 alphabet, as used by the deaf mutes, and it is a subject of de- 
 light and wonder to see how rapidly, correctly, and eagerly, 
 she goes on with her labors. Her teacher gives her a new 
 object, for instance, a pencil, first lets her examine it, and get 
 an idea of its use, then teaches her how to spell it by mak- 
 ing the signs for the , letters with her own fingers : the child 
 grasps her hand, and feels her fingers, as the different letters 
 are formed ; she turns her head a little on one side like a per- 
 son listening closely ; her lips are apart ; she seems scarcely 
 to breathe ; and her countenance, at first anxious, gradually 
 changes to a smile, as she comprehends the lesson. She then 
 
6 1 8 AMERICAN NO TES. 
 
 holds up her tiny fingers, and spells the word in the manual 
 alphabet ; next, she takes her types and arranges her letters ; 
 and last, to make sure that she is right, she takes the whole 
 o£ the types composing the word, and places them upon or in 
 contact with the pencil, or whatever the object may be.' 
 
 "The whole of the succeeding year was passed in gratify- 
 ing her eager inquiries for the names of every object which 
 she could possibly handle ; in exercising her in the use of the 
 manual alphabet ; in extending in every possible way her 
 knowledge of the physical relations of things ; and in proper 
 care of her health. 
 
 " At the end of the year a report of her case was made, 
 from which the following is an extract. 
 
 " ' It has been ascertained beyond the possibility of doubt, 
 that she cannot see a ray of light, cannot hear the least sound, 
 and never exercises her sense of smell, if she have any. Thus 
 her mind dwells in darkness and stillness, as profound as that 
 of a closed tomb at midnight. Of beautiful sights, and sweet 
 sounds, and pleasant odors, she has no conception ; never- 
 thelesSj she seems as happy and playful as a bird or a lamb ; 
 and the employment of her intellectual faculties, or the ac- 
 quirement of a new idea, gives her a vivid pleasure, which is 
 plainly marked in her expressive features. She never seems 
 to repine, but has all the buoyancy and gayety of childhood. 
 She is fond of fun and frolic, and when playing with the rest 
 of the children, her shrill laugh sounds loudest of the group. 
 
 " ' When left alone, she seems very happy if she have her 
 knitting or sewing, and will busy herself for hours ; if she 
 have no occupation, she evidently amuses herself by imaginary 
 dialogues, or by recalling past impressions ; she counts with 
 her fingers, or spells out names of things which she has re- 
 cently learned, in the manual alphabet of the deaf mutes. In 
 this lonely self-communion she seems to reason, reflect, and 
 argue ; if she spell a word wrong with the fingers of her right 
 hand, she instantly strikes it with her left, as her teacher 
 does, in sign of disapprobation ; if right, then she pats her- 
 self upon the head, and looks pleased. She sometimes pur- . 
 posely spells a word wrong with the left hand, looks roguish for 
 a moment and laughs, and then with the right hand strikes 
 the left, as if to correct it. 
 
 " ' During the year she has attained great dexterity in the 
 use of the manual alphabet of the deaf mutes ; and she spells 
 out the words and sentences which she knows, so fast and so" 
 
BOSTON. 6ig 
 
 deftly, that only those accustomed to this language can fol- 
 low with the eye the rapid motions of her fingers. 
 
 " 'But wonderful as is the rapidity with which she writes 
 her thoughts upon the air, still more so is the ease and ac- 
 curacy with which she reads the words thus written by another ; 
 grasping their hands in hers, and following every movement 
 of their fingers, as letter after letter conveys their meaning 
 to her mind; It is in this way that she converses with her 
 hlind playmates, and nothing can more forcibly show tliC' 
 power of mind in forcing matter to its purpose than a meeting 
 between them. For if great talent and skill are necessary for 
 two pantomimes to paint their thoughts and feelings by the, 
 movements of the body, and the expression of the counte- 
 nance, how much greater the difficulty when darkness shrouds 
 them both, and the one can hear no sound. 
 
 " ' When Laura is walking through a passage-way, with 
 her hands spread before her, she knows instantly every one 
 she meets, and passes them with a sign of recognition : but 
 if it be a girl of her own age, and especially if it be one of her 
 favorites, there is instantly a bright smile of recognition, a 
 twining of arms, a grasping of hands, and a swift telegraph- 
 ing upon the tiny fingers ; whose rapid evolutions convey the 
 thoughts and feelings from the outposts of one mind to those 
 of the other. There are questions and answers, exchanges 
 of joy or sorrow, there are hissings and partings, just as be- 
 tween little children with all their senses.' 
 
 •" During this year, and six riionths after she had left home, 
 her mother came to visit her, and the scene of their meeting 
 was an interesting one. 
 
 " The mother stoo'd some time, gazing with overflowing 
 eyes upon her unfortunate child, who, all unconscious of her 
 presence, was playing about the room. Presently Laura ran 
 against her, and at once began feeling her hands, examining 
 her dress, and trying to find out if she knew her; but not 
 succeeding in this, she turned away as from a stranger, and 
 the poor woman could not conceal the pang she felt, at find- 
 ing that her beloved child did not know her. 
 
 " She then gave Laura a string of beads which she used to 
 wear at home, which were recognized by the child at once, who, 
 with much joy, put them around her neck, and sought me 
 eagerly to say she understood the string was from her home. 
 
 " The mother now sought to caress her, but poor Laura 
 repelled her, preferring to be with her kcquaintances. 
 
620 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 " Another article from home was now given her, and she 
 began to look much interested; she examined the stranger 
 much closer, and gave me to understand that she knew she 
 came from Hanover ; she even endured her caresses, but 
 would leave her with indifference at the slightest signal. The 
 distress of the mother was now painful to behold ; for, al- 
 though she had feared that she should not be recognized, tlie 
 painful reality of being treated with cold indifference by a 
 darling child, was too much for woman's nature to bear. 
 
 " After a while, on the mother taking hold of her again, a 
 vague idea seemed to flit across Laura's mind, that this could 
 not be a stranger ; she therefore felt her hands very eagerly, 
 while her countenance assumed an expression of intense in- 
 terest ; she became very pale ; and then suddenly red ; hope 
 seemed struggling with doubt and anxiety, and never were 
 contending emotions more strongly painted upon the human 
 face : at this moment o'f painful uncertainty, the mother drew 
 her close to her side, and kissed her fondly, when at once 
 the truth flashed upon the child, and all mistrust and anxiety 
 disappeared from her face, as with an expression of exceed- 
 ing joy she eagerly nestled to the bosom of her parent, and 
 yielded herself to her fond embraces. 
 
 " After this, the beads were all unheeded ; the playthings 
 which were offered to her were utterly disregarded ; her play- 
 mates, ■ for whom but a moment before she gladly left the 
 stranger, now vainly strove to pull her from her mother ; and 
 though she yielded her usual instantaneous obedience to my 
 ^gnal to follow me, it was evidently with painful reluctance. 
 She clung close to me, as if bewildered and fearful ; and 
 when, after a moment, I took her to her mother, she sprang 
 to her arms, and clung to her with eager joy. 
 
 " The subsequent parting between them, showed alike the 
 affection, the intelligence, and the resolution of the cliild. 
 
 "Laura accompanied her mother to the door, clinging 
 close to her all the way, until they arrived at the threshold, 
 where she paused, and felt around, to ascertain who was near 
 her. Perceiving the matron, of whom she is very fond, she 
 grasped her with one hand, holding on convulsively to her 
 mother with the other ; and thus she stood for a moment : then 
 she dropped her mother's hand ; put her handkerchief to her 
 eyes; and turning round, clung sobbing to the matron ; while 
 her mother departed, with emotions as deep as those of her child. 
 ******* 
 
boston: 521 
 
 Kit'" It-has been remarked in former reports, that she can dis- 
 tinguish different degrees of intellect In others, and that she 
 soon regarded, almost -with contempt, a newcomer, when, 
 Sfter'a few days, she discovered her weakness of mind. This 
 unamiable part of her character has been more strongly de- 
 veloped during the 'past y^ear. 
 
 "She chooses for her friends and companions, those chil- 
 dren who are intelligent, and can talk best with her ; and she 
 evidently dislikes to be with those who are deficient in intel- 
 lect, unless, indeed, she can make them serve her purposes, 
 which she is evidently incliried to do. She takes advantage 
 of them, and makes them wait upon her, in a manner that she 
 knows she could not exact of others ; and in various ways 
 shows her Saxon blood. 
 
 " She is fond of having other children noticed and caressed 
 by the teachers, and thpse whom she rpspects j but this must 
 not be carried too far, or she becomes jealous. She wants to 
 have her share, which, if not the lion's, is the greater part; 
 and if she does not get it, she says, ' My mother will love me.' 
 
 " Her tendency to imitation is so strong, that it leads her 
 to actions *hich must be entirely incomprehensible to her, and 
 which can give her no other pleasure than the gratification of 
 an internal faculty. She has been known to sit for half an 
 hour, holding a book before her sightless eyes, and moying 
 her lips, as she has c/bserved seeing people do when reading. 
 
 " She one day pretended that her doll was sick ; and went 
 through all the motions of tending it, and giving it medicine ; 
 she then put it carefully to bed, and placed a bottle of hot 
 water to its feet, laughing all the time most heartily. When I 
 came home, she insisted upon my going to see it, and feel its 
 pulse ; and when I told' her to put a blister on its back, she 
 seemed to enjoy it amazingly, and almost screamed with de- 
 light. ' ■ " , , 
 
 "Her social feeHngs, and her affections, are very strong; 
 and when she is sitting at work, or at her studies, by the side 
 of one of her little friends, she will break off from her task 
 every few moments, to hug and kiss them with an earnestness 
 and warmth that is touching to behold. 
 
 "When left alone, she occupies and apparently amuses 
 herself, and seems quite contented ; and so strong seems to 
 be the natural tendency of thought to put on the garb of lan- 
 guage, that she often soliloquizes in the_^^^,?;^ language, sloyT 
 and tedious as it is. But it is onlv when alone, that she is 
 27 
 
62 2 AMERICAN NO TES. 
 
 quiet : for i£ she becomes sensible of the presence of any one 
 near her, she is restless until she can sit close beside them, 
 hold their hand, and converse with them by signs. 
 
 " In her intellectual character it is pleasing to observe an 
 insatiable thirst fpr knowledge, and a quick perception of the 
 relations of things. In her moral character, it is beautiful to 
 behold her continual gladness, her keen enjoyment ,of exist- 
 ence, her expansive love, her unhesitating confidence, her 
 sympathy with suffering, her conscientiousness, truthfulness, 
 and hopefulness." 
 
 Such are a few fragments from the simple but most inter- 
 esting arid instructive history of Laura Brit^inan.^ The name 
 of her great iDenefactor and friend, who writes it, is Doctor 
 Howe. There are not many persons^ I hope and believe, 
 who, after reading these passages, can ever hear th^t name 
 with indifference. 
 
 A further account has been published by Dr. Howe, since 
 the report from whicli I have just quoted. , It describes her 
 rapid mental growth and improvement during twelve months 
 more, and brings her little history down to the end of last 
 year. If is very remarkable, that as we dream in words, and 
 carry on imaginary conversations, in which we speak both for 
 ourselves a.nd for tb.e shadows who appear, to us in those vis- 
 ions of the night, so slie, having no words, uses, her finger 
 alphabet in her sleep. And it has been ascertained that when 
 her slumber is broken, and is much disturbed by dreams, she 
 expresses her thoughts in an irregular and confused manner 
 on her fingers : just as we should murmur and mutter them 
 indistinctly, in the like circumstances. 
 
 I turned over the leaves of her Diary, and found it written 
 in a fair legible; square hand, and expressed in terms which 
 were quite intelligible without, any explanation. On my say- 
 ing that I should like to see her write again, the teacher who 
 sat beside her, bade her, in their language, sign her name 
 upon a slip of paper, twice or thrice. In doing so, I observed 
 that she kept her left liand always touching, and. following up, 
 her right, in which, of course, she held the pen. No line was 
 indicated by any contrivance, but she wrote straight and 
 freely. 
 
 She had, until now, been quite unconscious of the presence 
 of visitors ; but, having her hand placed in that of tlie gentle- 
 maii who accompanied me, she immediately expressed his 
 name upon her teacher's palm. Indeed her sense of tquch is 
 
BOSTON. ,525 
 
 (iQW SO exquisite, that having been acquainted with a person 
 once, she can recognize hinn or her after altaost any interval. 
 This gentleman had been in her company, I believe, but very 
 seldom, and certainly had not seen her for many months. My 
 hand she rejected at once, as she does that of any man who 
 is a stranger to her. But she retained my wife's with evident 
 pleasure, kissed her, and examined her dress with a girl's 
 curiosity and interest. 
 
 She was merry and cheerful,, and showed much innocent 
 playfulness in her intercourse with her teacher. Her delight 
 on Tecognizing a favorite playfellow and companion— herself 
 a blind girl — who silently, and with an equal enjoyment of the 
 coming surprise, took a seat beside her, was beautiful to witr 
 ness. It elicited from: her at first, as other slight circum- 
 stances did twice or thrice during my visit, an uncouth noise 
 wWch was rather painful to hear. ■ But on her teacher touch- 
 ing her lips, she immediately desisted, and embraced her laugh- 
 ingly and affectionately. 
 
 I had .previously been into another chamber, where a 
 nujSafoer of blind boys were swinging, and climbing, arid en- 
 gaged in various sports. They all clamored, as we entered, to 
 the assistant-master, who accompanied us, " Look at me, Mr. 
 Hart! Please, Mr. Hart, look at me ! " evincing, I thought, 
 even in this, an anxiety peculiar to their condition^ that their 
 little feats of agility should be seen. Among them was a 
 small laughing fellow, who stood aloof, entertaining himself 
 with a gymnastic exercise for bringing the arms and chest 
 into play; which he enjoyed mightily; especially when, in 
 thrusting out his right arm, he brought it into contact ' with 
 another boy. Like Laura Bridgman, this young child was 
 deaf, and dumb, and blind. 
 
 Dr. Howe's account of this pupil's first instruction is so 
 very striking, and so intimately connected with Laura herself, 
 that I cannot refrain from a short extract. I may premise 
 that the poor boy's name is Oliver Caswell ; that he is thir- 
 teen years of age ; and that he was in full possession of all 
 his faculties, until three years and four months old. He was 
 then attacked by scarlet fever ; in fOur weeks became deaf ; 
 in a few weeks more, blind ; in six months, dumb. He showed 
 his anxious sense of this last deprivation, by often feeling the 
 the lips of other persons when, they were talking, and then 
 putting his hand upon his own, asi if to assure himself that 
 he had them in the right position.; 
 
624 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 "His thirst for knowledge," says Dr. Howe, "proclaimed 
 itself as soon as he entered the house, by his eager examina- 
 tion of every thing he could feel or smell in his new location. 
 For instance, treading upon the register of a furnace, he in- 
 stantly stooped down, and began to feel it, and soon dis- 
 covered the way in which the upper plate moved upon the 
 lower one ; but this was not enough for him, so lying down upon 
 his face, he applied his tongue first to one, then to the other, 
 and seemed to discover that they were of different kinds of 
 metal. 
 
 " His signs were expressive : and the strictly natural lan- 
 guage, laughiiig, crying, sighing, kissing, embracing, &c., was 
 perfect. 
 
 " Some of the analogical signs which (guided by his faculty 
 of imitation) he had contrived, were comprehensible ; such as 
 the waving motion of his hand for the motion of a boat, the 
 circular one for a wheel, &c. 
 
 " The first object was to break up the use of these signs 
 and to substitute for them the use of purely arbitrary ones. 
 
 " Profiting by the experience I had gained in the other 
 cases, I omitted several steps of the process before employed, 
 and commenced at once with the finger language. Takirig 
 therefore, several articles having short names, such as key, 
 cup, mug, &c., and with Laura for an auxiliary, I sat down, 
 and taking his hand, placed it upon one of them, and then 
 with my own, made the letters k ey. He felt my hands eagerly 
 with both of his, and on my repeating the process, he evi- 
 dently tried to imitate the motions of my fingers. In a few 
 minutes he contrived to feel the motions of my fingers with 
 one hand, and holding out the other he tried to imitate them, 
 laughing most heartily when he succeeded. Laura was by, 
 interested even to agitation ; and the two presented a singular 
 sight : her face was flushed and anxious, and her fingers twin- 
 ing in among ours so closely as to follow every motion, but so 
 lightly as not to embarrass them ; while Oliver stood atten- 
 tive,his head a little aside, his face turned up, his left hand 
 grasping mine, and his right held out : at every motion of my 
 fingers his countenance betokened keen attention ; there was 
 an expression of anxiety as he tried to imitate the motions; 
 then a smile came stealing out as he thought he could do 
 so, and spread into a joyous laugh the moment he succeeded, 
 and felt me pat his head, and Laura clap him heartily upon 
 the back, and jump up and down in her joy. 
 
BOSTON. 625 
 
 " He learned more than a half-dozen letters in half an hour, 
 and seemed delighted with his success, at least in gaining ap- 
 probation. His attention then began to flag, and I com- 
 menced playing with him. It was , evident that in all this he 
 had merely been imitating the motions of my fingers, and 
 placing his hand upon the key, cup, &c., as part of the pro- 
 cess, without any perception of the relation between the sign 
 and the object. 
 
 " When he was tired with play I took him back to. the 
 table, and. he was quite ready to begin again; his process of 
 imitation. He soon J.earned to make the letters for key, pen, 
 pin , and by having the object repeatedly placed in his hand, 
 he at last perceived the.relation I wished to establish between 
 them. This was evident, becausie, when I made the letters 
 pin, ox pen, or cup, he would select the article. 
 
 " The perception of this relation was not accompanied by 
 that radiant flash of intelligence, and that glow of joy, wMch 
 markecl the delightful moment when Laura, first perceived it. 
 I then placed all the articles on the table, and going away a 
 little distance with the children, placed Oliver's fingers in the 
 positions to spell key, on which Laura wejat and brought the 
 article: the little fellpw seemed .much: amused by this, and 
 looked very attentive and smiling. I i;hep, causejd. him to make 
 the letters bread, and in an instant Laura went and brought 
 him a piece : he smelled at it ; put it to his lips ; cocked up 
 his Jiead with a rnpst knowing look ; , seemed to reflect a mo- 
 ment ; and the laughed outright, as much as to say, ' Aha ! I 
 understand now how something may be made out of this.' 
 
 " It was now clear that he had the capacity and iiiclina- 
 tion to learn, that he was a proper subject for instruction, and 
 needed only pergeyering attention. I therefore put him in the 
 hands of an intelligent teacher, nothing dopbting of his rapid 
 progress." 
 
 Well may this gentleman call that a delightful moment, in 
 which some distant promise of her present state first gleamed 
 upon the darkeijed mind of Laura Bridgman. Throughout 
 his life, the recollection of that moment, .wil) be to him a 
 source of pure, unfading happiness ; nor will it shiaie less 
 brightly on the evening of his days of Noble. Usefulness. 
 
 The affection vjliich exists, between these two — the master 
 and the pupil — is as far removed frorn all ordinary care and 
 regard, as the circumstances in which it has .had. its growth, 
 are apart from the common occurrences of life. He isoceu- 
 
 40 
 
626 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 pied now, in devising means of imparting to her, higher knowl- 
 edge ; and of conveying to her some adequate idea of the 
 Great Creator of that universe in which, dark and silent and 
 scentless though it be to her, she has such deep delight and 
 glad enjoyment. 
 
 Ye who have eyes and see not, and have ears and hear 
 not ; ye who are as the hypocrites of sad countenances, and 
 disfigure your faces that ye may seem unto men to fast ; learn 
 healthy cheerfulness, and mild contentment, from the deaf, 
 and dumb, and blind ! Self-elected saints with gloomy brows, 
 this sightless, earless, voiceless child may teach you lessons 
 you will do well to follow. Let that poor hand of hers lie 
 gently on your hearts ; for there may be something in its heal- 
 ing touch akin to that of the Great Master whose precepts 
 you misconstrue, whose lessons you prevent, of whose charity 
 and sympathy with all the world, not one among you in his 
 daily practice knows as much as many of the worst among 
 those fallen sinners, to whom you are liberal in nothing but 
 the preachment of perdition ! 
 
 As I rose to quit the room, a pretty little child of one of 
 the attendants came running in to greet its father. For the 
 moment, a child with eyes, among the sightless crowd, im- 
 pressed me almost as painfully as the blind boy in the porch 
 had done, two hours ago. Ah ! how much brighter and more 
 deeply blue, glowing and rich though it had been before, was 
 the scene without, contrasting with the darkness of so many 
 youthful lives within ! 
 
 At South Boston, as it is called, in a situation excellently 
 adapted for the purpose, several charitable institutions are 
 clustered together. One of these, is the State Hospital for 
 the insane ; admirably conducted on those enlightened prin- 
 ciples of conciliation and kindness, which twenty years ago 
 would have been worse than heretical, and which have been 
 acted upon with so much success in our own pauper Asylum 
 at Hanwell. . " Evince a desire to show some confidence, and 
 repose some trust, even in mad people," said the resident 
 physician, as we walked along the galleries, his patients flock- 
 ing round us unrestrained. Of those who deny or doubt the 
 wisdom of this maxim after witnessing its .effects, if there be 
 such people still alive, I can only say that I hope I may 
 never be summoned as a Juryman on a Commission of Lunacy 
 Wliereof they are the subjects ; for I should certainly find 
 them out of their senses, on such evidence alone. 
 
bos TON. (,2j 
 
 Each ward in this institution is shaped like a long gallery 
 or hall, with the dormitories of the patients opening from it 
 on either hand. Here they wbrk, read,' play at skittles, and 
 other gaities ; and when the weather does not admit of theii 
 taking exercise out of doors, pass the day together. In one 
 of these rooms, seated, calmly, and quite as a matter of 
 course, among a throng of mad-wOmen, black and white, 
 were the physician's wife and another lady, with a couple of 
 children. These ladies were graceful and handsome ; and it 
 was not difficult to perceive at a glance that even their pres- 
 ence there, had a highly beneficial influence on the patients 
 who were grouped about them. 
 
 Leaning her head against the chimney-piece, with a great 
 assumption of dignity and refinement of maniier, sat an 
 elderly female, in as many scraps of finery as Madge Wildfire 
 herself. Her head in particular was so strewn with scraps Of 
 gauze and cotton and bits of paper, and h^d so many queer 
 odds and ends stuck all about it, that it looked' like a bird's- 
 nest. She was radiant with- imaginary jewels ; wore a' rich 
 pair of undoubted gold spectacles ; and gracefully dropped 
 upon her lap, as we approached, a very old greasy newspaper, 
 in which I dare say she had been reading an account of her 
 own presentation at some Foreign Court. 
 
 I have been thus particulrtr in describing her, because she 
 will serve to exemplify the physician's manner of acquiring 
 and retaining the confidence of his patients. 
 
 "This," he said aloud, taking me by the hand, and ad- 
 vancing to the fantastic figure with great politeness — net 
 raising her suspicions by the slightest look or whisper, or any 
 kind of aside, to me : "This lady is the hostess of this man- 
 sion, sir. It belongs to her. Nobody else has anything 
 whatever to do with it. It is a large establishment, as you 
 see, and requires a great number of attendants. She lives, 
 you observe, in the very' first style. She is kind enough to 
 receive iny visits, and to permit my wife and family to reside 
 here ; for which it is hardly necessary to say, we are. much 
 indebted to her. She is exceedinjgly courteous, you per- 
 ceive," on this hint she bowed condescendingly, " and will 
 permit me to have the pleasure of introducing you : a gentle- 
 nian from England, Ma'ani: newly arrived from England, 
 after a very tempestuous pas'sage : Mr. Dickens, — the lady 
 of the house ! " 
 
 We exchanged the most dignified SalWations with pro 
 
628 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 found gravity and respect, and so went on. The rest of the 
 madwomen^ seemed to understand the joke perfectly (not 
 only in this, case,, but in all the others, except their own), and 
 be highly amused by it. The nature of their several, kinds oi 
 insanity was; :i:nade known to me in the same way, and we 
 left each of them in high good-humor. Not only is a 
 thorough confidence established, by those means, between 
 the physician and patient, in respect of the nature, and extent 
 of their hallucinations, but it is easy, to understand, that op- 
 portunities are afforded for seizing any moment of reason, to 
 startle them by placing their own delusion before them in its 
 most infcongruous and ridiculous light. 
 
 JEvery patient in this asylum sits down to dinner every 
 day -with a knife and fork; and in the midst of them sits the 
 gentleman, whose manner of dealing with his charges, I have 
 just described. At every meal, moral influence alone re- 
 strains the more. violent among tliem from cutting the tliroats 
 of the rest ; but the effect of that influence is reduced to an 
 absolute certainty, and is found,, even as a means of restraint^ 
 to say nothing of it as a means of cure, a hundred times 
 more efficacious than all the strait-waistcoats, fetters, and 
 hand-cuffs, that ignorance, prejudice, and cruelty have manu- 
 factured since thd creation of the world. 
 
 In the labor department, every patient is as freely trusted 
 with the tools of his trade as if he were a sane man. In the 
 gaiden, and on the farm, they work with spades, rakes and 
 hoes. For amusement, they walk, run, fish, paint, read, and 
 ride out to take the air in carriages provided for die purpose. 
 They have among themselves a sewing society to make 
 clothes for the poor, which holds meetings, passes resolu- 
 tions, never comes to fisty-cuffs or bowie-knives as sane as- 
 semblies have been known to do elsewhere j and conducts all 
 its proceedings with the greatest decorum. The irritability, 
 which would otherwise be expended on their own flesh, clothes, 
 and furniture, is dissipated in these pursuits, They are cheerr 
 ful, -tranquil, and healthy. 
 
 Orice a week they haye a ball, in which the Doctor, and 
 his family, with all the nurses and attendants, take, an active 
 part. Dances and marches are performed alternately, to the 
 enlivening strains of a piano ; and now and then some gentle- 
 man or lady (whose proficiency has been previously ascer- 
 tained) obliges the company with a song : nor does it ever 
 degenerate, at a tendercrisis, into a screech or howl ; wherein 
 
BOSTON. 620 
 
 I must confess, I should have thought the danger lay. At 
 an early hour they all ineet together for these festive pur- 
 poses ; at eight o'clock refreshments are served ; and at nine 
 they separate. 
 
 Immense politeness and good - breeding are observed 
 throughout. They all take their tone from the Doctor ; and 
 he moves a very Chestej£e|l,d among the company. Like 
 other assemblies, these entertainments afford a fruitful topic 
 of conversation among the ladies for some days ; and the 
 gentlemen are so anxious to shine on these occasions, that 
 they have been sometimes found " practising their steps" in 
 private, to cut a more distinguished %ure in the dance; 
 
 It is oljvious ^hat one great featurie of this system, is the 
 inculcation and encouragement, even among; such unhappy 
 perspns, of a decent self-respect. Something of the same 
 spirit pervades all the Institutions at Soutli Boston. 
 
 There is .the House of Industrj'. In that branch of it, 
 wh^ehis devoted to; the reqeption of old or otherwise helpless 
 paupers, these words are painted on the walls : " Worthy of 
 IJJoTrjCE. Self-Government, Quietude, and Peace, are 
 Blessings." It is not assumed and taken for granted that 
 being tfieje they must be evil-disposed and wicked: people, 
 t)efore whose vicious eyes it is necessary to flourish threats 
 and harsh restraints. They are met at the very threshold 
 ^ith thisi mild appe^. All within-doors is very plain arid 
 simple, as it ought to be, but arsanged with a view to peace 
 and.cpmfort. It costs no, more, than any other plan of ■ ar- 
 rangement, but it speaks an amount of consideration for 
 those who are reduced to seek a shelter there, which puts 
 them at once upon their gratitude and good behavior. In- 
 stead of being parcelled out in great,.long rambling wards 
 where a certain amount of weazen life SvAf mope, and pine, 
 and shiver, all day long, the building is divided into seiparate 
 rooms, each with its share of light and air. In these, the 
 bietter kind of paupers live. ; They have a motivefor exertion 
 and becoming pride, in the desire -to make these little cham- 
 bers comfortable and decent. • 
 ■ I do not remember one but it was clean and neat, and 
 had its plant or two upon the window-sill, or row of crockery 
 upon the shelf, or spjall display of colored prints upon the 
 wljif^washed wall, or, perhaps, its wooden clock behind the 
 door. 
 
 The orphans and : young children are. in an.adjoihing 
 
630 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 building ; separate from this, but a part of the same Institu- 
 tion. Some are such little creatures, that the stairs of Lilli- 
 putian measurement, fitted to their tiny strides. The same 
 consideration for their years and weakness is expressed in 
 ^their very seats, which are perfect curiosities, and look like 
 articles of farntuire for a pauper doll's house. I can imagine 
 the glee of our Poor Law Commissioners at the notion of these 
 seats 'Jiaving arms and backs ; but small spines being of 
 older date than their occupation of the Board-room at Som- 
 erset House, I thought even this provision very merciful and 
 kind. 
 
 Here again, I was greatly pleased with the inscriptions on 
 the wall, which- were scraps of plain morality, easily remem- 
 bered and understood : such as " Love one another " — " God 
 remembers the smallest creature in his creation :"and straight- 
 forward advice of that nature. The books and tasks of these 
 smallest of scholars, were adapted, in the same judicious man- 
 ner, to their childish powers. When we had examined these 
 lessons, four morsels of girls (of- whom one was blind) sang 
 a little song, about the merry month of May, which I thought 
 (being extremely dismal) woiild have suited ■ an English No- 
 vember better. That done, we went to see the sleeping-rooms 
 on the floor above, in which the arrangements wei-e no less 
 excellent and gentle than those we had seen below. And after 
 observing that the teachers were of a class and character 
 well ;suited to the spirit of the place, I took leave of the 
 infants with a lighter heart than ever I have ' taken leave of 
 pauper infants yet. 
 
 Connected with the House of Industry, there is also an 
 Hospital, which was in the best order, and had, I am glad to 
 say, many beds unoccupied. It had one fault, however, which 
 is common to all American interiors : the presence of the 
 eternal, accursed, suffocating, red-hot dfemon of a stove, whose 
 breath would blight thepttrest air under Heaven. 
 
 There are two establishments for boys in this same neigh- 
 borhood. One is called the Boylkon school, and is an asylum 
 for neglected and indigent boys who have committed no crhhe, 
 but who in the ordinary course of things would very soon be 
 purged of that distinction if they were not taken from- the hun- 
 gfy streets and sent here. The other is a House of Reforma- 
 taom for Juvenile Offenders. They afe both under the same 
 roof, but the two classes of boys never come in contact. 
 
 The Boylston bsys, as ma;^ 'bei.Teadily supposed, have very 
 
BOSTON. 631 
 
 much the advantage of the others in point of personal appear- 
 ance. They were in their school-room when I came upon 
 them; and Answered correctly, without book, such questions as 
 where was England ; how far was it ; what was its population ; 
 its capital city ; its form of government ; and so fortn. They 
 sang a song too, about a farmer' sowing his seed : with corre- 
 sponding action at such parts as "'tis thus he sows," "he 
 turns him round," "he claps his hands ;" which g;giv6 it 
 greater interest for them, and accustomed them to act together, 
 in an orderly irianner. They appeared exceedingly well-taught, 
 and not better taught than fed ; for a' more chubby-looking 
 fuU-waistcoated set of boys, I never saw. 
 
 The juvenile offenders had not such pleasant fac^s by a 
 great deal, and in this establishment there were many boys of 
 color. I saw them first at their work (basket-making, and the 
 maijufacture of palm-leaf hats), afterwards in their school, 
 where they sapg a chorus in praise of Liberty : an odd, and, 
 one would think, rather aggravating, thenie for prisoners. 
 These boys are divided into four classes, each denoted by a 
 numeral, worn oTi a badge upon the arm. On the arrival of a 
 newcomer, he is put into the fourth or lowest class, and left, 
 by good behavior, to work his way up into the first. The de- 
 sign and object of this Institution is to reclaim the youtliful 
 criminal by firm but kind arid judicious treatment ; to make 
 his prison a place of purification and improvement, not of 
 demoralization and corruption ; to impress upon him that 
 there is but one path, and that one sober industry, which can 
 ever lead ' him to happiness ; to te^ch him how it may be 
 trodden, if his footsteps have never yet been led that way ; 
 and to- lure him back to it if they have strayed : in a word, to 
 snatch him from destruction, and restore him to society a pen- 
 itent and useful member. The importance of such an estab- 
 lishment, in every point of view, and with reference to every 
 consideration of humanity and social policy, requires no com- 
 ment. 
 
 One other establishment closes the catalogue. It is the 
 Souse of Correction for the State, in which silence iS' strictly 
 fiiaintained, but where the prisoners havb the comfort and 
 mental relief of seeing each other, and of working together. 
 This is the improved system of Prison Discipline which we 
 have imported into England, and which has been in successful 
 Operation lamong us^ for some years pfast. 
 ■'Itirierica, as a new and not over-populated ccHintry, has in 
 
qj2 AMERICAN- NOTES. 
 
 all hej prisons, the one great advantage, of. being en9,bled to 
 find useful and profitable work for the inmates ; wherpas, with 
 us the prejudice against prison labor is naturally very strong, 
 and almost insurmountable, when honest men who have not 
 offended, against the laws are, frequently doomed to seek em- 
 ployment in vain. Even in the United States, the principle, 
 of bringing convict labor and free labor into a competition 
 whicji must, obviously £e to the disadvantage of th£ latter, has 
 already found many opponents, whose number is not likely to 
 diminish with access of years. 
 
 For this very reason though, our best prisons would seem at 
 the first glance to be "better, conducted than those of America, 
 The tresadmill is conducted with little or no noise ; five hun- 
 dred men may pick oakum in the same room, without a sound ; 
 ai>d both kinds of labpr admit of such keen and vigilant super- 
 intendence, as will render even a word of personal communi- 
 cation amongst the prisoners almost impossible. On the 
 othejrhaijdj.the noise of the loom, the forge, the carpenter's 
 hammer, oj: the stonemason's saw, greatly favor those oppor- 
 tunities of intercourse^hurried and brief no doubt, but oppor- 
 tunities stiil-T^which these several kinds of work, by rendering 
 it necessary for men to be employed very near to each other, 
 and often side by side, without apy barrier or partition between 
 them, in their very nature present. A visitor, too, requires to 
 reason and reflect a little, before the sight of a number of men 
 engaged in ordinary labor, such as he is acQustomed to out of 
 doors, will impress him half as strongly as the contemplation 
 of the same persons in the same place and garb would, if tliey 
 were occupied in some task, marked, and degr^id^ everywhere 
 as belonging only to felony in jails. In an American State 
 prison or house of correction, I found it difficult , at first to 
 persuade, myself that I was reajly in a jail : , a place pf ignomin- 
 ious punishment and endurance; . And to this hour, I, very 
 njj^ph question whetljier the humane boast tha,t it is not liite 
 one, has its root in the true wisdom or philosophy of the 
 matter. , ; ' , • 
 
 I hope I may not be misunderstood on tliis subject, for it 
 Is one in which .1 take a strong ^d deep interest. , I incline 
 as little to the. sickly feeling which rnakes every canting, lie or 
 maudlin speech of a notorious, criminal a subject of newspaper 
 report ,?,nd general sympathy, as I do to those good old cus- 
 toms of the good old times which made England, even so 
 recently as in thp reign of the Third. King George, in respect 
 
BOSTON. 633 
 
 ol? her criminal code. and Jner, prison regulations, one of the 
 most bloody-minded and barbarous countries oil the earth, 
 if I thought it TWQurd do any good to the rising generation, I 
 wpuld fcheerfully give my, consent to the disinterment of the 
 bones of any genteel highwayman (the more genteel, the more 
 clieerfully), and to their exposure, piecemeal, on any sign-post, 
 gate, or gibbet, that might be deemed a good elevation forthp 
 purpose. My reason is as well convinced that these gentry 
 were as utterly worthless ^nd debauched villains, as it is that 
 the laws and jails hardened them in their evil courses, or that 
 their wonderful eS;Capes were effected by ^he prison-turnkeys 
 who, in.those admirable days, had aliways been felons them- 
 selves, and were, to the last, their bosom friends and pot-com- 
 panions. At the same time I know, as all men do or shpuld, 
 that the subject of Prison Discipline is one of the highest im- 
 portance to any community i and that in her sweeping reform 
 and bright example to 9,ther countries on thi^ihead, America has 
 showngreat wisdom, great benevolence, and exalted policy. In 
 contrasting her system with tha.t which we have modelled upon 
 it, I merely seek to, show that with all its drawbacks, ours has 
 some advantages of its, own. 
 
 The House of Correction which has led to these remarks, 
 is not walled, like other prisons, \f\^% is palisaded round about 
 Tjrith tall rough stakes, something afte^ the manner of an en- 
 closure for keeping elephants in, as we see it represented in 
 ifeastern prints and pictures. The prisoners wear a parti- 
 eplored dress ; and those who are s.entenced to hard labor, 
 infork at nail-making, or s^tone-cutting. Whpn I was th^^re, the 
 latter class of . laborers were employed upon the. stone for a 
 new custom-house in course of^ erection at Boston. They 
 appeared to shape it skilfully and with expedition, though 
 there were very few among them (if any) whoh3.f|.,J?kOt acquired 
 the .art vyithin the prison gates. , , 
 
 The women, all in one large room, were ernjilpyed, in 
 making , lirfit clothiipg, for. New Orleans and the Southern 
 Stafes. They did their wbrli in silence like the men ; and 
 %e them were overlooked by the person contracting for their 
 laboJ, or by spme agent of his appointment. In addition to 
 this, they are every moment liable to be visited by the prison 
 pflffcers appointed for that purpose. 
 
 The arrangements for cooking, ivashing of ,clothes, and, sp 
 foirth, are much upon .the, plan of those I have seen £^t hojne.- 
 I^ejrmode of .bestowing the prisoners at : night (whicl^ is lof 
 
634 AMERTCAN NOTES. 
 
 general adoption) differs froni ours, and is -both simple and 
 effective. In the centre of a lofty area, lighted by windows in 
 the four walls, are five tiers of cells, one above the other ; 
 each tier having- before it a light irdn gallery, attainable by 
 stairs of the same construction and material : excepting- the 
 lower one, which is on the ground. Behind these, back to 
 back with them and facirig the opposite wall, are five corre- 
 sponding rows of cells, accessible by similar means : so that 
 supposing the prisoners locked up iri their cells, an 'officer 
 stationed on the ground, with his back to the wall, has half 
 their number under his eye at once ; the remaining hialf being 
 equally under the observation of another officer oh the: oppo- 
 site side ; arid all in one great apartment. Unless this watch 
 be corrupted or sleeping on Tiis post, it is impossible for a 
 man to escape ; for even in the event of his forcing the iron 
 door of his cell without noise (which is exceedingly ini^ilqMJ 
 ble), the moment he appears outside, and steps into that one 
 of the five galleries on -which it is situated, he must be plainly 
 and fully visible to the officer below. Each of these cells 
 Holds a small truckle bed, in which one prisoner sleeps ; 
 never more. It i^ spiall, of course ; and the door beiqg not 
 solid, but grated, and without blind or curtain, the prisoner 
 within is at all times exposed to the observatiion and inspec- 
 tion of any guard who may pass along that tier at any hour or 
 minute of the night. Every day, the prisoners receive their 
 dinner, singly, through a trap in the kitchen wall ; and each 
 m,an carries his to his sleeping cell to eat it, where he is locked' 
 lip, alone, for that purposiC, one hour. The whole of this 
 arrangement struck me as being admirable ; and I hope that 
 the next new .prison we erect in England may be built on this 
 plan. 
 
 1 was giveii to understand that in this prison no" swords 
 or fire-arms, or even cudgels, are kept; nor is it probable 
 that, so long as its present excellent manageiiiferit continijes, 
 any liveapoh, offensive dr defensive, -will , ever be required 
 within its bonnds. \ ' ' 
 
 Such are the Institutions at'Soutli Boston ! In all of thein, 
 the unfortunate ot degenerate citizens of the State ate care- 
 fully instructed in their duties both to God and man] are 
 surrounded by all reasonable means of comfort and happiness 
 that their condition will admit of ; are a;gpea}ed to, as mem. 
 berS of the' great human family, however afflicted, iijidigent, 'or 
 fallen] are ruled by the strong Heart, and not by the' stfbtig 
 
. BOSTON. 635 
 
 (though immeasurably weaker) Hand. I have described them 
 at some length; firstly, because their worth demanded it; 
 and secondly, because I mean to take them for a model, and 
 to content tftyself with saying of others we may come to, 
 whose design and purpose are the same, that in this or that 
 respect they practically fail, or differ. 
 
 T wish by this account of them, imperfect in its execution, 
 but in its just intention, honest, I could hope to convey to my 
 readers one-hundredth part of the gratification, the sights I 
 have described, afforded me. 
 
 ■ To an Englishman, accustomed to the paraphernalia of 
 Westminster Hall, an American Court of Law, is as odd a sight 
 ias, I suppose, an English Court of Law would be to an American; 
 Except in the Supreme Court at Washington (where the judges 
 wear a plain black robe), there is no such thing as a wig or 
 gown connected with the administration of justice. The gen- 
 tleman of the- bar-being barristers and attorneys too (for there 
 is no division of those functions as in England) are no more 
 removed from their clients than attorneys in our Court for the 
 Relief of Insolvent Debtors are, from theirs. The jury are 
 quite at home, and make^ themselves as- comfortable as cir- 
 cumstinces will permit. The witness is so little elevated 
 above, or put aloof from, the crowd in the court, that a 
 Stranger entering during a- pause in the proceedings would 
 find it difiScult to pick him out from the rest. And if it 
 chanced to be a criminal trial, his eyes, in nine cases out of 
 ten, would wander to the dock in' search of the prisoner, in 
 vain; for that gentleman would most likely be lounging 
 among the most distinguished ornaments of the legal profes- 
 sion, whispering suggestions in his counsel's ear, or making a 
 toothpick put of an old quill with his penknife. 
 
 L could not- but 'notice these differences, when I visited 
 the courts at Boston. ' I was much surprised at first, too, to 
 observe that the -Counsel -who interrogated the witness under 
 examination at the time, did so sitting. But seeing that he 
 was also occupied in writing down the answers, and remem- 
 bering that he was alone and had no "junior," I quickly con- 
 soled myself with the "repection that law was not quite so 
 expensive an artidle here, as at home ; and that the absence 
 of sundry formalities -which we regard as indispensable, had 
 doubtless a very favorable inflUetice upon the bill of costs. 
 
 '" In efVery Court, aahpfld ^nd commodioiis provision is made 
 
636 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 for. the aecoremodatipn of the citizens. This i&.the case all 
 through America. In eyery Public Institution, the jight of 
 the-people. to attend, and to have an interest in the, proceed- 
 ings, is most fully and distinctly recognized. There: are no 
 grim door-keepers to dpje out their tardy civility by the six- 
 penny-worth ; nor is there^ I siucerely believe, any insolence 
 of office of any kind.: iNothing national is exhibitjed for 
 money ; and no public officer is a showman. We have begun 
 of late years to imitate this good example. I hope we shall 
 continue to do so ; and that in the, fulness pf time, even deans 
 and chapters may be converted. 
 
 In the civil court an action was tryitjg, for damages sus- 
 tained in some accident upon a railway. The witnesses had 
 been examined, and: counsel was addressing the jury. The 
 learned gentleman (like a few of Jiis English, brethren) was 
 desperately long-winded, and had a remaifoble capacity of 
 saying the same thing over and over again. His greiat theme 
 was " Warren the en^/««, driver," whom he pressed into the 
 service of every .sentence he uttered, 1 I listened to him for 
 about, a quarter of an hour ; arid, coming out of court at the 
 expiratipn of that time, without thefaintest ray of enlightenment 
 as to the merits of the case, felt as if I were at home again. 
 
 In the prisoners' cell; waiting to be examined by the 
 magistrate on a charge of theft, was a boy. ; This lad, instead 
 of being committed to a common jail, would be sent to the 
 asylum at South Boston, and tliere taught a trad^ ; and in 
 the course of time he would be. bound apprentice to some 
 respectable master. Thus, his de^tection in this offence, 
 instead of being the prelude to a life of infamy and a misera- 
 ble death, would lead, there was a reasonable hope, to his 
 being reclaimed from vice, and becoming a worthy member 
 of society. 
 
 ... I am, : by no means a wholesale admirer o:^ our legal 
 solemnities, many oi which impress me as being exceedingly 
 ludicrous. Strange as ife may seem too, there is undoubtedly 
 a degree of protection in the wig. and gown — a dismissal of 
 indiwiduial .responsibility in dressing for the part — which en- 
 courages that insQlent bearing and, language, and th^tgross 
 perversion of th.e office of a pleader for The Truths so fre- 
 quent in our ■ courts of law. Still, I cannot help .doubting 
 whether America, in her , desire to; shake off the . absurdities 
 and abuses of the old system, may not have gone top,.! far into 
 the., opposite extreme; and; whether it is riofc desirable, espe- 
 
. BOSTQN. 637 
 
 dally in the small community of a city like this, where each 
 man knows the o.thej;, to surround the administration of jus- 
 tice with some artificial barriers against the " Hail fellow, 
 well met " deportment of everyday life. All the aid it can 
 ]j3,ye in the very high character and ability of the Bench, not 
 only here hwi elsewhere, it has, and well deserves, to have ; 
 / but it may need something more : not to impress the thought- 
 ful and the well-informed, but. the ignorant and heedless; a 
 class which includes some prisoners and many witnesses. 
 These institutions were established, no doubt, upon the prin- 
 ciple that those who had so large a, share in njaking the laws, 
 would certainly respect them. But experience has proved 
 this hope to be fallacious ; for no men know better than the 
 Judges of America, that on the occasion of any great popular 
 excitement the lajy is powerless,. and cannot, for the time, 
 assert its own supremacy. 
 
 .The tone pf society in Boston is one of perfect politeness, 
 courtesy, and good breeding. The ladies are unquestionably 
 very beautiful — in face; but there, I. am compelled to stop. 
 Their education is much as with us; neither better nor worse. 
 I had heard some. very marvellous stories in this respect ; but 
 not believing them, was not disappointed. Blue ladies there 
 are, in Boston ; but like pMlosophers of that color arid sex in 
 most pther latitudes, they rather desire to be thought superior 
 than to be ao. Evangelical ladles there are, likewise, whose 
 attachment to, the fonns of religion, and horror of theatrical 
 entertainments, are most exemplary. Ladies who have a 
 passion for attending lectures are to be found among all 
 classes and all conditions. In the kind of provincial life 
 which prevails in cities such as this, the Pulpit h^s great in- 
 fluence. The peculiar province, of the Pulpit in New England 
 (always excepting the ijnitarian ministry) would appear to be 
 the denouncement of a}l innocent and rational amusements. 
 The church, the chapel, and the lecture-room, are the .only 
 means of excitement excepted ; and to the church, the chapel, 
 and the lecture-room, the ladies resort in crowds. 
 
 Wherever religion is resorted to, as a strong drink, and as 
 an escape frorn the dull monotonous round of home, those of 
 its ministers who pepper the highest will be the surest to 
 please. They who strew the Eternal Path with the greatest 
 amount of brimstone, and who most ruthlessly tread down 
 the .flowers and leaves that grow by the way-side, will, be 
 voted the most righteous ; and they who enlarge with the 
 
638 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 greatest pertinacity on the difficulty of getting into heaven, 
 will be considered by all true believers certain of going thiere : 
 though it would be hard to say by what process of reasoning 
 this conclusion is arrived at. It is so at home, and it is so 
 abroad. With regard to the other means of fekcitement, the 
 Lecture, it has at least the merit' of being always new. One 
 lecture treads so quickly on the heels of 'Another, that none 
 are remembered; and the course of this month maybe safely 
 repeated next, with its charm of novelty unbroken, and its 
 interest unabated. 
 
 The fruits of the earth have their growth in corruption. 
 Out of the rottenness of these things, there has sprung up in 
 Boston a sect of philosophers knoWn'as Transcendeiitalists. 
 On inquiring what this appellation might be supposed to 
 signify, I was given to understand that whatever was unin- 
 telligible would be certainly transcendental. Not deriving 
 much comfort from this elucidation, I pursued the inquiry 
 still further, and found that the Transcendentalists ^re fol- 
 lowers of my friend Mr. Carlyle, or I should rather say, of a 
 follower of his, Mr. Ralph Waldo Emerson. This gentleman 
 has written a volume of Essays, in which, among much that is 
 dreamy and fandfur(if he will pardon me for saying so), there 
 is much more that is true and manly, honest and bold. 
 Transcendentalism has its occasional vagaries (what school 
 has not ?), but it has good healthful qualities in spite of them ; 
 not least among the number a hearty disgust of Cant, and an 
 aptitude to detect her in all the million varieties of her ever- 
 lasting wardrobe. And therefore if I were a Bostbnian, I 
 think I would be a Transcendentalist. 
 
 The only preacher I heard in Boston was Mr. Taylor, who 
 addresses himself peculiarly to seamen, and who was once a 
 mariner himself. I found his chapel down among the ship- 
 ping, in one of the narrow, old, water-side streets, v.ith a gay 
 blue flag waving freely from its roof. In the gallery Opposite 
 to the pulpit were a little choir of male and female singers, a 
 violoncello, and a violin. The preacher already sat in the 
 pulpit, which was raised on pillars, and ornamented behind 
 him with painted drapery of a lively and somewhat theatrical 
 appearance. He looked a weather-beaten hard-featured man, 
 of about six or eight and fifty ; with deep lines graven as it 
 were into his face, dark hair, and a stern, keen eye. Yet the 
 general character of his countenance was pleasant and agree- 
 able. The service commenced with a hymn, to which sue- 
 
BOSTON. 6^n 
 
 ceeded an extemporary prayer. It had the fault of frequent 
 repetition, incidental to all such prayers ; but it was plain 
 and comprehensive in its doctrines, and breathed a tone of 
 general sympathy and charity, which is not so commonly a 
 characteristic of this fonn of address to the Deity as it might 
 be. That done he opened his discourse, taking for his' text a 
 passage from the Songs of Solomon, laid upon the desk 
 before the commencement of the service by some unknown 
 member of the congregation : " Who is this coming up from 
 the wilderness, leaning on the arm of her beloved ! " 
 
 He handled his text in all kinds of ways, and twisted it 
 into all manner of shapes; but always ingeniously, and with 
 a rude eloquence, well-adapted to the comprehension of his 
 hearers. Indeed if I be not mistaken, he studied' their sym- 
 pathies and' understandings much more than the display of 
 his own powers. His imagery was all drawn from the sea, 
 and from the incidents of a seaman's life ;' and was often re- 
 markably good. He spoke to them of " that glorious man. 
 Lord Nelson," and of Collingwood ; and drew nothing in, as 
 the saying is, by the head and shoulders, but brought it to 
 bear upon his purpose, naturally, and with a 'sharp mind to 
 its effect. Sometimes, when much excited with his subject, 
 he had an odd way — compounded of John Bunyan, and B'll- 
 four of Burley-^of taking his great quarto Bible under his 
 arm and "pacitig. up and down the pulpit with it ; looking 
 steadily down, meantime, into the midst of the congregation. 
 Thus, when he applied his text to the first assemblage of his 
 hearers, and pictured the wonder of the church at their pre- 
 samption in fonning a congregation among themselves, he 
 stopped short with his Bible under his ann in the manner I 
 have describedj and pursued his discourse after this manner : 
 
 " Who are these — -who are they — who are these fellows ? 
 where do they come from ! Where are theygoing to ? — Come 
 from ! What's the answer ? " — leaning out of the pulpit, and 
 pomting downward with his right hand': "From below!" — 
 starting back again, and looking at the sailors before him : 
 " From below, my brethren. From under the hatches of sin, bat- 
 tened down above you by the evil one. That's where you came 
 from ! " — a walk up and down the pulpit : " and where are you; 
 going " — stopping abruptly : " where are you going ? Aloft 1 " 
 — very softly, and pointing upward : " Aloft ! " — louder : 
 "aloft!" — louder still. "That's where you are going — with 
 a fair wind — all taut and' trim, steering direct for Heaven in 
 
'6^0 AMERICAN NOTES 
 
 its glory, where there are no storms or foul weather, and where 
 the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest." 
 —Another walk,: " That's where yo're going to, my friends. 
 That's it. That's the place. That's the port. That's the 
 haven. It's a blessed harbor-- still water there, in all 
 changes of the winds and tides ; no driving, ashore upon the 
 rocks, or slipping your cables and running out to sea, there ; 
 Peace— Peace — Peace — all peace ! " — Another walk, and pat- 
 ting the Bible under his left arm: "What! These fellows 
 are coming from the wilderness, ajre they ? Yes. From the 
 dreary, blighted wilderness of Iniquity, whose only crop is 
 Death. . But do they lean upon anything — do they lean upon 
 nothing, these poor seamen ? " — Three raps upon the Bible : 
 " Oh yes.— Yes. — They lean upon the arm of their Beloved " 
 —three more raps : " upon the arm of their Beloved " — three 
 more, and a walk : " Pilot, guiding-star, and compass, all in 
 one, to all harids — here it is " — ^three more : " Here it is. 
 They can do their seaman's duty manfully, arid be easy in 
 their minds in thei utmost peril and danger, with this" — two 
 more: " They can come, even these, poor fellows can come, 
 from the wilderness leaning on the arm of their Beloved, and 
 go up^up — up ! " — raising his hand higher, and higher, at 
 every repetition of the word, so that he stood with it at last 
 stretched above his head, regarding them in a strange, rapt 
 manner, and pressing the book triumphantly to his breast, 
 until he gradually subsided into some other portion of his dis- 
 course. 
 
 I have cited this, rather as an instance- of the preacher's 
 eccentricities than his merits, though taken in connection with 
 liis look and manner, and the character of his audience, even 
 this was asking. It is possible, however, that my favorable 
 impression, of him may have been greatly influenced and 
 strengthened, firstly,, by his impressing upon his hearers that 
 the true observance of religion was not inconsistent witli a 
 cheerful deportment and an exact discharge of the duties of 
 their station, which, indeed, it scrupulously required of them ; 
 and secondly, by his cautioning them not to set up any monop- 
 oly in Paradise and its mercies. • I never heard these two 
 points so wisely touched (if indeed I have ever heard them 
 touched at all), by any preacher -of that kind before. 
 
 Having passed the time I spent in Boston, in making my- 
 self acquainted with these things, in settling the course I 
 should take in my future travels, and in mixing constantly 
 
BOSTON, 6^, 
 
 with its society, I am not aware that I have any occasion to 
 prolong this chapter. Such of its social customs as I have 
 not mentioned, however, may be told in a very few words. 
 
 ' The usual dinner-hour is two o'clock. A dinner party 
 takes place at five ; and at an evening party, they seldom sup 
 later than eleven ; so that it goes hard but one gets home, 
 even from a rout, by midnight. I never could find out any 
 difference between a party at Boston and a party in London, 
 saving that at the former place all assemblies are held at more 
 rational hours ; that the conversation may possibly be a little 
 louder and more cheerful ; and a guest is usually expected to 
 ascend to the very top of the house to take his cloak off ; 
 that he is certain to see, at every dinner, an unusual amount 
 of poultry on the table ; and at every supper, at least two 
 mighty bowls of hot stewed oysters, in any one of which a 
 haS-^own Duke of Clarence might be smothered easily. 
 
 There are two theatres in Boston, of good size and con- 
 Sfctection, but sadly in want of patronage. Thefew ladies who 
 resort to them, sit, as of right, in the front rows of the boxes. 
 'The bar is a large room with a stone floor, and there 
 people stand and smoke, and lounge about, all the evening : 
 dropping in and out as the humor takes them. There too the 
 stranger is initiated into the mysteries of Gin-sling, Cock-tail, 
 Sangaree, Mint Julep, Sherry-cobbler, Timber Doodle, and 
 other rare drinks. The house is full of boarders, both 
 married and single, many of whom sleep upon the premises, 
 and contract by the week for their board and lodging : the 
 charge for which diminishes as they go nearer the sky to 
 roost. A public table is laid in a very handsome hall for 
 breakfast, and for dinner, and for supper. The party sitting 
 down together to these meals will vary in number from one to 
 two hundred : sometimes more. The advent of each of these 
 epochs in the day is proclaimed by an awful gong, which 
 shakes the very window-frames as it reverberates through the 
 house, and horribly disturbs nervous foreigners. There is an 
 ordinary for ladies, and an ordinary for gentlemen. 
 
 In our private room the cloth could not, for any earthly 
 consideration, have been laid for dinner without a huge glass 
 dish of cranberries in the middle of the table ; and breakfast 
 would have been no breakfast unless the principal dish were 
 a deformed beef-steak with a great flat bone in the centre, 
 swimming in hot butter, and sprinkled with the very blackest 
 of all possible pepper. Our bedroom was spacious and airy, 
 
 41 
 
642 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 but (like every bedraom on this side of the Atlantic) very bare 
 of furniture, having no curtains to the French bedst^ or to 
 the window. . It.had one unusual luxury, however, in the shape 
 of a wardrobe of painted wood, something smaller than an 
 English watch-box ; or if this comparison should be msufficient 
 to convey a just idea of its dimensions, they may be estimated 
 from the fact of my having lived for fourteen days and nights 
 in the firm belief that it was a shower-bath. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AN AMERICAN RAILROAD. LOWELL AND ITS FACTORY SYSTEM. 
 
 Before leaving Boston, I devoted one day to an excursion 
 to Lowell. 1 assign a separate chapter to this visit ; not 
 because I am about to describe it at any great length,, but 
 because I remember it as a thing by itself, and am desirous, 
 that my readers should do the same. 
 
 I made acquaintance with an American railroad,, on thk 
 occasion, for the first time. As these works are pretty much 
 alike all through the States, th^ir general characteristics are 
 easily described. 
 
 There are no first and second class carriages as with, us ; 
 but there is a gentlemen's, car and a ladies' car : the main 
 distinction between which is that in the first, everybody 
 smokes ; and in the second, nobody does. As a black man 
 never travels with a white one, there is also a negro car ; which 
 is a great blundering clumsy chest, such as Gulliver put to sea 
 in, from the kingdom of Brobdingnag. There is a great deal 
 of jolting, a great deal of noise, a great deal of wall, not much 
 window,, a locomotive engine, a shriek, and a bell. 
 
 The carsare like shabby omnibuses, but larger: holding 
 thirty, forty, fifty, people. The seats, instead of stretching from 
 end to end, are placed crosswise. Each seat holds two per- 
 sons. There is a long row of them on each side of the 
 caravan, a narrow passage up the middle, and a door at both 
 ends. In the centre of the carriage there is usually a stove, 
 fpd with charcoal or anthracite coal j which is. for the most 
 part red-hot. It is insufferably close ; and you see the hot 
 
AN AMER/CAA' RAILROAD, ETC.. 643 
 
 sur fluttering between yourself and any other object you may 
 happen to look at, like the ghost of smoke. 
 
 In the ladies' car, there are a great many gentlemen who 
 have ladies with them. There are also a great many ladies 
 \ifho have nobody with theip : for any lady may travel alone, 
 from one end of the United; States to the other, and be cer- 
 tain of the most courteous aind considerate treatment every- 
 where. The conductor or check-taker, or guard,, or whatever. 
 he may be, wears no uniform. He walks up, and down, the 
 car, and in and out of it, as his fa,pcy dictates ; leans against 
 tlie door \vith his hands in his; pockets and stares at you, if 
 you chance to be a stranger ; or enters into conversation with 
 the passengers ; about him. A great many newspapers are 
 pulled out, and a few of them are read.. Everybody talks to 
 you, or to anybody else whp hits his lajicy. If you are an 
 Englishman, he expects that that railroad is pretty much like 
 an English railroad, if you say "No," he says. "Yes ? "(in- 
 terrogatively), and asks in what respect they differ. ,You 
 enumerate ;the heads of difference, one by one, and he says 
 " Yes ? " (still interrogatively) to each. Then he guesses 
 that you dpp't travel faster in England ; and on your replying 
 that you do, says " Yes ? " again (still interrogatively), and it 
 is- quite evident, don't believe it. After a long pause he re- 
 marks, partly to you, and partly to the knob on the top of his 
 stick, that " Yankees are reckoned to be considerable of a 
 go-ahead pjspple too ; " upon which you sa,y " Yes," and then 
 he says "Yes " again, (affirmatively this time) ; and upon 
 your looking out of window, tells you that behind that hill, 
 and some three miles from the next station, there is a clever 
 town in a srtiart lo-ca-tion, where he expects, you have con- 
 cluded to stop. Your answer in the negative naturally leads 
 to more questions in reference to your intended route (always 
 pronounced rout); and; wherever you are going, you invaria- 
 bly learn that you can't get there without iitiinense, difficulty 
 and danger, and that all the great sights are somewhere else. 
 
 If a lady take a fancy to any male passenger's seat, the 
 gentleman who accompanies her gives him notice of the fact, 
 and he immediately, vacates it with great politeness. Politics 
 are much discussed, so are banks, so is cotton. Quiet people 
 avoid the question of the Presidency, for there ■w^iU be a new 
 election in three years and a half, and party feeling runs very 
 high : the great constitutional feature of this institution being, 
 that directly the acrimony of the l,a§t election is over, the 
 
644 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 acrimony of the next one begins ; which is ati unspeakable 
 comfort to all strong -politicians and true lovers of their coun- 
 try : that is to saj', to ninetynine men and boys out of every, 
 ninfety-nine and a quarter. 
 
 ■ Except when a branch road joins the main one, there is 
 seldom more than one track of rails ; so that the road is very 
 narrow, and the view, where there is a deep cutting, by no 
 means exterisive. When there is not, the character of the 
 scenery is always the same. Mile after mile of stunted trees ; 
 some hewn down by the axe, some blown down by the wind, 
 some half fallen and resting on their neighbors, many mere 
 logs half hidden in the swamp,' others mouldered away to 
 spongy chips. The very soil of the earth is made up of min- 
 ute fragments such as these j each pool of stagnant water has 
 its crust of vegetable- rottenness ; on every side there are the 
 boughs, and ' trunks, and stumps of trees, in every possible 
 stage of decay, dfecomposition, and negfect. Now you emerge 
 for a few brief minutes on an open country, glittering with 
 some bright lake or pool, broad as many an Englisb river, but 
 so small here that it scarcely has a name ; now catch hasty 
 glirrlpses of a distant town, with its ctean white houses and 
 their cool piazzas, its prim New England church and school- 
 house ; when whir-r-r-r ! almost before you have seen them, 
 comes the same dark screen ; the stunted trees, the sttiinps, 
 the logs, the stagnant water — all so like the last that you 
 seem to have been transported back again by magic. 
 
 The train calls at stations in the woods, where the' wild 
 impossibility of anybody having the smallest reason to get 
 out, is only to be equalled by the apparently desperate hope- 
 lessness of there being anybody to get in. It rushes across 
 the turnpike road, where there is no gate, no policeman, no 
 signal : nothing but a rough wooden arch, on which is painted 
 " When the bell rings, look out for the Locomotive." 
 On it whirls headlong, dives through the woods again, emer- 
 ges in the light, clatters over frail arches^ rumbles upon the 
 heavy ground, shoots beneath a wooden bridge which inter- 
 cepts the light for a second like a wink, suddenly awakens all 
 the slumbering echoes in the main street of a large town, and 
 dashes on haphazard, pell-mell, neck-or-nothing, down the 
 middle of the road. There — with mechanics working at 
 their trades, and people leaning from their doors and win- 
 dows, and boys flying kites and playing marbles, and men 
 Smoking, and women talking, and children crawling, and pigs 
 
AN AM-ERICAN RAILROAD, ETC. 645 
 
 BtiiTowing, and unaccustomed horses plunging and rearing, 
 close to the very rails — there — on, on, on — tears the mad 
 dragon qf an engine with its train of cars ; scattering in all 
 directions a shower of burning sparks from its wood ' fire ; 
 screeching, hissing, yelling, panting ; until at last the thirsty 
 monster stops beneath a covered way to drink, the people 
 cluster rbupd, and you have time to breathe again. 
 
 I was met at the station at Lowell by a gentleman inti- 
 mately connected with the mandgiementof'the factories there ; 
 and gladly putting ' myself under his guidance, drove off at 
 once to that quarter of the town in which the works, the ob- 
 ject of my visit, were sitniated. Although only just of age — 
 for if my recollection serve me, it has been a manufacturing 
 town barely one-and-twenty years — Lowell is a large, popu- 
 lous, thriving place. ■ Those indications of its youth which first 
 attract the eye, give it a quaintness • and oddity of character 
 which, to a visitor from the old country, is amusing enough. 
 It was a very dirty winter's day, and nothing in the whole 
 town looked old to me, except the mud; which in some parts, 
 was almost knee-deep, and might have been deposited there 
 on the subsiding of the waters after the Deluge. In one 
 place, there was a new wooden church, which, having no 
 steeple, and being yet unpainted, looked like an enormous 
 packing-case without any direction upon it. In another there 
 was a large hotel, whose walls and colonnades were so crisp, 
 and thin, and slight, that it had exactly the appearance of 
 being built with cards. I was careful not to draw my breath 
 as we passed, and trembled when I saw a workman come out 
 upon the roof, lest with one thoughtless stamp of his foot he 
 should crush the structure beneath him, and bring it rattling 
 down. The very river that moves the machinery in the mills 
 (for they are all worked by water power), seems to acquire a 
 new character from the fresh buildings of bright red brick and 
 painted wood aiilong which it takes its course ; and to be as 
 light-headed, thotightless, and brisk a young river; in its mur- 
 murings and ttimblings, as one would desire to see. One 
 would swear that every "Bakery," "Grocery," and "Book- 
 bindery," and other kind of store, took its Shutters down 
 for the first time, and started in business yesterday. The 
 golden pestles and mortars fixed as signs upon the sun-blind 
 frames outside th6 Druggists', appear to have been just 
 tiirned out of the United States'' Mint ; and when I saw a 
 baby of some week or ten days old in a woman's arms at a 
 38 
 
646 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 Street corner, I found myself unconsciously woiiderin^ where 
 it came from : never supposing , for ajv instant, that 1,^ could 
 have been born in such a young town as tfeat, ^ 
 
 There are several factories hi Lowell, each of ^hich be- 
 longs to what we should term a Company of, Proprietors, but 
 what they call in America a Corporation. I went oyer sevpral 
 of these ; such as a woollen factory, z. carpet faictory, and a 
 cotton factory ; examined them in every part ; and saw them 
 in, their ordinary working, aspect, with no preparation of any 
 kindj or departure from their ordinary every-day proceedings.. 
 I may add that I am well acquainted with our manufacturing 
 towns in England, and have visited many mills in Manchester 
 and elsewhere in tjie same manner. 
 
 I happened to arrive: at the, first factory just, as the. dinner 
 hour was over, and the. girls were returning to their work ; in- 
 deed the stairs of the mill, were thronged with, thejjt as I as- 
 cended., They were all well-dressed, but not to my thinking 
 above their condition ; for I like to see the humbler classes of 
 society careful pf.theiridress and appearg.nce, and even, if tliey 
 please, decorated with such little trinkets as come within the 
 compass of their means. Supposing it confined within reason- 
 able limits, I would always encourage this kind of pride, as a 
 worthy element of self-respect, in any person I employed ; 
 and should no more bp. deterred from doing so, .because some 
 wrenched fenjj^lej referred, her fall to a, love of dress, than I 
 would allow my construction of the real intent and meaning 
 of the Sabbath to be influenced by any warning to tlys well; 
 disposed, founded on his hackslidings on that particular day, 
 which might emanate from the rather doubtful authority of a 
 murderer in Newgate. 
 
 These, girls, as I have said, were all w.ell dressed : and 
 that phrase necessarily includes extreme clesanlinessi. They 
 ha4 servicea,ble bonnets, gopd warm cloaks, and shawls ; and 
 were not above clogs and pattens, Moreover, there were 
 piaqes in :the mill in which they could deposit these things 
 without injury; and there were conveniences for waslung. 
 They were healthy in appearance, many of them remarkably 
 so, and had the manners and deportment of young women : 
 not of degraded brutes of burden. If I had seen in one of 
 those mills (but I did not, though I looked for something of 
 this kind with a sharp eye), the most lisping, mincing, affected, 
 and ridiculous young creature that my imagination could sug- 
 gest, I should have thought of the careless, moping, slatternly, 
 
AN AMERICAN RAILROAD, ETC. 647 
 
 degraded, dull reverse , (I h4»»<? seen that), and should have 
 been still well pleased to look upon her. 
 
 The rooms in which they worked, were as well ordered as 
 ^emselves. In the windows of some, there were green, 
 plaiits, which .were trained to shade the glass; in all, there 
 was as much fresh air, cle^-nliness, and comfort, as the nature 
 of the occupation would possibly admit of. Out of so large 
 a number of feinales, many of whon» were only then just 
 verging upon womanhood, it may be reasonably supposed that 
 some were delicate and fragile jaappearance : no doubt there 
 were. -Bijt I solemnly declare, that from all, the crowd J saw 
 in the different factories that day, I cannot reqalil-or separate 
 one young face that gave me a painful impression ; not one 
 young girl whom, assuming it to be roatter of necessity that 
 she should gain her daily bread-by the labor of her hands, I 
 would have removed from those! works if I had had the 
 power. 
 
 They reside in various boarding-houses near at hand. Tlifi 
 owners «f the mills are particularly careful to; allow, no per- 
 sons to enter upon the possession of these houses, whose 
 characters have not undergone the most searching^ and thor- 
 ough inquiry. Any complaint that is made against them, by 
 the boarders, or by any one else, is fully investigated ; and \l 
 good ground of complaint be shown to exist against them, 
 they are removed, and their occupation is handed over to some 
 more deserving person. There are a few children employed 
 in ,these iajqtories, but not many; The laws of the State for- 
 bid their working more than nine months in the year, and re- 
 quire that they b© educated during the other three. For this 
 purpose tjbere are schools in Lowell ; and there are churches 
 and chapels of v^qus persiiasions, in which the young women 
 may obsfsrve that iform of worship in which, they have been 
 educated, 
 
 At, some distance from the factories, and on the highest 
 and pleasantest ground in, the; neighborhood, stands theit 
 hospital, or boarding-house for the sick : it, is the best house 
 in those parts, and was^ built by an eniinent merchant for his 
 own residence. Like that institution at Boston, which I have, 
 before described, it is not parcelled out into wards, but is di- 
 vided into convenient r chambers, each of which has all the 
 comforts of a very (Comfortable home. The principal medical 
 atte^idant resides under;the same roof ; and were the patients 
 members of bis, own family, they could not be better cared 
 
648 AMERICAN NOTE. 
 
 for, or attended with gr.eater gentleness and consideratioa 
 The weekly charge in this establishment for each female 
 patient is three dollars, or twelve shillings English ; but no 
 girl employed: by any of the corporations is ever excluded for 
 want of the means of payment. That they do not very often 
 want the means, may be gathered fr-orn the fact, that in July, 
 i84i> no fewer than nine hundred and seventy-eiglit of these 
 girls were depositors in the Lowell Savings Bank : the amount 
 of whose joint savings was estimated at one hundred thou- 
 sand dollars, or twenty thousand English pounds. 
 
 I am now going to state three facts, which will startle a 
 large class of readers on this side of the Atlantic, very much. 
 
 Firstly, there is a joint-stock piano in a great many of the 
 boarding-houses. Secondly, nearly all these yOutig ladies sub- 
 scribe to circulating libraries. Thirdly, they have got up 
 among themselves a periodical called The LowellOffering, 
 "A repository of original articles, written exclusively by 
 females actively employed in the mills,'' — ^which is duly printed, 
 published, and sold : and whereof I brought away frofh Lowell 
 four hundred good solid pages, which I have read from be- 
 ginning to end. 
 
 The large class of readers, startled by these facts, will ex- 
 claim, with one voice. " How very preposterous ! " Oh my 
 deferentially inquiring why, they will answer, " These things 
 are above their station." In reply to that objection, I would 
 beg to askwhat their station is. 
 
 It is their station to work. And they do work. They 
 labor in these mills, upon an average, twelve hours a day, 
 which is unquestionably work, and pretty tight work too. Per- 
 haps it is a:bove their station to indulge- in such amusements, 
 on any terms. Are we quite sure that we in England have not 
 formed our ideas of the " station " of working people, from 
 accustoming ourselves to the contemplation of that class as 
 they are, and not as they might be ? I think that if we ex- 
 amine our own feelings, we shall find that the pianos, arid the 
 circulating libraries, and even the Lowell OflFering, startle us 
 by their novelty, and not by their bearing upon any abstract 
 question of right or wrong; 
 
 For myself, I know no station in which, the occupation of 
 to-day cheerfully done and the occupation of to-morrow cheer- 
 fully looked to, any one of these pursuits is not most human- 
 izing and laudable. I know no station which is rendered more 
 endurable to the person in it, or more safe to the person out 
 
AJV AMERICAN RAILROAD, ETC. 640 
 
 of it, ty having ignorance for its associate. I know no sta- 
 tion which has a right to monopolize the means of mutual 
 instruction, . imprpvement, and' rational entertainment ; or 
 which has ever continued to be a station very long, after seek- 
 ing to do so. 
 
 Of the merits of the Lowdl Offering as a literary produc- 
 tion, i will only observe, putting entirely out of sight the fa,ct 
 of the articles having been written by these girls after the ar- 
 duous labors of the, day, that it will compare advantageously 
 with a great njany English Annuals. It is pleasant to 
 find that many of its Tales are of the Mills and of those 
 who work in them ; that they inculcate habits of self-denial 
 and contentment, and teach good doctrines of enlarged be- 
 nevolence. A atrpng feeling for the beauties of nature, as 
 displayed in the solitudes the writers have left at home, 
 breathes through its pages like wholesome village air ; and 
 though a circulating library is a favorable school for the 
 study of such topics, it has very scant alljision to fine 
 clothes, fine marriages, fine houses, or fine life. Somfe 
 persons might object to the papers being signed- occasionally 
 with rather fine names, but this is an American fashion. One 
 of the.provinces of the state legislature of Massachusetts is to 
 altei: i^gly names into pretty ones, as the children improve 
 upon the tastes of their parents. These changes costing little 
 or nothing, scores of Mary Annes are solemnly converted into 
 Bevelinas every session. 
 
 It is said that on the occasion of a visit from General 
 Jackson or General Harrison to this town (I forget which, 
 but it is not to the purpose), he walked through three miles 
 and a half of these young ladies dressed put with parasols 
 and silk stockings. But as I am not aware that any worse 
 consequence ensued, than a sudden looking-up of all the 
 parasols and silk stockings in the market ; and perhaps the 
 bankruptcy of some speculative New Englander who bought 
 them all up at any price, in expectation of a demand that never 
 caine ; I set no great store by the circumstance. 
 
 In this brief account of Lowell, and inadequate expres- 
 sion of the gratification it .yielded me, and cannot fail to 
 afford to any foreigner to whom the condition of such people 
 at home is a subject of interest and anxious speculation, I 
 have carefully abstained fron^ drawing a cojjiparison between 
 these factories and those of our own land. Many of the cir- 
 cumstances whose strong influence has been at work foi 
 
650 AMERJCAJ^ NOTES. 
 
 years in our manufacturing towns have not arisen liere ; and 
 there is no manufacturing population in Lowell,, so to speak : 
 for these girls (often the daughters of small farmers (come 
 from other States, remain a few years in the mills, and then 
 go home for good. 
 
 The contrast would be a strong one, for it would be be- 
 tween the Good and Evil, the living light And deepest shadow. 
 I abstain from it, because I deem it just to do so. But I 
 only the more earnestly adjure all those whose eyes may rest 
 on these piiges, to pause and reflect upon the difference be- 
 tween this town and those great haunts of desperate misery : 
 to call to mind, if they can in the midst of party strife and 
 squabble, the efforts that must be made to purge, them of their 
 suffering and danger : and last, and foremost, to remember 
 how the precious Time is rushing by. 
 
 I returned at night by the same railroad and in the same 
 kind of car. One of the passengers being exceedingly anx- 
 ious to expound at great length to my companion (not to me, 
 of course) the true principles on which books of travel in 
 America should be written by Englishmen, I feigned to fall 
 asleep. But glancing' all the way out at window from the 
 corners of my eyes, I found abundance of entertainment for 
 the rest of the ride in watching the effects of the wood fire, 
 which had been invisible in the morning but were now brou^t 
 out in full relief by the darkness : for we were travelling in a 
 whirlwind of bright sparks, which showered about us like a 
 storm of fiery snow.' 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 WORCESTER. THE CONNECTICUT RIVER. HARTFORD. NEW 
 HAVEN. TO NEW YORK. 
 
 Leaving Boston on the afternoon of Saturday the fifth of 
 February, we proceeded by another railroad to Worcester ; a 
 pretty ^few England town, where we had arranged to remain 
 under the hospitable roof of the Governor of the State, until 
 Monday morning. 
 
 These towns and cities of New England (many of which 
 
WORCESTER, ETC. 651 
 
 "would be villages iii Old England), are as favorable speci- 
 mens of rural America, as their people are of rural Ameri- 
 cans. The well-trimmed lawns and green meadows of Home 
 are not there ; iand the grass, compared with pur ornamental 
 plots and pastures, is rank and rough, and wild : but delicate 
 slopes of land, gently-swelling hills, wbtoded valleys, and 
 slender staeams, abound. Every little colony of houses has 
 its church and schobl-house peeping from among the white, 
 roofs ahd shady trees ; every house is the whitest of the 
 white ; every Venetian bliiid the greenest of the gteen ; every 
 fine day's sky the bluest of the blue. A sharp dry wind and 
 a slight frost had so hardened the roads whert we alighted at 
 Worcester, tha;t their furrowed tracks were like ridges of 
 granite. There was the usual aspect of newness on every 
 object, of course. All the buildings looked as if they had 
 been built and painted that ttiornihg, and could be taken 
 down on Monday with very little trouble. In the keen even- 
 ing air, every sharp outline looked a hundred times sharper 
 than ever. The clean cardboard colonnades had no more 
 perspective than a Chinese bridge on a tea-cup, and appeared 
 equally well calculated for use. The fazor-Iike edges of the 
 detached cottages seemed to cut the very wind as it whistled 
 against them, and to send it smarting on its way with, a 
 shriller crj' tlian before. Those slightly-built wooden dwell- 
 ings behind which the sun was setting with a bfiHiant lustre, 
 could be so looked thrbugh and through, that the idea of any 
 inhabitant being able to hide himself from the public gaze, or 
 to have any secrets from the public eye, was not entertainable 
 for a moment. Even where a blazing fire shone through the 
 uncurtained windows of some distant house, it had the air of 
 bfeing newly lighted, and of lacking warmth j and instead of 
 awakening thoughts of a snug chamber, bright with fa.ces that 
 first saw the light round that same hearth, and ruddy with 
 warm hangings, it came upon one suggestive of the smell of 
 new mortar and damp walls. 
 
 So I thought, at least, that evening. Next morning when 
 the sun was shining brightly, and the clear church bells were 
 ringing, and sedate people in their best clothes enlivened the 
 pathway near at hand dnd dotted the distant thread of road, 
 there was a pleasant Sabbath peacefulness orj evei^hing, 
 which it was good to feel. It would have been^ the better for 
 an old church ; better still for some old ' graves ; but as it 
 was, a wholesome repose and tranquillity per\'aded the scene, 
 
6^3 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 which after ,the restless ocean and the hurrii?d city, had a 
 doubly grateful influence on the spirits. ; 
 
 We went on next iporning, still by railroad, to Springfield 
 From that place to Hartford, whither, we were bound, is a 
 distance of only five-and-twenty miles, but at that time of the 
 year the roads were so bad that the journey would probably 
 have occupied ten or twelve hours. Fortunately, however, 
 the winter having been unusually mild, the Connecticut 
 River was "open," or, in other words, not frozen. The cap- 
 tain of a small steamboat was going to make his first trip 
 for the season that day (the; second February trip, I believe, 
 within the memory of man), and only waited for us to go 
 on board. Accordingly, we went on board, .with as little 
 delay as might. be. He was as good as his word, and started 
 directly. 
 
 It certainly, was not called a small steamboat without 
 reason. I omitted to ask the question, but I should think it 
 must have, been of about half a pony power. Mr. Paap, the 
 celebrated Dwarf, might have lived and died happily in the 
 cabin, which was fitted, with common sash-windows like an 
 ordinal^ dwelling-house. These windows had brightrr-ed cur- 
 tains, too, hung, on slack strings across the, lower panes; so 
 that it looked : like the parlor of a Lilliputian public-house, 
 which had got afloat in a flood or some other water accident, 
 and was drifting nobody knew where. But even in this cham- 
 ber there was a rocking-chair. It would be impossible to 
 get on anywhere, in America, without a rocking-chair. 
 
 I am afraid to tell how many feet short this vessel was, or 
 how many feet narrow ; to apply the words length . and width 
 to such measurement would be a contradiction in terms. But 
 I may state that we all kept the middle of the deck, lest the 
 boat should unexpectedly tip over; and that the machinery, 
 by some S;Urprising process of condensation, worked between 
 it and the.ikeel: the whole forming a warm sandwich, about 
 three feet thick. 
 
 It rained .all day as I once thought it never did rain any- 
 where, but in the Highlands of Scotland. The river was full 
 of floating lalpcks of ice, which were constantly crunching and 
 cracking under us ; and the depth of water, in the course we 
 took; to avoid the larger masses, carried down the middle of 
 the river by the current, did not exceed a few inches.. Neverthe- 
 less, we moved onward, dexterously ; and being well wrapped 
 up, bade defiance to the weather, and enjoyed the journey. The 
 
WORCESTER, ETC. 653 
 
 Connecticut River is a fine stream ; and the banks in summer- 
 time are, I have no doubt, beautiful : at all events, I was 
 told so by a young lady in the cabin j and she should be a 
 judge of beauty, if the possession of a quality include the ap- 
 preciation of it, for a more beautiful creature I never looked 
 upon.. , 
 
 After two hours and a half of this odd travelling (including 
 a stoppage at a small town, where we were saluted by a. gun 
 considerably bigger than our own chimney), we reached Hart- 
 ford, and straightway repaired to an extremely comfortable 
 hotel : except, as usual, in the article of bedrooms, which, in 
 almost every place we visited, were very conducive to early 
 rising. 
 
 We tarried here, four days,. The town is beautifully sit- 
 uated in a basin of green hills ; the soil is rich, well-wooded, 
 and carefully improved. It is the seat of the. Iqc^I legislature 
 of Connecticut, which sage body enacted, in bygone times, the 
 renowned code of " Blue Laws," in virtue whereof, among 
 other enlightened provisions, any citizen who could be proved 
 to have kissed his wife on Sunday, was punishable, I believe, 
 with the stocks. Too much of the old Puritan spirit exists in 
 these p^rts to the present hour ; but its influence has- not 
 tended, that! kiiow, to make, the people Iqss, hard in their 
 bargains, or mor£! equal in their dealings. As I never heard 
 of jls .working that . effect anywhere else, I infer that it never 
 will, here. Indeed, I am accustomed, with refereaice to great 
 professions and severe faces, to judge of. the goods of the 
 other world pretty much as I judge of the goods of this ; and 
 whenever I see a dealer in guch commodities, with too great a 
 display of tfeein in his window, I doubt the quality of the 
 article within. :..... 
 
 In Hartford stands the famous oak in which the charter 
 of King Charles was hidden. , It is now inclosed in a gentle- 
 man's garden, In the State House is the, charter itself. I 
 found the courts of law here, just the same as at Boston; the 
 public institutions almost as good. The Insane Asylum is 
 admirably conduicted, and so is the Inatitutioo for the Deaf 
 and Dumb, 
 
 I very much questioned within niyself, as I walked through 
 the Insane Asylum, whether I should have known the attend- 
 dants from the patients, but for the few words which passed 
 between the former, and the Doctor, in reference : to the per- 
 sons under their charge. Of course I limit this remark merely 
 
65 4 AMERICAN NO TES. 
 
 to their books ; for the conversation of the mad people was 
 mad enough. 
 
 There was one little prim old lady, of very smiling and 
 good-humored appearance, who came sidling up to me from 
 the end of a long passage, and -tnth a cuTtsey of inexpressible 
 condescension, propounded this unaccountable inquiry : 
 
 " Does Pontefract still flourish, sir, upon the soil of Eng- 
 land ? " 
 
 " He does, ma'am," I rejoined. 
 
 " When you last saw him, sir, he was — " 
 
 "Well, ma'am," said I, "extremely well. He begged 
 me to pfesent his compliments. I never saw him looking 
 better." 
 
 At this, the old lady was veiy much delighted. After 
 glancing at me for a moment, as if to be quite sure that I was 
 serious in my respectful air, she sidled back some paces ; 
 sidled forward again ; made a sudden skip (at which I precipi- 
 tately retreated a step or two) ; and said : 
 
 " /am an antediluvian, sir." 
 
 I thought the best thing to say was, that I had suspected 
 as much from the first. Therefore I said so. 
 
 " It is an extremely proud and pleasant thing, sir, to be an 
 antediluvian," said the old lady. 
 
 " I should think it was, ma'am," I rejoined. 
 ■ The old lady kissed her hand, gave another skip, smirked 
 and sidled down the gallery in a most extraordinary manner, 
 and ambled gradefuUy into her own bed-chamber. 
 
 In another part of the building, there was a itiale patient 
 in bed ; very much flushed and heated. 
 
 " Well," said he, starting np, and pulling off his night-cap : 
 " It's ail settled at last. I have arranged it with Queen Vic- 
 toria." 
 
 " Arranged what ? " asked the Doctor. 
 
 " Why, that business," passing his hand wearily across his 
 forehead, " about the siege of New York." 
 
 " Oh \ " said I, like a man suddenly enlightened. For he 
 looked at me for an answer. 
 
 " Yes. Every house without a signal will be fired upon by 
 the British troops. No harm will be done to the others. No 
 harm at all. Those that want to be safe, must hoist flags. 
 That's all they'll have to do. They must hoist flags." 
 
 Even while he was speaking he seemed, I Ihought, to have 
 some faint idea that his talk was incoherent. Directly he had 
 
WORCESTER, ETC. 655 
 
 said these words, he lay down again ; gave a kifad of a groan; 
 and eovfered his hot head with the blankets. 
 
 There was another : a ^oung man, whose madness was 
 love and ttusic. After -playing on the accordeon a march he 
 had composed, he was very anxious that I should walk into 
 his chamber, which I immediately did. 
 
 By way of being vety kilowing, and huittbring him to the 
 top of hjs bent, I went to the window, which commanded a 
 beautiful prospect, and remarked, with an address upon which 
 I greatly plumed myself : 
 
 " What a delicious country you have about these lodgings 
 of yours." 
 
 " Poh ! " said he, moving his fingers carelessly over the 
 notes of his instrument : " Well enough for such an Institution 
 as this I" 
 
 I don't think I was so taken aback in all my life. 
 
 " I come here just for a whim," he said coolly. " That's 
 all." 
 
 "Oh! "rhat'sair'said I. 
 
 "Yes. That's all. The Doctor's a smart man. He quite 
 enters into it. It's a joke of mine. 1 like it for a time. You 
 needn't mention it, but I think I shall go out next Tuesday ! " 
 
 I assured him that I would consider our interview perfectly 
 confidential ; and rejoined the Doctor. As vi& were passing 
 through a gallery on our way out, a well-dressed lady, of quiet 
 and composed manners, came up, and proffering a slip of 
 paper and a pen, begged that I woflld oblige her with an au- 
 tograph. I complied, and we parted. 
 
 " I think I reinember having had a few interviews like that, 
 with ladies out of doors. I hope j^^ is not mad ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " On what subject ? Autographs ? " 
 
 " No. She hears voices in the air." 
 
 " Well ! " thought I, " it would be well if we could shut 
 up a few false prophets of these later times. Who have pro- 
 fessed to do the same ; and I should like t6 try the eitperi- 
 ment on a Mormonist or two to begin with." 
 
 In this place, there is the best Jail for untried offenders 
 in the "world; There is also a very well-ordered State prison, 
 arranged Upon the same plan of that at Boston, except that 
 here, thete is always a sentry on the wall with a loaded gun. 
 It contained at that time about two hundred prisoners. A 
 spot was shown me in the sleeping ward, *here a watchman 
 
65^ AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 was murdered some years since in the dead of night, m a 
 desperate attempt to escape, made by a prisoner who had 
 broken from his cell. A woman, too, was pointed out to me, 
 who, for, the murder of her husband, had been a close prisoner 
 for sixteen years. , 
 
 "Do you think," I asked of my conductor, "that after so 
 very long an- imprisonment, she has any thought or hope of 
 ever regaining her li^)erty ? " 
 
 " Oh dear yes," he answered. " To be sure she has." 
 
 " She has no chance of obtaining it, I suppose ? " 
 
 "Well, I don't know;" which, by the bye, is a national 
 answer. " Her friends mistrust her." 
 
 " What have they to do with it ? " I naturally inquired. 
 
 " Weil, they won't petition." 
 
 " But if they did, they couldn't get her out, I suppose ? " 
 
 "Well, not the- first time, perhaps, nor yet the second, but 
 tiring and wearying for a few years raightdo it." 
 
 "Does that ever do it ? " 
 
 "Why yes, that'll do it sometimes. Political friends '11 do 
 • it sometimes. It's pretty often done, one way or another." 
 
 I shall always entertain a very pleasant and grateful recol- 
 lection of Hartford. It is a lovely place,. and I had many 
 friends there, whom I can never remember with indifference. 
 We left it with no little .regjret on the evening of Friday the 
 nth, and travelled that night by railroad to New Haven. 
 Upon the way, the guard and I were formally, introduced to 
 each, other (as ; we usually were . on such occasions), and ex- 
 changed a variety of small-talk. We reached New Haven at 
 about, eight .o'clock, after a journey of three hours, and put 
 up for the night at the best inn. 
 
 New Haven, known also as the City of Elms, is a fine 
 town. Many of its streets (as its alias suflSciently imports) 
 are planted with rows of grand old elm-trees ; and the same 
 natural ornaments surround Yale College, an establishment 
 of considerable eminence and reputation. The various de- 
 partments of this Institution are erected in a kind of park or 
 common in the middle of the town, where they are dimly, 
 visible among the shadowing trees. The effect is very like 
 that of an old cathedral yard in England ; and when their 
 branches are in full leaf, must be extremely picturesque. 
 Even in the winter time, these groups of well-grown trees, 
 clustering among the busy streets and houses of a thriving 
 city, have a very quaint appearance : seeming to bring about 
 
WORCESTER, ETC. 6-.^ 
 
 a kind of .compromise between town and country ; as if each 
 had met the other half-way, and shaken hands upon it ; which 
 ,is at once novel and pleasant. 
 
 After a night's rest, we rose early, and in gpocl time went 
 down to th* wharf, and on board the packet New York/i^r 
 New York. This was the first American steamboat of any 
 size that I had seen ; and certainly to an English eye it was 
 infinitely less like a steamboat than a huge floating bath. I 
 could hardly persuade myself, indeed, but. that the bathing 
 establishment off Westminster Bridge, which I left: a baby, 
 had suddenly grown to an enormous size ; run away from 
 home ; and set up in foreign parts as a steamer. Being in 
 America, too, which our vagabonds do so particularly favor, 
 it seemed the more probable. 
 
 The great difference in appearance between these packets 
 and ours, is, that there is so much of them put of the water ; 
 the main-deck being enclosed on all sides, and .filled, with 
 casks and goods, like any second or third floor in a stack of 
 ware-houses ; and the promenade or hurricane-deck being a- 
 top of that again. A part of the machinery is always above 
 this deck ; where the connecting-rod, in a strong a.nd 16f ty 
 frame, is seen working away like an iron top-sawyer. There 
 is seldom any mast or tackle : nothing aloft biit iw^o tall black 
 chjianeys. The man at the helm is shut up in a little house 
 in the fore part of the boat (the wheel being connected with 
 the rudder by iron, chains, working the whole length of the 
 deck) ; and the passengers, unless the weather be. very fine 
 indeed, usually coijigregate below. Directly you have left the 
 wharf, all the life, and stir, and bustle of a packet cease. 
 You wonder for a long time how she goes on, for there seems 
 to be nobody in charge of her ; and when another of these 
 dull machines comes splas'hing by, you feel quite indignant 
 with it, as a sullen, cumbrous, ungraceful, unshiplike levi- 
 athaij :_ quite forgetting that the vessel you are on board of, 
 is its very counterpart. , 
 
 There is always a clerk's office on the • lower deck, where 
 you pay your fare; a ladies' cabin ; baggage and stowage 
 rooms ; engineer's room j and in short a great variety of per- 
 plexities which render the discovery of the gentleman's cabin, 
 a matter of some difficulty. It often occupies the whole 
 length of the boat (as it did in this case), and has three or 
 four tiers of berths on each side. When I first descended ihtp 
 the cabin of the New York, it looked, in my unaccustomed 
 eyes, about as long as the Burlington Arcade. 
 
658 AMERICAN- kO TES. 
 
 The Sound which has to be crossed on this passage, is not 
 always a very safe or pleasant navigation, and has been the 
 scene of some unfortunate accidents. It was a wet morning, 
 and very misty, aiid we soon lost sight of land. The day was 
 calni, however, and brightened towards noon. After exhaust 
 ing (with good help from a friend) the larder, and the stock 
 of bottled beer, I lay down to sleep : being very much tired 
 with the fatigues of yesterday. But I woke from my nap in 
 time to hurry up, and see Hell Gate, the Hog's Back, the 
 Frying Pan, and Other notorious localities, attractive to all 
 readers Of famous Diedrich Knickerbocker's History. We 
 were now in a narrow channel, with sloping banks on either 
 side, besprinkled with pleksant villas, and made refreshing to 
 the sight by turf and trees. Soon we shot in quick succession, 
 past a lighthouse ; a madhouse (how the lunatics flung up 
 their caps and roared in s)rmpathy with the headlong engine 
 and the driving tide !) j a jail ; and other buildings : and so 
 emerged into a noble bay, whose waters sparkled in the now 
 cloudless sunshine like Nature's eyes turned up to Heaven. 
 
 Then there lay stretched out before us, to the right, con- 
 fused heaps of btiildings, with here and there a spire or 
 steeple, looking down upon the herd below ; and here and 
 there, again, a cloud of lazy smoke ; and in the foreground a 
 forest of ships' masts, cheery with flapping Sails and waving 
 flags. Crossing from among them to the opposite shore, were 
 steam ferry-boats laden with people, coaches, horses, wagons, 
 baskets, boxes: crossed and recrossed'by other ferry-boats: 
 all travelling to and fro : and never idle. Stately among 
 these restless Insects, were two or three large ships, moving 
 with slow majestic pace, as creatures of a prouder kind, dis- 
 dainful of their puny journeys, and making for the broad sea. 
 Beyond, were shining heights, and islands in the glancing 
 river, and a distance scarcely less blue and bright than the 
 sky it seemed to meet. The dty's hum and buzz, the clinking 
 of capstans, the ringing of bells, the barking of dogs, the 
 clattering of wheels, tingled in the listening ear. All of which 
 life and stir, coming across the stirring water, caught new life 
 and animation from its free companionship j and, sympathiz- 
 ing with its buoyant spirits, glistened as it seemed in sport 
 upon its surface, and hemmed the vessel round, and plashed 
 the water high about her sides, and, floating her gallantly 
 into the dock, flew off again to welcome other comers, and 
 speed before them to the busy port. 
 
NEW YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 NEW YORK. 
 
 659 
 
 The beautiful metropolis of America is by no means so 
 clean a city as Boston, but many of its streets have the same 
 characteristics j except that the houses are not quite so fresh- 
 colored, the sign-boards are not quite so gaudy, the gilded 
 letters not quite so golden, the bricks not quite so red, the 
 stone not quite so white, the blinds and area railings not quite 
 so green, the knobs and plates upon the street doors, not 
 quite so bright and twinkling. There are many by-streets, 
 almost as neutral in clean colors, and positive in dirty ones, 
 as by-streets in London ; and there is one quarter, commonly 
 called the Five Points, which, in respect of filth and wretched- 
 ness, may be safely backed against Seven Dials, or any other 
 part of famed St. Giles's. 
 
 The great promenade and thoroughfare, as most people 
 know, is Broadway ; a wide and bustling street, which, from 
 the Battfery Gardens to its opposite termination in a coun- 
 try road, may be four miles long. Shall we Sit down in an 
 upper floor of the Carlton House Hotel' (situated in the best 
 part of this main artery of New York), and when we are tired 
 of looking down upon the life below, sally forth arm-in-arm, 
 and mingle with the stream ? 
 
 Warm weather ! The sun strikes uj)On our heads at this 
 open window, as though its rays were concentrated through a 
 bUming-glass ; but the day is in its zenith, and the season an 
 anusual one. Was there ever such a sunny street as this 
 Broadway ! The pavement stones are polished with the tread 
 of feet until they shine again ; the red bricks of the houses 
 might be yet ih the dry, hot kilns ; and the roofs of those om- 
 nibuses look as though, if water were poured on them, they 
 would hiss and smoke, and smell like half-quenehed fires. 
 No stint of omnibuses here ! Half-a-dozeii have gone by 
 within as many minutes. Plenty of hacknqr cabs and coaches 
 too ^ gigs, phaetons, large-wheeled tilburie^, and private car- 
 riages — rather of a clumsy make, and not Very different from 
 the public vehicles, but built for the heavy roads beyond the 
 
66o AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 city pavement. Negro coachmen and white ; in straw hats,, 
 black hats, white hats, glazed caps, fur caps ; in coats of drab, 
 black, brown, green, blue, nankeen, striped jean and linen ; 
 and there in that one instance (look while it passes, or it will 
 be too late), in suits of livery. . Some Southern republican that, 
 who puts his blacks in uniform, and swells with Sultan pomp 
 and power. Yonder, where that phaeton with the well-clipped 
 pair of grays has stopped— standing at their heads now — is a 
 Yorkshire groom, who has not been very long in these parts, 
 and looks sorrowfully round for a companion pair of top-boots, 
 which he may traverse the city half a year without meeting. 
 Heaven save the ladies, how they dress ! We have seen more 
 colors in these ten, minutes, than we should have seen else- 
 where, in as many days. What various parasols ! what rain- 
 bow silks and satins! what pinking of thin stocking, and 
 pinching of thin shoes, and fluttering of ribbons and silk tas- 
 sels, and display of rich cloaks with gaudy hoods and linings ! 
 The young gentlemen are fond, you see, of turning down their 
 shirt-collars and cultivating their whiskers, especially under 
 the chin ; but they cannot approach the ladies in their dress 
 or bearing, being, to say the truth, humanity of .quite, another 
 sort. Byrons of the! desk, and counter, pass on, and let us 
 see what kind of men those are behind ye : those two laborers 
 in holiday clothes, of whom one carries in his hand a crumpled 
 scra,p of paper frojn which he. tries to spell out a hard name, 
 while the other looks about for it on all the doors and win- 
 dovys. 
 
 Irishmen both ! ' You might know them, if they were 
 masked, by their long-tailed blue coats, and bright buttons, 
 and their drab trousers, which they wear like men well -used 
 to, working dresses, who are easy, in no others. It would be 
 hard to keep your model republics going, without the country- 
 men and countrywomen of. those, two laborers. For who else 
 WQVild digs and dely-e, and drudge, and do domestic work, and 
 make canals and roads,, and execute great lines of Internal 
 Injprovement.! Irishmen both, and sorely puzzled, too, to 
 find out what they seek. Let us go down and Jielp them, for 
 the love of home, and that spirit of liberty which admits of 
 honest service to honest men, and honest work for honest 
 bread, no matter what it be. 
 
 That's well ! We have got at the right address at last, 
 though it is written, in strange characters truly, and might 
 have been scrawled with the blunt handle of the spade thie 
 
NEW YORK. 66 1 
 
 .writer better knows the use of, tlian a pen. Their way. lies 
 yonder, but what.busine$s takes them: .there? They carry 
 sayings : to hoard up ? . No. They are brothers, those men. 
 One crossed tlje sea alone, and working very hard for one 
 half year, and living harder,, saved funds enough to- bring the 
 other out.' That , done, . they worked together side, by side, 
 contentedly sharing hai:d labor and hard living for another 
 term, and then their sisters came, and then another brother, 
 and lastly, their old mother. And what now ? Why, the 
 poor old crone is restless in a strange land, and yearns to lay 
 her bones, she says, among her people in the old graveyard at 
 home : and so they go to pay her passage back, and God help 
 her and them, and every simple heart, and all who turn to the 
 Jerusalem of their younger days, and have an altar-fire upon 
 the cold hearth of their fathers. 
 
 This narrow thoroughfare, baking and blistering in the sun, 
 is Wall Street : the Stock Exchange and Lombard Street of 
 New York. Many a rapid fortune has been ma;de in this 
 street, and many a no less rapid ruin. Some of these very 
 merchants whom you see hanging about here now, have locked 
 up money in their strong-boxes, like the man in the Arabian 
 nights, and opening them again,; Ij.aye found but withered 
 leaves. Below, here by the water side, where the bowsprits 
 of ships stretch across th^ footway, and almost thrust them- 
 selves into the windows, lie the noble American vessels which 
 have made their Packet Service the firiest in the world. 
 Theyhave brought hither, the foreigners, who abound in all the 
 streets : not, perhaps, that there are more here, than in other 
 Gojnmercial cities ; but. .elsewhere, they have particular haunts, 
 and you must find them out ; here, they pervade the town. 
 
 We must cross Broadway again ; gaining some refreshment 
 from the heat, in the sight of the great blocks of clean ice 
 which are being carried into shops and bar-rooms ; and the 
 pine-apples .and watervinelons profusely displayed for sale. 
 Fine streets of spacious houses here, you see ! — Wall Street 
 has furnished and dismantled many of them very often — and 
 here a deep green leafy square. Be sure that is a hospitable 
 house with inmates to be affectionately remembered always, 
 where they have the. open door and pretty show of plants 
 within, and where the child with laughing eyes is peeping out 
 of window at the little dag below.. /¥ou wonder what may be 
 the use of this tall flagstaff in the by-street, with soBfiething 
 like Liberty's head-dress on its top : so do I. But there is a 
 
662 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 passion for tall flagstaSs hereabouts, and you may see its 
 twin brother in five minutes, if you have a mind. 
 
 Again across Broadway, and so— passing from the many- 
 colored crowd and glittering shops — into another long main 
 street, the Bowery. A railroad yottdfer, see, where two stout 
 horses trot along, dravdng a score pt two of people and a 
 great Wooden ark, with ease. The stores are poorer here ; 
 the passengers less gay. Clothes ready-made, and meat ready- 
 cooked, are to be bought in these parts ; and the lively 
 whirl of carriages is exchanged for the deep rumble of carts 
 and wagotis. These signs which are so plentiful, in shape 
 like river buoys, or small balloons,: hoisted by cords to poles, 
 and dangling there, announce, as you may see by looking up, 
 " Oysters in every Style." They tempt the hungiy most 
 at night, for then dull candles glimmering inside, illuminate 
 these dainty words, and make the mouths of idlers water, as 
 they read and linger. 
 
 What is this dismal-fronted pile of bastard Egyptian, like 
 an enchanter's palace in a melodrama !— a famous prison, 
 called The Tombs. Shall we go in ? 
 
 So. A long narrow lofty building, stove-heated as usual, 
 with four galleries, one above the other, going round it, and 
 communicating by stairs. Between the two sides of each 
 gallery, and in its centre, a bridge, for the greater convenience 
 of crossing. On each of these bridges sits a man : dozing or 
 reading, or talking to an idle companion. On each tier, are 
 two opposite rows of small iron doors. They look like fur- 
 nace-doo*s, but are cold and black, as though the fires within 
 had all gone out. Some two or three are open, and women, 
 with drooping heads bent do'Wn,- ai^e- talking to the inmates. 
 The whole is lighted by a skylight, but it is fast closed ; and 
 from the roof there dangle, limp -and drooping, two useless 
 windsails. 
 
 A man with keys appears, to show us round. A good- 
 looking fellow, and, in his way, civil and obliging. 
 
 " Are those black doors the cells .' " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Are they all full ? " 
 
 " Well, they're pretty nigh full, and that's a fact, and no 
 two ways about it." 
 
 " Those at the bottom are unwholesome, surely ? " 
 
 " Why, we do only put colored people in 'em. That's the 
 truth." 
 
NEW yORK. 
 
 663 
 
 " When do the prisoners take exercise ? " 
 
 " Well, they do without it pretty much." 
 
 " Do they never walk in the yard ? " 
 
 "Considerable seldom." 
 
 " Sometimes, I suppose ? "~ 
 
 " Well, it's rare they do. They keep pretty bright with- 
 out it." 
 
 "But Suppose a man were here for a twelvemonth. I 
 know this is only a prison for criminals who are charged with 
 grave offences, while they are awaiting their trial, or under 
 remand, but the law here affords criminals inany means of 
 delay. What with motions for new trials, and in arrest of 
 judgment, and what not, a prisonerihight be here for twelve 
 months, I take it, might he not .' " 
 
 " Well, I guess he might." 
 
 " Do you mean to say that in all that time he would never 
 come out at that little iron doot, for exercise ? " • 
 
 " He might walk some,' perhaps — not much." 
 
 "Will you bpen one of the doors ? " 
 
 " All, if you like." 
 
 The fastenings jar and rattle, and one of the doors turns 
 slowly on its hinges. Let us look in. A small bare cell, 
 into which the light enters through a high chink in the wall. 
 There is a rude means of washing, a table, and a bedstead. 
 Upon the latter, sits a man of sixty ; reading. He looks up 
 for a moment ; gives an impatient dogged shake ; and fixes 
 his eyes upon his book again. As we withdrew our heads, 
 the door closes on him, and is fastened as before. This man 
 has, murdered his wife, and will probably be hanged. 
 
 " How long has he been here ? " 
 
 "A month." 
 
 "When will he be tried?" 
 
 "Next term." 
 
 " When is that ? " 
 
 " Next month." 
 
 " In England, if a man be under sentence of death, even 
 he has air and exercise at certain periods of the day." 
 
 " Possible ? " 
 
 With what stupendous and untranslatable coolness he 
 says this, and how loungingly he leads on to the women's 
 side : making, as he goes, a kind of iron castanet of the key 
 and the stair-rail ! 
 
 Each cell door on this side has a Square aperture in it 
 
664 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 Some of the women peep anxiously through it at the soi^d of 
 footsteps ; others shrink away in shame. — For what offence 
 can that lonely child, of ten or twelve years old, be shut up 
 here ? Oh ! that boy ? He is the son of the prisoner we saw 
 just now; is a witness against his father; and is detained 
 here for safe keeping, until the trial ; that's all. 
 
 But it is a dreadful place for the child to pass the long, 
 days and nights in. This is rather hard treatment for a 
 young witness, is it not ?— What says our conductor ? 
 
 " Well, it an't a very rowdy life, and thafs a fact ! " 
 
 Again he .clinks his metal Castanet, and leads us leisurely 
 away. I have a question to ask him as we go. 
 
 " Pray, why do they call this place The Tpmbs ? " 
 
 " Well, it's the cant name." 
 
 "I know it is. Why?" 
 
 " Some suicides happened here, when it was first built. I 
 expect it conve about from that." 
 
 " I saw just now, that that man's clothes were scattered 
 about the floor of his cell, Don't you oblige the prisoners to 
 be orderly, and put such things away ? " 
 
 " Where should they put 'em ? " 
 
 " Not on thq ground surely. What do you say to hanging 
 them up ? " . 
 
 He stops and looks round to emphasize his answer : 
 
 " Why, I say tha.t's just it. When they had hooks they 
 •would hang themselves, so they're taken out of every cell, 
 and there's only the marks left where they used to be ! " 
 
 .The prison-yard, in which he pauses now, has been the 
 scene of terrible performances. Into this narrow, grave-like 
 place, men are brought out to die. The wretched creature 
 stands beneath the gibbet on the ground ; the rope about his 
 neck ; and when the sign is given, a weight- at its other end 
 comes running down, and swings him up into the air — a 
 corpse. 
 
 The law requires that there be present at this dismal 
 spectacle,. the judge, the jury, and citizens to the amount of 
 twenty-five. From the community it is hidden. To the dis- 
 solute and bad, the thing remains a frightful mystery. Be- 
 tween the criminal and them, the prison-wall is interposed as 
 a thick gloomy veil. It is the curtain to his bed of death, his 
 winding-sheet, and grave. From him it shuts ^ut life, and all 
 the motives to unrepenting hardihood in that last hour, which 
 its mere sight and presence is often all sufficient to sustain. 
 
NEW YORK. 665 
 
 There are no bold eyes to make him bold; no ruffians to up- 
 hold a ruffian's name before. AH beyond the jiitiless stone 
 wall, is unknown space. 
 
 Let us go forth again into the cheerful streets. 
 
 Once more in Broadway! Here are the same ladies in 
 bright colors, walking to and fro, in pairs and singly ; yonder 
 the very same light blue parasol which piaSsed and repassed 
 the hotel-window twenty times while we were sitting there. 
 We are going to cross here. Take care of the Pigs. Two 
 portly sows aretrotting up behind this carriage, and a select 
 party of half-a-dozen gentlemen Hogs have just now tuftied 
 the corner. 
 
 Here is a solitary swine lounging homeward by himself. 
 He has only one ear ; having parted with the other to va- 
 grant-dogs in the course of his city ratnbles. But he gets on 
 very well without it ; and leads a roving, gentlemanly vaga- 
 bond kind of life, somewhat answering to that of our club- 
 men at home. He leaves his lodgings every riiormTig at a 
 certain hour, throws himself upon the town, gets through his 
 day in some manner qiiite satisfactory to himself, and regu- 
 larly appears at the door of his own house again at night, 
 like the mysterious master of Gil Bias. He is a free-and- 
 easy, careless, indifferent kind of pig, ha,ving a very large 
 acquaintance arnong other pigs of the same character, whom 
 he rather knows by sight than conversation, as he seldom 
 troubles himself to stop and exchange civilities, but goes 
 grunting down the kennel, turning up the news and small- 
 talk of the city in the shape of cabbage-stalks and offal, and 
 bearing no tails but his own : -which is a very short- one, for 
 his old enemies, the -dogs, have been at that too, arid have 
 left him hardly enough to swear by. He is in every respect 
 a republican pig, going wherever he pleases, and rhingling 
 with the best society, on an equal, if not superior footing, for 
 every one makes Way when he appears, and the haughtiest 
 give him the wall, if he prefer it. ■ He is a great philosopher, 
 and seldom moved, unless by the dogs before mentioned. 
 Sometimes, indeed, you may see his small eye twinkling on a 
 slaughtered friend, whose carcase garnishes' a butcher's door- 
 post, but he grunts out " Such is life : all flesh is pork ! " 
 btiries his nose in the mire again, and waddles do*n the gut- 
 ter: comforting himself with- the reflection that there is one 
 snout the less to anticipate stray cabbage-stalks, at any rate. 
 i' They are the city scavengers, these pigs. Ugly brutes 
 
666 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 they are ; having, fpr the most pwt, scanty brown backs, like 
 the lids of old horsehair trunks : spotted with unwholesome 
 black blotches. They have long, gaunt legs, too, and such 
 peaked snouts^ that if one of them, could be persuaded to sit 
 for his profile, npbody would recognize it for a pig's likeness. 
 They are never, attended upon, or fed, or dnven, or caught, 
 but are thrown upon their own resources in early life, and 
 become preternaturally knowing in consequence. Every pig 
 knows where he lives, much better than anybody could tell 
 him. At this hour, just as evening is closing in, you wUl see 
 them roaming towards bed by scores, eating their way to the 
 last. Occasionally, some youth among them who has over- 
 eaten himself, or has been worried by dogs, trots shrinkingly 
 homeward, like a prodigal son : but this is a rare case : per- 
 fect self-possession and self-reliance, and immovable com- 
 posure, being their foremost attributes. 
 
 The streets and shpps are lighted now; and as the eye 
 travels 4Pwn the long thoroughfare, dotted with bright jets 
 of gas, it is reminded of Oxford Street, or Piccadilly. Here 
 and there a flight of broad stone cellar-steps appears, and a 
 painted lamp directs you to the Bowling Saloon, or Ten-Pin 
 alley ; Ten-Pins being a game of mingled chance and skill, 
 invented when the legislature passed an act forbidding Nine- 
 Pins. At other downward flights of steps, are other lamps, 
 marking the whereabouts of oyster-cellars — pleasant retreats, 
 say I : not only by reason of their wonderful cookery of oys- 
 ters, pretty nigh as large as cheese-plates (or for thy dear 
 sake, heartiest of Greek Professors i) but because of all kinds 
 of eaters of fish, or flesh, or fowl, in these latitudes, the swal- 
 lowers pf oysters alone, are not gregarious ; but subduing 
 themselves, as it were, to the nature of what they work in, and 
 copying the coyness of the thing tliey eat, do sit apart in cur- 
 tained boxes, and consort by twos, not by two hundreds. 
 
 But how quiet the streets are ! Are there no itinerant 
 bands ; no wind or stringed instruments ? No, not one. By 
 day, are there no Punches, Fantoccini, Dancing-dogs, Jug- 
 glers, Conjurors, Orchestrinas, or even Barrel-organs ? No, 
 not one. Yes, I remember one.. One barrel-organ and a 
 dancing-monkey^-sportive by nature, but fast fading into a 
 dull, lumpish monkey, of the Utilitarian school. Beyond that, 
 nothing lively ; no, not so much as a white mouse io a twirl- 
 ing cage. 
 
 Are there np amusements ? Yes. There is a lecture-room 
 
M^W^YORX. 667 
 
 across the way, from vrhieh that glare qf, light proceeds, and 
 there may be evening service for the ladies thrice a week, or 
 oftener. For the young gentlemen, there is. the counting- 
 house, tlie store, the bar-.room ; the latter, as you may see 
 throi^h I tljese windows, pretty full. Hark ! to the clinking 
 sound of hammers breaking lumps of ice, and to the cool 
 gurgling of ^e pounded bits, as, in the process of mixing, 
 they are poured from glass to glass ! No amusements ? Wliat 
 are these suckers of cigars and iswallowers of strong: drinks, 
 whose hats and legs we see in every possible variety of twist, 
 doing, but amusing themselves ? What are the fifty news- 
 papers, which those precocious urchins are bawling down tlie 
 street, and which are kept filed within, what are tliey but 
 amusements ? Not vapid waterish amusements, but good 
 strong scuff ; dealing in round abuse an,d blackguard names ; 
 pulling off the roofs of private houses, as the Halting Devil 
 did in Spain j pimping and panderijig for all degrees of vi- 
 cious taste, and gorging with coined lies, the most voracious 
 maw ; imputing to every man in public life the coarsest and 
 the vilest motives ; scaring aVay from the stabbed and pros- 
 trate body-politic, every Samaritan of clear conscience and 
 good deeds ; and setting pn, with yell and whistle and th.e 
 clapping of fpul hands, the vilest vermin and wprst birds of 
 prey.— No amusements! 
 
 Let us. go on again; and passing this wilderness of an 
 hotel. with stores about its base, like sortie Continental thea- 
 tre, or the London Opera House, shprn of it% colonnade, 
 plunge into, the Five Points. But it, is needful, first, that we 
 take as our escort these two heads of the police, whqm you 
 would know fpr sharp and ,well-trained officers if you met 
 them in the Great Desert,, So true it is, that certain pursuits, 
 wherever carried on, will stamp men with the same character. 
 These two might have been begotten, born, and bred, in 
 Bow Street, 
 
 We have seen no beggars in the streets by night or day ; 
 but of other, kinds of strollers, plenty. Poverty, wretched- 
 nesSi and vice, are rif^ enough where we are going now. 
 
 This is the place : thiese narrow ways, diverging to the 
 right and left, and reeking everywhere wilfli dirt and filth. 
 Such lives as are l0d. here, bear the same fruits here as else- 
 where. The coarse and bloated faces i^t the doors, jiave coun- 
 terparts at home, and all the wide world oyer. Debauchery 
 has made the very houses prematurely old. See how the 
 
668 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 rotten beams are tumbling down, and liow the patched and 
 broken windows seem to scowl dimly, like eyes that have been 
 hurt in drunken frays. Many of those jjigs live here. Do 
 they ever wonder why their masters walk upright in lieu of 
 going on all-fours ? and why they talk instead of grunting? 
 
 So far, nearly every house is a low tavern ; and on the 
 bar-room walls, are colored prints of Washington, and Queen 
 Victoria of England, and the American Eagle. Among the 
 pigeon-holes that hold the bottles, are pieces of plate-glass 
 and colored paper, for there is, in some sort, a taste for dec- 
 oiration, even here. And as seamen frfequent these haunts, 
 there are maritime pictures by the dozen : of partings be- 
 tween sailors and their lady-loves, portraits of William, of the 
 ballad, and his Black-Eyed Susan ; of Will Watch, the Bold 
 Smuggler ; of Paul Jones the Pirate, and the like ': on which 
 the painted eyes of Queen Victoria, and of Washington to 
 boot, rest in as strange companionship, as on most of the 
 scenes that are enacted iri their wondering presence. 
 
 What place is this, to which thfe squalid street conducts 
 us ? A kind of square of lep'rous houses, some of which are 
 attainable only by crazy wooden stairs without. What lies 
 beyond this tottering flight of steps, that creak beneath our 
 tread ? — a miserable room, lighted by one dim candle, and 
 destitute of all comfort, save that which may be hidden in 
 a wretched bed. Beside it, sits a man ; his elbows on his 
 knees : his forehead hidden in his hands. " What ails that 
 man?" asks the foremost officer. ■" Fever," he sullenly re- 
 plies, without looking up. Conceivfe; the fancies of a fevered 
 ■ brain, in such a place as this ! 
 
 Ascend these pitch-dark stairs, heedful of a false footing 
 on the trembling boards, and gifope your way with me into 
 this wolfish den, where neither ray of light nor breath of air, 
 a;ppears to come. A fiegro lad, startled from his sleep by the 
 officer's voice — he knows it well — but comforted by his as- 
 surance that he has not come on business, ■ officiously bestirs 
 himself to light a candle. The match flickers for a moment, 
 and shows great mounds of dusky rags upon the ground ; 
 then dies away and leaves a denser daritness than before, if 
 there can be degrees in such extremes. He stumbles down 
 the stairs and presently comes back, shading a flaring taper 
 with his hand. Then the mounds of rags are seen to be astir 
 and rise sltiwly up, and the floor is covered with heaps of ne- 
 gro women;' waking from their sleep : their white teeth chat- 
 
NEW YORK. 66g 
 
 tering, and their bright eyes glistening and winking on all 
 sides with surprise and fear, like tlie countless repetition of 
 one astonished African face in some strange mirror. 
 
 Mount up these other stairs with no less caution (there are 
 traps and pitfalls here, for those who are not so well escorted 
 as ourselves) into the housetop ; where the bare beams and 
 rafters meet overhead, and calm night looks down thrpugh 
 the crevices in the roof. Open the door of one of these 
 cramped hutches full of sleeping negroes. . Pah ! They have 
 a charcoal fire within ; there is a smell of singeing clothes, or 
 flesh, so close they gather round the brazier ; and va,pors 
 issue forth that blind and suffocate. From every corner, as 
 you glance about you in these dark retreats, some figure 
 crawls halfrawakened, as if the judgment-hour were near at 
 hand, and every obscene grave were giving up its dead. 
 Where dogs would howl to lie, women, and men, and boys 
 slink off to r sleep, forcing the dislodged rats to move away in 
 quest of better Lodgings. 
 
 Here too are lanes and alleys, paved with mud knee-deep, 
 underground chambers, where they dance and game ; the 
 walls bedecked with rough designs of ships, and forts, and 
 flags, and American eagles out of number : ruined houses, 
 open to the street, whence, through wide gaps in the walls, 
 other ruins loom upon the eye, as though the world of vice 
 and misery had nothing else to show : hideous tenements 
 which take their name from robbery and murder : all that is 
 loathsome, drooping, and decayed is here. 
 
 Our leader has his hand upon the latch of " Almack's," 
 and calls to us from the bottom of the steps ; for the assembly- 
 room of the Five Point fashionables is approached by a de- 
 scent. Shall we go in ? It is but a moment. 
 
 Heyday! the landlady of Almack's thrives! A buxom 
 fat mulatto woman, with sparkling eyes, whose head is dainti- 
 ly ornamented with a handkerchief of many colors. Nor is 
 the landlord much behind her in his finery, being attired iri a 
 smart blue jacket, like a ship's steward, with a thick gold ring 
 upon his little finger, and round his neck a gleaming golden 
 watch-guard. How glad he is to see us ! What will we 
 please to call for ? A dance ? It shall be done directly, sir : 
 " a regular break-down." 
 
 The corpulent black fiddler, and his friend who plays the 
 tamborine, stamp upon the boarding of the small raised 
 orchestra in which they sit, and play a lively measure. Five 
 
670 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 or six couple come upon the floor, marshalled by a lively 
 young negro, who is the wit of the assembly, and the greatest 
 dancer known. He never leaves off making queer faces, and 
 is the delight of all the rest, who grin from ear to ear in- 
 cessantly. Among the dancers are two young mulatto girls, 
 with large black, drooping eyes, and head-gear after the 
 fashion of the hostess, who are as shy, or feign to be, as 
 though they never danced before, and so look down before 
 the visitors, that their partners can see nothing but the long 
 fringed lashes. 
 
 But the dance commences. Every gentleman sets as long 
 as he likes to the opposite lady, and the opposite lady to him, 
 and all are so long about it that the sport begins to languish, 
 when suddenly the lively hero dashes into the rescue. In- 
 stantly the fiddler grins, and goes at it tooth and nail ; there is 
 new energy in the tamborines ; new laughter in the dancers ; 
 new smiles in the landlady ; new confidence in the landlord ; 
 new brightness in the very candles. Single shuffle, double 
 shuffle, cut and cross-cut ; snapping his fingers, rolling his 
 eyes, turning in his knees, presenting the backs of his legs in 
 front, spinning about on his toes and heels like nothing but 
 the man's fingers on the tamborine ; dancing with two left 
 legs, two right legs, two wooden legs, two wire legs, two spring 
 legs — all sorts of legs and no legs — what is this to him ? And 
 in what walk of life, or dance of life, does man ever get such 
 stimulating applause as thunders about him, when, having 
 danced his partner off her feet, and himself too, he finishes 
 by leaping gloriously on the bar-counter, and calling for some- 
 thing to drink, with the chuckle of a million of counterfeit 
 Jim Crows, of one inimitable sound ! 
 
 The air, even in these distempered parts, is fresh aftM 
 the stifling atmosphere of the houses ; and now, as we emerge 
 into a broader street, it blows upon us with a purer breath, 
 and the stars look bright again. Here are The Tombs once 
 more. The city watch-house is a part of the building. It 
 follows naturally on the sights we have just left. Let us see 
 that, and then to bed. 
 
 What-! do you thrust your common offenders against the 
 police discipline of the town, into such holes as these ? Do 
 men and women, against whom no crime is proved, lie here 
 all night in perfect darkness, surrounded by the noisome va- 
 pors which encircle that flagging lamp you light us with, and 
 breathing this filthy and offensive stench ! Why, such inde- 
 
NEW YORK. 6yj 
 
 cent and disgusting dungeons as these cells, would bring dis- 
 grace upon the most despotic empire in the world ! Look 
 at them, man — you, who see them every night, and keep the 
 keys. Do you see what they are ? Do you know how drains 
 are made below the streets, and wherein these human sewers 
 differ, except in; being always stagnant? 
 
 Well, he don't know. He has had five-and-twenty young 
 women locked up in this very cell at one time, and you'd 
 hardly realize what handsome faces there were among 'em. 
 
 In God's name ! shut the door upon the wretched creature 
 who is in it now, and put its screen before a place, quite un- 
 surpassed in all the vice, neglect, and devilry, of the worst 
 old town in Europe. > 
 
 Are people really left all night, untried, in those black 
 sties ? — Every night. The watch is set at seven in the even- 
 ing. The magistrate opens his court at five in the morning. 
 That is the earliest hour at which the first prisoner can be re- 
 leased ; and if an officer appear against him, he is not taken 
 out till nine ofclock or ten. — But if any one among them die 
 in the interval, as one man did, not long ago ? Then he is 
 half-eaten by the rats in an hour's time ; as that man was ; 
 and there an end. 
 
 What is this intolerable tolling of great bells, and crashing 
 of wheels, and shouting in the distance ? A fire. And what 
 that deep red light in the opposite direction ? Another fire. 
 And what these charred and blackened walls we stand before ? 
 A dwelling where a fire has been. It was more than hinted, 
 in an official report, not long ago, that some of these con- 
 flagrations were not wholly accidental, and that speculation 
 and enterprise found a field of exertion, even in flames : but 
 be this as it may, there was a fire last night, there are two to- 
 night, and you may lay an even wager there will be at least 
 one, to-morrow. So, carrying that with us for our comfort, 
 let us say, Good-night, and climb up stairs to bed. 
 
 One day, during my stay in New York, I paid a visit to 
 the different public institutions on Long Island, or Rhode 
 Island : I forget which. One of them is a Lunatic Asylum. 
 The building is handsome ; and is remarkable for a spacious 
 and elegant staircase. The whole structure is not yet finished, 
 but it is already one of considerable size and extent, and is 
 capable of accommodating a very large number of patients. 
 
 I cannot say that I derived much comfort from the inspec- 
 
5^2 AMERICAN NO TES. 
 
 tioii of this charity. The different wards might have been 
 cleaner and better ordered ; I saw nothing of that salutary 
 system which had impressed me so favorably elsewhere ; ana 
 everything had a lounging, listless, madhouse air, which was 
 very painful. The moping idiot, cowering down with long 
 dishevelled hair ; the gibberingmaniac, with his hideousJaugh 
 and pointed finger ; the vacant eye, the fierce wild face, the 
 gloomy picking of the hands and lips, and munching of the 
 nails : there they were all, without disguise, in naked ugliness 
 and horror. In the dining-room, a bare, dull, dreary place, 
 with nothing for the eye to rest on but the empty walls, a 
 woman was locked up. alone. She was bent, they told me, on 
 committing suicide. If anything could have strengthened her 
 in her resolution, it would certainly have been the insupport- 
 able monotony of such an existence. 
 
 The terrible crowd with which these halls and galleries 
 were filled, so shocked me, that I abridged ray stay within the 
 shortest limits, and declined to see that pprtion of the build- 
 ing in which the refractory and violent were under closer re- 
 straint. I have no doubt that the gentleman who presided over 
 this establishment at the time I write of, was competent to 
 manage it, and had done all in his power to promote its use- 
 fulness : but will it be believed that the miserable strife of 
 Party feeling is carried even into this sad refuge of afflicted 
 and degraded humanity ? Will it be believed that the eyes 
 which are to watch over and control the wanderings of minds 
 on which the most dreadful visitation to wliich our nature is 
 exposed has fallen, must wear the glasses of some wretched 
 side in Politics ? Will it be believed that the governor of such 
 a house as this, is appointed, and deposed, and changed per- 
 petually, as Parties fluctuate and vary, and as their despicable 
 weathercocks are blown this way or that? A hundred times 
 in every week, some new most paltry exhibition of that nar- 
 row-minded and injurious Party Spirit, which is the Simoom 
 of America, sickening and blighting everything of wholesome 
 life within its reach, was forced upon my notice ; but I never 
 turned my back upon it with feelings of such deep disgust 
 and measureless contempt, as when I crossed the threshold 
 of this madhouse. 
 
 At a short distance from this building is another called 
 the Alms House, that is to say, the workhouse of New York. 
 This is a large Institution also : lodging, I believe, when I 
 was there, nearly a thousand poor. It was badly ventilated, 
 
NEW YORK. 673 
 
 and badly lighted ; was not too clean ; and impressed me, on 
 the whole, very uncomfortably. But it must be remembered 
 that New York, as a great emporium of commerce, and as a 
 place of general resort, not only from all parts of the States, 
 but from most parts of the world, has always a large pauper 
 population to prdvide for ; and labors, therefore, under pecu- 
 liar difficulties in this respect. Nor riiust it be forgotten that 
 New York is a large town, and that in all large towns a vast 
 amount of good and evil is intermixed and jumbled up to- 
 gether. 
 
 In the same neighborhood is the Farm, where young or- 
 phans are nursed and bred. I did not see it, but I believe it 
 is well conducted ; and I can the more easily credit it, from 
 knowing how mindful they usually are, in America, of that 
 beautiful passage in the Litany which remembers all sick per- 
 sons and young children. 
 
 I was taken to these Institutions by water, in a boat be- 
 longing to the Island Jail, and rowed by a crew of prisoners, 
 who were dressed in a striped uniform of black and buff, in 
 which they looked like faded tigers. They took me, by the 
 same conveyance, to the Jail itself. 
 
 It is an old prison, and quite a pioneer establishment, on 
 the plan I have already described. I was glad to hear this, 
 for it is unquestionably a very indifferent one. The most is 
 made, however, of the means it possesses, and it is as well 
 regulated as such a place can be. 
 
 The women work in covered sheds, erected for that pur- 
 pose. If I remember right, there are no shops for the men, 
 but be that as it may, the greater part of them labor in certain 
 stone-quarries near at hand. The day being very wet indeed, 
 this labor was suspended, and the prisoners were in their cells. 
 Imagine these cells, some two or three hundred in number, 
 and in every one a man locked up ; this one at his door for 
 air, with his hands thrust through tlie grate ; this one in bed 
 (in the middle of the day, remember) ; and this one flung 
 down in a heap upon the ground, with his head against the 
 bars, like a wild beast. Make the rain pour down, outside, 
 in torents. 'Put the everlasting stove in the midst ; hot, and 
 suffocating, and vaporous,, as a witch's cauldron. Add a col- 
 lection of gentle odors; such as would arise from a thousand 
 mildewed umbrellas, wet through, and a thousand buck-baskets, 
 full of half-washed linen — and there is the prison, as it was 
 that day. 
 
674 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 The prison for the State at Sing Sing, is, on the other 
 hand, a model jail. That, and Auburn, are, I behave, the 
 largest and best examples of the silent system. 
 
 In another part of the city, is the Refuge for the Destittite : 
 an Institution whose object is to reclaim youthful offenders, 
 male and female, black and white, without distinction; to 
 teach them useful trades, apprentice them to respectable 
 masters, and make them wortliy members of society. Its de- 
 sign, it will be seen, is similar to that at Boston ; and it is a 
 no less meritorious and admirable establishment. A suspi- 
 cion crossed my mind during my inspection of this noble 
 charity, whether the superintendent had quite sufficient knowl- 
 edge of the world and worldly characters ; and whether he 
 did not commit a great mistake in treating some young girls, 
 who were to all intents and purposes, by their years and their 
 past lives, women, as though they were little children ; which 
 certainly had a ludicrous effect in my eyes, and, or I am much 
 mistaken, in theirs also. As the Institution, however, is always 
 under the vigilant examination of a body of gentlemen of great 
 intelligence and experience, it cannot fail to be well conducted ; 
 and whether I am right or wrong in this slight particular, is 
 unimportant to its deserts and character, which it would be 
 difficult to estimate too highly. 
 
 In addition to these establishments, there are in New York, 
 excellent hospitals and schools, literary institutions and libra- 
 ries ; an admirable fire department (as indeed it should be, 
 having constant practice), and charities of every sort and kind. 
 In the suburbs there is a spacious cemetery ; unfinished yet, 
 but every day improving. The saddest tomb I saw there was 
 " The Strangers' Grave. Dedicated to the different hotels in 
 this city." 
 
 There are three principal theatres. Two' of them, the 
 Park and the Bowery, are large, elegant, and handsome build- 
 ings, and are, I grieve to write it, generally deserted. The 
 third, the Olympic, is a tiny show-box for vaudevilles and bur- 
 lesques. It is singularly well conducted by Mr. Mitchell, a 
 comic actor of great quiet humor and originality, who is well 
 remembered and esteemed by London playgoers. I am happy 
 to report of this deserving gentleman, that his benches are 
 usually well filled, and that this theatre rings with merriment 
 every night. I had almost forgotten a small summer theatre 
 called Niblo's, with gardens and open air amusements attached '• 
 but I believe it is not exempt from the general depression 
 
iViiiv yonjc. gyg 
 
 under which Theatrical Property, or what is humorously called 
 by that name, unfortunately labors. 
 
 The country round New York, is surpassingly and exquis- 
 itely picturesque. The climate, as I have already intimated, 
 is somewhat of the warmest. What it would be, without the 
 sea breezes which come from its beautiful Bay in the evening 
 time, I will not throw myself or my readers into a fever by in- 
 quiring. 
 
 The tone of the best society in this city, is like that of Bos- 
 ton ; here and there, it may be, with a greater infusion of the 
 mercantile spirit, but generally polished and refined, and 
 always most hospitable. The houses and tables are elegant j 
 the hours later and more rakish ; and there is, perhaps, a 
 greater spirit of contention in reference to appearances, and 
 the display of wealth and costly living. The ladies are sin- 
 gularly beautiful. 
 
 Before I left New York I made arrangements for securing 
 a passage home in the George Washington packet ship, which 
 was advertised to sail in June : that being the month in which 
 I had determined, if prevented by no accident in the course of 
 ray f amblings, to leave America. 
 
 I never thought that going back to England; returning to 
 all who are dear to me, and to pursuits that haVe insensibly- 
 grown to be a part of my nature, I could have felt so much 
 sorrow as I endured, when I parted at last, on board this 
 ship, with the friends who had accompanied me from this 
 city. I never thought the name of any place, so far away and 
 so lately known, could ever associate itself in my mind with 
 the crowd of affectionate remembrances that now cluster about 
 it There are those in the city who would brighten, to me, 
 the darkest winter-day that ever glimmered and went out in 
 Lapland ; and befdre whose presence even Home grew dim, 
 when they and I exchanged that painful word which mingles 
 with our efvery thought and deed ; which haunts our cradle 
 heads in infancy, and closes up the vista of our lives in age. 
 
676 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA, AND ITS SOLITARY PRISON. 
 
 The journey from New York to Philadelphia, is made by 
 railroad, and two ferries ; and usually occupies between five 
 and six hours. It was a fine evening when we were passengers 
 in the train : and watching the bright sunset from a little win- 
 dow near the door by which we sat, my attention was attracted 
 to a remarkable appearance issuing from the windows of the 
 gentlemen's car immediately in front of us, which I supposed 
 for some time was occasioned by a number of industrious per- 
 sons inside, ripping open feather-beds, and giving the feathers 
 to the wind. At length it occurred to me that they were only 
 spitting, which was indeed the case ; though how any number 
 of passengers which it was possible for that car to contain, 
 could have maintained such a pla3rful and incessant shower of 
 expectoration, I am still at a loss to understand : notwithstand- 
 ing the experience in all salivatory phenomena which I after- 
 wards acquired. 
 
 I made acquaintance, on this journey, with a mild and 
 modest young quaker, who opened the discourse by informing 
 me, in a grave whisper, that his grandfather was the inventor 
 of cold drawn castor oil. I mention the circumstance here, 
 thinking it probable that this is the first occasion on which the 
 valuable medicine in question was ever used as a conversa- 
 tional aperient. 
 
 We reached the city, late that night. Looking out of my 
 chamber-window, before going to bed, I saw, on the opposite 
 side of the way, a handsome building of white marble, which 
 had a mournful ghost-like aspect, dreary to behold. I attrib- 
 uted this to the sombre influence of the night, and on rising 
 in the morning looked out again, expecting to see its steps and 
 portico thronged with groups of people passing in and out. 
 The door was still tight shut, however ; the same cold cheer- 
 less air prevailed ; and the building looked as if the marble 
 statue of Don Guzman could alone have any business to trans- 
 act within its gloomy walls. I hastened to inquire its name 
 and purpose, and then my surprise vanished. It was the 
 
PHILADELPHIA, AND ITS SOLITARY PRISON. Cyf 
 
 Tomb of many fortunes ; the Great Catacomb of investment ; 
 the memorable United States Bank. 
 
 The stoppage of this bank, with all its ruinous consequences, 
 had cast (as I. was told on every side) a gloom oij Philadelphia, 
 under the depressing effect of . which it yet labored. It cer- 
 tainly did seem rather dull and out of spirits. 
 
 It is a handsome city, but distractingly regular; After 
 walking about it for an hour or two,, I felt that I would have 
 given tlie world for a crooked street. The collar of my coat 
 appeared to stiffen, and the brim of my hat to expand, beneath 
 its quakery influence. My hair shrunk into a sleek short crop, 
 ray hands folded themselves upon my breast of their own 
 calm accord, and thoughts of taking lodgings in Mark Lane 
 over against the Market Place, and of making a large fortune 
 by speculations in com, game over me involuntarily. 
 
 Philadelphia is most bountifully provided with fresh water, 
 which is showered and jerked about, and turned on, and 
 poured off, everywhere. The Waterworks, which are on a 
 height near the city, are no less ornamental-than useful, being 
 tastefully laid out as a public garden, and kept in the best 
 and neatest order. The river is dammed at this point, and 
 forced by its own power into certain high tanks or reser\'oirs, 
 whence the whole city, to the top stories of th^t houses, is sup- 
 plied at a very trifling expense. 
 
 There are various public institutions. Aiiiong them a 
 most excellent Hospital — ^a-quaker establishment, but not 
 sectarian in the great benefits it confers ; a quiet, quaint old 
 Library, named after Franklin ; a handsome Exchange and 
 Post Office ; and so forth. In connection with the quaker 
 Hospital, there is a picture by West, which is exhibited for 
 the benefit of the funds of the instituljon., The subject is, our 
 Saviour healing the sick, and it is, perhaps, as favorable a 
 specimen of the master as can be seen anywhere. Whether 
 this be high or low praise, depends upon the reader's taste. 
 
 In the same room, there is a very characteristic and life- 
 like portrait by Mr. Sally^ a distinguished American artist. 
 
 My stay in Philadelphia was very short, but what I saw of 
 its society, I greatly liked. Treating of its general characteris- 
 tics, I s^hould be disposed to say that it is more provincial than 
 Boston .or New York, and that there is afloat in the fair city, 
 an assumption of taste and criticism, savoring rather of those 
 genteel discussions upon the same themes, in connection with 
 Shakspeare and the Musical Glasses, of which we read in the 
 
678 
 
 AMERICAN NOT£S. 
 
 Vicar of Wakefield. Near the city, is a most splendid unfin- 
 ished marble structure for the Girard College, founded by a 
 deceased gentleman of that name and of enormous wealth, 
 which, if completed according to the original design, -Will be 
 perhaps the richest edifice of modern times. But the bequest 
 is involved in legal disputes, and pending them the work has 
 stopped -j so that like many other great undertakings in Amer- 
 ica, even this is rather going to be done one of these days, 
 than doing now. 
 
 In the outskirts, stands a great prison, called the Eastern 
 Penitentiary : conducted on a plan peculiar to the State of 
 Pennsylvania. The system here, is rigid, strict, and hopeless 
 solitary confinement. I believe it, in its effects, to be cruel 
 and wrong. 
 
 In its intention, I am well convinced that it is kind, hu- 
 mane, and meant for reformation ; but I am persuaded that 
 those who devised this system of Prison Discipline, and those 
 benevolent gentlemen who carry it into execution, do not 
 know what it is that they are doing. I believe that Very few 
 men are capable of estimating the immense amount of torture 
 and agony which this dreadful punishment, prolonged for 
 yearsj inflicts upon the sufferers ; and in guessing at it myself, 
 and in reasoning from what I have seen written upon their 
 faces, and what to my certain knowledge they feel within, I 
 am only the more convinced that there is a depth of terrible 
 endurance in it which none but the sufferers themselves can 
 fathom, and which no man has a right to inflict upon his 
 fellow-creature. I hold this slow and daily tampering with 
 the mysteries of the brain, to be immeasurably worse than any 
 torture of the body : and because its ghastly sighs and tokens 
 are not so palpable to the eye and sense of touch as scars 
 ilpon the flesh ; because its wounds are not upon the surface, 
 and it extorts few cries that human ears can hear ; therefore 
 I the more denounce it, as a secret punishment which slum- 
 bering huitianity is not roused up to stay. I hesitated once, 
 debating with myself, whether, if I had the power of saying 
 "Yes" or "No," I would allow it to be tried in certain 
 cases, where the terms of imprisonment were short ; but now 
 I solemnly declare, that with no rewards or honors could I 
 walk a happy man beneath the open sky by day, or lie me 
 down upon ray bed at night, with the consciousness that one 
 human creature, for any length of time, no matter what lay 
 suffering this unknown punishment in his silent cell and I 
 the cause, or I consenting: to it in the least desrree. 
 
PHILADELPHIA, AND ITS SOLITARY PRISON. 679 
 
 I was accompanied to this prison by two gentlemen offi- 
 cially connected with its management, and passed the day 
 in going from cell to cell, and talking with the inmates. 
 Every facility was afforded me, that the utmost courtesy could 
 suggest. Nothing was concealed or hidden from my view 
 and every piece of information that I sought, was openly and 
 frankly given. The perfect order of the building cannot be 
 praised too highly, and of the excellent motives of all who 
 are immediately concerned in the administration of the system, 
 there can be no kind of question. 
 
 Between the body of the prison and the outer wall, there 
 is a spacious garden. Entering it, by a wicket in the massive 
 gate, we pursued the path before, us to its other termination, 
 and passed into a large chamber, from which seven long pas- 
 sages radiate. On either side of each, is a long, long row of 
 low cell doors, with a certain number over everyone; Above, 
 a gallery of cells like those below, except that they have no 
 narrow yard attached (as those in the ground tier have), and 
 are somewhat smaller. The possession of two of these, is 
 supposed to compensate for the absence of so much air and 
 exercise as can be had in the, dull strip attached to each of 
 the others, in an hour's time every day ; and therefore every 
 prisoner in this upper story has two cells, adjoining and com- 
 municating with, each other. 
 
 , : Standing at the central point, and looking down these 
 dreary passages, the dull repose and quiet that prevails, is 
 awful. Occasionally, there is a drowsy sound from some 
 lone weaver's shuttle, or shoemaker's last, but: it is stifled by 
 the thick walls and heavy dungeon-door, and only serves to 
 make the general stillness more profound. Over the head 
 and face; of eyery prisoner who comes into this melancholy 
 house, a black hood is drawn ; and in this dark shroud, an 
 emblem of the curtain dropped between, him and the living 
 world, he is led to the cell from which he never again comes 
 forth, until his whole term of imprisonment haS' expired. He 
 never hears of wife and children ; home or friends ; the life 
 or death of any single creature. He sees the prison-officers, 
 but with that exception he never looks upon a human coun- 
 tenance, or hears a human voice. He is a man buried alive ; 
 to be dug out in the slow round of > years ; and in the mean 
 time dead to everything but 1 torturing anxieties and horrible 
 despair. 
 
 His name, and crime, and term of suffering, are unknown, 
 
68o AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 even to the officer who delivers him his daily food. There 
 is a number over his cell-door, and in a book of which the 
 governor of the prison has one copy, and the moral instructor 
 tnother: this is the index of his history. Beyond these 
 pages the prison has no record of his existence : and though 
 he live to be in the same cell ten weary years, he has no 
 means of knowing, down to the vtr^ last hour, m what part 
 of the building it is situated ; what kind of men there are 
 about him ; whether in the long winter nights there are hvmg 
 people near, or he is in some lonely corner of the great jafl^ 
 with walls, and passages, and iron doors between him and 
 the nearest sharer in its solitary horrors. 
 
 Every cell has double doors : the outer one of sturdy oak, 
 the other of grated iron, wherein there is a trap through 
 which his food is banded. He has a Bible, and a slate and 
 pencil, and, under certain restrictions, has sometimes other 
 books, provided for the purpose, and pen and ink and paper. 
 His razor, plate, and can, and basin, hang upon the wall, or 
 shine upon the little shelf. Fresh water is laid on in every 
 cell, and he can draw it at his pleasure. During the day, his 
 bed-stead turns up against the wall, and- leaves more space 
 for him to work in. His loom, or bench, or wheel, is there ; 
 and there he labors, sleeps and wakes, and counts the seasons 
 as they change, and grows old. 
 
 The first man I saw, was seated at' his loom, at work. 
 He had been there, six years, and was to remain, I think, 
 three more. He had been convicted as a receiver of stolen 
 goods, but even after his long imprisonment, denied his guilt, 
 and said he had been hardly dealt by. It was his second 
 offence. 
 
 He stopped his work when we went in, took off his spec- 
 tacles, and answered freely to everything that was said to 
 him, but always with a strange kind of pause first, and in a 
 low, thoughtful voice. He wore a paper hat of his own 
 niaking, and was pleased to have it noticed and commended. 
 He had very ingeniously manufactured a sort of Dutch clock 
 from some disregarded odds and ends; and his vineo-ar- 
 bottle served for the pendulum. Seeing me interested* in 
 this contrivance, he looked up at it with a great deal of pride 
 and said that he had been thinking of improving it and that 
 he hoped the hammer and a little piece of broken glass be- 
 side It " would play music before long." He had extracted 
 some colors from the yarn 'with whicli he worked, and painted 
 
PHILADELPHIA, AND ITS SOLITARY PRISON. 68 1 
 
 a few poor figures on the wall. One, of a female, over the 
 door, he called "The Lady of the Lake." 
 
 He smiled as I looked at these contrivances to wile away 
 the time ; but when I looked from them to him, I saw that 
 his lips trembled, and could have counted the beating of his 
 heart. I forgot how it came about, but some allusion was 
 made to his having, a wife. He shook his head at the Avord, 
 turned aside, and covered his face with his hands. 
 
 , "But you are resigned now ! " said one of the gentlemen 
 after a short pause, during which he had resumed his former 
 manner. He answered with a sigh that seemed quite reck- 
 less in its hopelessness, " Oh yes, oh yes ! I am resigned to 
 it." " And are a better man, you think ? " " Well, I hope 
 so ; I'm sure I hope I may be." " And time goes pretty 
 quickly ? " " Time is very long, gentlemen, within these four 
 walls ! " 
 
 He gazed about him — Heaven only knows how wearily ! 
 as he said these words ; and in the act of doing so, fell into 
 a strange stare as if he had forgotten something. A moment 
 afterwards he sighed heavily, put on his spectacles, and went 
 about his work again. 
 
 In another cell, there was a German, sentenced to five 
 years' imprisonment for larceny, two of which had just ex- 
 pired. With colors procured in the same manner, he had 
 painted every inch of the walls And ceiling quite, beautifully. 
 He had laid out the few feet of ground, behind, with exquisite 
 neatness, and had made a little bed in the centre that looked 
 by the bye like a grave. The taste and ingenuity he had dis- 
 played in everything were most extraordinary ; and yet a more 
 dejected, heart-broken, wretched creature, it would be difEicult 
 to imagine. I never saw such a picture of forlorn affliction 
 and distress of mind. My heart bled for him ; and when the 
 tears ran down his cheeks, and he took one of the visitors 
 aside, to ask, with his trembling hands nervously clutching at 
 his coat to detain him, whether there was no hope of his dis- 
 mal-sentence being commuted, the spectacle was really too 
 painful to witness. I never saw or heard of any kind of mis- 
 ery that impressed me more than the wretchedness of this 
 man. 
 
 In a third cell, was a tall strong black, a burglar, working 
 at his proper trade of making screws and the like. His time 
 was nearly out. He was not only a very dexterous thief, but 
 was notorious for his boldness and hardihood, and for the 
 
682 AMEHrCAN NO TES. 
 
 number of his previous .GOnvlctions. He entertained us with 
 along account of his achievements, which he narrated with 
 such infinite relish, that he actually seemed to lick nis 'jPS as 
 he told us racy anecdotes of stolen plate, and of old ladies 
 whom he had watched as they sat at windows in silver specta- 
 cles (he had plainly an eye to thpir metal even from the other 
 side of the street) and had afterwards robbed. This fellow, 
 upon the slightest encouragement, would have mingled with 
 his professional recollections the most detestable cant ; but I 
 am \ery much mistaken if he could have surpassed the un- 
 mitigated hypocrisy with which he declared that he blessed 
 the day on which he came into that prison, and that he never 
 would commit another robbery as long as he lived. 
 
 There was one man who was allowed, as an indulgence, to 
 keep rabbits. His room having rather a close siilell in conse- 
 quence, they called to him at the door to come out into the 
 passage. He complied of course, and stood shading his hag- 
 gard face in the unwonted sunlight of the great window, 
 looking as wan and unearthly as if he had been summoned 
 from the grave. He ha'd a white rabbit in his breast ; and 
 when the little creature, getting down upon the ground, stole 
 back into the cell, and he, being dismissed, c*ept timidly after 
 it, I thought it would have been very hard to say in what re- 
 spect the man was the nobler animal of the two. 
 
 There was an English thief, who had been there but a few 
 days out of seven years : a villainous, low-browed, thin-lipped 
 fellow, with a white face ; who had as yet no relish for vis- 
 itors, and who, but for the additional penalty, would have 
 gladly stabbed me with his shoemaker's' knife. There was 
 another German who had entered the jail but yesterday, and 
 who started from his bed when we looked in, and pleaded, in 
 his broken English, very hard for work. There was a poet, 
 who after doing two days' work in every four-and-twenty 
 hours, one for himself and one for the prison, wrote verses 
 about ships (he was by trade a mariner), and " the madden- 
 ing wine-cup," and his friends at home. There were very 
 many of them. Some reddened at the sight of visitors, and 
 some turned very pale. Some two or three had prisoner nurses 
 with them, for they were very sick ; and one, a fat old negro 
 whose leg had been taken off within the jail, had for his at- 
 tendant a classical scholar and an accomplished surgeon him- 
 self a prisoner likewise. Sitting upon the stairs, eno-at^ed in 
 some slight work, was a pretty colored boy. "Is there no 
 
PHILADELPHIA, AA'D ITS SOLITARY PRISON. 683 
 
 refuge for young criminals in Philadelphia, then ? " said I. 
 " Yes, but only for white children.'' Noble aristocracy in 
 crime? 
 
 There was a sailor who had been there upwards of eleven 
 years, and who in a few months' time would be free. Eleven 
 years of solitary confinement ! 
 
 " I am very glad to hear your time is nearly out." What 
 does he say 1 Nothing. Why does he stare at his hands, 
 and pick the flesh upon his fingers, and raise his eyes for an 
 instant, every now and then, to those bare walls which have 
 seen his head turn gray "i It is a way he has sometimes. 
 
 Does he never look men in the face, and does he always 
 pluck at those hands of his, as though he were bent on part- 
 ing skin and bone? It is his humor : nothing more. 
 
 It is his humor too, to say that he does not look forward 
 to going out ; that he is nOt glad the time is drawing near ; 
 that he did look forward to it once, but that was very long 
 ago ; that he has lost all care for eveiytlung. It is his humor 
 to be a helpjess, crushed, and broken man. And, Heaven be 
 his witness that he has his humor thoroughly gratified ! 
 
 There were three young women in adjoining cells, all con- 
 victed at the same time of a conspiracy to rob their prosecu- 
 tor. In the silence and solitude of their lives they had grown 
 to be quite i)eautiful. Their looks were very sad, and might 
 have moved the sternest visitor to tears, but not to that kind 
 ■ of sorrow which the contemplation of the men awakens. One 
 was a young girl ; not twenty, as I recollect ; whose snow- 
 white room was hung with the work of some former prisoner, 
 and upon whose downcast face the sun in all its splendor 
 shone down through the high chink in the wall, where one 
 narrow strip of bright blue sky was visible. She was tery 
 penitent and quiet ; had come to be resigned, she said (and I 
 believe her) ; and had a mind at peace'. " In a word, you 
 are happy here ? " said one of my compsinions. She struggled 
 — she did struggle very hard — to answer. Yes ; bilt raising 
 her eyes, and meeting that glimpse of freedom overhead, she 
 burst into tears, and said, "She tried to be; she uttered no 
 GOmplaint ; but it was natural that she should jsbmetimes long 
 to go out of that one cell: she could not help that" she 
 sobbed, poor thing ! 
 
 I went from cell to cell that day ; and every face I saw, 
 or word I heard» or incident I noted, is present to my mind in 
 all its painfulness. But let me pass them by, for one, more- 
 
68^ AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 pleasant, glance of a prison on the same plan which I after- 
 wards saw at Pittsburg. , . ,, „ ^or-n^r T asked 
 When I had gone over that, in the same nianner, 1 asked 
 the governor if he had any person in his charge^ who was 
 shorfly going out. He had one, he said, whose tiitie^was up 
 next day ; but he had only been a prisoner two years. 
 
 Two years ! I looked back through two years of my own 
 life—out of jail, prosperous, happy, surrounded by blessings, 
 comforts, good-fortune-^and thought how wide a gap it was, 
 and how long those two years passed in solitary captivity 
 would have been. I have the face of this man, who was going 
 to be released next day, before me now. It is almost more 
 memorable in its happiness than the other faces in their mis- 
 ery. How easy and how natural it was for him to say that 
 the system was a good one ; and that the time went " pretty 
 quick — considering ; " and that when a man once felt that he 
 had offended the law, and must satisfy it, " he got alonj, 
 somehow : " and so forth ! 
 
 " What did he call you back to say to you, in that strange 
 flutter ? " I asked of my conductor, when he had locked the 
 door and joined me in the passage. 
 
 " Oh ! That he was afraid the soles of his boots were not 
 fit for walking, as they were a good deal worn when he came 
 in ; and tliat he would thank me very much to« have them 
 mended, ready." 
 
 Those boots had been taken off his feet, and put away 
 with the rest of his clothes, two years before ! 
 
 I took that opportunity of inquiring how they conducted 
 themselves immediately before going out ; adding that I pre- 
 sumed they trembled very much. 
 
 " Well, it's not so much a trembling," was the answer — 
 " though they do quiver — as a complete derangement of the 
 nervous system. They can't sign their names to the book ; 
 sometimes can't even hold the pen ; look about 'em without 
 appearing to know why, or where they are ; and sometimes 
 get up and sit down again, twenty times in a minute. This 
 is when they're in the office, where they are taken with the 
 hood on, as they were brought in. When they get outside 
 the gate, they stop, and look first one' way and then the other; 
 not knowing which to take. Sometimes they stagger as if 
 they were drunk; and sometimes are forced to lean against 
 the fence, they're so bad : — ^but they clear off in course of 
 time." 
 
PHILADELPHIA, AND ITS SOLITARY PRISON. 685 
 
 As I walked among these solitary cells, and looked at the 
 faces of the men within them, I tried to picture to myseK the 
 thoughts and feelings natural to their condition. I imaginedj 
 the hood just taken off, and the scene qf their captivity dis- 
 closed to them in all its dismal monotony. 
 
 At first, the man is stunned. His confinement is a hideous 
 vision ; and his old life a reality. He throws himself upon 
 his bed, and lies there abandoned to despair. By degrees 
 the insupportable solitude and barrenness of the place rouses 
 him from this stupor, and when the trap in his grated door is 
 opened, he humbly begs and prays for work. " Give me 
 some work to do, or I shall go raving mad ! " 
 
 He has it ; and by fits and start;3 applies himself to labor ; 
 but every now and then there comes upon him a burning 
 sense of the years that must be wasted in that stone coffinj 
 and an agony so piercing in the recollection of those who are 
 'hidden from his view and knowledge, that he starts from his 
 seat, and striding up and down the narrow room v>'ith both 
 hands clasped on his uplifted head, hears spirits tempting him 
 to beat his brains out on the wall. 
 
 Again he falls upon his bed, and lies there, moaning. 
 Suddenly he starts up, wondering whether 'any other man. is 
 near ; whether there is another cell like that on either side of 
 him : and listens keenly. 
 
 There is no sound, but other prisoners may be near for 
 all that. He remembers to have heard once, when he little 
 thought of coming here himself, that the cells were so con- 
 structed that the prisoners could not hear each other, though 
 the officers could hear them. Where is the nearest man — 
 upon the right, or on the left ? or is there one in both direc- 
 tions ? Where is he sitting now — with his face to the light ? 
 or is he walking to and fro ? How is he dressed ? Has'he 
 been here long ? Is he much worn away ? Is he very white 
 and spectre-like ? Does he think of his neighbor too ? 
 
 Scarcely venturing to breathe, and listening while he 
 thinks, he conjures up a figure with his back towards him, 
 and imagines it moving about in this next cell. He has no 
 idea of the face, but he is certain of the dark form of a stoop- 
 ing man. In the cell upon the other side, he puts another 
 figure, whose face is hidden from him also. Day after day, 
 and often when he wakes up in the middle of the night, he 
 thinks of these two men until he is almost distracted. He 
 never changes them. There they are always as he first im- 
 
586 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 agined them — an old man on the -right; a younger man upon 
 the left — whose hidden features torture him to death, and 
 have a mystery that makes him tremble. 
 
 The weary days pass on with solemn pace, like mourners 
 at a funeral ; and slowly he begins to feel that the white walls 
 , of the cell have something dreadful in them : that their color 
 13 horrible : that their smooth surface chills his blood ; that 
 there is one hateful corner which tonnents him. Every 
 moi'ning when he wakes, he hides his head beneath the cover- 
 let, and shudders to see the ghastly ceiling looking down 
 upon him. The blessed light of day itself peeps in, an ugly 
 phantom face, through the unchangeable crevice which is his 
 prison window. 
 
 By slow but sure degrees, the terrors of that hateful 
 corner swell until they beset him at all times ; invade his 
 rest, make his dreams hideous, and his nights dreadful. At 
 first, he took a strange dislike to it ; feeling as though it gave 
 birth in his brain to something of corresponding shape, which 
 ought not to be there, and racked his head with pains. Then 
 he began to fear it, then to dream of it, and of men whisper- 
 ing its name and pointing to it. Then he could not bear to 
 look at it, nor yet to turn his back upon it. Now, it is every 
 night the lurking-place of a ghost : a shadow : — a silent 
 something, horrible to see, but whether bird, or beast, or 
 muffled human shape, he cannot tell. 
 
 When he is in his cell by day, he fears the little jfard 
 without. When he is in the yard, he dreads to re-enter the 
 cell. When night comes, there stands the phantom in the 
 corner. If he have the courage to stand in its place, and 
 drive it out (he had once : being desperate), it broods upon 
 lus bed. In the twilight, and always at the same hour, a 
 voice calls to him by name ; as the darkness thickens, his 
 Loom begins to live ; and even that, his comfort, is a hideous 
 figure, watching him till daybreak. 
 
 Again, by slow degrees, these horrible fancies depart from 
 him one by one : returning sometimes, unexpectedly, but at 
 longer intervals, and in less alanning shapes. He has talked 
 upon religious matters with the gentleman who visits him, 
 and has read his Bible, and has written a prayer upon his 
 slate, and hung it up as a kind of protection, and ah assurance 
 of Heavenly companionship. He dreams now, sometimes, of 
 his children or his wife, but is sure that they are dead, or 
 have deserted him. He is easily moved to tears ; is gentle, 
 
PHILADELPHIA, AND ITS SOLITARY PRISON. 
 
 687 
 
 submissive, and broken-spirited. Occasionally, the old agony 
 comes back : a very little thing will revive it ; even a familiar 
 sound, or the scent of summer flowers in the air ; but it does 
 not last long, now : for the world without, has come to be the 
 vision, and this solitary life, the sad reality. 
 
 If his term of imprisonment be short — I mean compara- 
 tively, for short it cannot be — the last half year is almost 
 worse than all ; for then he thinks the prison will take fire 
 and he be burnt in the ruins, or that he is doomed to die 
 within the walls, or that he will be detained on some false 
 charge and sentenced for another term : or that something, 
 no matter what, must happen to prevent his going at large. 
 And this is natural, and impossible to be reasoned against, 
 because, after his long separation from human life, and his 
 great suffering, any event will appear to him more probable 
 in the contemplation, than the being restored to liberty and 
 his fellow-creatures. 
 
 If his period of confinement have been very long, the 
 prospect of release bewilders and confuses him. His broken 
 heart may flutter for a moment, when he thinks of the world 
 outside, and what it might have been to him in all those 
 lonely years, but that is all. The cell-door has been closed 
 too long on all its hopes and cares. Better to have hanged 
 him in the beginning than bring him to this pass, and send 
 him forth to mingle with this kind, who are his kind no more. 
 
 On the haggard face of every man among these prisoners, 
 the same expression sat. I know not what to liken it to. It 
 had something of that strained attention which we see upon 
 the faces of the blind and deaf, mingled with a kind of horror, 
 as though they had all been secretly terrified. In every little 
 chamber that I entered, and at every grate through which I 
 looked, I seemed to see the same appalling countenance. It 
 lives in my memory, with the fascination of a remarkable 
 picture. Parade before my eyes, a hundred men, with one 
 among them . newly released from this solitary suffering, and 
 I would point him out. 
 
 The faces of the women, as I have said, it humanizes and 
 refines. Whether this be because of their better nature, 
 which is elicited in solitude, or because of their being gentler 
 creatures, of greater patience and longer suffering, I do not 
 know ; but so it is. That the punishment is nevertheless, to 
 ffly thinking, fully as cruel and as wrong in their case, as in 
 that of the mew, -I need scarcely add. 
 
(588 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 My firm conviction is that>depe„d^nt of the .^^^^^^^^^ 
 anguish it occasions— an anguish so acute ana 
 doS that all imagination of ^^^^^l^^ wSh rencLs it 
 ity_it wears the mmd into a morbid state wi 
 u^fit for the rough conuct and ^^^^^l-^^Xo^:^^^^^ 
 
 rsh7entM.rpaTs S £c rt/again -rally -he^^^^^ 
 diseased There are many instances on record, of men who 
 have cliosen, or have been condemned, to lives of perfert 
 solitude, but I scarcely remember one, ^ven among sages of 
 strong and vigorous intellect, where its effect has not become 
 apparent in some disordered train of thought, or some gloomy 
 hallucination. What monstrous phantoiiis,_ bred of despon- 
 dency and doubt, and born and reared m solitude have 
 stalked upon the earth, making creation ugly, and darkemng 
 the face of Heaven ! 
 
 Suicides are rare among these prisoners : are almost, 
 indeed, unknown. But no argument in favor of the system, 
 can reasonably be deduced from this circumstance, although 
 it is very often urged. All men who have made diseases of 
 the mind their study, know perfectly well that such extreme 
 depression and despair as will cliange the whole character, 
 and beat down all its powers of elasticity and self- resistance, 
 may be at work within a man, and yet stop short of self-de- 
 struction. This is a common case. 
 
 That it makes the senses dull, and by degrees impairs the 
 bodily faculties, I am quite sure. I remarked to those who 
 were with me in this very establishment at Philadelphia, that 
 the criminals who had been there long, were deaf. They, 
 who were in the habit of seeing these men constantly, were 
 perfectly amazed at the idea, which they regarded as ground- 
 less and fanciful. And yet the very first prisoner to whom 
 they appealed — one of their own selection — confirmed my im- 
 pression (which was unknown to him) instantly, and said, 
 with a genuine air it was impossible to doubt, that he couldn't 
 think how it happened, but he was growing very dull of hear- 
 ing- 
 
 That it is a singularly unequal punishment, and affects the 
 worst man least, there is no doubt. In its superior efficiency 
 as a means of reformation, compared with that other code of 
 regulations which allows the prisoners to work in company with- 
 out communicating together, I have not the smallest faith. All 
 the instances of reformatiota. that were mentioned to me were 
 
PHILADELPHIA, AND ITS SOLITARY PRISON. 689 
 
 of a kind that might have been^-and I have no doubt what- 
 ever, in my own mind, would have been — equally well brought 
 about by the Silent System. With regard to such men as the 
 negro burglar and the English thief, even the most enthusiastic 
 have scarcely any hope of their conversion. 
 
 It seems to me that the objection that nothing wholesome 
 or good has ever had its growth in such unnatural solitude, 
 and that even a dog or any of the more intelligent among 
 beasts, would pine, and mope, and rust away, beneath its 
 influence, would be in itself a sufficient argument against this 
 system. But when we recollect, in additicto, how very cruel 
 and severe it is and that a solitary life is always liable to 
 peculiar and distinct objections of a most deplorable nature, 
 which have arisen here, and call to mind, moreover, that the 
 choice is not between this system, and a bad or ill-considered 
 one, but between it and another which has worked well, and 
 is, in its whole design and practice, excellent ; there is surely 
 more than sufficient reason for abandoning a mode of punish- 
 ment attended by so little hope or promise, and fraught, 
 beyond dispute, with such a host of evils. 
 
 As a relief to its contemplation, I will close this chapter 
 with a curious story arising out of the same theme, which was 
 related to me, on the occasion of this visit, by some of the 
 gentlemen concerned. 
 
 At one of the periodical meetings of the inspectors of this 
 prison, a -working man of Philadelphia presented himself 
 before the Board, and earnestly requested to be placed in 
 solitary confinement. On being asked what motive could 
 possibly prompt ' him to make this strange demand, he an- 
 swered that he had an irresistible propensity to get drunk ; 
 that he was constantly indulging it, to his great misery and 
 ruin ; that he had no power of resistance ; that he wished to 
 be put beyond the reach of temptation ; and that he could 
 think of no better way than this. It was pointed out to him, 
 in reply, that -the prison was for criminals who had been tried 
 and sentenced by the law, and could not be made available 
 for any such fanciful purposes ; he was exhorted to abstain 
 from intoxicating drinks, as he surely might if he would ; and 
 received other very good advice, with which he retired, ex- 
 ceedingly dissatisfied with the result of his application. 
 
 He came again, and again, and again, and was so very 
 earnest and importunate, that at last they took counsel to- 
 gether, and said, " He will certainly qualify himself for ad- 
 
5go AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 mission, if we reject him any more Let us shut him "p. 
 He will soon be glad to go away, and then we shall get rid of 
 him." So they made him sign a statement whxch would pre- 
 vent his ever sustaining an action for false imprisonment, to 
 the effect that his incarceration was voluntary, and of his own 
 seeking : they requested him to take notice that the officer in 
 attendance had orders to release him at any hour of the day 
 or night, when he might knock upon his door for that purpose ; 
 but desired him to understand, that once going out, he would 
 not be admitted any more. These conditions agreed upon, 
 and he still remaining in the same mind, he was conducted to 
 the prison, and shut up in one of the cells. 
 
 In this cell, the man, who had not the firmness to leave a 
 glass of liquor standing untasted on a table before him — in 
 this cell, in solitary confinement, and working every day at 
 his trade of shoemaking, this man remained nearly two years. 
 His health beginning to fail at the expiration of that time, tlie 
 surgeon recommended that he should work occasionally in 
 the garden ; and as he liked the notion very much, he went 
 about this new occupation with great cheerfulness. 
 
 He was digging here, one summer day, very industriously, 
 when the wicket in the outer gate chanced to be left open : 
 showing, beyond, the well-remembered dusty road and sun- 
 burnt fields. The way was as free to him as to any man 
 living, but he no sooner raised his head and caught sight of 
 it, all shining in the light, than, with the involuntary instinct 
 of a prisoner, he cast away his spade, scampered off as fast as 
 his legs would carry him, and never once looked back. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 WASHINGTON. THE LEGISLATURE. AND THE PRESIDENT^ 
 
 HOUSE. 
 
 We left Philadelphia by steamboat, at sk o'clock oneverv 
 cold mormng, and turned our faces towards Washington 
 
 In the course of this day's journey, as on subsequent oc- 
 casions, we encountered some' Englishmen (smaU farmer^ 
 perli^ps, or country publicans at home) who were seSfil 
 
WASHINGTON. ggj 
 
 America, and were travelling on their own affairs. Of all 
 grades and kinds of men that jostle one in the public convey- 
 ances of the States, these are often the most intolerable and 
 the most insufferable companions. United to every disagree- 
 able characteristic that the worst kind of American travellers 
 possess, these countrymen of ours display an amount of inso- 
 lent conceit and cool assumption of superiority, quite mon- 
 strous to behold. In the coarse familiarity of their approach, 
 and the effrontery of their inquisitiveness (which they aire in 
 great haste to assert, as if they panted to revenge themselves 
 upon . the decent old restraints of home), they surpass any 
 native specimens that came within my range of observation : 
 and I often grew so patriotic when I saw and heard them, 
 that I ;would cheerfully have submitted to a reasonable fine, 
 if I could have given any other country in the whole world, 
 the honor of claiming them for its children. 
 
 As Washington may be called the head-quarters of tobacco- 
 tinctured saliva, the time is come when I must confess, with- 
 out any disguise, that the prevalence of those two odious 
 practices of chewing and expectorating began about this time 
 to'be anything but agreeable, and soon became most offensive 
 and sickening. In all the public places of America, this 
 iUthy custom is recognized^ In the courts of law, the judge 
 has his spittoon, the crier his, the witness his, and the pris- 
 oner his ; while the jurymen and spectators are provided for, 
 as so many men who in the course of nature must desire to 
 spit incessantly. In the hospitals, the students of medicine 
 are requested, by notices upon the wall, to eject their tobacco 
 juice into the boxes provided for that purpose, and not to dis- 
 color the stairs. In public buildings, visitors are implored, 
 tlirough the same agency, to squirt the essence of their quids, 
 or "plugs," as I have heard them called by gentlemen learned 
 "in this kind of sweetmeat, into the national spittoons; and not 
 about the bases of the marble columns. But in some parts, 
 this custom is inseparably mixed up with every meal and 
 morning call, and with all the transactions of social life. The 
 ; Stranger, who follows in the track I took myself, will find it in 
 its fuU bloom and glory, luxuriant in all its alarming reckless- 
 ness, at Washington. And let him not persuade himself (as I 
 once did, to my shame) that previous tourists have exagge^rated 
 its extent. The thing itself is an exaggeration of nastiness, 
 which cannot be outdone. 
 
 On board this steamboat, there were two young gentlemen 
 
6g 2 AMERICAN NO TES. 
 
 With shirt-collars reversed as usual, and armed with very big 
 walking-sticks ; who planted two seats in the middle ot the 
 deck, at a distance of some four paces apart ; took out their 
 tobacco-boxes ; and sat down opposite each other^to chew. 
 In less than a quarter of an hour's time, these hopeftll youths 
 had shed abotit them on the clean boards, a copious shower 
 of yellow rain ; clearing, by that means, a kind of magic circle, 
 within whose limits no intn.iders dared to come, and which 
 they never failed to refresh and re-refresh before a spot was 
 dry. This being before breakfast, rather disposed me, I con- 
 fess, to nausea ; but looking attentively at one of the expec- 
 torators, I plainly saw that he was young in chewing, and felt 
 inwardly uneasy himself. A glow of delight came over me at 
 this discovery ; and as I marked his face turn paler and paler, 
 and saw tne ball of tobacco in his left cheek, quiver with his 
 suppressed agony, while yet he spat, and chewed, and spat 
 again, in emulation of his older friend, I could have fallen on 
 his neck and implored him to go on for hours. 
 
 We all sat down to a comfortable breakfast in the cabin 
 below, where there was no more hurry or confusion than 
 at such a meal in England, and where there was certainly 
 greater politeness exhibited than at most of our stage-coach 
 banquets. At about nine o'clock we arrived at the railroad 
 station, and went on by the cars. At noon we turned out 
 again, to cross a wide river in another steamboat ; landed at 
 a continuation of the railroad on the opposite shore ; and went 
 on by other cars ; in which, in the course of the next hour or 
 so, we crossed by wooden bridges, each a mile in length, two 
 creeks, called respectively Great and Little Gunpowder. The 
 water in both was blackened with flights of canvas-backed 
 ducks, which are most delicious eating, and abound here- 
 abouts at that season of the year. 
 
 These bridges are of wood, have no parapet, and are only 
 just wide enough for the passage of the trains ; which, in the 
 event of the smallest accident, would inevitably be plunged 
 into the river. They are startling contrivances, and are most 
 agreeable when passed. 
 
 We stopped to dine at Baltimore, and being now in Mary- 
 land, were waited on, for the first time by slaves. The sensa- 
 tion of exacting any service from human creatures who are 
 bought and sold, and being, for the time, a party as it were to 
 their condition, is not an enviable one. The institution exLsts 
 perhaps, in its least repulsive and most mitigated form in such 
 
WASHINGTON. 6^3 
 
 a town as this; but it is slavery; and though I was with 
 respect to it, an innocent man, its presence filled me with a 
 sense of shame and self-reproach. IK ui «// 
 
 After dinner, we went down to the railroad again, and 
 took our seats iii the cars for Washington. Being rather early, 
 those rtien and boys who happened to have nothing particular 
 to do, and were owious in foreigners, came (according to cus- 
 tom) round the carriage in which I sat; let down all the win- 
 dows; thrust in their heads and shoulders; hooked ^them- 
 selves on conveniently, by their elbows ; and fell to compar- 
 ing notes on ; the subject of my personal appearance, with as 
 much indifference as if I were a stuffed figure. I never gained 
 so much uncompromising information with reference to my 
 own nbSb and eyes, and various impressions Wrought by my 
 mouth and chin oh different minds, and how my head looks 
 when, it is viewed from behind, as on these occasions. Some 
 gentlemen were only satisfied by exercising .their sense of 
 toiich; and the boys, (who are surprisingly precocious in 
 America) were seldom satisfied, even by that, but would 
 return to the- charge over and over again. Many a budding 
 president has walked into my room with, his cap on his head 
 and his hands in Ms pockets, and stared ^t me for two \whple 
 houjrs ■; occaslonaHly refreshing himself with a tweak of his 
 nose, or la draiight from the water-jug ; or by walking to the 
 windows and- inviting other boys in the street below, to come 
 up and do Ukewise: crying, "Here he is!" "Come on!" 
 " Brihg all your brothers ! " with other hospitable entreaties of 
 that nature. ,ni 
 
 ! We reached Washington at about half-past six that even- 
 ing,; and had upon the way a beautiful view of the Capitol, 
 which is a fine building of the Corinthian , order^ placed upon 
 a- .noble and cbrhhianding eminence. Arrived at the hotel ; 
 I saw no more of the place that night ; being very tired and 
 glad to get to bed. - ,f-^' :, iiJr/ •, ir -jiu 
 
 Bieiakfast over next ihiJarniing^ I walk about the streets for 
 an; hour or two, and, coming likdwe, throw up the window in 
 the front and back, and look out. Hei?e is Washington, fresh 
 in my mind and under my eye. , ,i .if 
 
 Take the worst parts <rt the City Road and Pentooville, or 
 the straggiling outskirts of Paris, where the houses are smallest, 
 puesemng. all tbeii! oddities, but especially the small shops and 
 (|iKeMSBgfej,.occupifedin PentennTilJe (but not in Washington) by 
 teniture^hrokei*, keiepers of poor eating-houses, and fanciers 
 30 
 
694 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 of birds. Burn the whole down ; build it up again in wood 
 and 'plaster; widen it a little; throw in part of St. Jolitt's 
 Wood ; put green blinds outside all the private houses, with: a 
 red curtain and a white one in eVery window ; plough up all 
 the roads ; plant a great deal of coarse turf in every place 
 where it ought not to be ; erect three handsome builditigs' in 
 stone and marble, anywhere, but the more entirely out of 
 everybody's way the better; call one the Post Office, one the 
 Patent Office, and one the Treasury ; make it scorching hot 
 in the morning, and freezing cold in the afternoon, with an 
 occasional tornado of wind and dust ; leave a brick-field with- 
 out the bricks, in all central places where a street may 
 naturally be expected : and that's Washington. fi ^ 
 
 '• The hotel in which we live, is a long row of small houses 
 fronting on the street, and opening at the back upon a com- 
 mon yard, in which hangs a great triangle. Whenever. a ser- 
 vant is watited, somebody beats ion this triangle from' one 
 stroke up to seven, according to the number of the house in 
 which his presence is required' 5 and as all the servants are 
 always being wanted, and none of them ever come, thiseivli- 
 iemhg= engine is in full performance the whole day througli. 
 Cloihes ate' dr}-ing;in the same yard ; female slavfesj with cot- 
 ton handkerchiefs twisted round their heaids>-aM! running to 
 and fro on the hotel business ; black waiters drossiknd recross 
 with dishes in their hands ; two great dogs are i playing tipcHi 
 a mound of loose bricks in the centre. of tfee lioile sqdare;^a 
 pig is turning up his stomach to the sun, and grunting "thaVs 
 comfortable ! " ; and neither the men, nor the women, nor the 
 dogs, nor the pig, nor any created creature, takes the small- 
 est notice of the triangle, which is tingling madly all the time. 
 I walk to the front window, ajid look across the road upon 
 a loiig, straggling row of -houses, one story high, terminating,, 
 nearly opposite, but a little to the left, in a melancholy piece 
 of waste ground with frowzy grass, which looks like a imall 
 piece of country that hias takejj to drinking, and has quite lost 
 itself. Standing anyhow and all wrong, upon this open snacej 
 like something meteoric that, has fallen down ffbm die moon ' 
 is an odd, lop-sided, one-eyed kind of wooden building- that 
 looks like a church, witii a flag-staff as long as itself srickin? 
 out of a steeple something larger than a tea-chest. ' Under 
 the window, is a small stand of coaches, whose islave-driver^ 
 ar6 siinnihg themselves on the steps of our dbor, and talking 
 idly togetJier. The three most obtrusive houses near at hand 
 
WASHINGTON. (jns 
 
 are the three meanest. On one — a shop, which.never has any 
 thing in the window, and never has the door open — is painted 
 in large characters, " The City Lunch." At another, which 
 looks like a backway to somewhere else, but is an independ- 
 ent building in itself, oysters are procurable in every style. 
 At the third, which is a verj', very little tailor's shop, pants; 
 are fixed to order; or in other words, pantaloons are made to. 
 measure. And that is^ our street, in Washington. 
 
 It is (Sometimes called the Gity of Magnificent Distances, 
 but it m^ht with greater propriety be termed the Citypf Mag- 
 nificent Intentions ; for it is only on taking a bjrd's-eye tiew 
 of it.from the top of the; Capitol, that one can at all compre- 
 hend tiie vast designs of its projector, an aspiring French-, 
 man. Spacious avenues,, that begin in nothing, and lead no- 
 where ; streets, miiorlong, that only want houses, roads and 
 inhabitants; publicibuildings-.-. that need but a public to be 
 complete ; and ornaments of -gifegt thoroughfares, which only 
 Iffljkigreatthoroughfares to ornament— are its leading features. 
 One i-might- fancy the season oveii, and most, of the houses- 
 gone out of town for ever with their masters. To the admirers 
 of cities it is a Barmecide Feast : a pleasant field for the im- 
 agination to rove in ; k monument raised to a deceased pro- 
 ject, with' not even a legible inscription to record its departed 
 greatness. 
 
 Such as it is, it is likely to remain. It was originally chosen 
 for the seat of iGovearnihenti, as a means of averting the conflict- 
 ing jealousies and interests: of the different States ; and very 
 probably, too, as beingrempte from .mobs : a consideration not 
 to be slighted, even in America. . It has no trade or commerce 
 of its own : having litde. or no population beyond the Presi- 
 dent and his estaiblish&uent ; the members of the legislature 
 who reside there during the session ; the ^ Goyelrnment clerks 
 and officers employed in the various departments ; the keep- 
 ers of the hotels and boarding-houses ; and the.tradesmen who. 
 supply theirJtables. It is very unhealthy. Few people, would- 
 live in Wastiington, I take it^ who were not obliged to reside 
 there; and the. tides of emigration and : speculation, thos© 
 rapid and regardless currents, are little likely to flow at any 
 time towards such dull and sluggish; water. 
 
 The principal features of the Capitol, are, of course, the 
 two houses of Assembly. But there is, besides,., in the, centre 
 of the building, a fine rotunda, ninety-six feet in diameter, 
 and ninety-six high, whose circular wall is divided into com- 
 
696 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 partments, ornamented by historical :pictures. Four of thesa 
 have for their subjects prominent events in the revolutionary 
 struggle. - They were painted by Colonel Trumbull, himself a 
 member of Washington's staff at the time of their occurrence; 
 from which circumstance they -derive a peculiar interest of 
 their own. In this same hall Mr. Greenough's large statue of 
 Washington has been lately placed. It has great merits of 
 course, but it struck me as being rather strdned and violent 
 for its subject. I could wish, however, to harfi. seen it in a 
 better light than it can ever be viewed in, where it stands. . 
 
 There is a very pleasant and commodious librafyiin the 
 Capitol ; and from a balcony in front, the bird's eye. viewr,. of 
 which I have just spoken, may be had, togethetrwith a l^auf 
 tiful project of the adjacent country. In -one of: the orna^: 
 ihented portions of the building, there is a figure of Justice ; 
 whereunto the Guide Book says, " the artist at first contem- 
 plated giving more of nudity, but hewas warned that the pub- 
 lic; sentiment in this country would not admit of it, and in his 
 caution he has gone,' perhaps, into tiie opposite extreme." 
 Poor Justice ! she has beeas-made to wear much stranger gar- 
 ments in America than: those she pines in, in the Gapitol. 
 Let ufr hope that she has changed her dress-maker since they 
 were fashioned, and that the public sentiment of the country 
 did not cut out the clothes she hides her lovely figure in, just 
 now. .-■■■:-':'■ 
 
 The House of Representatives is a beautiful and spacious 
 hall, of semicircular shape, supported by handsome pillars. 
 One part of the gallery is appropriated to the ladies, and 
 there they sit in front rows, and come in and go out, as at a 
 play or concert. The chair is canopied, and raised consider- 
 ably above the floor of the House ; and every member has an 
 easy chair and a writing desk to himself : -*hich is denounced 
 by some people out of doors as a hiost unfortunate and inju- 
 dicious arrangement, tending to long sittii^s : and prosaic 
 Speeches. It is an elegant chamber to look ati.but a singiriarly 
 bad one forall purposes of hearing. Th* .Senate, *vhich fa 
 smaller, is free from this objection, and is exceedingly, well 
 adapted to the uses for which :it -is designed. The sittings, 1 
 need hardly add, take place in. the day"; andjthe parliament- 
 ary forms arensodelled on thoSeiof the old country. 
 
 I was sometimes askedi' in my progress through other 
 places, whether I had not been very much impressed by the 
 head^ of the lawmakers at Washington; meaning not their 
 
WASHINGTON. gg7 
 
 chief 9 ajjd le!a,ders, but literally their individu^ and personal 
 heads, 'wherieo.n their hair greyr, and whejeby the phrenologi- 
 cal qharacter of each legislator was expressed ; and I almost 
 as pjEten^struck my questioner dumb with indignant consterna- 
 tion by ansMvering " No, that I didn't remember being at all 
 overcome.'* As I must, at whatever hazard, repeatthe avowal 
 here, I will follow it up by relgtipg my impressions on this 
 subject In as few words as possible.^ 
 
 In the first pla.ce — it may be from some imperfect devel- 
 (9pijient of my organ pf veneration — I do. not remember hav- 
 ing ever fainted awajj or having even been moved to tears of 
 joyful pride, at sight pf any legislative body. I have borne 
 the House of Commons like a man, and have yielded to no 
 l^ieakpe§s, but slmnb/eii in the House of Lords. I have seen 
 elections from borough and county,; and have never been im- 
 pelled (no jinatter which party won) to daitiage my hat by 
 throwing it up into, fhe air in triumph, or to crack my voice by 
 shouting forth, any reference to our Glorious Constitution, to 
 the noble purity pf our independent voters, or the unimpeach- 
 able integrity of our independent members. Having withstood 
 such strong j^(:tacks upon my fortitude, it is .possible' that I 
 njay be of a cold and insensible toiiperament, amounting to 
 iciness, in sjjch njatters ; and therefore rhy impressions of the 
 live pillars of the Capitol at Washington must be received' wi'th 
 such grains of allowance as this free confession may seem to 
 demand. 
 
 Did I see in this public bddy an assemblage of men, bound ■ 
 together in the sacred names of Liberty and Freedom, and so 
 asserting the chaste dignity of tJioBe twin goddesses, ih all 
 their discussions, as to exalt at once the Eternal Principles 1x3 
 wliich their names are given, and their own character and the 
 Gjjajacter pf their countrymeni in the admiring eyes of the 
 whole ivprld ? 
 
 . It was but a week, since an aged, gray-haired man, a last- 
 ing honor to the land that gave him birth, who has done good 
 splice tp his countrj^ as his forefathers did, and who will be 
 Jieniem,bered scores .vipoo scores of years after the worms bred 
 in its corruption, are but so many grains of dust — it was but 
 a week, since this old man had stood for days upon his trial 
 before this very body, charged with having dared to assert 
 the infamy of that traffic, which has for its accursed merchan- 
 dise men and women, and their unborn children. Yes. And 
 publicly exhibited in. -the same city all the while; gilded, 
 
6gg AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 framed and glazed ; hung up for general, adrniration; shown 
 to strangers riot with shatae, but pride ; its face not tuinea 
 towards the wall, itself not ta:k«n- down and burned; is tne 
 Unanimous Declaration of the Thirteen United States ot 
 America, which solemnly declares that All Men are created 
 Equal; and are eindowed by their Creator with the Inalien- 
 able Rights of Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of HappfeeSs ! 
 
 It was not a month, since this same body had sat_ calmly 
 by, and heard a man, one Of themselves, with oaths which beg- 
 gars in their drink reject, threaten to cut another's thfftat 
 from ear to ear. There he sat, among them ; not crushed by 
 the general feeling of the assembly, but as good a man as any. 
 There was but a week to come, and another of that body, 
 for doing his duty to those who sent him there ; for claiming 
 in a Republic the Liberty and Freedom of expressing their 
 sentiments, and making known their prayer ; would be tried, 
 found guilty, and have strong censure passed upon him by the 
 rest. His "was a grave offence indeed ; for years before, he 
 had risen up and said, " A gang of male • and female slaves 
 for sale, warranted to breed like cattle, linked to each other 
 by iron fetters, are passing now along the open street beneath 
 the windows of your Temple of Equality I Look ! " But 
 there are many kinds of hunters engaged in the Pursuit of 
 Happiness, and they go variously armed. It is the Inalien- 
 able Right of some among them, to take the field after their 
 Happiness equipped with cat and cartwhip, stocks, and iron 
 collar, and to shout their view halloa ! (always in praise cf 
 Liberty) to the music of clanking chains and'bloody stripes.' 
 
 Where sat the many legislators of coarseJihreats ; of words 
 and blows such as coalheavers deal upon each othe'r, when 
 they forget their breeding ? On every side. Every session 
 had its anecdotes Of that kind, and the actors were all there. 
 Did I recognize in this assembly, a body of men, who, ap- 
 plying themselves. in a new world to correct some of the false- 
 hoods and vices of the old, purified the avenues to Public 
 Lifp, paved the dirty way!s to Place and Power, debated and 
 made laws for the Common Good, and had no party but their 
 Country? 
 
 I saw in them, the wheels that move the meanest perver- 
 sion of virtuous Political Machinery that the worst tools ever 
 wrought. Despicable trickery at elections; under-handed 
 tamperings'with public officers ; cowardly attacks upon oppti'- 
 nents, with scurrilous newspapers for shields, and hired oens 
 
WASHINGTON. 699 
 
 for daggers j shameful trucklings to mercenary knaves, whose 
 claim to be considered, is, that every day and week they sow 
 new crops of ruin with tlieir venal types^ which are the 
 dragon'steeth of yore, in everything but : sharpness ; aidings 
 and abettings of every bad inclination in. the popular mind, 
 and- artful suppressions of all its good influences:; suck things 
 as these, and in a word, Dishonest I^" action in its. most de- 
 praved and most unblushing form, stared out from every corner 
 of the crowded hall. 
 
 Did I see among themj the intelligence and fefinemeht : 
 the true, honest, patriotic heart of America ? Here and there, 
 were drops of its blood and life, but they scarcely colored the 
 stream of desperate ad ventncers which sets that way for profit 
 and for pay. It. is the game of these men, and of their profii- 
 gateorgams to make the strife of politics So fierce 3;nd brutal, 
 and so destructive of all self-respect in worthy men, tbat.sensi- 
 tive and delicate-minded persons shall be kept aloof, and they, 
 and such as they, be left to battle out their selfish views : un- 
 checked. And thus this lowest of all scrambling fights goes 
 on, and they who in other countries would, from : their intelli- 
 gence and station^ most aspire to make the laws, do here re- 
 coil the farthest from that degradation. 
 
 jiThat there are, among the: representatives of the people 
 in both Houses, and among all parties,. some men of high 
 character and great abilities, I need not say. The foreinost 
 among those politicians who are known in Europe, have, been 
 already described, and i see no - reason to depart from • the 
 rule I have laid down for my- guidance, of abstaining from all 
 mention of individuals. It will be sufficient to ad3, that to 
 the most favorable accounts that have been written of them, 
 I more than fully and most heartily subscribe ; and. that, per- 
 sonal intercourse and free cominuiiication have bred within 
 me, not the result predicted in the very doubtful proverb, but 
 increased admiration and respect. They are striking men to 
 look at, hard to: deceive, prompt to .act, lions in energy, 
 Crichtons iii varied accomplishments, Indians in fire of eye 
 and gesture, Americans in strong and .generous impulse j and 
 they-jais Well represent the honor and wisdom of their country 
 atliome,-as the distinguished gentleman who is now its Min- 
 ister at the British Court sustains its highest character abroad. 
 
 I. visited both houses nearly every day, during my stay in 
 Washington. On my initiatory, visit to the House of Repi-e- 
 sentatives, they divided against a decision of the chair; but 
 
yoo AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 the chair won. The second time I went, the member who 
 was speaking, .being interrupted by a laugh, mimicked it, 
 as one child would in quarrelling with another, and added, 
 " that he would make honorable gentlemen opposite, sing out 
 a little more on tlie other side of their mouths presently." 
 But interruptions are rare ; the speaker being usually heard 
 in silence. There are more quarrels, than with us,' and more 
 threatenings than gentlemen are accustomed to exchange in 
 any civilized society of which we have record ; but farm-yard 
 imitations have not- as yet been imported from the Parliament 
 of the United Kingdom. The feature in oratorj'^ which ap- 
 pears to be the most practiced, and most relished, is the con- 
 stant repetition of the same idea or shadow of an idea in fresh 
 words J and the' inquiry out of doors is not, "What did he 
 say ? " but, " How long did he speak ? " Thiese, however, are 
 but enlargements of a principle which prevails elsewhere. 
 
 The Senate is a dignified and decorous body, and its pro- 
 ceedings are • conducted with much gravity and order. Both 
 houses are handsomely carpeted 5 but the state to which these 
 carpets are. reduced by the usniversal disregard of the spit- 
 toon with which every honorable member is accommodated, 
 and the extraordinary improvements on the pattern which are 
 squirted and dabbled upon it in every direction, do not admit 
 of being described. I will merely observe, that I strongly 
 recommend all strangers not to look at the floor ; and if they 
 happen to drop anything^- though it be their purse, not to pick 
 it up with an ungloved hand on any account. 
 
 It is ^somewhat remarkable too, at first, to say the ileast, 
 to see so many honorable members with swelled faces ; and 
 it is scarcely less remarkable to discover that this appearance 
 is caused by the quantity of tobacco they contrive to stow 
 within the hollow of the cheek. It is strange enough too, to 
 see an honorable gentleman leaning back in his tilted chair 
 With his legs on the desk before him, shaping a convenient 
 "plug" with his penknife, and when it is iquite .ready for use, 
 shooting the: old one from his mouth, as from a pop-gun, and 
 clapping the new one in its place. 
 
 I was surprised to observe that even steady old ehewers 
 of great experience, are not always good marksmen, which has 
 rather mclmed me to doubt that general proficiency witb the 
 rifle, of which we have he^rd so much in England. Several 
 gentlemen called upon me who, ih the course of conversation 
 frequently missed the spittooa at five paces ; and c«ie/(but he 
 
WASflWG TON. y o I 
 
 *as certainly short-lighted) mistook the closed saeh for the 
 open window, at three. On another occasion, when' I dined 
 out, and was sitting with two ladies and some gentlemen 
 round a fipe' before dinner, one of the company fell short of 
 the fiije:#lace,isi(X distinct times. I am disposed to think, 
 however, that this was occasioned by his not aimiag at that 
 object ; as there, was a white marble hearth before the fender, 
 /whiehiwas more convenient, and may have suited his purpose 
 better. 
 
 The Patent Office at Wasloington, furnishes an extraor- 
 dinary example of American enterprise and ingenuity ; for 
 the immense number of models it contains, are the accu- 
 mulated inventions of only five years ; the whole of the 
 previous 'eoHection baving been destroyed by fire. The 
 elegant structure in which they are arranged, is one of des^n 
 rather than execution, for there is but one side erected out of 
 four, though the works are stopped. The Post Office is a 
 very fOEtipact and very beautiful building. In one of the de- 
 partments, among a collection <!i£ rare and curious articles, are 
 .deposited the {ffesents which have been made from time to 
 time to the American ambassadors at foreign courts by the 
 various : potentates to whom they ■w^ere the accredited agents 
 of the Republic ; gifts which by the law tbey are not permitted 
 to retain. I confess that I looked upon this aS a very painful 
 exhibition, and one by no means flattering to the national 
 standard of honesty and honor. That can scarcely be a high 
 state of moral feeling which imagines a -gentleman of repute 
 and station, likely to be corrupted, in the discharge of liis 
 duty, by the present erf a snuff-box, or a richly-mounted sw<>rd, 
 or an Eastern shawl ; and surely iljie Nation who reposes con- 
 fidence in heria$)p0inted servants, is. likely to be better- served, 
 than she who makes.'tbem the subject of such very mean and 
 paltry suspicions. 
 
 I At George Town, in the suburbs, there is a Jesuit College ; 
 idejightfujly situated, and, so far as I 'had an opportunity of 
 seeing, weU managed. Many persons whO; are not members 
 of the Romish Church, avail themselves, I believe, of these 
 mstitu!tions,,and'of-..t]jie advantageous oppoiitunities they afford 
 for the education erf their children. The heights of this neigli- 
 borte)od, above tibe; Potomac, Rivear, are very picturesque : and 
 are free, I should conceive, froji) same of the insalubrities of 
 W^hington. Tbfc air, at ttlat eilevatiDn* was quite eodl and 
 refie^r^,: whesn in the city it was burning hot. 
 
702 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 The President's mansion is more like an English club- 
 house, both within and without, than any other kind of estab- 
 lishment with which I can compare it. The ornamental 
 ground about it has been laid out in garden walks ; they are 
 pretty, and agreeable to the eye ; though - they have _ that 
 uncomfortable air of havirtg been made yesterday, which is far 
 from favorable to the display of such beauties. 
 
 My first visit to this house was on the morning after my 
 arrival, when I was carried thither by an official gentleman, 
 who was so kind as to charge himself witli my presentation to 
 the President. 
 
 We entered a large hall, and having twice or thrice rung 
 a bell which nobody answered, walked without further cere- 
 mony through the rooms on the ground floor, as divers other 
 gentlemen (mostly with their hats on, and their hands in their 
 pockets) were doing very leisurely. Some of these had ladies 
 with them, to whom they vi^ere showing the premises ; others 
 were lounging on the chairs and sofas ; others, in a perfect 
 state of exhaustion from listlessness, were yawning drearily. 
 The greater portion of this assemblage were rather asserting 
 their supremacy than doing anything else, as they had no par- 
 ticular business there, that anybody knew of. A few were 
 closely eyeing the movables, as if to make;quite sure that the 
 President (who was far from popular) had not made away 
 with any of the furniture, or sold the fixtures for his private 
 beneiit. 
 
 After glancing at these loungers-; who were scattered over 
 a pretty drawing-room, opening upon a terrace which com- 
 manded a beautiful prospect of the river and the adjacent 
 country ; and who were sauntering too, about a larger state- 
 room called the Eastern Drawing-room ; we went up stairs into 
 another chamber, where were certain visitors, waiting for au- 
 diences. At sight of my conductor, a black in plain clotlies 
 and yellow slippers who was gliding noiselessly about, and 
 whispering messages ill the ears of the more impatient; made 
 a sign of reCogflition, and glided off to announce him. 
 
 We had previously looked into another chamber fitted all 
 round with a great bare wooden desk or counter, whereon lay 
 files of newspapers, to which sundry gentlemen were referring. 
 But there were no such means of beguiling the time in this 
 apartment, which was as unpromising and tiresome as any 
 waiting-room in one of our public establishments, or any phy- 
 sician's dining-rbojn during his hours of consultation at home. 
 
WASHINGTON. ^03 
 
 There were some fifteen or twenty persons in the room. 
 One, a tall, wiry, muscular old man^ from the west ; sunburnt 
 and swarthy ; with a brown white hat on his lj;nees, and a giant 
 umbrella resting between his legs ; who sat bolt upright in his 
 chair, frowning steadily at, the carpet, and twitching the h^rdi 
 lines about his mouth, as if he had ma,de up his mind ;',' to fix " 
 the President on what he had to say, and wouldn't bate hinj a 
 grain. Another, a Kentucky fanner:, six-f^et-six ii^ height, 
 with his hat on, and his hands under his coat-tails, virhq, leaned 
 against the wall and kicked the floor with his. heel, as though 
 he had Tiitoe's head under his shoe, and were literally "killing " 
 him. A third, an oval-faced, bilious-lpoking, man, jvith sleek 
 black bair ■ cropped close, and whiskers, and beard shaved 
 down to blue dots, who sucked the head of a thick stick, and 
 from time to time took it out of his mouth, to see how it was 
 getting an. A fourth did nothing but whistle. A fifth; did 
 nothing but spit. And indeed all these gentlemen were- sp 
 very persevering and energetic in this latter particular, and 
 bestowed their favors so abundantly upon the carpet, that I 
 take it for granted the Presidential house-maids have high 
 wages, or to speak more genteelly, an ample ^mou\>t;of " com- 
 pensation : " which is the American word . for salary, in the 
 case of all public servants. 
 
 We had not waited in this room many minutes, .before the 
 black messenger returned, and. conducted us into another of 
 smaller dimensions, where, at a business-like table coyered 
 with papers, sat the President hjmself. He Iqoked spmewhat 
 worn and noxious, and well he might ; being at, war with eveiy- 
 body-T-but the expression of.- his fa,ce was mild and pleasant, 
 and his manner was remarkably Un^ecteci, gentlemanly, and 
 agreeable. I thoi^ht that in his wjhole carriage, and de- 
 meanor, he became bis station singularly well. 
 
 . Being advised that the sensible etiquette of the republican 
 court, admitted of a traveller, like myself, declining wit^oiit 
 ;aiiy! impropriety, an invitation to dinner, which did not reach 
 me, until I had concluded my arrangements: for leaving Wash- 
 ington some days ■ before that to which it referred, I only 
 returned to this house once. .It was on. the occasion of one 
 of those general assemblies which are held on certain nigbjs, 
 between the hours of nine and twelve o'clock, and are called, 
 rather oddly. Levees. . 
 
 I went, with my wife at about ten. There was a pretfy 
 dense crowd of carriages and people in the court-yard, and so 
 
yo^ AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 far as I ebuld make out, there were no very clear regulations 
 for the taking up or setting down of eompany. There were 
 certainly no policemen to soothe startled horses, either by 
 sawing at their bridles of flourishing truncheons m their eyes ; 
 and I am ready to make oath that no inoffensive persons were 
 knocked violently on the head, or poked acutely m their 
 backs or stomachs ; or brought to a stand-still by any such 
 gentle means, and then taken into custody, for not moving 
 on. But there was no confusion or disorder. Our carriage 
 reached the porch in its turn, without any blustering, swearing, 
 shouting, backing, or other disturbance : and we dismounted 
 with as much ease and comfort as though we had been 
 escorted by the whole Metropolitan Force froia A to Z 
 inclusive. ' -'' & j '' 
 
 The suit of rooms on the ground-floo*, were lightsedup; 
 and a military band was playing in the haiL In the: ssaialler 
 drawing-room, the centre of a circle of company, were the 
 President and his daughter-in-law, who : acted as the lady. of 
 the mansion; and a very interesting, graceful, and^accomr 
 plished lady too. One gentleman who stood among thb groap 
 appeared to takfe upon himself the functions of a master of the 
 ceremonies. I saw no other officers or attendants, and none 
 were needed. •'• 
 
 The great drawing-rooHd, which I have already mentioned, 
 and the other chambers On ' the ground-floor, were crowded 
 to excess. The company was no% in our sense of the teim, 
 select, for it comprehended persons of very many grades 
 and classes ; nor was there any great display of costly attire.-: 
 indeed some of the costumes may have been, for aught I know, 
 grotesque enough. But the decorum and pwjpBety. of : be- 
 havior which prevailed, were unbroken by any rude or dis- 
 agreeable incident ; and every man, eveni among the-miscel- 
 laneous crowd in the hall who were admitted witfaoufi^ any 
 orders or tickets to look on, appeared to feel that he was a 
 part of the Instit^ition, and was responsible for its preserving 
 a becoming chariacter, and appearing to the b^t advantage. 
 
 That these visitors, too, whatever their station, were no.t 
 without soine refinement of taste. -amd appreciation of intellee- 
 tual gifts, and gratitude to those men who, by the peaqeful 
 exercise of great abilities, shed new charms and assooiatioiaB 
 upon the houses of tlieir countrymen, and elevate their daxt- 
 acter in other lands, was most' earnestly testified by their re- 
 ''ceptiOn of Washington Irving, my dear friend, who had re- 
 
WASHmcTOM. yqS 
 
 cently .been appointed Minister at the. court of Spain, and who 
 was aiWjng th€m that night, in his new character, for the first 
 and last time before going abroad. I sincerely believe that in all 
 the madness of American politics, few public men would have 
 ,been so earnestly, devotedly, and raiieistionateLy caressed, as 
 this most charming writer : and I ihaive i seldom refepeeted a 
 public assembly more, than I did this eager throng, when I 
 saw them turning with one mind from noisy orators and 
 officers of state, and-floekingwith-a -generous and honest im- 
 pulse round the man of quiet pursuits : proud in his promo- 
 tion as reflecting back upon their country : and grateful to 
 him with their whole hearts for the' store of grateful fancies 
 he had poured out among them. Long may he dispense such 
 treasures with unsparing hand ; and long may they remember 
 him as worthily. . .v ; r 
 
 The term we had assigned for the duration of omiiStay in 
 Washington, was now at an end, and we were to begin to travel ; 
 for the Tailroad distances we hid traversed yet, in journeying 
 among these older towns, are on thatgreat oentinent looked 
 
 ■upon as nothing, : " 
 
 I had at first intended going South-^to ehanfeston. But 
 when I came, to consider the length :of tim?) which this; journey 
 would ocoupy, and the. premature, hfeatof- the se?.-soH, which 
 even at Washington had been often very trying ; and weighed 
 moreover, inm.y own mind, the ,pai=n of living in the eotostant 
 contemplation '(A< slavery, against the more than ; doubtful 
 chances of my ever seeing;it, in; the time I had to spare, stripped 
 of -the disguises in which it wiauld certainly be dressed, and so 
 adding any item toj the host of facts already ibeapa4 togather 
 on the subject,; Iibegaw to listen to- old whisperings which 
 had often been present tome at home in England, when 1 
 iittle thought of evlsr being here ; and;.to:dream again of cities 
 ■growing up, like, palaces in fairy tales, among the wilds and 
 fbreste of.the west. ■ .;- . ., . i;. .' 
 
 ..TEhie advice I recei'ved in most quarters when Iibeganifo 
 yield to my desire of traveilling towards that point of .the com- 
 pass was, according to custtnri, sufficiently che»Eles.s : my com- 
 paniian being threateneid<with more perils, dangers; and dis- 
 comforts, than lean remembejc^pr would catalogue if I could j 
 bujtjSS vdhigh,- it will be suiSicieint to remark that blowings-up 
 in sfe^arnboats a*id breakings down in coaches were among 
 th^ teasti !i]^,,jia»iligia western route .sketched out; for me 
 
yo6 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 by the best and kindest authority to which I could have re- 
 sorted, and putting no great faith in these discouragements, I 
 soon determined on my plan of action. _ . . '.' 
 
 This was to travel south, only to Richmond in Viiginia •, 
 and then to turn, and shape our course for the Far West ; 
 whither I beseech the reader's company, in a new chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A NIGHT STEAMER ON THE POTOMAC RIVER. VIRGINIA ROAD, 
 AND A BLACK DRIVER. RICHMOND. BALTIMORE. THE 
 HARRISBURG MAIL, AND A GLIMPSE OF THE CITY. A CANAL 
 BOAT. -.-■ 
 
 We were to proceed' in the first instance by steamboat; 
 and as it is usual to sleep on board in consequence of the 
 starting-hour being four o'clock in the morning, we went down 
 to where she lay at that very uncomfortable time for such ex- 
 peditions when slippers are most valuable, and a familiar bed, 
 in the perspective of an hour or two; looks uncommonly pleas- 
 ant. 
 
 It is ten o'clock at night : say half-past ten : moonlight, 
 warm and dull enough. The steamer (not unlike a child's 
 Noah's ark in form, with the machinery on the top of the roof) 
 is riding lazily up and down, and bumping clumsijy against the 
 wooden pier, as the ripple of the river trifles with its unwieldly 
 carcase. The wharf is some distance from the city. There 
 is nobody down here : and one or two dull lamps upon the 
 steamer's decks are the only signs of life remaining, when 
 our coach has driven away. . As soon as our footsteps are 
 heard upon the planks, a fat negress, particularly favored by 
 nature in Tespect of bustle, emergeisirom some dark stairs, and 
 marshals my wife towards the ladies' cabin, to which retreat 
 she goes followed by a mighty bale of cloaks and great-coats. 
 I valiantly resolved not to go to bed at all, but to walk up 
 and down the pier till morning. 
 
 I begin, my promenade — thinking of all kinds of distant 
 things and persons, and of nothing near — and pace up and 
 down for half^an-hour. Then I go on board again ■ and get- 
 
A mCHT STEAMER ON THE POTOMAC RIVER, yoy 
 
 ting into the light of one of the lamps, looked at my watch 
 and think it must have stopped ; and wonder what has become 
 of the faithful secretary whom I brought along with me from 
 Boston. He is supping with our late landlord (a Field Mar- 
 shal at leastj no doubt) in honor of our departure, and maybe 
 two hours longer, I walk again, but it gets duller and duller : 
 the moon goes down : next June seems farther off in the dark, 
 and the echoes of my footsteps make me nervous.. It has 
 turned cold too ; and walking Up and down without my com- 
 panion in such lonely circumstances, is but poor amusement. 
 So I break my staunch resolution, and think it may be, per- 
 haps, as well to go to bed. 
 
 I go on board again ; open the door' of the gentleman's 
 cabin ; and walk in. Somebbw or other — from its; being so 
 quiet I suppose — I have taken it into my head that there ds 
 nobody thera To my horror and amazement, it is full of 
 sleepers in every stage, shape, attitude, and variety of, slumber : 
 in the berths, on the chairs, on the floors, on the tables, and 
 .particularly round the stove, my detested enemy. I: take- an- 
 other step forward, and slip on the shining face of a black 
 steward, who lies rolled in a blanket on the floor. He jumps 
 up, grins half in pain and half in hospitality ; whispers my 
 own name in my ear : and' groping among the sleepers, leads 
 me to my berth. Standing beside it, I count these slumbering 
 l>assengers, and get past, forty. There is no use in going 
 further, so I begin to undress. As the chairs are ^ all occu- 
 pied, and there is nothing else to put my clothes on, J deposit 
 them upon the ground : not without soiling my hands, for it 
 is in the same condition as the carpets in the Capitol, and from 
 the same cause. Having but partially undressed, I clamber 
 on: my shelf, and hold the curtain open for a few njdnutes while 
 IJobkroundon all iny fellow-rtravellers again,. That done I 
 let it fall on them, alid on. the world : turn round : and go to 
 sleep. 
 
 I wake, of course, when we get under weigh, for there is a 
 ■good deal of noise; The day is then just breaking. Every- 
 body wakes at the same time. :Somte are self-possessed 
 directly, and some are much perplexed to make out where 
 they are uiitil they have rubbed their eyes, anidleaning on one 
 elbow, looked about them. Some yawn, some groan, nearly 
 all spit, and a few get up. I am among ; the risers : for it is 
 .easy to feel, without going into the fresh, air, that the atmos- 
 phere of the cabin is Tile in the last degree. I huddle on my 
 
yoS 
 
 AMMHICAN NOTES. 
 
 clothes, go down into the fore-cabin, get shaved by the barber, 
 and wash myself. The washing and dressing apparatus for tlie 
 passengers: generally, consists of two jack-towels, three small 
 wooden basins, a keg of water and. a ladle to serve it out witli, 
 six square inches of looking-glass, two ditto ditto of yellow 
 soap, a comb and brush for the head, and nothing for the teeth. 
 Everybody uses the comb and brush, except my^lfe Every- 
 body; stares to see me using my own; and two or three gentle- 
 men are strongly disposed to banter me on my prejudices, but 
 don't. When I have made my toilet, I go upoa the hurricane- 
 deQk, and set in for two hours of hard walking up and down. 
 The sun is rising brilliantly ; we are passing Mount Vernon, 
 where Washington' lies buried ; the river is wide and japid ; 
 and its banks ard beautiful. All the glory and splendor of 
 the day are coming on, and growing brighter every minute.' 
 
 At eight o'clock, we breakfast in the cabin where I passed 
 the night, bat the windows and doors are all 1±rown open, and 
 now it is fresh' enough. There is no hurry or greediness 
 apparent in the despatch of the meal. It is longer than a 
 travelling breakfast with us ; more orderly, and more polite. 
 
 Soou after nine o'clock we come to Potomac Creek, where 
 we are to land ;. and then comes the oddest part; of the jour- 
 ney. Seven stage-coaches are preparing to carry us on. 
 Some of them are ready, some of them are not ready. Some 
 of the drivers are blacks, some whites. There are four horses 
 to each coach, and all the horses, harnessed or unharnessed, 
 are there. The passengers are getting out of the steamboat, 
 and into the. coaches ; the luggage is being transferred in 
 noisy wheelbarrows ; the' horses are frightened, and impatient 
 to start j; the bla^ik drivers are chattering to them like so many 
 monkeys J aAd the white ones-whooping like so many drovers : 
 for the main thing to be done in all kinds of hostlering here, 
 is to make as much noise as possible. The coaches are some- 
 thing like the French coaches, but not nearly so good; In 
 lieu of springs; they are hung on bands of tlie strongest leather. 
 There is very little choice or difference between them ; and 
 they may be likened to -the car portion of the swings at an 
 English fair, Poofed, put upon axle-trees and wheels, and 
 curtained with painted canvas. They are covered with mud 
 from the roof to the Nvbeel-tire, and have never been cleaned 
 since; they were first built 
 
 The tickets we have received on board the steamboat ate 
 marked No.- 1, so we belong to coach Na i. I throw irw 
 
A NIGHT STEAMER ON THE POTOMAC RIVER. 700 
 
 coat on tl^e box, and hoist my wifei and her maid into the 
 inside. It has only one step^ and that being about a yard 
 from the .groiand, is usually approached by a chair: when 
 there is tio chair, ladies trust in Providence. The coach holds 
 nine inside, having a seat across from door to door, where we 
 in England put our legs.: so that there is only one feat more 
 difficult in the perforhaance than getting in, and ithat is, get- 
 ting out again. There is only one outside passenger, and he 
 sits upon the box. As I am that one, I climb up ; and while 
 they are strapping the luggage on the roof, and heaping it 
 into a Jein4 of ray behind, have a good opportunity of looking 
 at the driver. ■--;;- •> 
 
 He is a negro — very black indeed. He is dressed in a 
 coarse pepperTand-salt suit excessively patched and ■ darned 
 (particularly at the knees), gray stockings, enormous unblacked 
 higlt-ldw shoes, and very short trousers. He has two odd 
 ^fflve^.:one of parti-colored worsted, and one of leather. He 
 ■JJaSfcS'jfery short whip, broken in the middle and bandaged lip 
 with string. And yet he wears a low-erowned, broad-brimmeid, 
 black- hat i' faintly ishadowing forth a kind of insaneJmitation 
 of an English coachman ! But somebody in authority cries 
 " Go ahead ! " as I am making these observations. The mail 
 takfls the dead: in ^ four-horse wagon, iand all the coaches 
 follow in procession : headed by No. i. .: .- 
 
 . i^'ithe way, whenever ; an ' Englisliman would cry "AH 
 right ! " an American cries " Go ahead ! '' which is somewhat 
 expressive of the national. character .of the two countries. 
 . I ThefirstihaM mii^ '.df the road is over bridges made of 
 loose planks laid across two parallel poles, which tilt up as 
 the wheels rolLdver them ; and in the river. iThle river has 
 a clayey bottom and is full of holes, so that half a horse is 
 constantly disappearing runeyjpectedly,; and can't .- be fbund 
 again for some time. 
 
 But we get past even this; and come to the road itself, 
 which is a seAes of aiternate swamps and gravel-pits. A 
 tremendous place is close befiare us, the black driver rolls his 
 eyes, screws his mouth up very round, and 'iloc^s straight 
 between the two^leaders, as if he were saying to himself, *' We 
 have done this oftelH before, but now I think we shall have a 
 crash." He takes a rein in each hand ; jerks and pulls at 
 both ; and dances on the splashboard with both feet (keeping 
 his seat, of course) like the late lamented Ducrow on two of 
 hisfieiycoursers. We Come to the spot, sink down in: the mitfe 
 
7 1 o AM ERICA U NO TES. 
 
 nearly to the, coaeh windows, tilt on one side at an angle of 
 forty-five degrees, and stick there. The insides scream dis- 
 mally ; the coach stops ; the horses flounder ; all the other six 
 coaches stop ; and their four-and-twenty horses flounder like- 
 wise : but merely for company, and in sympathy with ours. 
 Then the following circumstances occur. 
 . Black, Driver (to the horses). " Hi ! _" 
 
 Nothing happens. Insides scream again. 
 
 Black Driver (to the horses). "Ho!" 
 
 Horses plunge, and splash the black driver. 
 . Gentleman inside (looking out). " Why, what on 
 airth — " 
 
 Gentleman receives a variety of splashes, and draws his 
 head in again, without finishing his question or waitingfor 
 an answer. 
 
 Black Driver (still to the horses). " Jiddy ! Jiddy ! " 
 
 Horses pull violently, drag the coach out of the hole^ and 
 draw it upp a bank j so steep, that the black driver's legs fly 
 tip into the air, and he goes back among the luggage on the 
 roof. .'But he immediately recovers himself, and cries (still to 
 the horses), 
 
 "Pill!" 
 
 No effect. On the contrary, the coach begins to roll back 
 upon No. 2, which rolls back upon No.. 3, which rolls back 
 upon No. 4, and so on, until No. 7 is heard to curse and swear, 
 nearly a quarter of a mile behind. 
 
 Black Driver (louder than before). " Pill ! " 
 
 Horses make another struggle to get lip" the bank^ and 
 again the coach rolls backward. 
 
 Black Driver (louder than before). " Pe-€-e-ill I " 
 
 Horses make a: desperate struggle. 
 
 Black . Driver (recovering spirits). " Hi, Jiddy, Jiddy, 
 Pill!" 
 
 Horses make another efiorti 
 
 Black Driver (with great vigor). "Ally Loo! Hi. 
 Jiddy, Jiddy. PUl. Ally Loo ! " 
 
 Horses almost do it. 
 
 Black Driver (with his eyes startinig. iout of his head). 
 •' Lee, den. Lee, dere. Hi. Jiddy, Jiddy. Pill. Ally Loo. 
 Lee-e-e-e-e ! " :, 
 
 They run up the bank, and go down again on the other 
 side. at a fearful: pace. It is impossible to stop them and at 
 the bottom there is a deep hollow, full of water. The coach 
 
A NIGHT STEAMER ON THE J^OTOMAC RIVER, yx I 
 
 rolls frightfully. The insides scream. The mud and water 
 fly about us. The black driver dances like a madrhan. Sud- 
 denly we are all right by some extraordinary meansi and- stop 
 to breathe. 
 
 A black friend of the black driver is sitting on a fence. 
 The black driver recognizes him by twirling his head round 
 and round like a harlequin, rolling his eyes, shrugging his 
 shoulders, and grinning from eair to ear. He stops short, 
 turns to me, and says : : 
 
 "We shall get you through sa, like a fiddle, and hope a 
 please you when we get you through sa. Old 'ooman at home 
 sa :■'' chuckling very much. "Outside gentleman sa, he often 
 remember old 'ooman at home sa," grinning again. 
 
 " Ay , ay, we'll take care of the old woman. : Don't be 
 afraid." 
 
 The black driver grins again; but there is another hole, 
 and beyond that, another bank^ dose before us. So he stops 
 short : cries (to the horses again " Easy. Easy den. Ease. 
 Steady. Hi. Jiddy. Pill. Ally. Lob," but, never "Lee !" 
 until we are reduced to the very last extremity, and are in the 
 midst of difficulties, extrication from which appears to be all 
 but impossible. 
 
 And so we do the ten miles or thereabouts. in two hours 
 and a half ;• breaking no bones, though bruising a greatmany j 
 and in short-getting through the distance,. " like, a ;fiddlei" 
 •1 This singular kind of coaching terminates at Frederieks- 
 burgh, whence there is a railway to Richmond. The tract of 
 country through which it takes its course was once productive : 
 but the, soil has been exhausted by the system of employing 
 a great amount of slave labor in forcing crops, without 
 strenghtening the lahd : and it is now little better than a sandy 
 desert overgrown with trees. Dreary and uninteresting as its 
 aspect is, I was glad to the heart to find anything on which 
 one of the curses of .this horrible institution has fallen ; and 
 had greater pleiasufe in contemplating the, withered ground, 
 than the richest and most thriving cultivation' in the same 
 place could possibly have afforded me. 
 
 In this district, as in all others where slavery sits brood- 
 ing, (I have frequefttly heard; this admitted, even by those 
 who are its warmest advocates :) there is an air of ruin and 
 decay abroad, which is inseparable from the system. The 
 barns and outhouses are mouldering away ; the sheds are 
 patched and half roofless ; thfc log- cabins (built in Virginia 
 
yi2 ■h--}\-M AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 with external chimneys made of clay or wood) are squalid is 
 the last degree. There is no look of decent comfort any- 
 <^here;.^. Tiiejnisecable.statiansby the railway side.; ihe.gceSt 
 wild wood-yards, whence the engine is supplied with fuel; the 
 negro children: ilolling on the ground before the cabin doors, 
 with dogs and pigs ; the biped beasts of burdeH^sIinkinig past' ■■ 
 gloom and dejection are upon them aU. ^i ; :" ' 
 
 ' In the negro car belraiging to the train in virhicb we made 
 this journey, were a mother and her children who had ju^ 
 been purchased; the husband and father being left behind 
 with their old owner. The children cried the \«aiole way, and 
 the mother was misery's picture. The champion of Life, 
 Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness, who had bought them, 
 rode in 'the same train; and, every time we stopped, got 
 down to see that they were safe. The black in Sinbad's 
 Travels with one eye in the in iddle of- his forehead which 
 shone like a burning coal, was nature's aristocrat compated 
 with this white gentleman, nir 
 
 It was between six and seven o'clock in the evening; when 
 we drove to the hotel : in front of which, and on the top of 
 the broad flight of steps leading to the door, two or three 
 citizens were balancing themselves on rocking-chairs, and 
 smoking cigars.' Wefdund it a very large and elegant estab- 
 lishment, and were as well entertained as travellers heed 
 desire- to be. The climbs being a tliirsty one, there was 
 never, at any hour of the day, a scarcity of loungers in the 
 spacious bar, or a cessation of the mixing of cool liquors: 
 but they' were a merrier people here, and had musical instru- 
 ments playing to them o' nights, which it was a treat to hear 
 again, .ftq ^si!" 
 
 » The next day, and the next, we rode and walked aboi;^ 
 the town, which is delightfully sttuated on eight hills, over- 
 hanging James River ; a sparkling stream, sti^ded here and 
 there with bright islands, or brawling over broken rocks. 
 Although it was yet but the middle of' March, the weatlier in 
 this southern -teiiiapesatutBi was extremely warm ; the peadi- 
 trees and magnolias were' in full bloom ; and the trees were 
 green. ' In a \mi gasunid among the hills, is a valley known 
 as " Bloody Run," from a terrible conflict with the Indians 
 which once occurred there. It is a good place for such a 
 struggle, and, like every other spot I ^aw associated with any 
 legend of that wild people mow so rapidly fading from the 
 earth, interested me very. much. 
 
A NIGHT S TEA ME Ji ON THE POTOMAC RIVER. 
 
 in 
 
 The city is the seat of th^ local, parliament, of Virginia; 
 and in its shady legislative lialls, some orators were drowsily 
 k@JUiiig forth to :t)ie hot noon day. By dint of constant repe- 
 4lSi,Qn-,,.,hoiwever,, these, conptituitional sights had very, little 
 more, interest fpr me than; so many parochial vestries; and I 
 wasglad to swhange tjiis. one fpr a lounge in, a -(veil-arranged 
 public library of some teri thousand volumes, and a visit to a 
 tobacco manufactory, where the workmen were all slaves. 
 
 ■ ,;I saw in this place the whole process of picking, rolling, 
 pressing, dry'^Si packing in casks, and branding. All the 
 tobacco .thus dealt witli, was in course of manufacture for 
 cbewing; and one would have supposed there was enough in 
 that one storehouse , to ^^^ve, filled even the comprehensive 
 jaws of |a^lH€rica< In, this form, the weed , looks like the; oil;; 
 cake on which; we fatten cattle; and, even without reference, 
 to it^ccajaeqyences, is sufficiently uninviting. ., ,,[ 
 
 Maflyof .the woTkmen appeared to be strong men, ?tnd it 
 is hardly necessary to add that they were all la,boifing quietly, 
 then.,. After two o'clock in the day, tliey are allowed to sing, 
 a Certain number at a time. The hour striking while I was 
 there,. some twenty sang 9. hymn in parts, and sang it by no 
 loeans ill ; pursuing, their; work meanwhile. A bell rang as I 
 was. about to leave, and they all, ppured forth,;intOi,a building 
 on the opposite side of the street to dinnefi I said several 
 times that I should like to see them. at their meal ; but as the 
 gentleman to whom I mentioned this desire , appeared to be, 
 suddenly taken rather deaf, I did not pursue the request, ; Of 
 their appearance I ^shall have something to say, presently. 
 
 , On the' following day, I visited a plantation or, farm,. of 
 about twelve hundred acres, on the opposite bank of; the 
 river. Here again, although I went 'down with the owner of 
 the estate,-to "the .quarter," as ths^t part of it, in T»(hich the 
 slaves iliv« is , called, I was not, invited to .enter into any of 
 their huts. AH I saw of them, was, that they were very crazy^ 
 jiff^tfihed' cabins, near tp which groups of half-naked children, 
 basked in the sun, or wallowed on the dusty ground. J^ut I 
 believe that this gentleman is a considerate and ^xcellept 
 master, who inherited his fifty slaves, and is neither a buyer 
 nor a seller of human stock ; and I am sure, from my o^fH 
 observation and conviction,, that he is a kind-hearted, worthy 
 man. r 
 
 . The pianter's hopse was an airy rustic dwellitig, that brought 
 Hefoe's t-despription of such .places, strongly tp my recpllec? 
 
yi^ AMERICAN' NOTES. 
 
 tidn. The day was very warm, but the blinds- being all closed, 
 and the windows and doors set wide open, a shady coolnesS^ 
 rustled through the rooms, which was exquisitely refreshing 
 after the glare and heat without. Before the windows was an 
 open piazza, where, in what they call the -hot weather— w-hat- 
 ever tliat may be— they slilig hammocks, and drink and doze 
 luxuriously. I do not know how their cool refections may taste 
 within the hammocks, but, having experience, I can report- 
 that, out Of them, the mounds of ices and the bowls of mint- 
 julep and sherry-cobbler they make! in these latitudes,: are re^ 
 f?eshments never to be thought of afterwards, in summer, by 
 those who would preserve contented minds. 
 
 There are two bridges across the river: one belongs to 
 the railroad, and the other, which is a very crazy affair, is the 
 private property of some old^ lady in the neighborhood, who 
 levies tolls upon the townspeople. Crossing this bridge^-on 
 my ^vay•back, I saw a notice painted on the gate, cautioning 
 all peirsons to drive slowly: under a penalty, if the offender 
 were a white man, of five dollars ; if a negro, fifteen stripes. 
 
 The same decay and gloom that overhang the way by 
 which it is approached,. hbver above the town of Richmond. 
 There are pretty villas and cheerful houses in its streets, and 
 Nature srhiles upon the country round ; but jostling its hand- 
 some residence, likei slavery itself- going hand in hand with 
 many lofty virtues, are deplorable tenements, fences unre- 
 paired, walls crumbling into ruinous heaps.' Hinting gloomily 
 at things below the surface, these- and many other tokens of 
 the same description, force themselves -upon the notice, and 
 are reiiiembered with depressing influence, when livelier fea- 
 tures are forgotten. . 
 
 To those who are happily unaccustomed to them, the 
 countenances in the streets arid laboring-places, too, are 
 shocking. All men who know that there are laws agairist in- 
 structing slaves, of which the' pains and penalties greatly ex- 
 ceed in their amount the firies imposed' on those who maiiil 
 arid torture them, must be prepared to find their faces very low 
 in the sdale of intiellectual expression. But the darkness^-^ 
 riot of skin but mind— ^which meets the stranger's eye at every 
 turri ; the- brutalizing and blotting out of all fairer characters 
 traced'lsy Nature's hand ; immeasurably Outdo his worst belief. 
 That travelled creation of the great satirist's brain, who fresh 
 from living among horses, peered froiri a high casement down 
 upon his own kind with trembling horror, was -scarcely -mote 
 
A NIGHT STEAMER ON THE POTOMAC RJVER. 715 
 
 repelled and daunted by the sight, than those who look upon 
 some of these faces for the first time must surely be.' 
 
 L left the last of them behind me in the person of a 
 wretched drudge, who, after running to and fro all day till 
 midrri^, and moping in his stealthy winks of steep upon the 
 stairs bestweenwhiles, was washing the dark passages at four 
 o'clock iri the morning; and went upon my way with a grate- 
 ful heart that was not doomed to live where slavery was, and 
 had: never had my senses blunted to its wrongs and horrors in 
 a slave«rocked cradle. . ^ 
 
 It had been my intention to proceed by James River and 
 Chesapeake Bay to Baltimore ; but one of the steam-boats 
 being absent from her. station through some iGcident, and the 
 means of conveyance being consequently rendered uncertain, 
 we returned to Washington by the way we had come (there 
 were two constables on board the steamboat, in pursuit of 
 runaway slaves, and halting there again for one night. Went • 
 on to &a;ltimore next afternoon. 
 
 The most comfortable of all the hotels of which I had any 
 e3Cperience in the United States, and they were not a few, is 
 Barnum's, in that city : where the English traveller will find' 
 curtains to his bed, for the first and probably the ld.st time in, 
 America (this is a disinterested retnark,- for I neveruse them) ; 
 and where he will be likely to have enough water for washing 
 himself, which is-not at all a common Case. 
 
 This capital of the St'ate of fairyland is a bustling busy 
 town,'with a great deal of traffic of various kinds>and in particu- 
 larof water commerce. That portion of the town which it most 
 favors ife none of the cleanest, it is true ; but the upper part 
 is; of a very different character, and has many agreeable streets 
 and public buildings. The Washington Monument, which is 
 a handsome pillar with a statue on its summit; the Medical 
 College; and the battle Monument in membry of an;engage- 
 ment with the British at North Point; are the most donspicu^ 
 ous among them. 
 
 There is a very good prison in this city, and the State: 
 Penitentiary is also among its institutions. ' In this latter 
 establishment there were two curious cases. 
 
 One, was that of a young man, who had been tried for the 
 murder of his father. The evidence was entirely circumstan- 
 tial, and was very conflicting and doubtful ; nor was it possible: 
 to assign any motive which could have tempted him to the' 
 comnassion of so tremendous a crime. He had been tried 
 
yi6 AMERICAN NOTES..^ 
 
 twice ; and on the second occasion the jury felt so muGb. hesi ■ 
 tation in convicting him^ that they found a verdict of man- 
 slaughter, or. murder in^ the sefeotd^ degree ; which it could not 
 possibly be, as there had, beyond all doubt, been no quarrel or 
 provocation, and if he were guilty at adl, he was. unquestion- 
 ably guilty of murder ui its broadest and- worst signification. 
 
 The remarkable feature in the case was, that if the unfor- 
 tunatfr deceased were not really murdered by this own son of 
 his, he must have been .murdered by his own brother. The 
 evidence lay in a most remarkable manner, between those two. 
 On all the suspicious points, the dead- man's brother was the 
 witness : all the explanations for the prisoner ( some of them 
 extremely plausible) went, by construction and inference, to 
 inculcate him as plotting to fix the guilt upon his nephew. It 
 must have been one of them : arid the jury had to decide be- 
 tween two sets of suspicions, almost equally unnatural, unac- 
 countable, land ■ strange. 
 
 The other case, was that of a man who once went to a 
 certain distiller's and stole i a copper measure containitig a 
 quantity of liquor. He was;pursued and taken with the prop- 
 eirty itt: his possession, aftd was sentenced to two years' im- 
 prisonment.; On coming out of the jail, at the expiration of 
 that term, he went back to the same distiller's, and stole the 
 same copper measure containing the same quantity of liquor. 
 There was not the slightest reason to suppose that the man 
 wi^ed to return to prison : indeed everything, biit the com- 
 mission of the offence, made directly against that assumption. 
 There are only two Ways of accounting for this extraordinary 
 proceeding. One is, that after undergoing so much for this 
 copper measure , he conceived he had established a sort of 
 claim and right to it. The other thai, fcy dipt of long thinking 
 about, it had become a monomania with liira, and ;haid acquired 
 a fascination which he found it impossible, to resist : swdling 
 from an Earthly Copper Gallon into an .Ethereal Golden Vat. 
 
 After remaining here a couple of days I bound nsyself to a 
 rigid adherence to' the plan I had laid down so recently, and 
 resolved to set forward on bur. western journey without any 
 more delay. Accordingly, having reduced the luggage within 
 the smallest possible compass (by sending back to. New 
 York, to be afterwards fowarded to us in Canada, so much of 
 it as was not absolutely watitfcd) ; and having procured tlie 
 netessaryi tiiedentials to banking-houses on . the way • and 
 having .moreover looked .for two evenings at the siettiog sun,. 
 
A NIGHT STEAMER ON THE POTOMAC RIVER. 717 
 
 with as well-defined an idea of the country before us as if we 
 had been going to travel into the very centre of that planet : 
 we left Baltimore by another railway at half-past eight in the 
 morning, and reached the town of York, some sixty miles off, 
 by the early dinner-time of the Hotel which was the statting- 
 place of the four-horse coach, wherein we were to proceed to 
 Harrisburg. 
 
 ' This conveyance, the box of which I was fortunate enough 
 to secure, had come down to meet us at the railroad station, 
 and was as muddy and cumbersome as usual. As more pas- 
 sengers were waiting for us at the inn-door, the coachman 
 observed under his breath, in the usual self-communicative 
 voice, looking the while at' his mouldy harness as if it were to 
 that he was addressing himself. 
 
 "I expect we shall want the bigcokfAi." 
 
 I could not help wondering within myself what the size of 
 this big coach might be, and how many persons it might be 
 designed to hold; for the vehicle which was too small for 
 our purpose was something larger than two English heavy 
 night coaches, and tnight have been the twiuTbrother of a 
 " French Diligence. My speculations were speedily set at rest; 
 however, for as soon as we had dined, there came rumbling 
 up the street, shaking its sides like a corpulent giant, a kind 
 of barge on wheels. After much blundering and backing, it 
 stopped at the door ; rolling heavily from, side to side when 
 its other motion had ceased, as if it had taken cold in its 
 damp stable, and between that, and the having been required 
 in its dropsical old age to move at any faster pace than a 
 walk, were distressed by shortness of wind.' 
 
 " If here ain't the Harrisburg mail at last, and dreadful 
 bright and smart to look at too,'' cried an eldeirly gentleman 
 in some excitement, " darn my mother! " 
 
 I don't know what the sensation of being darned may be, 
 or whether a man's mother has a keener relish or disrelish of 
 the process than anybody else ; but if the endurance of this 
 mysterious ceremony by the old: lady in question had de- 
 pended on the accuracy of her son's vision in respect to the 
 abstract brightness and smartness of the Harrisburg mail, 
 she would certainly have undergone its infliction. However, 
 they booked twelve people inside ; and the luggage (including 
 such trifles as a large rocking-chair, and a good-sized dining- 
 table) ibeing at length made fast upon the roof, we started off 
 in great state. 
 
7 18 AMERICAN NO TES. 
 
 At the door of another hotel, Aere was another passenger 
 to be taken up. 
 
 " Any room, sir ? " cries the new passenger to the coach- 
 man. 
 
 "Well there's room enough," replies the coachman, with- 
 out getting down, or even looking at him. u 
 
 " There an't no room at all, sir," bawls a gentlenian in- 
 side. Which another gentleman (also inside) confirms, by 
 predicting that the attempt to introduce any more passengers 
 " won't fit nohow." 
 
 The new passenger, without any expression of anxiety, 
 looks into the coach, and then looks. up at the coachman: 
 " Now, how do you mean to fix it? " says he, after a pause : 
 " for I must go." 
 
 The coachman employs himself . in twisting the lash of his 
 whip into a knot, and takes no more . notice of the question : 
 clearly signifying that it is anybody's business but his, and 
 that the passengers would do well to fix it, among themselves. 
 In this state df things, matters seem to be approximating to a 
 fix of another kind, when another inside |)assenger in a cor- 
 ner, who is nearly suffocated, cries faintly, "I'll get out." 
 
 This is no matter of relief or self-congratulation _ to the 
 driver, for his immovable philosophy is perfectly undisturbed 
 by anything that happens in the coach. Of all things in the 
 world, the coach would seem to be the very last upon his 
 mind. The exchange is made, however, and then the passen- 
 ger who has given up his seat makes a third upon" the. box, 
 seating himself in what he calls the middle ; that is, with: half 
 his person on my legs, and the other half on the driver's. 
 [ . " Go a-head, cap'en," cries the colonel, whO' directs. 
 
 " G6-lang ! " cried the cap'en to his Company, the horses, 
 and away we go. ; ■ 
 
 We took up a.ta rural bar-room, after we had gone a few 
 miles, an intoxicated gentleman who climbed upon the roof 
 among the luggage, and subse4nently slipping off without 
 hurting himselfywas seen in the distant perspective reeling 
 back to the grog-shop where we; had found him. We also 
 parted with more of our freight at different times, so that 
 when we came to change horses, I was again alone outside. 
 
 The coachmen always change with the horses, and are 
 usually as dirty as the coach. The_ first was dressed like a 
 very shabby English baker ; the second like a Russian peas- 
 ant ; for he wore a loose purple camlet robe, with a fur col- 
 
A NIGHT STEAMER ON THE POTOMAC RIVER. 719 
 
 lar, tied round his waist with a parti-colored worsted saah j 
 gray trousers J: light blue gloves ; and a cap of bearskin. It 
 had by this time come on to rain Very heavily, and there was 
 a cold damp mist besides, which, penetrated to the skin. I 
 was glad to take advantage of a stoppage and . get. down to 
 stretch my legs, shake the water off my great-coat, and svval* 
 low the usual anti-temperance recipe for keeping out the cold. 
 
 When I mounted" to my seat again, I observed a new par- 
 cel lying on the coach roof, which I took to be a rather large 
 fiddle in a, brown bag. In the course of a few miles, however, 
 I.disqovered that it had a glazed cap at one end and' a pair of 
 muddy shoes at the other ; and further observ'ation; demon- 
 strated it to be a small boy in a snuff-colored coat, with his 
 arms quite pinioned to his sides, by dsep forcing into: his 
 pockets. He was, L presume, a relative or friend of; the 
 coachman's, as he lay a-top of the luggage with his face 
 towards the rain ; and except when a change of position 
 brought his shcss in contact with my hat, he appeared to be 
 asleep. At last, on some occasion of our stopping, this thing 
 slowly upreared itself to the height of three feet six, and fix- 
 ing its eyes on me, observed in piping accents, with a com- 
 plaisant yawn, half quenched in an obliging air of friendly 
 patronage, " Well now, stranger, I guess you find this a'most 
 like an English arternoon, hey ? " 
 
 The sceriery which had been : tame enough at. first, was, 
 for. the last ten or twelve- miles, beautiful. ' Our road wound 
 through the pleasant valley of the Susquehanna; the river, 
 dotted with innumerable green islands, lay upon our right; 
 and on the left,; a steep ascent, craggy with' broken rock, and 
 dark with pine trees. The mist, wreathing itself into a hun- 
 dred fantastic shapes, moved solemnly upon the water ; and 
 the gloom of evening gave to all an air of mystery and silence 
 ■vyhich greatly enhanced its natural interest. 
 
 We crossed the river by a wooden bridge, roofed and 
 covered in on all sides, and nearly a mile in'- length. It was 
 profoundly dark ; perplexed, with great beams, .cipssing and 
 recrossing it at every possible angle ; and through; the 1 broad 
 chinks and crevices in the floor, the rapid river gleamed, far 
 down below, like a legion of eyes. We- had no lamps ; and 
 as the horses stumbled and floundered through this place, 
 towards the. distant speck of dying light, it seemed intermin- 
 able. I really pould not at first persuade myself as we 
 Jiumbled heavily on, filling the bridge with hollow noises.- and 
 
yap AMERICAN NO TES. 
 
 I held down my head to save it from the rafters above but 
 that I was in a painful dream ; for I have often dreamed of 
 toiling through such places, and as often argued, even at the 
 time- " this cannot be reality." 
 
 At length, ho-wever, we emerged upon the streets of Har- 
 risburg, whose feeble lights, reflected dismally from the wet 
 ground, did not shine out upon a very cheerful city. We 
 were soon established in a snug hotel, which though smaller 
 and far less splendid than many we put up at, is raised above 
 them all in my remembrance; by having for its landlord the 
 most obliging, considerate, and gentlemanly person I ever 
 had to deaf with. 
 
 As we were not to proceed upon our journey until the 
 afternoon, I walked out, after breakfast the next morning, to 
 look about me ; and was duly shown a model prison on the 
 solitary system, just erected, and as yet without an inmate ; 
 the trunk of an old tree to which Harris, the first settler here 
 (afterwards hurried under it), was tied by hostile Indians, 
 with his funeral pile about him, when he was saved by the 
 timely appearance of a friendly party on the opposite shore 
 of the river ; the local legislature {for there was another of 
 those bodies here again, in full debate) ; and the other curio- 
 sities of the town. 
 
 I was very much interested in looking over a number of 
 treaties made from time to time with the poor Indians, signed 
 by the different chiefs at the period of their ratification, and 
 preserved in the office of the Secretary to the Commonwealth. 
 These signatures, traced of course by their own hands, are 
 rough drawings of the creatures or weapons they were called 
 after. Thus, the Great Turtle makes a crooked pen-and-ink 
 outline of a great turtle ; the Buffalo sketches a buffalo ; the 
 War Hatchet sets a rough image of that weapon for his mark. 
 So with the Arrow, the Fish, the Scalp, the Big Canoe, and 
 all of them. 
 
 I could not but think — as I looked at these feeble and 
 tremulous productions of hands which could draw the longest 
 arrow to the head in a stout elk-horn bow, or split a bead or 
 feather with a rifle-ball — of Crabbe's musings over the Parish 
 Register, and tlie irregular scratches made with a pen, by men 
 who would plough a lengthy furrow straight from end to end. 
 Nor could I help bestowing many sorrowful thoughts upon 
 the simple warriors whose hands and hearts were set there, in 
 all truth and honesty; and who only learned in course' of 
 
I 
 
 A NIGHT STEAMER ON THE POTOMAC RIVER. 721 
 
 time from white men how to break their faith, and quibble out 
 of forms and bonds. I wondered, too, how many times the 
 credulous Big Turtle, or trusting Little Hatchet, had put his 
 mark to treaties which were falsely read to him ; and had 
 signed away, he knew not what,- until it went and cast him 
 loose upon the new possessors of the land, a savage indeed. 
 
 Our host announced, before our early dinner, that some 
 members of the legislative body proposed to do us the honor 
 of calling. He had kindly yielded . up to us his wife's own 
 little parlor, and when I begged that he would show them in, 
 I saw him look with painful apprehension at its pretty carpet ; 
 though, being otherwise occupied at the time, the cause of 
 his uneasiness did not occur to me. 
 
 It certainly would have been more pleasant to all parties 
 concerned, and would not, I think, have compromised their 
 independence in any -material degree, -if some of these gentle- 
 men had not only yielded to the prejudice in favor of spittoons, 
 but had abandoned themselves, for the moment, even to the 
 conventional absurdity of pocfcetrhandkerchiefs. 
 
 It still continued to rain heavily, and when we went down 
 to the Canal Boat (for that was the mode of conveyance by 
 which we were to proceed) after dinner, the weather was as 
 unpromising and obstinately wet as one would desire to see. 
 Nor was the sight of this canal boat, in which we were to 
 spend. three or four days, by any means a cheerful one ; as it 
 involved some uneasy speculations concerning the disposal of 
 the passengers at night, and opened a wide field of inquiry 
 touching the other domestic arrangements of the establish- 
 ment, which was sufficiently disconcerting. 
 
 However, there it was — a barge with a little house in it, 
 viewed from the outside ; and a caravan at a fair, viewed 
 from within : the gentlemen being accommodated, as the 
 spectators usually are, in one of those locomotive museums 
 of penny wonders; and the ladies being partitioned off by a 
 red curtain, after, the manner of the dwarfs^ and giants in the 
 same establishments, whose private lives are passed in rather 
 close exclusiveness. 
 
 We sat here, looking silently at the row of little tables, 
 which extended down both sides" of the cabin, and listening 
 to the rain as it dripped and pattered on the boat, and plashed 
 with a dismal merriment in the water, until the arrival of the 
 railway train, for whose final contribution to our stock of pas- 
 sengers, our departure was alone deferred. It brought a great 
 
y 2 2 AMERICAN NO TES. 
 
 many boxes, which were bumped and tossed upon the roof, 
 almost as painfully as if they had been deposited on ones 
 own head, without the intervention of a porter's kiiot ; and 
 several damp gentlemen, whose clothes, on their drawmg 
 round the stove, began to steam again. No doubt it would 
 have been a thought more .comfortable if the driving ram, 
 which now poured down ' more soakingly than ever, had- ad- 
 mitted of a window being opeijed, or if our number had been 
 something less than thirty; but there was scarcely time to 
 think as mucb, when a train of three horses was attached to 
 the tow-rope,: the boy upon the leader smacked his' whip, the 
 rudder creaked and groaned complainingly, and we had begun 
 our journey. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 SOME FURTHER ACCOUNT OF THE CANAL-BOAT, ITS DOMESTIC 
 ECONOMY, AND ITS PASSENGERS. JOURNEY TO PrTTSBtJRG 
 ACROSS THE ALLEGHANY MOUNTAINS. PITTSBURG. 
 
 As it continued to rain most perseveringly, we all remained 
 below : . the damp gentlemen round the stove, gradually be- 
 coming mildewed by the action of the fire ; and the dry 
 gentlemen lying at full length upon the seatSj or slumbering 
 uneasily with their faces on the tables, or walking up and 
 down the cabin, which it was barely possible for a man of the 
 middle height to do, without making bald places on his head 
 by scraping it against the roof. At about six o'clock, all the 
 srriatll tables were piit together to form one long table, and 
 everybody sat down to tea, coffee, bread, butter, salmon, 
 shad, liver, steaks, potatoes, pickles, ham, chops, black pud- 
 dings; and sausages. 
 
 " Will you try," said my opposite neighbor, handing me a 
 dish of potatoes, broken up in milk and butter, " will you try 
 some of these fixings .? " 
 
 There are few words which perform such various duties as 
 this word "fix:." It is the Caleb Quoteiti of the American 
 vocabulary. You call upon a gentleman in a coutitiy town, 
 and his help informs you that he is " fixing himself " just now 
 
THE CANAL-BOAT. -2, 
 
 but will be down -directly : by which you are to understand 
 that he is dressing. You inquire, on board a steamboat, of a 
 feltew-passenger, whether breakfast will be ready soon, and 
 he tells you he should think so, for when he was last below, 
 they were "fixing the tables : " in other words, laying the 
 cloth. You beg a porter to collect your luggage, and he en- 
 treats you not to be uneasy, for he'll " fix it presently : " and 
 if you complain of indisposition, you are advised to have re- 
 coiirse to Doctor so and so, who will "fix you " in no time. 
 
 One night, I ordered a botde of mulled wine at an 
 hotel where I wa.s staying, and waited a long : time for it ; at 
 length it was put upon the table with an. apology from the 
 landlord that he feared it wasn't "feed properly." And I 
 tfeeoUect once, at a stage-coach - dinner, o\(erhearing a very 
 stem gentlettian demand of a waiter who presented him with 
 a plate of underdone roast-beef, "whether ' he called that, 
 fixing God A'mighty's vittles ? " 
 
 There is no doubt that the meal, at which the invitation 
 was tendered to me which has occasioned this digression, was 
 disposed of somewhat ravenously ; and that the gentlemen 
 ■thrust the broad-bladed knives and the two-pronged forks 
 further down their throats than I ever saw the same weapons 
 go before, except in the hands of a skilful juggler ; but no 
 man sat down until the ladies were seated"; or omitted any 
 little act of politeness which could contribute to their comfort. 
 Nor did I ever once, on any occasion, anywhere, during my 
 rambles in America, see a woman exposed to the slightest act 
 of rudeness, incivility, or even inattention. 
 
 By the time the meal was over, the rain, which seemed to 
 have worn itself Out by coming down so fast, was nearly over 
 too j and it became feasible to go on deck : which was a great 
 relief, notwithstanding its being a veiy small deck, and being 
 rendered still smaller by the luggage, which was heaped to- 
 gether in the toiddle under a tarpaulin covering ; leaving, on 
 6Wier side, a path so narrow, that it became a science to 
 walk to and fro Without tumbling overboard into the canal. 
 It was somewhat embarrassing at first, too, to have to duck 
 niuibly every five minutes whenever the man at the helm 
 cried " Bridge ! " and sorhetimes, when the cry was " Low 
 Bridge," to lie down nearly flat. But custom familiarizes 
 one to anythingi and there were so many bridges that it took 
 a very short time to get used to this. 
 
 As night came on, and we drew in sight of: the first range 
 
J24. AMRRICAN NOTES, 
 
 of hills, which are the outposts of the Alleghany Mountains, 
 the scenery, which had been uninteresting hitherto, became 
 more bold and striking. The wet ground reeked and smoked, 
 after the heavy fall of rain ; and the croaking of the frogs 
 (whose noise in these parts is almost incredible) sounded as 
 though a million of fairy teams with bells, were travelling 
 through the air, and keeping pace with us. The night was 
 cloudy yet, but moonlight too : and when we crossed the Sus- 
 quehaima river — over which there is an extraordinary wooden 
 bridge with two galleries, one above the other, so that even 
 there, two boat teams meeting, may pass without confusion 
 — it was wild and grand. 
 
 I have mentioned- my having been in some uncertainty 
 and doubt, at first, relative to the sleeping arrangements on 
 board this boat. I remained in the same vague state of mind 
 until ten o'clock or thereabouts, when going below, I found 
 suspended on either side of the cabin, three long tiers of hang- 
 ing book-shelves,' designed apparently for volumes of the 
 small octavo size. Looking with greater attention at these 
 contrivances (wondering to find such literary preparations in 
 such a place), I descried on each shelf a sort of microscopic 
 sheet and blanket ; then I began dimly to comprehend that 
 the passengers were the library, and that they were to be ar- 
 ranged, edge-wise, on these shelves, till morning. . 
 
 I was assisted to this conclusion by seeing some of them 
 gathered round the master of the boat, at one of the tables, 
 drawing lots with all the anxieties and passions of gamesters 
 depicted in their countenances ; while others, . witli small 
 pieces of cardboard in their hands, were grpping among the 
 shelves in search of numbers corresponding with those they 
 had drawn. As . soon as any gentleman found his number, 
 he took possession of it by immediately undressing himself 
 and crawling into bed. The rapidity with which an agitated 
 gambler subsided into a snoring slumberer, was one of the 
 most singular effects I have ever witnessed. As to the ladies 
 they were already abed, behind the red curtain, which was 
 carefully drawn and pinned up the centre ; though as every 
 cough, or sneeze, or whisper, behind this curtain, was per- 
 fectly audible before it, we had still a lively consciousness of 
 their society. 
 
 The politeness of the person in authority had secured 
 to me a shelf in a nook near this red curtain, in some degree 
 removed from the great body of sleepers : to which place I 
 
THE CANAL-BOAT. ~2S 
 
 retired with many acknowledgments to him for his attention, 
 i found it, on after-measurementj just the width of an ordi- 
 narysheetof Bath post letter-paper ; and I was at first in some 
 uncertainty as to the best means of .getting into it. But the 
 shelf being a bottom one, I finally determined on lying upon 
 the floor, rolling gently in, stopping imnlediately I touched 
 the mattress, and remaining for the night with that side upper- 
 most, whatever it might be. Luckily, I camei upon my back 
 at exactly the right moment. I was much alarmed on looking 
 upward, to see, by the shape of his half yard of sacking (which 
 his weight had bent into an exceedingly tight bag), that there 
 was a very heavy gentleman above me, whom the slender 
 cords seemed quite incapable of holding ; and I could not 
 help reflecting upon the grief of my wife and family in the 
 event of his coming down in the night. But as I could not 
 have got up again without a severe bodily struggle, wiich 
 might have alarmed the la,dies ; and as I had nowhere to go 
 to, even if I had ; I shut my eyes upon the danger, arid re- 
 mained there. i 
 
 One of two remarkable circumstances is indisputably a 
 fact, with reference to that.class of society who travel in these 
 boats., Either they carry their restlessness to such a pitch 
 that they never sleep at all ; or they expectorate in dreams^ 
 which would be a remarkable mingling of the rbal , and ideal. 
 All night Jong, and every night, on this canal, there was a 
 perfect storm and tempest of spitting; and once my coat, 
 being in the very centre of the hurricane sustained by five 
 gentlemen (yfliich moved yeftieally, strictly carrying out Reid's 
 Theory of the Law of Storms), I Was fain' the neit morning 
 to lay it on the deck, and rub it doWn with fair water before 
 it was in a condition to be worn again. 
 
 Between five and six o'clock in the morning we got up, 
 and some of us went on deck, to give them an opportunity of 
 taking the shelves down ; while others, the morning being 
 very cold, crowded round the rusty stove, cherishing the new- 
 ly kindled fire, and filling the grate Tvith those voluntary con- 
 tributions of which they had been so liberal all night. The 
 washinga,cconiniodations were primitive. There wasia tin ladle 
 chained to the deck, with which every gentleman who thought 
 it necessary to cleanse himself (many were superior to this 
 weakness), fished the dirty water out of the canal, and poured 
 it into a tin basin, secured in like' manner. There was also a 
 jack-towel. And, hanging up before a little looking-glass in 
 
726 
 
 AMERICAN- NOTES. 
 
 the.bar.jin the immediate vicinity of the bread 'and cheese 
 and biscuits,; were a -public comb and hair-brush. 
 
 At eight o'clock, the. shelves being taken down and put 
 away arid the tables joined together, everybody sat down to 
 the tea, coffee, bread, butter, salmon, shad, liver; steak, pota- 
 toes, .picltles, ham, chops, black-puddings, and sausages, all 
 over again. ; Some were fond of cotnpoundihg this variety, 
 and having it all on their plates at once. As each gentleman 
 got through his own personal amount of tea, coffee, bread, 
 butter, salmon, shad, liver, steak, potatoes, pickles, ham, 
 chops, black-puddings, and sausages, 'li^ rose up and walked 
 off. When everybody had done with everything, the frag- 
 ments were cleared away : and one of the waiters ' appearing 
 anew in the character of a barber, shaved such- of the com- 
 pany as desired to be shaved ; while the- remainder looked 
 on, or yawned over their newspapers. Dinner was breakfast 
 again, without the tea and coffee j and supper and breakfast 
 were identical. . 
 
 There was a man on board this boat, with a light fresh- 
 colored face, and a pepper-and-salt suit of clothes, who was 
 the most inquisitive fellow that can possibly be imagined. 
 He never spoke otherwise than interrogatively. He was an 
 embodied inquiry. Sitting down or standing up, still or mov- 
 ing, walking the deck- or taking his meals, there he was, with 
 a great note: of interrogation in each eye, two in his cocked 
 ears,! two more in his tuined-up nose and chiti, at least half a 
 dozen more ^about the corners of his mouth, and the largest 
 one of all in his hair, which was brushed pertly off his fore- 
 head in a flaxen clump. Every button in his clothes said, 
 " Eh ? What's that ? Did you speak ? Say that again, will 
 you ? " He was always wide awake, like the enchanted bride 
 who drove her husbahd frantic ; always restless ; always 
 thirsting for answers ; perpetuially' seeking and never finding. 
 There never was such a curious man. 
 
 I wore a fur great-coat at that time, and before we were well 
 clear of the wharf, he questioned me concerning it,' arid its 
 price, and where I bought it, and when, and what fur it was, 
 and what it weighed, and what it cost. Then he took notice 
 of my watch, and asked me what Mar/ cost, and whether it was 
 a French watch, and where I got it, and how I got it, and 
 whether' I bought it or had if given me, and how it went, and 
 where the key-hole was, and when I wound it, eveiy night or 
 every morning, and whether I ever forgot t:o wind it at all, and 
 
THE CAifAL-BOAT. 727 
 
 if I did, what then ? Where had I been to last, and where was 
 I going next, and where was I going after that, and had I 
 seen the President, and what did he sa}^, and what did I say, 
 and what did he say when I had said that ? Eh ? • Lor now! 
 do tell! 
 
 Finding that nothing Would satisfy hiiii I evaded his ques- 
 tidns after the first score or two, and in particular pleaded 
 ignorance respecting the name of the fur whereof the coat 
 Was made. 1 am unable to say 'Whether this was the reason, 
 but that coat fascinslted him afterwards ; he usually kept close 
 behind me as I walked, and moved as I moved, that he might 
 look at it thebetter ;■ and he frequently dived into narrow places 
 after me at the risk of his life, that he rnight have the satisfac- 
 tion of passing his hand up the back, and rubbing it the wrong 
 way. ■ 
 
 We iiad another odd specimen on- board, of a different 
 kind. This Was a thin-faced, spare-figured man of middle 
 age and stature, dressed in a dusty drabbish-colored suit, such 
 as I never saw before. He was perfectly quiet during the 
 first part of the journey : indeed I don't remember having so 
 much as seen him until he was brought out by circumstances, 
 as great men often are. The conjunction of events which 
 made him f Ettrioas^,' happened, briefly, thus. 
 
 The canal extends to the foot of the mountain, and there, 
 of course, it stops; the ■ passengers being conveyed across it 
 by land carriage, and taken on 'afterwards by another canal- 
 boat the counterpart of the first, which awaits them on the 
 other side. There are two canal lines of passage-boats ; one is 
 called the Express, and one (a cheaper one) The Pioneer. 
 The Pioneer gets first to the mountain, and waits for the Ex- 
 press people to come up ; both sets of passengers being con- 
 veyed across it at the same time. IVe- were the Express com- 
 paiiy ; but when we had crossed the mountain, and had come 
 to the Second boat, the proprietors took it into thfeir heads to 
 draft all the Pioneers into it likewise, so that we were five- 
 and-forty at least, and the' accession of passengers was not at 
 all of that kind which improved the prospect of sleeping at 
 iiight. Otir people grumbled at this, as people do in such 
 Cases : but suffered the boat to be towed off with the whole 
 freight aboard nevertheless ; and away w6 went down the 
 canal. At home, I should have protested lustily, but being a 
 foreigner here, I held iiiy' peace. Not so this passenger. He 
 cleft a path among the people on' deck (we were- nearly all on 
 
728 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 deck),, and without addressing anybody whomsoever, solilo- 
 quized as follows : 
 
 " This may smX. you, this may, but it don't suit me. This 
 may be all very well with Down Easters, and men of Boston 
 raising, but it won't suit my figure no how ; and no two ways 
 about that; and so I tell you. Now! I'm from the brown 
 forests of the Mississippi, I am, and when the sun shines on 
 me, it does shine — a little. It don't glimmer where /live, 
 the sun don't. No. I'm a brown forester, I am. I an't a 
 Johnny Cake. There are no smooth skins where I live. 
 We're rough men there. Rather. If Down Easters and men 
 of Boston raising like this, I'm glad of it, but I'm none of 
 that raising nor of that breed. No. This company wants a 
 little fixing, it does. I'm the wrong sort of man for 'em, /am. 
 They won't like me, they won't. ' This is piling of it up, a 
 little too motintainoiis, this is." At the end, of every one of 
 these short sentences he turned upon Ijis heel, and walked 
 the other way ; checking himself abruptly when he had finished 
 another short sentence, and turning back again. 
 
 It is impossible for me to say what terrific meaning was 
 hidden in the words of this brown forester, but I know that 
 the other passengers looked on in a sort of admiring hor- 
 ror, and that presently the boat was put back to the wharf, 
 and as many of the Pioneers as ,could be coaxed or bullied 
 into going away, were got rid of. 
 
 When we started again some of the boldest, spirits on 
 on board, made bold to say to the obvious occasion of tliis 
 improvement in aur prospects, " Much obliged to you sir ;" 
 whereunto the brown forester (waving his ha,nd, and still 
 walking up and down as before) replied, " No you ain't. You're 
 none o' my raising. You may act for yourselves, you may. I 
 have pinted out the way. Down Easters and Johnny Cakes can 
 follow if they please. I an't a Johnny Cake, / an't. lam 
 from the brown forests of the Mississippi^ / am " — and so on, 
 as before. He was unanimously voted one of the tables for 
 his bed at night — there is a great contest for the tables — in 
 consideration for his public services : and he had the wannest 
 corner by the stove throughout the rest of the journey. But I 
 never could find out that he did anything except sit there ; nor 
 did I hear him speak again: until, in the midst of the bustle 
 and turmoil of getting the luggage ashore in the dark at Pitts- 
 burg, I stumbled over him as he sat smoking a cigar on the 
 cabin steps, and heard him muttering to himself, with a short 
 
THE CANAI^BOAT. ^29 
 
 laugh of defiance, " I an't a Johnny Cake, /an't. I'm from 
 the brown forests of the Mississippi, / am, damme ! " I am 
 inchned to argue from this, that he had never left off saying; 
 so ; but I- could not make an affidavit of that part of the 
 story, if ;reqtiired to do so by my Queen and Country. 
 
 As we had not reached Pittsburg yet, however, in • the 
 order of our narrative, I may go on to remark that breakfast 
 was perhaps the least desirable meal of the day, as in ad- 
 dition to the many: savory odors arising from the eatables 
 already mentioned, there were whiffs of gin, whiskey, brandy, 
 and rum, from the little bar hard by, and a decided seasoning 
 of stale tobacco. Many of the gentlemen passengers were 
 far from particular in respect of their linen, which was in 
 some cases as yellow as the little rivulets that had trickled 
 from the corners of their mouths in chewing, and dried there. 
 Nor was the atmosphere quite free from zephyr whisperings 
 of the thirty beds which -had just had been cleared away, and; 
 of which we were further and more pressingly reminded by 
 the occasional- ap)pearance on the table-cloth of a kind of 
 Game, not mentioned m the Bill of Fare, 
 
 And yet despite these oddities — and even they had, for me 
 at least, a humor of their own — there was much in this mode 
 of travelling which I heartily enjoyed, at the- time, and looked 
 back upon with great pleasure. Even the running up, bare- 
 necked, at five o'clock in the morning, from the tainted. cabin- 
 to tlie dirty deck ; scooping up the icy water, plunging one's 
 head into it, arid drawirig it out, all fresh and glowing witli! 
 the cold ; was a good, thing. The fast, brisk walk upon the 
 towing-path, between that time and breakfast, when every 
 vein and arteryseemed to : tingle with health ; the exquisite 
 beauty of the opening day, when light came gleaming off from 
 everything; the lazy motion of the boat, when one lay idly on 
 the. deck, looking thrdugb, rather -than at, the deep blue sky ; 
 the gliding on at nightj. so noiselessly, past frowning hills, 
 sullen with dark trees, and sometimes angry in one red burn- 
 ing spot high up, where unseen men lay crouching round a 
 fire ; the shining out of the bright stars undisturbed by noise 
 ojE. wheels or steam, or any other sound thajU the limpid rip- 
 pling of the water as the boat went on : all these were pure 
 delights. 
 
 Then there were new settlements and detached log-cabinS: 
 and frame-houses, full of interest for strangers from an old 
 country : cabins with simple ovens, outside, made of clay; 
 
y^o AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 and lodgings for the pigs nearly as good as many of the 
 human quarters; broken windows, patched: with worn-out 
 hats, old clothes, old boards, fragments of blankets and pa- 
 per ; and home-fflade dressers standing in the open-air with-, 
 out the door, whereon was ranged the household store, not. 
 hard to count, of earthen jars and pots. The eye was pained 
 to see the stumps of great trees thickly strewn in every field 
 of wheat, and seldom to lose the -eternal swamp and dull 
 morass, with hundreds of rotten trunks and twisted branches 
 steeped in its unwholesome water. It was quite sad and 
 oppressive, to come upon great tracts where settlers had been 
 burning down the trees, and where their 'wounded bodies lay 
 about, like those of murdered creaturesj whilie here and there 
 Some charred and blackened giant reared aloft two withered 
 arms, and seemed to call down curses on his foes. Some- 
 times, at night, the way wound through some : lonely gorge, 
 like a mountain pass in Scotland, shining and coldly glitter- 
 ifig in the light of the moon, and so closed in by high steep 
 hills all round, that there seeitied to be no egress save through 
 the narrower path by which we had come, until one rugged 
 hill-side seemed to open, and shutting out the moon-light as 
 we passed ftito its gloomy throat wrapped our new course in 
 shade and darkness.' '■ , 
 
 We had left Harrisburg on Friday. On Sunday morning 
 we arrived at the foot of the mountain, which is crossed by 
 railroad. There are ten inclined planes ; five <rscending, and 
 five (/ifscending ; the carriages are 'dragged up the former, and 
 let slowly down the latter, by means ot stationary engines ; 
 the comparatively level spaces between, being traversed, 
 Sometimes by horse, and sometimes by engine power, as the 
 case demands. Occasionally the rails are laid upon the ex- 
 treme verge of a giddy precipice ; andJookitig frorn the car- 
 riage window, the traveller gazes sheer down, without a stone 
 or scrap of fence between, into the mounta:in depths below. 
 The journey is very carefully made, however ; only two car- 
 riages travelling together-; and while proper precautions are 
 taken, is not to be dreaded for its dangers. 
 
 It was very pretty travelling thus, at a rapid pace along 
 the heights of the mountain in a keen wind, to look down 
 into a valley full of light and softness ; catching glimpses 
 through the tree-tops, of scattered cabins ; children running 
 to the doors ; dogs bursting out to bark, whom we could see 
 without hearing ; terrified pigs scampering homewards ; fami- 
 
THE CAtrAL-B&A T. - , i 
 
 lies sitting out in their rude gardens; cows gazing upward 
 with a stupid' indifference ; men in their shirt-sleeves looking 
 on ar their unfinished houses, planning out to-morrow's work ; 
 and -we riding onward, high above them, like a whirlwind. It 
 was amusing, too, when we had dined, and rattled down a 
 steep pass, having no other moving power than the weight of 
 the carriages themselves, to see the engine released, long 
 after us, come buzzing down alone, like a great insect, its 
 back of green and gold so shining in the sun, that if it had 
 spread a pair of wings and soared away, no one would have 
 had occasion; as I fancied, for the least surprise. But it 
 stopped short of us in a very business-like manner when we 
 reaiehed the canal : and, before we left the' wharf, went pant- 
 ing Tip this hill again, with' the passengers who had waited 
 our arrival for the means of traversing the road by which we 
 had come. 
 
 " On the Monday evening, furnace fires and clanking ham- 
 mers on the'tvanks of the canal, warned Us that we approached 
 the termination of this part of our journey;' After going 
 through another dreamy place — a long aqueduct acrqss the 
 Alleghany River, which was stranger than the bridge at Har- 
 risburg, being a vast low wooden "diamberfull of water — we 
 emerged upon that ugly confusion of backs of buildings and 
 crazy galleries and stairs, which always abuts on water, 
 whether it be river, sea-, canal, or ditch : and were at Pitts- 
 burg. 
 
 Pittsburg is like Birmingham in England; at least its 
 townspeople say so. Setting aside the streets, the shops, the 
 houses, wagons, factories, public buildings, and population, 
 perhaps it miy be. ' It'c'ertSlinly has a great quantity of shaoke 
 hanging about it, and is flmous for its iron-works. Besides 
 the prison to which I have already referred, this town con- 
 tains a pretty arsenal and other institutions. It is very beau- 
 tifully situated on the Alleghany River, over which there are 
 two bridges ; and the villas of the wealthier citizens sprinkled 
 about the high grounds in the neighborhood, are pretty 
 enough. We lodged at a most exOelient hotel, and were ad- 
 mirably served. As usual it was full "Bf boarders, was very 
 large, and had a broad colonnade to every story of the house. 
 
 We tarried here, three days. Our next point was Cincin- 
 nati : and as this was a steamboat journey, and western 
 steainboats usually blow up' one or two a week in the season, 
 it was advisable to collect opinions in reference to the com- 
 
732 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 parative safety of the vessels . bound that way^ then lying in 
 the river. One called the Messenger was the best recom- 
 mended. She had been advertised to start positively, every 
 day for a fortnight , or so, and had not gone yet, nor did her 
 captain seem to have any very fixed intention on the subject. 
 But this is the custom : for if the law were to bind down a 
 free and independent citizen to keep his word with the public, 
 what would become of the liberty of the subject ? Besides, it 
 is in the way of trade. And if passengers be decoyed in the 
 way of trade, and people be inconvenienced in the way of 
 trade, what man, who is a sharp tradesman himself, shall say 
 " We must put a stop to this ? " 
 
 Impressed by the deep solemnity of the public announce^ 
 ment, T (being then ignorant of these usages) was for hurry- 
 ing on board in a breathless state, immediately; , but receiving 
 private and confidential information that the boat would cer- 
 tainly not start until Friday, April the First, we made our- 
 selves very comfortable in the mean while,' and went on board 
 at noon that day. , 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 FROM PITTSBURG TO CINCINNATI IN A WESTERN STEAMBOAT. 
 CINCINNATI. 
 
 The Messenger was one among a crowd of high-pressure 
 steamboats, clustered together by a wharf-side, which, looked 
 down upon from the rising ground that forms the landing- 
 place, and backed by the lofty bank on the opposite side of 
 the river, appeared no larger than so many floating models. 
 She' had some forty passengers on board, exclusive of the 
 poorer persons on the lower deck ; and in half an hour, or 
 less, proceeded on her way. 
 
 We had, for ourselves, a tiny state-room with two berths 
 in It, opening out of the ladies' cabin. There was, undoubt- 
 edly, something satisfactory in this "location," inasmuch as 
 it was in the stern, and we had been a great many times very 
 gravely recommended to keep as far aft as possible, " because 
 the steamboats generally blew up forward." Nor was this 
 
CINCINNATI. ^33 
 
 an unnecessary caution, as the occurrence and circumstances 
 of more than one such fatality during our stay sufficiently 
 testified. Apart from this source of self-congratulation, it was 
 an unspeakable relief to have any place, no matter how con- 
 fined, where one could be alone : and as the row of little 
 chambers of which this was one, had each a second glass- 
 door besides that in the ladies' cabin, which opened on a 
 narrow gallery outside the vessel, where the other passengers 
 seldom came, and where one could sit in peace and gaze upon 
 the shifting prospect, we took possession of our new quarters 
 with much pleasure. 
 
 ; If the native packets I have, already described be unlike 
 anything we are in the habit of seeing on water, these western 
 vessels are still more foreign to all theadeas we are accus- 
 tomed to entertain of boats. I hardly know what to liken 
 them tOj or how to describe them. 
 
 . In the first place, they have no mast, cordage, tackle, rig- 
 ging, or other such boat-like gear ; nor Iiave they anything in 
 their shape at all calculated to remind one of a boat's head, 
 stern, .sicfes, or keel. Except that they are in the water, and 
 display a couple of paddle-boxes, they might be intended, for 
 anything that appears to the contrary, to perform some un- 
 known service, high and dry, upon a mountain top. There is no 
 visible deck, even : nothing but a long, black, ugly roof, cov- 
 ered with burnt-out feathery sparks ; above which tower two 
 iron chimneys, and a hoarse escape valve, arid a glass steer- 
 age-house. : Then, in order as the eye descends towards the 
 water, are the sides, and doors, and windows of the state- 
 rooms, jumbled as oddly together as though they formed a 
 small i street, built by the varying tastes of a dozen men : the 
 whole is supported on beams and pillars - resting on a dirty 
 barge, but a few inches above the water's edge: and in the 
 narrow space between this upper structure . and this barge's 
 deck, are the furnace fires and machinery, open at the sides 
 to every wind that blows, and every storm of rain it drives 
 along its path. 
 
 Passing one of these boats at night, and seeing the great 
 body of fire, exposed as I have just described, that rages^ and 
 roars beneath the frail pile of paipted wood : the machinery, 
 not warded off or guarded in any way, but doing its work in the 
 midst of the crowd of idlers and emigrants and children, who 
 throng the lower deck : under the management, too, of reck- 
 less men whpse acquaintance with its mysteries niay have 
 
734 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 been of six months' standing: one feels directly that the 
 wotider is, not that there should be so many fatal accidents, 
 but that any journey should be safely made. 
 
 Within, there is one long narrow cabin, the whole length ot 
 the boat ; from which the state-rooms open, on both sides. 
 A small portion- of it at the stern is partitioned off for the 
 ladies ; and the bar is at the opposite extreme. There is a long 
 table down the centre, and at either end a stove. The wash- 
 ing apparatus' is forward, on the deck. It is a little better 
 than on board the canal boat, but not much. In all modes 
 of travelling, the American customs, with reference _ to the 
 means of personal cleanliness and wholesome ablution, are 
 extremely negligent and filthy ; and I strongly incline to the 
 belief that a considerable amount of illness is referable to this 
 cause. :•-.'. - - ■ 
 
 We are to be on board the Messenger, three days; arriv- 
 ing at Cincinnati (barring accidents) on Monday TOOttiing. 
 There are three meals a day. Breakfast at seven, dinner at 
 half-past twelve, supper about six. At each, there are a great 
 many small dishes arid plates upon the table, with very little 
 in them ; so that although tliere is every appearance of a 
 mighty "spread," there is seldom really more than a joint: 
 except for those who fancy slices of beet-root, shreds of^dried 
 beef, complicated entanglements of yellow pickle ; maize, 
 Indian corn, apple-sauce, and pumpkin. 
 
 Some people fancy all these little dainties together (and 
 sweet preserves beside), by way of relish to tlleir • roast pig. 
 They are generally those dyspeptic ladies and gentlemen who 
 eat unheard-of quantities of hot corn bread (almost as good 
 foi .the digestion as a kneaded pin-cushion), for breakfast, 
 and for supper. Those who do not observe this custom, and 
 who Tielp themselves several times instead, usually isuck their 
 knives and forks meditativelyj until they have decided what 
 to take next :■ then pull them out of their mouths : put them 
 in the dish ■ help themselves ; and fall to work again. At 
 dinner, there is nothing to drink upon the table, but great 
 jugs fiill of cold water. Nobody says anything, at any' meal, 
 to anybody. All the passengers are very dismal, and seem 
 to have trerhendous Secrets- weighing on their minds. There 
 i-s no conversation, no laughter, no cheerfulness, no sociality, 
 except in spitting ; and that is done in silent fellowship round 
 the stove, -when the meal is over. ■ Every man sits down, dull 
 and languid ; swallows his fare as if breakfasts, dinners, and 
 
CINCINNATI. yg^ 
 
 suppers, were necessities of nature never to be coupled with 
 recreation or enjoyment; and having bolted his food in a 
 gloomy silence, bolts himself, in the same state. But for these 
 animal observances, you might suppose the whole male por- 
 tion of the company to be the melancholy ghosts of departed 
 baedrkeepers, who had fallen dead at the desk : such is their 
 weary/air:of business and calculation. Undertakers on duty 
 would be sprightly beside them j'and a collation of funeral- 
 baked meats, in comparison with these'-' meals, would be a 
 sparkling festivity. 
 
 The people are all alike, too. There is no diversity bf char- 
 acter. They travel about on the same errands, say and do the 
 s'ame things in exactly the same manner, and follow in the same 
 dull cheerless round. All down the long table, there is scarcely 
 a man who is different in anything from his neighbor. It is 
 quite a relief to have sitting opposite, that little girl of fifteen 
 with the loquacious chin : who, to do her justice, acts up to it, 
 ^nd:fully identifies nature's handwriting, for of all the striall 
 chatterboxes that ever invaded the repose of drowsy ladies' 
 cabin, she is the first and foremost. The beautiful girl, who sits 
 a little beyond her— ^farther down the table there — married 
 the;young. man with the dark whiskers, who sits beyond her, only 
 last mbnth. They are going to settle in the very Far West, where 
 he has lived foilr years, but where she has never been. They 
 were both overturned in a stage-coach the other day (a bad 
 omen anywhere else, where overturns • are not so common), 
 and his liead, which bears the marks of a recent wound, is 
 bound up still. She was hurt too, at the same time, and lay 
 insensible for some days ; bright as her eyes are, now. 
 
 Further down stilj, sits a man who is going • some miles 
 beyond their place of destination, to " improve " a newly-dis- 
 covered copper mine. ' He carries the village — ^that is to be — 
 with liim : a few frame cottages, and an apparatus for smelt- 
 ing the copper.- He carries its people too. They are partly 
 American and partly Irish, and herd together on the lower 
 deck; where they amused themselves last evening' till the 
 night was pretty far advanced, by alternately firing off pistols 
 and singing hymns. 
 
 ' They, and the very few who have been left at table twenty 
 minutes, rise, and gc away. We do so too ; and passing 
 through our little state-room, resume our seats in the quiet 
 gallery without.. 
 
 A fine broad river always, but in sonie parts much widei 
 
736 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 than in others : and then there is usually a green island, cov- 
 ered with trees, dividing it into two streams. Occasionally, 
 we stop for a few: minutes, maybe to take in wood, maybe for 
 passengers, at some small town or village (I ought to say 
 city, every place is a city here) ; but 'the banks are for the 
 most part deep solitudes, overgrown with trees, which, here- 
 abouts, are already in leaf and: very green. For miles and 
 miles, and miles, these solitudes are unbroken by any sign 
 of human life or trace of human footstep ; nor is anything 
 seen to move about them but the blue jay, whose color is so 
 bright and yet so delicate, that it looks like a flying flower. 
 At lengthened intervals, a log cabin, with its little space of 
 cleared land about it, nestles under' a rising ground, and 
 sends its thread of blue smoke curling up into the sky. It 
 stands in the corner of the poor field of wheat, which is full of 
 great unsightly stumps, like earthy butchers'-blocks. Some- 
 times the ground is only just now cleared : the felled trees 
 lying yet upon the soil : and the log-house only this morning 
 begun. As we pass this clearing, the settler Ifeans upon his 
 axe or tia,mmer, and looks wistfully at the people from the 
 world. The children creep out of the temporary hut, which 
 is like a gypsy tent upon the ground, and clap their hands and 
 shout. The dog only glances round at us, and then looks up 
 into his master's face again, as if he were rendered uneasy by 
 any suspension of the common business, and had nothing 
 more to do with pleasurers. And still there is the same, eter- 
 nal foreground. The river has washed away its banks, and 
 stately trees have fallen down into the stream. Some have 
 been there so long, that they are mere dry grizzly skeletons. 
 Some have just toppled over, and having earth yet about their 
 roots, are bathing their green heads in: the river, and putting 
 fordi new shoots and branches. Some are almost sliding 
 down, as you look at them. And some were drowned so long 
 ago, that their bleached arms start out from the middle of the 
 current, and seem to try to grasp the boat and drag it under 
 the water. 
 
 ; Through such a scene as this, the unwieldy machine takes 
 its hoarse sullen way : venting, at every revolution of the pad- 
 dles, a loud high-pressure blast ; enough, one would think, to 
 wialcen up the host of Indians who lie;buried in a great mound 
 yonder: so old, that mighty oaks and other forest trees have 
 struck their roots into its earth ; and so high, that it is a hill 
 even among the hills that Nature planted round it. The very 
 
CINCINNA TI. y 2 7 
 
 river, as though it shared one's feelings of compassion for the 
 extinct tribes who lived so pleasantly here, in their blessed ig- 
 norance of white existence, hundreds of yearsago, steals out 
 of its way to ripple near this mound : and there are few places 
 where the Ohio sparkles more brightly than in the Big Grave 
 Greek. 
 
 All this I see as I sit in the little stem-gallery mentioned 
 just now. Evening slowly steals upon the landscape and 
 changes it before me, when we stop to set some emigrants 
 ashore. - ; 
 
 Five men, as many women, and a little girl. All their 
 worldly goods are a bag, a large chest and an old chair: one, 
 old, high-backed, rush-bottomed chair : a solitary settler in it- 
 self. They are rowed ashore in the boat, while the vessel 
 stands a little off awaiting its return, the water being shallow. 
 They are landed at the foot of a high bank, on the summit of 
 which are a few log cabins, attainable only by a long winding 
 path. It is growing dusk ; but the sun is very red, and shines 
 in the water and on some of the tree-tops, like fire. 
 
 The men get- out of the boat first ; help out the women ; 
 take out the bag, the chest, the chair ; bid the rowers " good- 
 by;" and shove the boat off for them. At the first plash' 
 of the oars in the water, the oldest woman of the party, sits 
 down in the old chair, close to thfe water's edge, without speak- 
 ing a word. None of the others sit down, though the chestis 
 large enough for many seats. They all stand where they 
 landed, as if stricken into stone ; and look after tlie boat. So 
 they remain, quite still and silent : the old woman and her 
 old chair, in the centre j the Taag and chest upon the- shore, 
 without anybody heeding them : all eyes fixed upon the boat. 
 It comes alflipgside, is made fast, the men jump on board, the 
 engine is put in motion, and we go hoarsely on again. There 
 they stand yet, without the motion of a hand. I caii see them 
 through my glass, when, in the distance and increasing dark- 
 ness, they are mere specks to the eye : lingering there still : 
 the old woman in the old chair, and all the rest about her : 
 not stirring in the least degree. And thus I slowly lose them. 
 
 The night is dark, and we proceed within the shadow of 
 the wooded bank, which makes it darker. After gliding past 
 the sombre maze of boughs for a long time, we come upon an 
 open space where the tall trees are burning. The shape of 
 every branch and twig is expressed in a deep- red glow, and 
 as the light wind stirs and ruffles it, they seem to vegetate in 
 
738 
 
 AMERICAN. NO TES. 
 
 fire. It is such a sight as we read of iir legends of enchanted 
 forests : saving that it is sad. to see these poble works wastog 
 away so: awfully, alone ; and to think, how mafly years must 
 come and go before the magic th^t • created them -wiil- rear 
 their like upon thisi grouncJ again. But the time will, come : 
 and when, in their changed ashes, the growth of centuries un- 
 born has struck its: roots, the restless! men of distant ages will 
 repair to these again unpeopled solitudes ; and their fellciws, 
 in cities far away, that slranber: now, perhaps, beneath the 
 rolling sea, will read in language strange to any ears in being 
 now, but vely old to them, of primeval forests where the axe 
 was never heard, and where the jungled ground was never 
 troddeii by a human foot. ^. . 
 
 Midriight and sleep, blot out these scenes smdthougtits : 
 and when the morning shines again, it gilds the. house-tops of 
 a lively city, besEore whose broad paved wharf the. boat: is 
 moored ; with other boats, and flags, and moving wheels, and 
 hum of men around it j as though there were not a solitary or 
 silent rood of ground within the compass of a thousand miles. 
 
 Ciacinnati is a beautiful city_; cheerful, tliriving and ani- 
 mated. I have not often seen, a place that commends itself 
 so favorably and pleasantly tOj a straager at the first glance 
 as this does ;. with its clean houses of red and white, its well- 
 paved roads, and foot-ways of bright tile. Nor does it become 
 less prepossessing on a closer acquaintance. The streets are 
 broad and airy, the shops extremely good, the private resi- 
 dences remarkable for their elegance, and neatness. There is 
 something of invention andfancy in the Vary mg styles of these 
 latter erections, which, after the dull company of the steam- 
 boat, is perfectly delightful, as conveying an assurance that 
 there are such qualities still in existence. The. disposition to 
 orjiamentL these pretty villas and render them. attractive, leads 
 to the culture of trees and flowers, and the laying out of well- 
 kept gardeBS, the sig;ht of which, to tliose who walk along the 
 istreets, is inexpressibly refreshing and agreeable. I was 
 quite charmed with the appearance of the. town, and its ad- 
 .joining suburb of Mount Auburn ; from which the city, lying 
 Jin an amphitheatre of . hills, forms a picture of remarkable 
 beauty, and is seen to great advantage. 
 
 There happened to be a great Temperance Convention 
 held here on the day after our arrival ■; and as the. order of 
 march brought the procession under the windows of the hotel 
 in which we lodged, when they started in the inorning, I had 
 
CINCINNATI. _-- 
 
 a good dpportiinity of seeing it. It comprised several thou- 
 sand men ; the members of various. " Washington Auxiliary- 
 Temperance Societies;" and was. marshalled by officers on 
 horseback, who cantered brisldynp and down the line, with 
 scarves and ribbons of bright colors fluttering oiit behind 
 them gayly. There were bands of music too, and barmers out 
 of niimber : and. it was a fresh,: hblidayblookimg concourse al- 
 together. : • i.!., r , 
 
 I was particularly pleased to seethe Irishmen, who formed 
 a distinct society among themselves, andmustered very strong 
 with their green scarves ; carrying' their national Harp and 
 their Portrait of Father Mattew, high above the people's 
 heads. They looked as jolly and good-humored as ever ; and, 
 working (here) the hardest for their living and doing, any kind 
 of sturdy labor that came in their way, were the most, inde- 
 pendent fellows there, I thought.- . ' ! 
 
 The banners were very well -painted, and fiiunted .dowin 
 the street famously. There was the smiting of the rock, and 
 the gashing forth of the waters ; and there was a temperate 
 man with "considerable of a hatchet" (as the standard-bearer 
 would probably have said), aiming a deadly blow at a serpent 
 which was apparently about to spring upon him from the top 
 of a barrel of spirits. But the chief feature of this part of the 
 show was a huge allegorical deVicej borne among the ship- 
 carpenters, on one side whereof the steamboat Alcohol was 
 represented bursting her boiler and exploding with a great 
 crash, while upon the other, the good ship Temperance sailed 
 away with a fair wind, to the heart's content of the captain, 
 crew, and passengers. 
 
 After, going round the town, the .procession repaired to a 
 certain appointed place, where, as the printed programme set 
 forth, it would be received by the children of the different 
 free schools, " singing Temperance Songs." I was prevented 
 from getting there, in time to hear these. Little .'Warblers, or 
 to report upon this novel kind of vocal entertainment : novel, 
 at leastj to me : but I found in a large open space, each soci- 
 ety gathered round its own banners,: and listening in silent 
 attention to its own orator. The speeches, judging from the 
 little I could hear of them, were certainly adapted to the oc- 
 casion, as having that degree of relationship to cold water 
 which wet blankets may claim : but the main thing was the 
 conduct and appearance of the audience throughout the day. j 
 and that was admirable and full of promise. 
 
^40 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 Cincinnati is honorably famous for its free-schools, of 
 which it has so many that no person's child among its popul^'- 
 tion can, by possibility, want the means of education,_ which 
 are extended, upon an average, to four thousand pupils, an- 
 nually. I was only present in one of these establishments 
 during the hours of instruction. In the boys' department, 
 which was full of little urchins (varying in their ages, I should 
 say, from six years old to tenor twelve), the master offered to 
 institute an extemporary examination of the pupils in algebra; 
 a proposal, which, as I was by no means confident of my 
 ability to detect mistakes in that science, I declined with some 
 alarm. In the girls' school, reading was proposed ; and as I 
 felt tolerably equal to that art, I expressed my willingness to 
 hear a class. Books were distributed accordingly, and some 
 half-dozen girls relieved each other in reading paragraphs 
 from English History. But it seemed to be a dry compila- 
 tion, infinitely above their powers ; and when they had blun- 
 dered through three, or four dreary pa:ssages concerning the 
 Treaty of Amiens, and other thrilling topics of the same 
 nature (obviously without comprehending ten words), I ex- 
 pressed myself quite satisfied. It is very possible that they 
 only mounted to this exalted stave in the Ladder of Learning 
 for the astonishment of a visitor ; and that at other times they 
 keep upon its lower . rounds \ but I should have been much 
 better pleased, and satisfied if I had heard them exercised in 
 simpler lessons, which they understood. 
 
 As in every other place I visited, the Judges here were 
 gentlemen of high icharacter and attainments. I was in one 
 of the courts for a few minutes, and found it like those to 
 which 1 have already referred. A nuisance cause was trying ; 
 there were not many spectators ; and the witnesses, counsel, 
 and jury, formed a sort of family circle, sufficiently jocose and 
 snug. 
 
 The society with which I mingled, was intelligent, cour- 
 teous, and agreeable. The inhabitants of Cincinnati are proud 
 of thfeir city as one of the most interesting in America : and 
 with good reason : for beautiful and thriving as it is now, and 
 containing, as it does, a population of fifty thousand souls, but 
 two-and-fifty years have passed away since the ground on 
 which it stands (bought at that time; for a few dollars) was a 
 wild wood, and its citizens were but a handful of dwellers in 
 scattered log huts upon the river's shore. 
 
ST. LOUIS. M^i 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 FROM CINCINNATI TO LOUISVII-LE IN ANOTHER WESTERN STEAM- 
 BOAT ; AND FROM LOUISVILLE TO ST. LOUIS IN ANOTHER. 
 ST. LOUIS. 
 
 Leaving Cincinnati at eleven o'clock in the forenoon, we 
 embarked for Louisville in the Pike steamboat, Which, carry- 
 ing the mails, was a packet of a much better class than that 
 in which we had come from Pittsburg. As this passage does 
 not occupy more than twelve or thirteen hours, we arranged 
 to go ashore that night : not coveting the distinction of sleep- 
 ing in a state-room, when it was possible to sleep anywhere 
 else. 
 
 There chanced to be on board this boat, in addition to the 
 usual dreary crowd of passengers, one Pitchlynn, a chief of 
 the Choctaw tribe of Indians, who sent in his card to me, and 
 with whom I had the pleastire of a long conversation. 
 
 He spoke English perfectly well, though he had not begun 
 to learn the language, he told me,until he was a young man 
 grown. He had read many books; and Scott's poetry ap- 
 peared to have left a strong impression on his mind : especially 
 the opening of The Lady of the Lake, and the great battle 
 scene in Marmion, in which, no doubt from the congeniality 
 of the subjects to his own pursuits and tastes, he had great 
 interest and delight. He appeared to understand correctly 
 all he had read ; and whatever fiction had enlisted his 
 sympathy in his belief, had done so keenly and earnestly. I 
 might almost say fiercely. He was dressed- in our ordinary 
 every-day costume, which hung about his fine figure loosely, 
 and with indifferent grace. On my telling him that I regretted 
 not to see him in his own attire, he threw up his right arm, for 
 a moment, as though he were brandishing some heavy weapon, 
 and answered, as he let it fall again, that his race were losing 
 many things besides their dress; and would soon be seen 
 upon the earth no more : but he wore it at home, he added 
 proudly. 
 
 He told me that he had been away from his home, west of 
 the Mississippi, seventeen months : and was now returning. 
 He had been chiefly at Washington on some negotiations 
 
y4U AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 pending between his Tribe and the Government : which were 
 not settled yet (he said in a melancholy way), and he feared 
 never would be : for what could a few poor Indians do, against 
 such well-skilled men of business astthffi whites ? He had no 
 love for Washington ; tired of towns and cities very soon ; and 
 longed for the.Fofiest and the Prairie. 
 
 I asked him what he thought of Congress? He answered, 
 with a smile, that it wanted dignity, in an Indian's eyes. 
 
 He would very much like, he said, to see England before 
 he died ; and spoke with much interest about the great things 
 to be seen tliere. When I told him of that chamber in the 
 British Museum wherein are preserved household memorials 
 of a race that ceased to be, thousands of years ago, he was 
 very atteiitive, and it was not hard to see that he had a refer- 
 ence in his mind to the gradual fading away of his own people. 
 
 This led us to speak of Mr. Catlin's gallery, whidv he 
 praised highly : observing that his own portrait was among 
 the collection, and that all the likenesses were "elegant." 
 Mr. Cooper, he said, had painted the Red Men welLj and so 
 would I, be knew, if I would go home with him and hunt 
 buffaloeSj which he was quite anxious 1 should da When I 
 told, him that supposing I went, I should not be very likely to 
 damage the buffaloes much, he took it as a great joke and 
 laughed heartUy. 
 
 He was a remarkably handsome man ; some years pa^ 
 forty, I should judge ; with long black hair, an aquiline nose, 
 bfoad cheek bones, a sunburnt complexion, and a very bright, 
 keen, dark, and piercing eye. There were but twenty tliou- 
 sand of the Choctaws left, he said, and their number was 
 decreasing eveiy day. A few of his brother chiefs had been 
 obliged to become civilized, and to make themselves acquainted 
 with what the whites knew, for it was their only chance of 
 existence. But they were not many ; and the rest were as 
 they always had been. He dwelt on this : and saiid several 
 times that unless they tried to assimilate themselves to their 
 conquerors, they must be swept away before the . strides of 
 civilized society. 
 
 When we shook hands at parting, I told him he must come 
 tg England, gis he longed to see the land so much ; that I should 
 hope to see him there, one day : and that I could promise 
 him he would be well received and kindly treated. He was 
 evidently pleased by this assurance, though he rejoined with 
 a good-humored smile and an arch shake of liis head, that the 
 
Sr. LOUIS. ^43 
 
 English used to be very fond of the Red Men when they 
 wanted their help, but had not cared much for them, since. 
 
 He took his leave ; as stately and complete a gentleman 
 (rf Nature's making, as ever I beheld ; and moved among the 
 people in the boat, another kind of being. He sent me a 
 lithographed portrait of himself soon afterwards ; very like, 
 though scaroely handsome enough ; •which I have carefullv 
 preserved in memory of our brief acquaintance. 
 
 ITber^ was nothing very interesting in the scenery of this 
 day's journey, which brought us at tnidnight to Louisville. 
 We slept at the Gait House ; a splendid . hotel ; and were as 
 handsomely lodged as though we had been in Paris, rather 
 than hundreds of miles beyond the Alleghanies. 
 
 The city presenting no objects of sufficient interest to de- 
 tain us on our way, we resolved to proceed next day by an- 
 other steamboat, the Fulton, and to join it, about noon, at a 
 suburb called Portland, where it would he delayed some time 
 in passing through a canal. 
 
 The interval, after breakfast, we devoted to riding through 
 the town, which is regular and cheerful : the streets being 
 laid out at right, angles, and planted with young trees. The 
 buildings are smoky and blackened, from the use of bitumi- 
 nous coal, but an rEnglishman is well used to that appearance, 
 and indisposed to quarrel with it. There did not appear to 
 be much business stirring ; and some unfinished buildings and 
 improvements seemed to intimate that the city had been over- 
 built in the ardor of " going-a-head,'' and was suffering under 
 the re-action consequent upon such feverish forcing of its 
 powers. 
 
 On our way to Portland, we passed a " Magistrate's office," 
 which amused me, as looking far more like a dame school than 
 any police establishment : for this awful Institution was noth- 
 ing but a little lazy, good-for-nothing front parlor, open to the 
 street ; wherein two or three figures (I presume the magistrate 
 and his myrnnidons) were basking in the sunshine, the very 
 effigies of languor ;and repose. It was a perfeet picture of 
 Justice retired from business for want of customers ; her 
 sword and scales sold off ; napping comfortably with her legs 
 upon the table. 
 
 Here, as elsewhere in these parts, the road was perfectly 
 alive with pigs of all ages ; lying about in every directiori, fast 
 asleep ; or grunting along in quest of hidden dainties. I had 
 always a sneaking kindness for these odd animals, and found 
 
^44 A M ERIC AN NO TES. 
 
 a constant source of amusement, when all others failed, in 
 watching their proceedings. As we were riding along this 
 morning, I observed a little incident between two youthful 
 pigs, which was so very human as to be inexpressibly comical 
 and grotesque at the time, though I dare say, in telling, it is 
 tame enougli.. ■ 
 
 One young gentleman (a very delicate porker with several 
 straws sticking about his nose, betokening recent investiga'- 
 tions in a dunghill), was walking deliberately on, profoundly 
 thinking, when suddenly his brother, who was lying in a miry 
 hole unseen by him, rose up immediately before his startled 
 eyes, ghostly with damp mud. Never was pig's whole mass 
 of blood so turned. . He started back at least three feet, gazed 
 for a moment, and then shot off as hard as he could go : his 
 excessively little tail vibrating with speed and terror like a 
 distracted pendulum. But before he had gone very far, he 
 began to reason with himself as to the nature of this fright- 
 ful appearance ; and as he reasoned, he relaxed his speed by 
 gradual degrees ; until at last he stopped,' and faced about. 
 Therfe was his brotlier, with the mud upon him glazing in the 
 snh, yet staring out of the very same hole, perfectly amazed 
 at his proceedings ! He was no sooner assured of this ; and 
 he assured himself so carefully that one may almost say he 
 sJiaded his eyes with his hand to see the better ; than he came 
 back at a round trot, pounced upon him, and summarily took 
 off a piece of his tail ; as a caution to him to be careful what 
 he was about for the future, and never to play tricks with his 
 family any more. 
 
 We found the steamboat in the canal, waiting for the slow 
 process of getting through the lock, and went on board, where 
 we shortly afterwards had a new kind of visitor in the person 
 of a certain Kentucky Giant whose name is Porter, and who 
 is of the moderate height of seven feet eight inches, in his 
 stockings. 
 
 There never was a race of people who so completely gave 
 the lie to history as these giants, or whom all the chroniclers 
 have so cruelly libelled. Instead of roaring and ravaging 
 about the world, constantly catering for their cannibal larders, 
 and perpetually going to market in an unlawful manner, they 
 are the meekest people in any man's acquaintance : rather in 
 dining to "milk and vegetable diet, and bearing anything for 
 a quiet life. So decidedly are amiability and mildness their 
 characteristics, that I confess I look upon that youth who dis- 
 
ST. LOUIS. 
 
 74S 
 
 tinguished himself by the slaughter of these inoffensive per- 
 sons, as a faJse-hearted brigand,, who,, pretending to philan- 
 thropic motives, was secretly influenced only by the wealth 
 stored up within their castles, and tlie hope of plunder. And 
 1 lean the more to this opinion from finding that even the 
 historian of those exploits, with all his partiality for his hero, 
 is fain to admit that the slaughtered monsters in question were 
 of a very innocentand simple turn ; extremely guileliess and 
 ready of belief ; lending a credulous ear to the most improb' 
 able tales ; suffering themselves to be easily entrapped into 
 pits ; and even (as in the case of the Welsh Giant) with an 
 excess of the hospitable politeness of a landlord, ripping 
 themselves open, rather than hint at the. possibility of their 
 guests being versed in the vagabond arts of sleight-of-hand 
 and hocus-pocus. 
 
 The Kentucky Giant was but another illustration of the 
 truth of this position. He had a weakness in the region of 
 the knees, and a trustfulness in his long face, which appealed 
 even to five-feet nine for encouragement and support. He 
 was only twenty-five years old, he said-, and had grown re- 
 cently, for it had been found necessary to make, an addition 
 to the legs of his inexpressibles. At fifteen he was a short 
 boy, and in those days his English father and his Irish mother 
 had.rather snubbed him, as being too small of stature to sus- 
 tain the credit of the family. He added that his health had 
 not been good, though it was better now ; but short people 
 are not wanting who whisper that he drinks too hard.^ 
 
 I understand he drives a hackney-coach, though how he 
 does it, unless he stands on the footboard behind, and lies 
 along the roof upon his chest, with his chin ia the box, it 
 would be difficult to comprehend. He brought his gun with 
 hira, as a curiosity. Christened " The Little Rifle," and dis- 
 played outside a shop-window, it would make the fortune of 
 any retail business in Holborn. When he had shown himself 
 and talked a little while, he withdrew with his pocket-instru- 
 ment, and went bobbing down the cabin, among men of six 
 feet high and upwards, like a lighthouse walking among lamp- 
 posts. 
 
 Within a few minutes afterwards, we were out of the canal, 
 and in the Ohio river again. 
 
 The arrangements of the boat were like those of the Mes- 
 senger, and the passengers were of the same order of people. 
 We fed at the same times, on the same kind of viands, in the 
 
y4<i AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 same dull manner, and with the same observance. The com- 
 jxiny appeared to be oppressed by the same tremendous con- 
 cealments, and had as little capacity of enjoyment or lights 
 heartedness. I never in my life did see such listless, heavy 
 dulness as brooded over these meals : the very recollection of 
 it weighs me down, and makes me, for the moment, wretched. 
 Reading and writing on my knee, in our little cabin, I really 
 dreaded the coming of the hour that summoned us to table ; 
 and was as glad to escape from it again, as if it had been a 
 pennace or a punishment. Healthy cheerfulness and good 
 spirits forming a part of the banquet, I could soak my crusts 
 in the fountain with Le Sage's strolling player, and revel in 
 their glad enjoyment : but sitting down with so many fellow- 
 animals to ward off thirst and hunger as a business ; to empty, 
 each creature, his Yahoo's trough as quickly as he can, and 
 then slink sullenly away ; to have these social sacraments 
 stripped of everything but the mere greedy satisfaction of the 
 natural cravings ; goes so against the grain with me, that I 
 seriously believe the recollection of these funeral feasts will 
 be a waking nightmare to me all my life. 
 
 There was some relief in this boat, too, which there had 
 not been in the other, for the Captain (a blunt good-natured 
 fellow), had his handsome wife with him, who was disposed 
 to be lively and agreeable, as were a few other lady-passen- 
 gers who had their seats about us at the same end of the table. 
 But nothing could have made head against the depressing 
 influence of the general body. There was a magnetism of 
 dulness in thein which would have beaten down the most face- 
 tious companion that the earth ever knew. A jest would 
 have been a crime and a smile would have faded into a grin- 
 ning horror. Such deadly leaden people; such systematic 
 plodding weary insupportable heaviness ; such a mass of ani- 
 mated indigestion in respect of all that was genial, jovial, 
 frank, social, or hearty ; never, sure, was brought together 
 elsewhere since the world began. 
 
 Nor was the scenery, as we approached the junction of the 
 Qhio and Mississippi rivers, at all inspiriting in its influence. 
 The trees were stunted in their growth ; the banks were low 
 and flat ; the settlements and log cabins fewer in number : 
 their inhabitants more wan and wretched than any we had 
 encountered yet. No songs of birds were in the air, no pleas- 
 ant scents, no moving lights and shadows from swift passing 
 clouds. Hour after hour, the changeless glare of the hot,' 
 
ST LOUIS. y^jr 
 
 unwinking sky, shone upon the same monotonous objects. 
 Hour after hour, the river rolled along, as wearily aiid slowly 
 as the time itself. 
 
 At length, upon the morning oi the third day, we arrived 
 at a spot so much more desolate than any we had yet beheld, 
 that the forlomest places we had passed, were, in comparison 
 with it, full of interest. At the junction of the two rivers, on 
 ground so fiat and low and marshy, that at certain seasons of 
 the year it is inundated to the house-tops, lies a breeding-place 
 of fever, ague, and death ; vaunted in England as a mine of 
 Golden Hope, and speculated in, on the faith of monstrous 
 representations, to many people's ruin. A dismal swamp, on 
 which the half-built houses rot away : cleared here and there 
 for the space of a few yards ; and teeming, then, with rank 
 unwholesome vegetation, in whose baleful shade the wretched 
 wanderers who are tempted hither, droop, and die, and lay 
 their bones ; the hateful Mississippi circling and eddying before 
 it, and turning off upon its southern course a slimy monster 
 hideous to behold ; a hotbed of disea:se, an ugly sepulchre, a 
 grave uncheered by any gleam of promise : ■ a place without 
 one single quality, in earth or air or water, to commend it : 
 such is this disWial Cairo. 
 
 But what words shall describe the Mississippi, great father 
 of rivers, who (praise be to Heaven) has no yOung children 
 like him ! An enormous ditch, sometimes two of three miles 
 wide, running liquid mud, six miles an hour: its strong and 
 frothy current choked and obstructed everywhere by huge 
 fogs and whole forest trees : now twining themselves together in 
 great rafts, from the interstices of which a sedgy lazy foam 
 works ^p, to float upon the water's top ; now rolling past like 
 monstrous bodies, their tangled roots showing like matted 
 hair ; now glancing singly by like giant leeches ; and now 
 writhing round and round in the vortex of some stiiall whiripool 
 like wounded snakes. The banks low, the trees dwarfish, the 
 marshes swarming with frogs, the wretched cabinsfew and far 
 apart their inmates hpllow-ciheeked and pale, the weather very 
 hot, musquitoes petietrating into every crack and crevice of 
 the boat, mud and slime on everything : nothing pleasant in 
 its 'aspect, but the harmless lightning which flickers every 
 night upon the dark horizon. 
 
 For two days we toiled up this foul stream, striking con- 
 stantly against the floating timbeJ, or stopping to avoid those 
 more dangerous obstacles, the snags, or sawyers, which are 
 
j^ AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 the, hidden trunk&of trees that have their roots below the tide. 
 When the nights are very dark, ,the look-out stationed in the 
 head of the boat, knows by the ripple of the water if ajiy great 
 impediment be near at hand, and rings a bell beside him, 
 which is the signal for the engine to be stopped : but always 
 in the night this bell has work to do, and aJ^ter every ring, 
 there comes a blow which renders it no easy matter to remain 
 in bed. 
 
 The decline of day here was very gorgeous ; tinging the 
 firmament deeply with red and gold, up to the very keystpne 
 of the arch aboveus. As the sun went down behind the bank, 
 the slightest blades of grass upon it seemed to become as 
 distinctly visible as the arteries in the skeleton of a leaf ; and 
 when, as it slowly sank, the red and golden bars upon the 
 water grew dimmer, and dimmer yet, as if they were sinking 
 too ; and all the glowing colors of departing day paled, inch 
 by inch, before the sombre night; the scene became a thou- 
 sand times more lonesome and more dreary than before, and 
 all it influences darkened with the sky.: 
 
 We drank the muddy water of this river while we were 
 upon it. It is considered wholesome by tlie natives, and is 
 something more opaque than gruel. I have seen water like it 
 at the Filter^shops, but nowhere else. 
 
 On the fourth night after leaving Louisville, we reached 
 St. Louis, and here I witnessed the conclusion of an incident, 
 trifling enough in itself, but very pleasant to see, which had 
 interested; me during the whole journey. 
 
 There was a little woman on board, with a little baby.; and 
 both little woman and little child were cheerful, good-looking, 
 bright-eyed, and fair to see. The little woman hail been 
 passing a long time with her sick mother in New York, and 
 had left her home in St. Louis, in that condition in which 
 ladies who truly love their lords desire to be. The baby was 
 born in her mother's house ; and she had not seen her hus- 
 band (to whom she was now returning), for twelve months : 
 having left him a month or two after tlieir marriage. 
 
 Well, to be sure, there never was a little woman so full of 
 hope, and tendernesSj and love, and anxiety, as this little 
 woman was : and all day long she wondered whether " He " 
 would be at the wharf ; and whether " He " had got her letter j 
 and whether, if she sent the baby ashore by somebody else, 
 "■ He " would know it, meeting it in the street : which, seeing 
 that he had never set eyes upon it in his life, was not \cry 
 
ST. LOUIS. j^n 
 
 likely in the abstract, but was probable enough, to the young 
 mother. She was such an artless little creature ; and was in 
 such a sunny, beaming, hopeful state; and let out all this 
 matter clinging close about h$r heart, so freely ; that all the 
 other Udy passengers entered into the spirit of it as much as 
 she; and the captain (who .heard all about it from his wife), 
 was wondrous sly, I promise you: inquir'mg every time we 
 met at table, as in forgetfulness, whether she expected any- 
 body to meet her at St. Louis, and whether she would want 
 to go ashore the night we reached it (but he supposed she 
 wouldn't), and cutting many other dry jokes of that nature. 
 There was one little weazen, drifed-apple-faced old woman, 
 who took occasion to doubt the constancy of husbands in such 
 circumstances of .berBavement ; and there was another lady 
 (with a lap dog) old enough to moralize on the lightness of 
 jv^pnaii affections, and yet not so old that she could help 
 nursing the baby, now and then, or laughing with the rest, 
 when the little woman called it by its father's name, and 
 asked it all manner of fg-ntastic questions concerning him in 
 the joy of her heart. ' 
 
 It was .something of a blow to the little womany that when 
 we were within twenty miles of our destination, it became 
 clearly necessary to put this baby to bed- But she got over 
 ii with the same good-humor; tied a handkerchief round her 
 hjs^d; and came out into the little gallery with the rest. Then 
 such an oracle as she became in reference to the localities ! 
 and such facetiousness as was displayed by the married ladies I 
 and sudi sympathy as was shown by the single ones ! and 
 suchipeals of laughter as the little woman herself (who would 
 just as soon have cried) greeted every jest with ! 
 
 At last, there were the lights of St. Louis, and here was the 
 wharf, and^thpse were the steps: and the little woman cover- 
 ing her face with her hands, and laughing (or seeming to 
 laugh) more than ever, ran into her own cabin, and shut her- 
 self up. I have no doubt that in the charming inconsistency 
 of such excitement, she stopped her ears, lest she should hear 
 "Him " asking for her: but I did not see her do it. • 
 
 Then, a great crqwd, of people rushed on board, though 
 the boat was not y^t m^de fast, but was wandering about, 
 among the other boats, to find a landing-place : and everybody 
 looked for the husband : and nobody saw him : when, in the 
 midst of us all — Heaven knows how she ever got there — there 
 Was the little woman clinging with both, arms tight round the 
 
75° 
 
 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 neck of a fine, good-looking, sturdy young fellow! and in a 
 moment afterwards, there she was again, actually clapping her 
 little hands for joy, as she dragged him through the small 
 door of her small cabin, to look at the baby as he lay asleep ! 
 
 We went to a large hotel, called the Planters House : built 
 like an English hospital, with long passages' and bare walls, 
 and skylights above the room-doors for the free circulation of 
 air. There were a great many boarders in it : and as many 
 lights sparkled and glistened from the windows down into the 
 street below, when we drove up, as if it had been illuminated 
 on some occasion of rejoicing. It is an excellent house, and 
 the proprietors have most bountiful notions of providing tlie 
 creature comforts. Dining alone with my wife in our own 
 room, one day, I counted fourteen dishes on the table at 
 once. 
 
 In the old French portion of the towiS, the thoroughfares 
 are narrow and crooked, and some of the. houses are very 
 quaint and picturesque : being built of wood, with tumble- 
 down galleries before the wndows, approachable by stairs' or 
 rather ladders from the street. There are queer little barbers' 
 shops and drinking-houses too, in this quarter ; and abundance 
 of crazy old tenements with blinking casements, such as may 
 be seen in Flanders. Some of these ancient habitations, with 
 high garret gable-windows perkirig into the roofS, have a kind 
 of French shrug about them ; and being lop-sided with age, 
 appear to hold their heaxls askew, besides, as if they were 
 grimacing in astonishment at the American Improvements. 
 
 It is hardly necessary to say, that these consist of wharfs 
 and warehouses, and new buildings in all directions ; and of a 
 great many vast plans which are still " progressing." Already^ 
 however, some very good houses, broad streets, and marble- 
 fronted shops, have gone so far a-head as to be in a statfr of 
 completion ; and the town bids fair in a few years to improve 
 considerably: though it is not likely ever to vie, in point of 
 elegance or beauty, with Cincinnati. 
 
 The Roman Catholic religion, introduced here by the early 
 Freftch settlers, prevails extensively. Among the public^ in- 
 stitutions are a Jesuit college ; a convent for " the Ladfes of 
 the Sacred Heart; "and a large chapel attached to the col- 
 lege, which was in course of erection at the time of my visit, 
 and was intended to be consecrated on the second of Decem- 
 ber in the next year. The architect of this building, is one 
 of the reverend fathers of the school, and the Works proceed 
 
ST. LOUIS. , , , 
 
 under his sole direction. The organ will be sent from Bel- 
 gium. 
 
 In addition to these establishments, there is a Roman 
 Catholic cathedral, dedicated to Saint Francis Xavier ; and a 
 hospital, founded by the munificence of a deceased resident, 
 who was a member- of that churdi. It also sends missiOnstries 
 from hence among the Indian tribes. 
 
 The Unitarian church is represented, in this remote place, 
 as in most other parts of America, by a gentleman of great 
 worth and excellence. The poor have good reason to remem- 
 ber and bless it; f or it bef rieniis them, and aids the cause 
 of rational education, without any sectarian or selfish views, 
 it is liberal in all its^ actions ; of kind construction ; and of 
 wide benevolence. 
 
 - There are three free-schools already erected, and in full 
 operation in this city. A fourth is building, a.rid will soon be 
 ^)ened. 
 
 No man ever admits the unhealthiness of the place he 
 dwells in (unless he is going away from it), and I shall there- 
 fore, I have no doubt, be at issue *ith the inhabitants of St. 
 Louis, in questioning the perfect salubrity of its climate, aiid 
 in hinting that I think it must rather dispose to fever, in the 
 summer and autuiHnal seasons. Just adding, that it is very 
 hot, lies among great rivers, and has vast tracts of undrained 
 swampy latid around it, I leave the reader to form his own 
 opinion. 
 
 As I had a great desire to see a Prairie before turning back 
 from the furthest point of my wanderings ; and as some gen- 
 tlemen of- the town had, in their hospitable consideration, an 
 equal desire to gratify me ; a day was fixed, before my depart- 
 ure; for an e?^edition to th^ Looking-Glass Prairie, which is 
 within thirty miles of the town. Deeihihg it possible that my 
 readers may not object to know what kind- of thing such a 
 gypsy party iniay be at that disfence from home, and among 
 #hat sort of objects it moves, I will describe the jaunt in an- 
 other chapter. 
 
-752 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A JAUNT TO THE LOOKING-GLASS PRAIRIE AND BACK. 
 
 , T MAY preniise that the word Prairie is variously pro- 
 n^unced panzaer, parearer, zxAparoarer. The latter mode ot 
 prpnuQciatipn is perhaps the ijiost in favor. 
 
 We were fourteen in all, and all young men : indeed it is 
 a singular though v^ry natural feature in the society of these 
 distant settlements^, that it is mainly, cqmposed of adventurous 
 persons in the prime of life, and has very few gray heads among 
 it. There were no laciie^ : the trip being a fatiguing one : and 
 we were to start at five o'clock in the morning punctually. 
 
 I was called at four, that I might be certain of keeping 
 nobody waiting ; and , having got some bread and milk for 
 breakfast, threw up the window and looked down into the 
 street, e^fpecting to see the whole party busily astir, and great 
 preparations going on biglow. But as everything was very 
 quiet, and the street presented that hopeless aspect with which 
 five o'clock in the morning is familiar elsewhere, I deemed 
 it as well to go to bed again, and went accordingly. 
 ,; I awoke again at peven o'clock, and by that tiine the party 
 had assembled, and were gathered round one light carriage, 
 with a very stout axle-tree; one som<2thing on wheels; like an 
 amateur carrier's cart ; one double phaeton of great antiquity 
 and unearthly construction ; one gig with a great hole in its 
 bapit and a broken head; and one rider on horseback who 
 was to go on before. I got into the first coach vrith three 
 companions ; the rest bestowed themselves in the other vehi- 
 cles ; twQ large baskets were made ,fa^t,to.the lightest; two 
 large stone jars in wicker cases, technically known as demi- 
 jphng^ were consigned to the " least zciwdy " of the party for 
 safe-keeping; and the procession moved off to the ferry-boat, 
 in which it was to cross the river bodily, men, horses, car- 
 riages, and all, as the manner in these parts is. 
 
 We got over the river in due course, and mustered again 
 before a little wooden box on wheels, hove down all aslant in 
 a morass, with " merchant tailor " painted in very large 
 letters over the door. Having settled the order of proceed- 
 ing, and the road to be taken, we started off once more ano 
 
LOOKING-GLAiiS jP.RA,IRIE. y^j 
 
 i)egan to make our way through an ill-favored Black Hollow, 
 .called, less expressively, the American Bottom. 
 
 The previous day had been — not to say hot, for the terra 
 is weak and lukewarm in its power of conveying an idea of 
 the temperature. The town had been on fire ; in a blaze. 
 But at night it had come on to rain in torrents, and all night 
 long it had rained without cessation. We had a pair of very 
 Strong horses, but travelled at the rate of little more than a 
 couple of miles a,n hour, through one unbroken slough. . qf 
 black mud and water. It had no variety but in depth. Now 
 it. was only half over the wheels, now it hid tlie axletree, and 
 now the eoach sank down in it almost to the windows. The 
 air resounded in all directions with the loud chirping of the 
 frogs, who, with the pigs (a coarse, ugly breed, as unwhole- 
 some-l,ooking as though they were the spontaneous growth of 
 the country), had the whole scene to themselves. , Hpre aind 
 there we passed a log hut: but the wretched qabins were 
 wide apart and thinly scattered, for though the soil is very 
 rich in this place, few people can exist in such a deadly at- 
 mosphere. On either side of the track, if it deserve the name, 
 was the thick " bush , " and everywhere was stagnant, slimy, 
 rotten, filthy water. 
 
 As it is the custom in these parts to give a horse a gallon 
 or so of cold water whenever he is in a foam with heat, we 
 Jialted for that purpose, at a log inn in the woad,iar rempved 
 from any other residence. It consisted of one room, bare- 
 roof ed and bare-walled of course, with a loft above. The 
 ministering priest was a swarthy young sajrage, in a shirt of 
 ortton print like bed-furniture, and a pair of, ragged trousers. 
 There were a couple of young boys, tog, nearly naked, lying 
 idly by the well ; and they, and he, and the traveller at the 
 inn, turned out to look at us. 
 
 The traveller was an old man with a gray gristly heard 
 two inches long, a shaggy mustache of the same hue, and 
 enormous eyebrows ; which almost obscured : his lazy,, semi- 
 drunken glance, as he stood regarding us with folded, arms : 
 poising himself alternately upon his toes and heels. On being 
 addressed by one of the party, he drew nearer, and said, rub- 
 bing his chin (lyhich scraped under his horny- hand like fresh 
 gravel 1?eneath a nailed shoe), that he, was from Delaware, 
 and had lately bought a farm " down there," pointing irito 
 pile of the matshes where the stunted irees were thickest. 
 ^& was 'fgoii^,," he added, to St. Lpujs, to,fetdi his.family, 
 
 L 
 
75 4 AMERICAN NO TES. 
 
 whom he had left behind; but he seemed in no great hurry to 
 bring on thesg incumbrances, for when we moved away, he 
 loitered back into the cabin, and was plainly bent on stopping 
 there so long as his money lasted. He was a great politician 
 of course, and explained his opinions at some length to one 
 of our comipany; but I only remember that he concluded 
 with two sentiments, one of which was, Somebody for ever ; 
 and the other. Blast everybody else ! which is by no means 
 a bad abstract of the general creed in these matters. 
 
 When the horSes were swollen out to about twice their 
 natural dimensions (there seems to be an idea here, that this 
 kind of inflation improves their going), we went_ forward 
 again, through rrtud and mire, and damp, and festering heat, 
 and brake and bush, attended always by the musk; of the 
 frogs and pigs, until nearly noon, when we halted at a place 
 called Bellevilie. 
 
 Belleville was a small collection of Wooden houses, huddled 
 together in the very heart of the busli and swamp. Many 
 of them had singularly bright doors of red and yellow ; for the 
 place had been lately visited by a travelling painter, " whb 
 got along, " as I was told, " by eating his way." The crimi- 
 nal court was sitting, and was at that moment trying some 
 criminals for horse-stealing : with whom it would most likely 
 go hard : for live stock of all kinds being necessarily veiy 
 much exposed in the woods, is held by the community iri 
 rather higher value than human life ; and for this reason, 
 juries generally make a point of finding all men indicted for 
 cattle-stealing, guilty, wheliier or no. 
 
 The horses belonging to the bar, the judge, and witnesses, 
 were tied to tempdrary racks set up roughly in the road j lyy 
 Which is to be understood, a forest path, nearly knee-deep in 
 mud and slime. 
 
 There was an hotel in this place, which, like all hotels in 
 America, had its large dining-room for the public- table. It 
 was an odd, shambling, low-roofed out-house, half-cowshed 
 and half-fcitchen, with a coarse brown canvas table-cloth, and 
 tiii sconces stuck against the walls, to hold candles at supper- 
 tinie. The horseman had gone forward to have coffee and some 
 eatables prepared, and they were by this time nearly readJ^ 
 He had ordered " wheat-bread and chicken-fixings," in preffef' 
 ehce to "corn-bread and common doings^" The latter kind 
 of reflection includes only pbrk and baCon. Thefsnher cBm- 
 prehends broiled ham, sausages, ' veal "cutlets, ' steaks/ att^ 
 
LOOKING-GLASS PRAIRIE. -r , 
 
 such Other viands of that nature as may be supposed, by a 
 tolerably wide poetical construction, " to fix " a chicken com- 
 fortably in the digestive organs of any lady or gentleman. 
 
 On one of the door-posts at this inn, was a tin plate, 
 whereon was inscribed in characters of gold. " Doctor Cro- 
 cus ; " and on a sheet of paper, pasted up by the side of 
 this plate, was a written announcement that Dr. Crocus would 
 that evening deliver a lecture on Phrenology for the benefit 
 of the Belleville public ; at a charge, for admission, of so 
 much a head. 
 
 Straying up stairs, during the preparation of the chicken 
 fixings, I happened to pass the doctor's chamber ; and as the 
 door stood wide open, and the room was empty, I made bold 
 to peep in. 
 
 It was a bare, unfurnished, comfortless room, with an un- 
 framed portrait hanging up at the head of the bed ) a like- 
 ness, I take it, of the Doctor, for the forehead was fully dis- 
 played, and great stress was laid by the artist upon its phren- 
 blbgical developments. The bed itself was covered with an 
 old patch-work counterpane. The room was destitute of car- 
 pet or of curtain. There was a damp fire-place without any 
 Stove, full of wood ashes ; a chair, and a very small tiable ; 
 and on the fast-named piece of furniture was displayed, in 
 grand array, the doctor's library, consisting of some half-dozen 
 greasy old! "books. 
 
 Now, if certainly looked about the last apartment on the 
 ^iihole earth out of which any man would be likely to get any- 
 thmg to do him good. But the door, as I' have said, stood 
 coaxingly open, and plainly said in conjunction with the chair, 
 fte portrait, the table and the books, " Walk in, gentlemen, 
 walk in ! Don't be ill, gentlemen, when you may be well in 
 no time.' Doctor Crocus is here, gentlemen, the celebrated 
 Dr. Crocus ! Dr. Crocus has come all this way to cure you, 
 gentlemen. If you haven't heard of Dr. Crocus, it's your 
 fault, gentlemen, who live a little way out of the world here : 
 not Dr. Crtcus's. Walk in, gentlemen, walk in ! " 
 
 In the passage below, when I -went down stairs again, was 
 Dr. Crocus hfrnself. A crowd had flocked in from the Court 
 House, and a voidefrom among them called out to the land- 
 lord, " Colonel r introduce Doctor Crocus." 
 
 "Mr. Dickens," says the colonel, " Doctor Crocus.'' 
 i ■'■'-Upon whieh Doctor Crocus, who is a tall, fine-looking 
 'lESISft^iHia'n, but rather fierce and warlike in aippearance for a 
 
7 . 6 AMERICAJSr NO TES. 
 
 professor of the peaceful art o£ healing, bursts out of the con; 
 course with his right arm extended, and his chest thrown, out 
 as far as it will possibly come, and says : 
 
 " Your countryman, sir !" - . 
 
 Whereupon Doctor Crocus and I shake hands ;. and Doc- 
 tor Crocus looks as if I didn't by any means realize, his expec- 
 tations, which,. in a linen blouse, and a great straw hat, with 
 a green ribbon, and no gloves, and my face and nose pro 
 fusely ornamented with the stings of nmsquitoes and the, bites 
 of bugs, it is very likely I did not. i : 
 
 " Long in these parts, sir ? " says I. 
 
 " Three or four months, sir," says the Doctor.. 
 
 " Do yoa think of soon returning to the old country ? " 
 says I. 
 
 Doctor Crocus makes no verbal answer, but gives m« an 
 imploring look,. which says so plainly "Will you ask me that 
 again, a" little louder, if you please?" that I repeat the ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " Think of soon returning to the old country, sir ! " re- 
 peats the Doctor. 
 
 " To the old country, sir," I rejoin. 
 
 Doctor Crocus looks round upon the crowd to observe the 
 effect he produces, rubs his hands, and , says, in a very loud 
 voice :. . ■■<, 
 
 "Not yet awhile, sir, not yet. You won't catch me at 
 that just yet, sir. I am a little too fond of freedom for. thai, 
 sir. Ha, ha ! It's not so easy for a man to tear himself from 
 a free country such as this is, sir. Ha, ha ! No, no ! Ha, 
 ha ! None of that till one's obliged to do it, sir. No, no ! " 
 
 As Doctor Crocus says these latter words, he shakes his 
 head, knowingly, and laughs .again. Many of the bystanders 
 shake their heads in concert with: the doctor, and laugh too, 
 and look at each other as much as to .say, " A pretty bright 
 first-rate sort of chap is Crocus ! " and unless I am very much 
 mistaken, a good many people went to the lecture that 
 night, who never thought about phrenology, or about Doctor 
 Crocus either, in all their lives before. 
 
 From Belleville, we went on, through the same desolate 
 kind of waste, and constantly attended, without the interval 
 of a moment, by the same music ; until at three o'clock in the 
 afternoonj we halted once more at a village called Lebanon 
 to inflalte the horses again, and give them some corn besides ; 
 of which ;they stood much in need. Pending tbjs, ceremony, 
 
LOOKING-GLASS PRAIRIE. -jr-, 
 
 I walked into the village, where I met a full-«ized dwelling- 
 house coming down-hill at a round trot, drawn by a score or 
 more of oxen. 
 
 The public-house was so very clean and good a one, that 
 
 the managers of the jaunt resolved to return to it and put up 
 
 there for the night, if possible. This course decided on, and 
 
 "the horses being well refreshed, we again pushed forward, 
 
 and came upon the Prairie at sunset. . , ; . 
 
 It would be difficult to say why, or how-^though it was 
 possibly from having heard and read so . iTwch about it— but 
 the effect on me was disap>pointment. Looking towa;rds the 
 settings sun, there lay, stretched out before my view, a vast 
 expanse of level ground; unbroken, save by one thin line of 
 trees, which scarcely amounted to a scratch upon the great 
 blank ; until it met the glowing sky, wherein it seemed to dip : 
 mingling with its rich colors, and mellowing in its distant 
 blue. There it lay, a tranquil sea or lake without water, if 
 such a simile be admissible, with the day going down up'on jt: 
 a few birds wheeling here and. there : and solitude and silence 
 reigning paramount around. But the grass was not yet high ; 
 there were bare black patches on the ground ; and the few 
 wild flowers that the eye could see, were poor and scanty. 
 Great as the picture was, its very flatness and extent, which 
 left nothing to the imagination, tamed it down and cramped 
 its interest. I felt little of that sense of freedom and exhil- 
 aration which a Scottish heath inspires, or sven our English 
 downs awaken. It was lonely and wild, but oppressive in its 
 barren monotony. I felt that in traversing the Prairies, I 
 could never abandon myself to the scene, forgetful of all else ; 
 as I should do instinctively, were the heather underneath my 
 feet, or an iron-bound coast beyond ; but should often glance 
 towards the distant and frequently-receding line of the hori- 
 zon, and wish it gained and passed. It is not a scene to be 
 forgotten, but it is- scarcely one, I think (at all events, as I 
 saw it), to remember with much pleasure, or to covet the 
 looking-on again, in after life. 
 
 We encamped near a solitary log-house, for the sake of its 
 water, and dined upon the plain. The baskets contained 
 roast fowls, buffalo's tongue (an exquisite dainty, by the way), 
 ham, bread, cheese, and butter ; biscuits, champagne, sherry ; 
 lemons and sugar for punch ; and abundance of rougli ice. 
 The meal was delicious, and the entertainers were the soul of 
 kindness and good-humor. I have often recalled that cheer- 
 
jr58 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 ful party to my pleasant recollection since, and shall not 
 easily forget, in junketings nearer home with friends of older 
 date, my boon companions on the Prairie. 
 
 Returning to Lebanon that night, we lay at the little inn 
 at which we had halted in the afternoon. In point of clean- 
 liness and comfort it would have suffered by no comparison 
 with any English alehouse, of a homely kind, in England. 
 
 Rising at five o'clock next morning, I took a walk about 
 the village : none of the houses were strolling about to-day, 
 but it was early for them yet, perhaps : and then amused my- 
 self by lounging in a kind of farm-yard behind the tavern, of 
 which the leading featiires were, a strange jumble of rough 
 sheds for stables ; a rude colonnade, built as a cool place of 
 summer resort ; a deep well ; a great earthen mound for 
 keeping vegetables in, in winter time ; and a pigeon-house, 
 whose little apertures locked; as they do in all pigeon-houses, 
 very much too small for the admission of the plump and swel- 
 ling-bfeasted birds who were strutting about it, though they 
 tried to get in never so hard. Tha:t- interest exhausted, I 
 took a survey of the inn's two parlors, which were decorated with 
 colored prints of Washington, and President Madison, and of 
 a white-faced young lady (much speckled by the flies), who 
 held lip her gold neck-chain for the admiration of the specta- 
 tor, and informed all admiring comers that she was "Just 
 Seventeen : " although I should have thought her older. In 
 the best room were two oil portraits of the kit-cat size, repre- 
 senting the landlord and his infant son • both looking as bold 
 as lions, and staring out of the canvas with an intensity that 
 would have been cheap at any price. They were painted, I 
 think, by the artist who had touched up the Belleville doors 
 with red and gold ; for I seemed to recognize his style imme- 
 diately. 
 
 After breakfast, we started to return by a different way 
 from that which we had taken yesterday, and coming upi r.t 
 ten o'clock with an encampment of German emigrants carr}-- 
 ing their goods in carts, who had made a rousing fire which 
 they were just quitting, stopped there to refresh. And very 
 pleasant the fire was ; for, hot though it had been yesterday, 
 it was quite cold to-day, and the wind blew keenly. Looming 
 in the distance, as we rode along, was another of the ancient 
 Indian burial-places, called The Monks' Mound ; in memory 
 of a body of fanatics of the order of La Trappe, who founded 
 a desolate convent there, many years ago, when there were no 
 
RETURN TO CINCINNATI, ETC. yjg 
 
 Isettlers within a thousand imites, and were all -swept off by the 
 ipernicious climate : in which lamentable fatality, few fatioiial 
 j people will suppose, perhaps, that society experienced any 
 very severe deprivation. 
 
 The track of to-day had the same features as the track of 
 yesterday. There was the swamp, the bush, and the perpet- 
 ual chorus of frogs, the rank unseemly growth, the unwhole- 
 some steaming earth. Here and there, and frequently too, 
 we encountered a solitary broken-down wagon, full of some 
 new settler's goods. It was a pitiful sight to see one of these 
 vehicles deep in the mire ; the axle-tree broken ; tlie wheel 
 lying idly by its side; the man gone miles away, to look for 
 assistance ; the vtoman seated among their wandering house- 
 hold gods with a baby at her breast, a picture of forlorn, de- 
 jected patience ; the team of oxen crouching down mournfully 
 in the mud, and breathing forth such clouds of vapor from 
 their mouths and nostrils, that all the damp mist and fog 
 around seemed to have come direct from them. 
 
 In due time we mustered once again before the merchant 
 tailor's, and having done so, crossed over to the city in the 
 ferry-boat ; passing, on the way, a spot called Bloody Island, 
 the duelling ground of St. Louis, and so designated in honor 
 of the last fatal combat fought there, which was with pistols, 
 breast to breast. Both combatant's fell dead upoii the 
 ground ; and possibly some rational people may think of them, 
 as of the gloomy madmen on the Monks' Mound, that they 
 were no great loss to the community. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 RETURN TO CINCINNATI. A STAGE-COACH RIDE FROM THAT 
 CITY TO COLUMBUS, AND- THENCE' TO SANDUSKY. SO, BY 
 LAKE ERIEj TO THE FALLS OF NIAGAiRA'. 
 
 As I had a desire to travei through the interior of the 
 state of Ohio, and to "strike tlie lakes," as the phrase is, at 
 a, small town called Sandusky, to which tliat route would con- 
 duct us on our way to Niagara, we had to return from St. 
 Louis by the way we had come, and to retrace our formet 
 track as far as Cincinnati. " ■ 
 
76o AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 The day on which we were to take leave of St. Louis being 
 veryfine; and the steamboat, which was to have started I 
 don't know how early in the morning, postponing, for the 
 third or fourth time, her departure until the afternoon; we 
 rode forward to an old French village on the river, called 
 properly Carondelet, and nicknamed Vide Poche, and arranged 
 that the packet should call for us there. 
 
 The place consisted of a few poor cottages, and two or 
 three public-houses; the state of whose larders certainly 
 seemed to justify the second designation of the village, for 
 there was nothing to eat in any of them. At length, however, 
 by going back some half a mile or so, we found a solitary 
 house where ham and coffee were procurable ; and there we 
 tarried to await the advent of the boat, which would come in 
 sight from the green before the door, a long way off. 
 
 It was a neat, unpretending village tavern, and we took 
 our repast in a quaint little room with a bed in it, decorated 
 with some old oil paintings, which in their time had probably 
 done duty in a Catholic chapel or monastery. The fare was 
 very good, and served with great cleanliness. The house was 
 kiept by a characteristic old couple, with whom we had a long 
 talk, and who were perhaps a very good sample of that kind 
 of people in the West. 
 
 The landlord was a dry, tough, hard-faced old fellow (not 
 so very old either, for he was but just turned sixty, I should 
 think), who had been out with the militia in the last war with 
 England, and had seen all kinds of ser\'ice, — except a battle ; 
 and he had been very near seeing that, he added : very near. 
 He had all his life been restless and locomotive, with an 
 irresistible desire for change ; and was still the son of his old 
 self : for if he had nothing to keep him at home, he said 
 (slightly jerking his hat and his thumb towards the window of 
 the room in which the old lady sat, as we stood talking in front 
 of the house), he would clean up his musket, and be off to 
 Texas to-morrow morning. He was one of the very many 
 descendants of Cain proper to this continent, who seem 
 destined from their -birth to serve as pioneers in the great 
 human army : who gladly go on from year to year extending 
 its outposts, and leaving home after home behind them ; and 
 die at last, utterly regardless of their graves being left thou- 
 sands of miles behind, by the wandering generation who 
 succeed. 
 
 His wife was a domesticated" kind-hearted old soul, who 
 
RETURN TO CINCINNATI, ETC. y(5l 
 
 had Gome with him, " from the queen city of the world," which, 
 it seemed, was Philadelphia ; but had no love ft)r this Western 
 country, and indeed had little reason to bear it any; having 
 seen her children, one by one, die here of 'fever, -in the full 
 prime and beauty of their youth. Her heart was sore, she 
 said, to think of tluem ; and to talk on this theme, even to 
 strangers, in that blighted place, so far from her old home, 
 eased it somewhat, arid became a melancholy pleasure. 
 
 The boat appearing towards evening, we bade adieu to the 
 poor old lady and her vagrant spouse, and making for the 
 nearest landing-place, were soon on board The Messenger 
 again, in our old cabin, and steaming down the Mississippi. 
 
 If the coming up this river, slowly making head against the 
 stream, bean irksome journey, the shooting down it with the 
 turbid current is almost worse ; for then the boat, proceeding 
 at the rate of twelve or fifteen miles an hour, has to force its 
 passage through a labyrinth of floating logs, which, in the 
 daiik, it is often impossible to see beforehand or avoid. All 
 that night, the bell was never silent for five minutes at a time ; 
 and after every ring the vessel reeled again, sometimes 
 beneath a single blow, sometimes beneath a -dozen dealt in 
 quick succession, the lightest of which seemed more than 
 enough to beat in her frail keel, as though it had been pie- 
 crust. Looking down upon the filthy river after dark, it 
 seemed to be alive with monsters, as these black masses 
 rolled upon the surface, or came starting up again, head first, 
 when the boat, in ploughing her way among a shoal of such 
 obstructions, drove a few among them for the moment under 
 water. Sometimes the engines stopped during a long interval, 
 and then before her and behind, and gathering close about 
 her on all sides, were so many of these ill-favored obstacles 
 that she was fairly hemmed in ; the centre of a floating island ; 
 and was constrained to pause until they parted, somewhere, 
 as dark clouds will do before the wind, and opened by degrees 
 a channel out. 
 
 In good time next morning, however, we came again in 
 sight of the detestable morass called Cairo ; and stopping 
 there to take in wood, lay alongside a barge, whose starting 
 timbers scarcely held together. It was moored to the bank, 
 and on its side was painted " Coffee House ; " that being, I 
 suppose, the floating paradise to which the people fly for 
 shelter when they lose their houses for a month or two be- 
 neath the hideous waters of the Mississippi. But looking 
 
y62 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 southward from this point, we had the satisfaction of jeei^ 
 that intolerable river dragging its slimy length and uglylreigftt 
 abruptly o£E towards New Orleans ; and passing a yellow Jine 
 which stretched across the current, were again upon the clear 
 Ohio never, I trust, to see the Mississippi more, saxing in 
 troubled dreams and nightmares. . Leaving it for the company 
 of its sparkling neighbor, was like the transition from pam _to 
 ease, or the awakening from a horrible vision to cneerful 
 
 We arrived at Louisville on the fourth night, and gladly 
 availed ourselves of its excellent hotel. Next day we went 
 on in the Ben Franklin, a beautiful mail steamboat, and 
 reached Cincinnati shortly. after midnight. Being by this time 
 nearly tired of sleeping upon shelves, we had remained awake 
 to go ashore straightway ; and groping a passage across the 
 dark decks of otiier boats, aiid among labyrinths of engine- 
 machinery and leaking casks of molasses, we reached the 
 streets, knocked up the porter at the hotel where we had 
 stayfed before, and were, to our great joy, safely housed soon 
 afterwards. 
 
 We rested but one day at Cincinnad, and then resumed our 
 journey to Sandusky. As it comprised two varieties of stage- 
 coach travelling, which, with those I have already glanced at, 
 comprehend the main characteristics of this mode of transit in 
 America, I will take the reader as our fellow-passengery and 
 pledge myself to perform the distance with all possible, de- 
 spatch. 
 
 Our place t)f destination in the first instance is Columbus. 
 It is distant about a hundred and twenty miles from Cincinnati, 
 but there is a macadamized road (rare blessing!) the whole 
 way, and the rate of travelling upon it is six miles an hour. 
 
 We start at eight o'clock in the morning, in a great mail- 
 coach, whose huge cheeks are so very ruddy and plethoric, 
 that it appears to be troubled with a tendency of blood to the 
 head. Dropsical it certainly is, for it would hold a dozen 
 passengers inside. But, wonderful to add, it is very clean 
 and bright, being nearly new ; and rattles through the streets 
 of Cincinnati gayly. 
 
 Our way lies tlirough a beautiful country, richly cultivated, 
 and luxuriant in its promise of an abundant harvest. Some- 
 times we pass a :field where the strong bristling stalks of 
 Indian corn look like a crop of walking-sticks, and sometimes 
 ^n enclosure where the green wheat is springing up among a 
 
RETURN TO CIAXINKATI, ETC. 763 
 
 labyrinth of stumps ; the primitive worm-fence is universa,!, 
 and an ugly thing it is ; but the farms are neatly liept, 'and, 
 save for these differences, one might be travelling just now in 
 Kent. 
 
 We often stop to water at a roadside inn, which is always 
 dull and silent. The coaohman dismounts and fills his bucket, 
 and holds it to the horses' heads. There is scarcely ever any 
 one to help hira ; there are seldom any loungers standing 
 round ; and never any stable-company with jokes to crack. 
 Sometimes, when we have changed our team, there is a diffi- 
 culty in starting again, arising out of the prevalent mode of 
 breaking a young horse : which is to catch him, harness him 
 against his will, and put him in a stage-coacli widiout further 
 notice : but \ye get on somehow or other, after a great many 
 kicks and a violent struggle ; and jog on as before again. 
 
 Occasionally, when we stop to change, some two or tliree 
 half-drunken loafers will come loitering out wi h their hands 
 in their pockets, or will be seen kicking their keels in rock- 
 ing-chairs, or lounging on the window-sill, or sitting on a rail 
 within the colonnade : they have not often anything to say 
 though, either to us or to each other, but sit there, idly staring 
 at the coach and horses. The landlord of the inn is usually 
 among them, and seems, of all the party, to be the least con- 
 nected with the business, of the house. Indeed he is with 
 reference to the tavern, what the driver is in relation to the 
 coach and passengers : whatever happens in his sphere of 
 action, he is quite indifferent, and perfectly easy in his mind. 
 
 The frequent change of coachmen works no change or 
 variety in the coachman's character. He is always dirty, sul- 
 len, and taciturn. If he be capable of smartness of any kind, 
 moral or physical, he has a faculty of concealing it which is 
 truly marvellous. He never speaks to you as you sit beside 
 hira on thq box, and if you speak to him, he answers (jf at all) 
 in monosyllables. He points out nothing on the road, and 
 seldom looks at anything : being, to all appearance, thoroughly 
 weary of it and of existence generally. As to doing the hon- 
 ors of his coach, his business, as I have said, is with t!:e 
 horses. The coacli follows because it is attached to them 
 and goes on wheels : not because you are in it. Sometimes, 
 t&syards the end of a long stage* he suddenly breaks out into 
 a discordant fragment of an election song, but his face never 
 sings 9Jong wLth Mm J it is only ^s voice, and not often that. 
 
 He always chews and always spits, and never encumbers 
 
764 AMEKICAN NOTES. 
 
 himself with a pocket-handkerchief. The consequences to 
 tile box passenger, especially when the wind blows towards 
 him, are' not agreeable. 
 
 Whenever the coach stops, and you can hear the voices of 
 the inside passengers ; or whenever any bystander addresses 
 thtelTl,- or any one among them ; or they address each otlier ; 
 you will hear- one phrase repeated over and over and over 
 again to the most extraordinary extent. It is an ordinary 
 and unpromising phrase enough, being neither more nor less 
 than " Yes, sir ; " but it is adapted to every variety of circum- 
 stance, and fills up every pause in the conversation. Thus : — 
 
 The time is one o'clock at noon. The scene, fi place 
 where we are to stay and dine, on this journey. The coach 
 drives up to the door of an inn. The day is warm, and there 
 are several idlerS lingering about the tavern, and waiting for 
 the public dinner. Among them, is a stout gentleman in a 
 brown hat, swinging himself to and fro in a rocking-chair on 
 the pavement. 
 
 As the coach stops, a gentleman in a straw hat looks out 
 of the window : 
 
 Straw Hat. (To the stout gentleman- in the rockii^- 
 chair.) I reckon that's Judge Jefferson, an't it ? 
 
 Brown Hat. (Still swinging ; speaking verv slowly ; and 
 without any emotion whatever.) Yes, sir. 
 
 Straw Hat. Warm weather, Judge. 
 
 Brown Hat. Yes, sir. ;■ 
 
 Straw Hat. There was a snap of cold, last week. : ■-■: 
 
 Brown Hat. Yes, sir. 
 
 Straw Hat. Yes, sir. 
 
 A pause. They look at each other, very seriously. 
 
 Straw Hat. I calculate you'll have got through th«tt 
 case of the corporation, Judge, by this time, now ? 
 
 Brown Hat. Yes, sir. 
 
 Straw Hat. How did the verdict go, sir ? 
 
 Brown Hat. For the defendant, sir. 
 
 Straw Hat. (Interrogatively.) Yes, sir.' 
 
 Brown Hat. (Affirmatively.) Yes, sir. 
 
 Both. (Musingly, as each gazes down the street.) Yes, 
 sir. 
 
 Another pause. They look at each other again, still 
 more seriously than before. 
 
 Brown Hat. This coach is rather behind its time to- 
 day, I guess. 
 
RETURN TO CINCINNATI, ETC. 
 
 I^S 
 
 Straw Hat. (Doubtingly.) Yes, sir. 
 
 Brown Hat. (Looking at his wateh.) Yes, sir ; nigh 
 upon two hours. 
 
 Straw Hat. (Raising his eyebrows in very great sur^ 
 prise.) Yes, sir. 
 
 Brown Hat. (Decisively, as he puts up his watch.) 
 Yes, sir. 
 
 All the other inside Passengers. (Among them- 
 selves.) Yes, sir. 
 
 Coachman. (In a very surly tone.) No it a'nt. 
 
 Straw Hat. (To the coachman.) Well, I don't know, 
 sir. We were a pretty tall time coming that last fifteen mile. 
 That's a fact. 
 
 The coachman making no reply, and plainly declining to 
 enter into any controversy on a subject so far removed from 
 his sympathies and feelings, another passenger says, "Yes, 
 sir ; and the gentleman in the straw hat in acknowledgment 
 of his courtesy, says " Yes, sir," to him, in return. The straw 
 hat then inquires of the brown hat, whether that coach in 
 which he (the straw hat) then sits, is not a new one ? To 
 which the brown hat again makes answer, " Yes, sir." 
 
 Straw Hat. I thought so. Pretty loud smell of varnish, 
 sir? 
 
 Brown Hat. :Yes, sir. 
 
 All the other inside Passengers. Yes, sir. 
 
 Brown Hat. (To the company in general.) Yes, sir. 
 
 The conversational powers of the company having been by 
 this time pretty heavily taxed, the straw hat opens the door 
 and gets out ; and all the rest alight also. We dine soon 
 afterwards with the boarders in the house, and have nothing 
 to drink but tea and coffee. As they are both very bad and 
 the water is worse, I ask for brandy ; but it is a Temperance 
 Hotel, and spirits are not to be had for love or money. This 
 preposterous forcing of unpleasant drinks down the reluctant 
 throats of travellers is not at all uncommon in America, but I 
 never discovered that the scruples of such wincing landlords 
 induced them to preserve any unusually nice balance between 
 the quality of their fare and their scale of charges : on the 
 contrary, I rather suspected them of diminishing the one and 
 exalting, the other, by way of recompense for the loss of their 
 profit on the sale of spirituous liquors. After all, perhaps the 
 plainest course for persons of such tender consciences, would 
 be a total abstinence from tavern-keeping. 
 83 
 
766 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 Dinner over, we get into another vehicle which is ready at 
 the door (for the coach has been changed in the interval), and 
 resume our journey ; which continues through the same kind 
 of country until evening, when we come to the town where we 
 are to stop for tea and supper ; and having delivered the mail 
 baa;s at the Post-office, ride through the usual wide street, lined 
 with the usual stores and houses (the drapers always having 
 hung up at their door, by way of sign, a piece of bright red 
 cloth), to the hotel where this meal is prepared.. There being 
 many boarders here, we sit down, a large party, and a very 
 melancholy one as usual. But there is a buxom hostess at the 
 head of the table, and opposite, a simple Welsh schoolmaster 
 with his wife and child ; who came here, on a speculation of 
 greater promise than performance, to teach the classics: and 
 they are sufficient subjects of interest until the meal is over, 
 and another coach is ready. In it we go on once more, lighted 
 by a bright moon, until midnight ; Tvhen we stop to change 
 the coach again, and remain for half an hour or so in a mis- 
 erable room, with a blurred lithograph of Washington, over 
 the smoky fire-place, and a mighty jug of cold water on the 
 table. : to which refreshment the moody passengers do so ap- 
 ply themselves that they would seem to be, one and all, keen 
 patients of Dr. Sangrado. Among them is a very little boy, 
 v/ho chews tobacco like a very big one ; and a droning' gen- 
 tleman, who talks arithmetically and statistically on all' sub- 
 jects, from poetry downwards ; and who always speaks in the 
 same key, with exactly the same emphasis, and with very grave 
 deliberation. He came outside just now, and told me how 
 that the uncle of a certain young lady who had been spirited 
 away and married by a certain captain, lived in these parts ; 
 and how this uncle was so valiant and ferocious that he 
 shouldn't wonder if he were to follow the said captain to Eng- 
 land " and shoot him down in the street wherever he found 
 him ;" in the feasibility of which strong measure I, being for 
 the moment rather prone to contradiction from feeling half 
 asleep and very tired, declined to acquiesce: assuring him 
 that if the uncle did resort to it, or gratified any other little 
 whim of the like nature, he would find himself one morning 
 prematurely throttled at the Old Bailey : and that he would 
 do well to make his will before he went, as he Would certainly 
 want it before he had been in Britain very long. 
 
 On we go all night, and by and by the day begins to break 
 and presently the first cheertu'l rays of the warm sun come 
 
RETURN TO CINCINNATI, ETC. 767 
 
 slanting on us brightly. It sheds its light upon a miserable waste 
 of sodden grass, and dull trees, and squalid huts, whose as- 
 pect is forlorn and grievous in the last degree. A very desert 
 injthe wood, whose growth of green is dank and noxious like 
 that upon the top of standing water : where poisonous fungus 
 grows in the rare footprint on the oozy ground, and sprouts 
 like witches' coral, from the crevices in the cabin wall and 
 floor; it is a hideous thing to lie upon the very threshold of a 
 city. But it was purchased years ago, and as the owner cannot 
 be discovered, the State has been unable to reclaim it. So there 
 it remains, in the midst of cultivation and improvement, like 
 ground accursed, and made obscene and rank by some great 
 crime. 
 
 We reached Columbus shortly before seven o'clock, and 
 stayed there to refresh that day and night : having excellent 
 apartments in a very large unfinished hotel called the Neill 
 House, which were richly fitted with the polished wood of 
 the black walnut, and opened on a handsome portico and 
 stone veranda, like rooms in some Italian mansion. The 
 town is clean and pretty, and of course is " going to be " 
 much larger. It is the seat of the State legislature of Ohio, 
 and lays claim, in consequence, to some consideration and 
 importance. 
 
 There being no stage-coach next day, upon the road we 
 wished to take, I hired " an extra," at a reasonable charge, to 
 ra,rry us to Tiffin ; a small town from whence there is a rail- 
 road to Sandusky. This extra was an ordinary four-horse 
 Stage-coach, such as I have described, changing horses and 
 drivers, as the stage-coach would, but was exclusively our own 
 for the journey. To ensure our having ; horses at the proper 
 stations, and being incommoded by no strangers, the proprie- 
 tors sent an agent on the box, who was to accompany us the 
 whole way through ; and thus attended, and bearing with us, 
 besides, a hamper full of savory cold meats, and fruit, and 
 wine } we started off again in high spirits, at half-past six 
 o'clock next morning, very much delighted to be by ourselves, 
 and disposed to enjoy even the roughest journey. 
 
 It was well for us, that we were va. this humor, for the road 
 we went over that da)', was certainly enough to have shaken 
 tempers that were not resolutely at Set Fair, down to some 
 inches below Stormy. At one time we were all flung together 
 in a heap, at the bottom of the coach, and at another we were 
 crushing our heads against the roof. Now, one side was down 
 
^68 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 deep in the mire, and wei were holding on to the other. Now, 
 the coach was lying on the tails of the two wheelers ; and 
 now it was rearing up in the air, in a frantic state, with all 
 four horses standing on the top of an insurmountable emi- 
 nence, looking coolly back at it, as though they would say 
 " Unharness us. It can't be done." The drivers on these 
 roads, who certainly get over the ground in a manner which 
 is quite miraculous, so twist and turn the team about in forcii^ 
 a passage, corkscrew fashion, through the bogs and swamps, 
 that it was quite a common circumstance on looking out of 
 the window, to see the coachman with the ends of a pair of 
 reins in his hands, apparently driving nothing, or playing at 
 horses, and the leaders staring at one unexpectedly from the 
 back of the coach, as if they had some idea of getting up be- 
 hind. A great portion of the way was over what is called a 
 corduroy road, which is made by throwing trunks of trees 
 into a marsh, and leaving them to settle therfi. The very 
 slightest of the jolts with which the ponderous carriage fell 
 from log to log, was enough, it seemed, to have dislocated all 
 the bones in the human body. It would be impossible to ex- 
 perience a similar set of sensations, in any other circumstances, 
 unless perhaps in attempting to go up the top of St. Paul's in 
 an omnibus. Never, never once, that day, was the coach in 
 any position, attitude, or kind of motion to which we are ac- 
 customed in coaches. Never did it make the smallest 
 approach to one's experience of the proceedings of any sort 
 of vehicle that goes on wheels. 
 
 Still, it was a fine day, and the temperature was delicious, 
 and though we had left Summer behind us in the west, and 
 were fast leaving Spring, we were moving towards Niagara and 
 home. We alighted in a pleasant wood towards the middle 
 of the day, dined on a fallen tree, and leaving our best frag- 
 ments with a cottager, and our worst with the pigs (who swarm 
 in this part of the country like grains of sand on the sea-shore, 
 to the great comfort of our commissariat in Canada), we went 
 forward again gayly. 
 
 As night came on, the track grew narrower and narrower, 
 until at last it so lost itself among the trees, that the driver 
 seemed to find his way by instinct. We had the comfort of 
 knowing, at least, that there was no danger of his falling 
 asleep, far every now and then a wheel would strike against 
 an unseen stump with such a jerk, that he was fain to hold on 
 pretty tight and pretty quick, to keep himself upon the box. 
 
RETURN TO CINCINNATI, ETC. 769 
 
 Nor was there any reason to dread the least danger from 
 furious driving, inasmuch as over that broken ground the 
 horses had enough to do to walk ; as to shying, there was no 
 room for that ; and a herd of wild elephants could not have 
 run away in such a wood, with such a coach at their heels. 
 So we stumbled along, quite satisfied. 
 
 These stumps of trees are a curious feature in American 
 travelling. The varying illusions they present to the unac- 
 customed eye as it grows dark, are quite astonishing in their 
 number and reality. Now, there is a Grecian urn erected in 
 the centre of a lonely field ; now there is a woman weeping 
 at a tomb ; now a very common-place old gentleman in a 
 waistcoat, with a thumb thrust into each arm-hole of his coat ; 
 now a student pormg on a book ; now a crouching negro ; 
 now, a. horse, a dog, a cannon, an armed man ; a hunch-back 
 throwing ofE his cloak and stepping forth into the light. They 
 were often as entertaining to me as so many glasses in a 
 magic lantern, and never took their shapes at my bidding, but 
 seemed to force tliemselves upon me, whether I would or no ; 
 and strange to say, I sometimes recognized in them counter- 
 parts of figures once familiar to me in pictures attached to 
 childish books, forgotten long ago. 
 
 • It soon became too dark, however, even for this amuse- 
 ment, and the trees were so close together that their dry 
 branches rattled against the coach on either side, and obliged 
 us all to keep our heads within. It lightened too, for three 
 whole hours ; each flash being very bright, and blue, and 
 long; and as vivid streaks came darting in among the 
 crowded branches, and the thunder rolled gloomily above the 
 tree tops, one could scarcely help thinking that there were 
 better neighborhoods at such a time than thick woods af- 
 forded. 
 
 At lei^th, between ten and eleven o'clock at night, a few 
 feeble lights appeared in the distance, and Upper Sandusky, 
 an Indian village, where we were to stay till morning, lay be- 
 fore us. 
 
 They were gone to bed at the lo^ Inn, which was the only 
 house of entertainment in the place, but soon answered to 
 our knocking, and got some tea for us in a sort of kitchen or 
 common room, tapestried with old newspapers, pasted against 
 the wall. The bed-chamber to which my wife and I were 
 shown, was a large, low, ghostly room; with a quantity of 
 withered branches on the hearth, and two doors without any 
 
7 7 o AMERICAN NO TES. 
 
 fastening, opposite to each other, both opening on the biack 
 night and wild country, and so contrived, that one of them 
 always blew the other open : a novelty in domestic architec- 
 ture, which I do not remember to have seen before, and which 
 I was somewhat disconcerted to have forced on my attention 
 after getting into bed, as I had a considerable sum in gold 
 for our travelling, expenses, in my dressing-case. Some of 
 Che luggage, however, piled against the panels, soon settled 
 this di^culty, and my sleep would not have been very much 
 affected that night, I believe, though it had failed to do so. 
 
 My Boston friend climbed up to bed, somewhere in the 
 roof, where .another guest was already snoring hugely. But 
 being bitten beyond his power of endurance, he turned out 
 again, and fled for shelter to the coach, which was airing 
 itself in front of the house. This was not a very politic step, 
 as it turned out ; for the pigs scenting him, and looking upon 
 the coach as a kind of pie with some manner of meat inside, 
 grunted round it so hideously, that he was afraid to come out 
 again, and lay there shivering, till morning. Nor was it pos- 
 sible to warm him, when he did come out, by means of a glass 
 of brandy : for in Indian villages, the legislature, -with a very 
 good and wise intention, forbids the sale of spirits by tavern 
 keepers. The precaution, however, is quite inefficacious, for 
 the Indians never fail to procure liquor of a worse kind, at a 
 dearer price, from travelling pedlers. 
 
 It is a settlement of the Wyandot Indians who inhabit 
 this place. Among the company at breakfast was a mild old 
 gentleman, who had been for many years employed by the 
 United States Government in conducting negotiations with 
 the Indians, and who had just concluded a treaty with 
 these people by which they bound themselves, in considera- 
 tion of a certain annual sum, to remove next year to some 
 land provided for them, west of the Mississippi, and a little 
 way beyond St. Louis. He gave me a moving account of 
 their strong attachment to the familiar scenes of their infancy, 
 • and in particular to the burial-places of their kindred ; and of 
 their great reluctance to leave them. He had witnessed 
 many such removals, and always with pain, though he knew 
 that they departed for their own good. The question whether 
 this tribe should go or stay, had been discussed among them 
 a day or two before, in a, hut erected for the purpose, the logs 
 of which still lay upon the ground before the inn. When the 
 speaking was clone, the ayes and noes were ranged on oppo- 
 
RETURN TO CINCINNATI, ETC. 771 
 
 site sides, and every male adult voted in his turn. The mo- 
 ment the result was known, the minority (a large one) cheer- 
 fully:yielded to the rest, and withdrew all kind of opposition. 
 
 We met some of these poor Indians afterwards, riding on 
 shaggy ponies. They were so like the meaner sort of gypsies, 
 that if I could have seen any of them in England, I should 
 have concluded, as a matter of course, that they belonged to 
 that wandering and restless people. 
 
 Leaving this town directly after breakfast, we pushed for- 
 ward again, over a rather worse road than yesterday, if possi- 
 ble, and arrived about noon at Tiffin, where we parted-with 
 the extra. At two o'clock we took the railroad ; the travel- 
 ling on which was very slow, its construction being indifferent, 
 and the ground wet and marshy;' and arrived at Sandusky 
 in time to dine that evening. We put up at a comfortable 
 little hotel on the britik of Lake Erie, lay there that night, 
 and had no choice but to wait there next day, until a steam- 
 boat bound for Buffalo appeared. The town, which was slug- 
 gish and uninteresting enough, was something like the back 
 of an English watering-place out of the season. 
 
 Our host, who was very attentive and anxious to make us 
 comfortable, was a handsome middle-aged man, who had 
 come to this town from New England, in which part of the 
 country he was " raised." When I say that he constantly 
 walked in and out of the room with his hat on ; and stopped 
 to converse in the same free-and-easy state ; and lay down on 
 our sofa, and pulled his newspaper out of his pocket, and 
 read it at his ease ; I merely mention these traits as charac- 
 teristic of the country : not at all as being matter of com- 
 plaint, or as having been disagreeable to me. I should un- 
 doubtedly be offended by such proceedings at home, because 
 they are not the custom, and where they are not, they would 
 be impertinencies ; but in America, the only desire of a good- 
 natured fellow of this kind, is to treat his guests hospitably 
 and well ; and I had no more right, and I can truly say no 
 more disposition, to measure his conduct by our English rule 
 and standard, than I had to quarrel with him for not being 
 of the exact stature which would qualify him for admission 
 into the Queen's grenadier guards. As little inclination had 
 I to find fault with a funny old. lady who was an upper, do- 
 mestic in this establishment, and who, when she came to wait 
 upon us at any meal, sat herself down comfortably in the most 
 convenient chair, and producing a large pin to pick her teeth 
 
7^2 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 with, remained performing that ceremony, and steadfastly r&. 
 garding us meanwhile with much gravity and composure (now 
 and then pressing us to eat a little more), until it was time to 
 clear away. It was enough for us, that whatever we wished 
 done was done with great civility and readiness, and a desire 
 to oblige, not only here, but everywhere else; and that all our 
 wants were, in general, zealousl)r anticipated. 
 
 We were taking an early dinner at this house, on the day 
 after our arrival, which was Sunday, when a steamboat came 
 in sight, and presently touched at the wharf. As she proved 
 to be on her way to Buffalo, we hurried ©n board with all 
 speed, and soon left Sandusky far behind us. 
 
 She was a large vessel of five hundred tons, and hand- 
 somely fitted up, though with high-pressure engines ; which 
 always conveyed that kind of feeling to me, which I should be 
 likely to experience, I think, if I had lodgings on the first- 
 floor of a powder-mill. She was laden with flour, some casks 
 of which commodity were stored upon the deck. The captain 
 coming up to have a little conversation, and to introduce a 
 friend, seated himself astride of one of these barrels, like a 
 Bacchus of private life ; and pulling a great clasp-knife out of 
 his pocket, began to "whittle" it as he talked, by paring 
 thin slices off the edges. And he "whittled with such industry 
 and hearty good-will, that but for his being called away very 
 soon, it must have disappeared bodily, and left nothing in its 
 place but grist and shavings. 
 
 After calling at one or two flat places, with low dams 
 stretching out into the lake, whereon were stumpy light- 
 houses, like windmills without sails, the whole looking like a 
 Dutch vignette, we came at midnight to Cleveland, where we 
 lay all nigM, and until nine o'clock next linorning. 
 
 I entertained quite a curiosity in reference to this place, 
 from having seen at Sandusky a specimen of its literature in 
 the shape of a newspaper, which was very strong indeed upon 
 the subject of Lord Ashburton's recent arrival at Washington, 
 to adjust the points in dispute between the United States 
 Government and Great Britain : informing its readers that as 
 America had " whipped " England in her infancy, and 
 whipped her again in her youth, so it was clearly necessary 
 that she must whip her once again in her maturity ; and 
 pledging- its credit to all True Americans, that if Mr. Webster 
 did his duty in the approaching negotiations, and sent the 
 English Lord home again in double quick time, they should, 
 
RETURN TO CTNCINNATI, £.TC. >j-j, 
 
 within two years, sing "Yankee Doodle in Hyde Park, and 
 Hail' Columbia in the scarlet courts of Westminster!" I 
 found it a pretty town, and had the satisfaction of beholding 
 the outside of the office of the journal from -which. I have just 
 quoted. I did not enjoy the delight of sefeing, the wit who 
 indited the paragraph in question, but I have no doubt he is 
 a prodigious man in his way, and held in high repute by a 
 select circle. 
 
 There was a gentleman on board, to whom, as I unin- 
 tentionally learned through the thin partition which divided 
 our state-room from the cabin in which he and his wife con- 
 versed together, I Was unwittingly the occasion of very great 
 uneasiness. I don't know why or wherefore, but I appeared 
 to run in his mind perpetually, and to dissatisfy him very 
 much. First of all I heard him say :' and the most ludicrous 
 part of the business was, that he said it in my very ear, and 
 could not have commurlicated more directly with me, if he had 
 leaned upon my shoulder, and whispered me : " Boz is on 
 board still, my dear." After a considerable patise, he added, 
 complainingly, " Boz keeps himself very close ; " which was 
 true enough, for I was not very well, and was lying down, 
 with a book. I thought he had done with me after this, but 
 I was deceived ; for a long interval having elapsed, during 
 which I imagine him to have been turning restlessly from side 
 to side, and trying to go to sleep ; he broke out again, with 
 " I suppose that Boz will be writing a book by and by, and 
 putting all our names in it ! " at which imaginary consequence 
 of being on board a boat with Boz, he groaned, and became 
 silent. 
 
 We called at the town of Erie, at eight o'clock that night, 
 and lay there an hour. Between five and six next morning, 
 we arrived at Buffalo, where we breakfasted ; and being too 
 near the Great Falls to wait patiently anywhere else, we 
 set off by the train, the ^me morning at nine o'clock,, to 
 Niagara. 
 
 It was a miserable day ; chilly and raw ; a damp mist 
 falling; and the trees in that northern region quite bare and 
 wintr}'. Whenever the train halted, I listened for the roar ; 
 and was constantly straining my eyes in the direction where 
 I knew the Falls must be, from seeing the river rolling on 
 towards them ; every moment expecting to behold the spray. 
 Within a few minutes of our stopping, not before, I saw two 
 great white clouds rising up slowly and majestically from the 
 
774 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 depths of the earth. That was all. At length we alighted \ 
 and then for the first time, I heard the mighty rush of water, 
 and felt the ground tremble underneath my feet. _ _ 
 
 The bank is very steep, and was slippery with rain, and 
 half-melted ice. I hardly know how I got down, but I was 
 soon at the bottom, and climbing, with two English officers 
 who were crossing and had joined me, over some broken 
 rocks, deafened by the noise, half blinded by the spray, and 
 wet to the skin. We were at the foot of the American' Fall. 
 I could see an immense torrent of water tearing headlong 
 down from .some great height, but had no idea of shape, or 
 situation, or anything but vague immensity. 
 
 When we were seated in the little ferry-boat, and were 
 crossing the swollen river immediately before both cataracts, 
 I began to feel what it was : but I was in a manner stunned, 
 and unable to comprehend the vastness of the scene. It was 
 not until I came on Table Rock, and lookqd-r-Great Heaven, 
 on what a fall of bright-green water ! — that it came upon me 
 in its full might and majesty. 
 
 Then, when I felt how near:to my Creator Iwas standing, 
 the first eiffect, and the! enduring one — instant and lasting—- 
 of the tremendous spectacle, was Peace. Peace of Mind, 
 tranquillity, calm recollections of the Dead, great thoughts of 
 Eternal Rest and Happiness: nothing of gloom or terror. 
 Niagara was at once stamped upon my heart, an Image of 
 Beauty : to remain there, changeless and indelible, until its 
 pulses cease to beat, for ever. 
 
 Oh, how the strife and trouble of daily lite receded from 
 my view, and lessened in the distance, during tlie ten 
 memorable days we passed on that Enchanted Ground! 
 What voices spoke from out the thundering water ; what 
 faces, faded from the earth, looked out upon me from its 
 gleaming depths ; what Heavenly promise glistened in those 
 angels' tears, the drops of many hues, that showered around, 
 and twined themselves about t)ie gorgeous arches which the 
 changing rainbows made ! 
 
 I never stirred in all that time from tlie Canadian side, 
 whither I had gone at first. I never crossed the river again ; 
 for I knew there were people on the other shore, and in such 
 a place it is natural to shun strange company. To wander to 
 and fro all day, and see the cataracts from all points of view ; 
 to stand upon the edge of the great Horse Shoe Fall, marking 
 the hurried water gathering strength as it approached the 
 
IN CANADA, ETC. 
 
 775 
 
 verge, yet seeming, too, to pause before it shot into the gulf 
 below ; to gaze from the river's level up at the torrent as it 
 came streaming down ; to climb the neighboring heights and 
 watch it through the trees, and see the v/reathing water in the 
 rapids hurrying on to take its fearful, plunge; to linger in the 
 shadow of the solemn rocks three miles below ; watching the 
 river as, stirred by no visible cause, it heaved and eddied and 
 awoke the echoes, being troubled yet, far down beneath the 
 surface, by its giant leap ; to have Niagara before me,. lighted 
 by the sun aiid by the moon, red in the day's decline, and 
 gray as evening slowly fell upon it ; to look upon it every day, 
 and wake up in the night and hear its ceaseless voice : this 
 was enough. 
 
 I think in every quiet Season now, still do these waters 
 roll and leap, and roar and tumble, all day long ; still are the 
 rainbows spanning them, a hundred feet below. Still, when 
 the sun is on them, do they shine and glow like molten gold. 
 Still, when the day is gloomy, do they fall like snow, or seeni 
 to crumble away like the front of a great chalk cliff, or roil 
 down the rock like dense white smoke. But always does the 
 mighty stream appear to die as it comes down, and always 
 from its unfathomable grave arises that tremendous ghost of 
 spray and mist which is never laid : which has haunted this 
 place with the same dread solemnity since Darkness brooded 
 on the deep, and that first flood before the Deluge — -Light — 
 came rushing on Creation at the word of God. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 in canada \ toronto ; kingston ; montreal ; quebec j st. 
 John's, in the united states again ; Lebanon ; the 
 
 SHAKER village j WEST POINT. 
 
 I WISH to abstain from instituting any comparison, or 
 drawing any parallel whatever, between the social features of 
 the United States and those of the British Possessions in 
 Canada. For this reason, I shall confine myself to a very 
 brief account of our journeyings in the latter territory. 
 
 But before I leave Niagara, I must advert to one dis- 
 
776 AMERICAN NO TES. 
 
 gusting circumstance which can hardly have escaped the 
 observation of any decent traveller who has visited the Falls. 
 
 On Table Rock, there is a cottage belonging to a Guide, 
 where little rplics of the place are sold, and where visitors 
 register their names in a book kept for the purpose. On the 
 wall of the room in which a great many of these volumes are 
 preserved, the following request is posted : " Visitors will 
 please not copy nor extract the remarks and poetical effusions 
 from the registers and albums kept here." 
 
 But for this" intimation, I should have let them lie upon 
 the tables on which they were strewn with careful negiigence, 
 like books in a drawing-room : being quite satisfied witli the 
 stupendous silliness of certain stanzas with an anti-climax at 
 the end of each, which were framed and hung up on the wall. 
 Curious, however, after reading this announcement, to see 
 what kind of morsels were so carefully preserved, I turned a 
 few leaves, and found them scrawled all over with the vilest 
 and the filthiest ribaldry that ever human hogs delighted in. 
 
 It is humiliating enough to know that there are among 
 men, brutes so obscene and worthless, that they can delight 
 in laying their miserable profanations upon the very steps of 
 Nature's greatest altar. But that these should be hoarded up 
 for the delight of their fellow-swine, and kept in a public place 
 where any eyes may see them, is a disgrace to tlie English 
 language in which they are written (though I hope few of 
 these entries have been made by Englishmen), and a reproach 
 to the English side, on which they are preserved. 
 
 The quarters of our soldiers at Niagara, are finely and 
 airily situated. Some of them are large detached houses on 
 the plain above the Falls, which were originally designed for 
 hotels ; and in the evening time, when the women and children 
 were leaning over the balconies watching, the men as they 
 played at ball and other games upon the grass before the dcor, 
 they often presented a little picture of cheerfuteess and 
 animation which made it quite a pleasure to pass that way. 
 
 At any garrisoned point where the line of demarcation 
 between one country and another is so very narrow as at 
 Niagara, desertion from the ranks can scarcely fail to be of 
 frequent occurrence : and it may be reasonably supposed that 
 when the soldiers entertain the wildest and maddest hopes of 
 the fortune and independence that await them on the other 
 side, the impulse to play traitor, which such a place su^ests 
 to dishonest minds, is not weakened. But it very rarely 
 
IN CANADA, ETC. -j-j-j 
 
 happens that the men who do desert, are happy or contented 
 afterwards ; and many instances have been known in which 
 they have confessed their grievous disappointment, and tlieir 
 earnest desire to retnrn to their old service if they could but 
 be assured of pardon, or lenient treatment. Many of their 
 comrades, notwithstanding, do the like, from time to time ; 
 and instances of loss of life in the effort to cross the river 
 with-this object, are far from being uncommon. Several men 
 were drowned in the attempt to swim actors, not long ago ; 
 and one, who had the madness to trust himself upon a table 
 as a raft, was swept:down to the whirlpool, where his mangled 
 body eddied round and round some days. 
 
 I am inclined to think that the noise of ^he Falla is very 
 much exaggerated ; and this will apipear the more probable 
 when the depth of. the great basin in which the water is 
 received, is taken into account. At no time during our stay 
 there, was the wind at all high or boisterous, but we never 
 heard them, three miles off, even at the very quiet time oif 
 sunset, ithough we often tried. 
 
 Queenston, at which place the steamboats start for To- 
 ronto (or I should rather say at which place they call, for their 
 wharf is at Lewiston, on the opposite shore), is situated in a 
 delicious valley, through which the Niagara river, in color a 
 very deep green, pursues its course. It is approached by a 
 road that takes its winding way among the heights by which 
 the town is sheltered ; and seen from this point is extremely 
 beautiful and picturesque. On the most conspicuous of these 
 heights stood a monument erected by the Provincial Legis- 
 lature in memory of General Broek, who was slain in a battle 
 widi the American forces, after having won the victory. Some 
 vagabond, supposed to be a fellow of the name of Lett, who 
 is now, or who lately Was, in prison as a felon, blew up this 
 monument two years ago, and it is now a melancholy ruin, 
 with a long fragment of iron railing hanging dejectedly from 
 its top, and waving to and fro like a wild ivy branch or 
 broken vine stem. It is of much higher importance than it 
 may seem, that this statue should be repaired at tlie public 
 ■cost, as it ought to have been long ago. Firstly, because it is 
 beneath the dignity of England to allow a memorial raised in 
 honor of one of her defenders, to remain in this condition, 
 on the very spot where he died. Secondly, because the sight 
 of it in its present state, and the recollection of the unpunished 
 outrage which brougJit it to this pass, is not very likely to 
 
778 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 soothe down border feelings among English subjects here, or 
 compose their border quarrels and dislikes. 
 
 I was standing on the wharf at this place, watching the 
 passengers embarking in a steamboat which preceded that 
 whose coming we awaited, and participating in the anxiety with 
 which a sergeant's wife was collecting her few goods together 
 — keeping- one distracted eye hard upon the porters, who were 
 hurrying them on board, and the other on a hoopless washing' 
 tub for which, a^ being the most utterly worthless of all her 
 movables, she seemed to entertain particular affection — ^when 
 three or four soldiers with a recruit came up and went on 
 board. 
 
 The recruit, was a likely young fellow enough, strongly 
 built and well made, but by no means sober : indeed he had 
 all the air of a man who had been more or less drunk for some 
 days. He carried a small bundle over his shoulder, slung at 
 the end of a walking-stick, and had a short pipe in his mouth. 
 He was as dusty and dirty as recruits usually are, and his shoes 
 betokened that he had travelled on foot some distance, but 
 he was in a very ;jocose state, and shook hands with this 
 soldier, and clapped that one on the back, and talked and 
 laughed continually like a roaring idle dog as he was. 
 
 The soldiers rather laughed at this blade than with him : 
 seeming to say, as they stood straightening their canes in their 
 hands, and looking coolly at him over their glazed ■ stocks, 
 " Go on, my boy, while you may ! you!II know better by and 
 by:" when suddenly the novice, who had been backing 
 towards the gangway in his noisy merriment, fell overboard 
 before their eyes, and splashed heavily down into the river 
 between the vessel and the dock. 
 
 I never saw such a good thing as the change that came 
 over these soldiers in an instant. Almost before the man 
 was down, their professional manner, their stiffness and con- 
 straint, were gone, and they were filled with the most violent 
 energy. In less time than is required to tell it, they had him 
 out again, feet first, with the tails of his coat fiapping over 
 his eyes, everything about him hanging the wrong, way, and 
 the water streaming off at every thread in his threadbare 
 dress. But the moment they set him upright and found that 
 he was none the worse, they were soldiers again, looking over 
 their glazed stocks more composedly than ever. 
 
 The half-sobered recruit glanced round for a moment, as 
 if his first impulse were to express some gratitude for his 
 
IN CA.VADA, ETC. yyo 
 
 preservation, but seeing them with this air of total unconcern, 
 and having his wet pipe presented to him with an oath by 
 the soldier who had been by far the most anxious of the 
 party, he stuck it in his mouth, thrust his hands into his 
 moist pockets, and without even shaking the water off his 
 clothes, walked on board whistling ; not to say as if nothing 
 had happened, but as if he had meant to do it, and it had 
 been a perfect success. 
 
 Our steamboat came up directly this had left the wharf, 
 and soon bore us to the mouth of the Niagara ; where the 
 stars and stripes of America flutter on one side and the 
 Union Jack qf England on the other : and so narrow is the 
 space between them that the sentinels in either fort can often 
 hear the watchword of the other country given. Thence we 
 emerged on Lake Ontario, an inland sea ; and by half-past 
 six o'clock were at Toronto. 
 
 The country round this town being very fiat, is bare of 
 scenic interest ; but the town itself is full of life arid motion, 
 bustle, business, and improvement. The streets are well 
 paved, and lighted with gas;, the houses are large and good; 
 the shops excellent. Many of them have a display of goods 
 in their windows, such as may be seen in thriving country 
 towns in England ; and tliere are some which would do no 
 discredit to the metropolis itself. There is a good stone 
 prison here ; and there are, besides, a handsome church, a 
 court-house, public offices, many commodious private resi- 
 dencesj and a government observatory for noting and record- 
 ing the magnetic variations. In the College of Upper Canada, 
 which is one of the public establishments of the city, a sound 
 education in every department of polite learning can be had, 
 at a very moderate expense : the annual charge for the instruc- 
 tion of each pupil, not exceeding nine pounds sterling. It 
 has pretty good endowments in the way of land, and is a 
 valuable and useful institution. 
 
 The first stone of a new college had been laid but a few 
 da^ before, by the Governor General. It will be a hand- 
 some, spacious edifice, approached by a long avenue, which 
 is already planted and made available as a public walk. 
 The town is well-adapted for wholesome exercise at all sea- 
 sons, for the footways in the thoroughfares which lie beyond 
 the principal street, are planked like floors, and kept in very 
 good and clean repair. 
 
 It is a matter of deep regret that political differences 
 
7 8 o AMERICAN NO TES. 
 
 should have lun high in this place, and led to most discredit- 
 able and disgraceful results. It is not long since guns were 
 discharged from a window in this town at the successful 
 candidatesln an election, and the coachman of one of theni 
 was actually shot in the body, though not dangerously 
 wounded. But one man was killed on the same occasion ; 
 and from the very window whence he received his death, the 
 very flag which shielded his murderer (not only in the com- 
 mission of. his cfime, but from its consequences), was dis- 
 played again on the occasion of the public ceremony per- 
 formed by the Governor General, to which I have just 
 adverted. Of all the colors in the rainbow, there is but one 
 which could be so employed : I need not say that flag was 
 orange. 
 
 The time of leaving Toronto for Kingston is noon. By 
 eight o'clock next morning, the traveller is at the end of his 
 journey, which is performed by steamboat upon Lake On- 
 tario, calling at Port Hope and Coburg, the latter a cheerful 
 thriving little town. Vast quantities of flour form the chief 
 item in the freight of these vessels. We had no fewer than 
 one thousand and eighty barrels on board, between Coburg 
 and Kingston. 
 
 The latter place, which is now the seat of gpverament in 
 Canada, is a very poor town, rendered still poorer in the 
 appearance of its market-place by tlie ravages of a recent 
 fire. Indeed, it may be said of Kingston, that one half of it 
 appears to be burnt down, and the other half not to be built 
 up. The Government House is neither elega.)it nor commodi- 
 ous, yet it is almost the only house of any importance in the 
 neighborhood. 
 
 There is an admirable jail here^ well and wisely governed, 
 and excellently regulated, in every respect. The men were 
 employed as shoemakers, ropemakers, blacksmiths, tailors, 
 carpenters, and stonecutters ; and in building a new prison, 
 which was pretty far advanced towards completion. The 
 female prisoners were occupied in needlework. Among them 
 was a beautiful girl of twenty, who had been there nearly 
 three years. She acted as bearer of secret dispatches for 
 the self-styled Patriots on Navy Island, during the Cana- 
 dian Insurrection; sometimes dressing as a girl, and carry- 
 ing them in her stays ; sometimes attiring herself as a boy, 
 and secreting. them in the lining of her hat. In the latter 
 character she always rode as a boy would, which was nothing 
 
IN CANADA, ETC. ygi 
 
 to her, for she could govern any horse that any man could 
 ride, and could drive four-in-hand with the best whip in 
 those parts. Setting forth on one of her patriotic missions, 
 she appropriated to herself the first horse she could lay her 
 hands on ; and this oiience had brought her where I saw 
 her. She had quite a lovely face, though, as the reader may 
 suppose from this sketch of her history, there was a lurking 
 devil in her bright eye, which looked out pretty sharply from 
 between her prison bars. 
 
 There is a bomb-proof fort here of great strength, which 
 occupies a bold position, and is capable, doubtless, of doing 
 good service ; though the town is much too close upon the 
 frontier to be long held, I should imagine, for its present pur- 
 pose in troubled times. There is also a small navy-yard, 
 where a couple of Government steamboats where building, 
 and getting on vigorously. 
 
 We left Kingston for Montreal on the tenth of May, at 
 half-past nine in the morning, and proceeded in a steamboat 
 down the St. Lawrence river. The beauty of this noble 
 stream at almost any point, but especially in the commence- 
 ment of this journey'when it winds its way among the Thou- 
 sand Islands, can hardly be imagined. The number and 
 constant successions of these islands, all green and richly 
 wooded ; their fluctuating sizes, some so large that for half 
 an hour together one among them will appear as the opposite 
 bank of the river, and some so small that they are mere dim- 
 ples on its broad bosom ; their infinite variety of shapes ; and 
 the numberless combinations of beautiful forms which the 
 trees growing on them present : all form a picture fraught 
 with uncommon interest and pleasure. 
 
 In the afternoon we shot down some rapids where the 
 river boiled and bubbled strangely, and where the force and 
 headlong violence of the cmrrent were tremendous. At seven 
 o'clock we reached Dickenson's Landing, whence travellers 
 proceed for two or three hours by stage-coach : the navigation 
 of the river being rendered so dangerous and difficult in the 
 interval, by rapids, that steamboats do not make the passage. 
 The ftumber and length of those portages, over which the 
 roads are bad, and the travelling slow, render the way between 
 the towns of Montreal and Kingston, somewhat tedious. 
 
 Our course lay over a wide, uninclosed tract of country at 
 a little distance from the river side, whence the bright warn- 
 ing lights on the dangerous parts of the St. Lawrence shone 
 
782 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 vividly. The night was dark and raw, and the way dreary 
 enough. It was nearly ten o'clock when we reached the 
 wharf where the next steamboat lay; and went on board, and 
 to bed. 
 
 She lay there all night, and started as soon as it was day. 
 The morning was ushered in by a violent thunderstorm, and 
 was very wet, but gradually improved and brightened up. 
 Going on deck after breakfast, I was amazed to see floating 
 down with the stream, a most gigantic raft, with some thirty 
 or forty wooden houses upon it, and at least as many flag- 
 masts, so that it looked like a nautical street. I saw many 
 of these rafts afterwards, but never one so large. All the 
 timber, or " lumber," as it is called in America, which is 
 brought down the St. Lawrence, is floated down in this man- 
 ner. When the raft reaches its place of destination, it is 
 broken up ; the materials are sold ; and the boatmen return 
 for more. 
 
 At eight we landed again, and travelled by a stage-coach 
 for four hours through a pleasant and well-cultivated country, 
 perfectly French in every respect : in the appearance of the 
 cottages ; the air, language, and dress of the peasantry ; the 
 sign-boards on the shops and taverns ; and the Virgin's 
 shrines, and crosses, by the wayside. Nearly every common 
 laborer and boy, though he had no shoes to his feet, wore 
 round his waist a sash of some bright color : generally red : 
 and the women, who were working in the fields and gardens, 
 and doing all kinds of husbandry, wore, one and all, great 
 flat straw hats with most capacious brims. There were 
 Catholic Priests and Sisters of Charity in the village streets ; 
 and images of the Saviour at the corners of cross-roads, and 
 in other public places. 
 
 At noon we went on board another steamboat, and 
 reached the village of Lachine, nine miles from Montreal, by 
 three o'clock. There, we left the river, and went on by land. 
 Montreal is pleasantly situated on the margin of the St. 
 Lawrence, and is backed by some bold heights, about which 
 there are charming rides and drives. The streets are gener- 
 ally narrow and irregular, as in most French towns Of any 
 age : but in the more modern parts of the city, they are wide 
 and airy. They display a great variety of very good shops ; 
 and both in the town and suburbs there are many excellent 
 private dwellings. The granite quays are remarkable for 
 their beauty, solidity, and extent. 
 
IN CANADA, ETC. yg. 
 
 There is a very large Catholic cathedral here, recently 
 erected ; witli two tall spires, of which one is yet unfinished. 
 In the open space in front of this edifice, stands a solitary, 
 grim-looking, square brick tower, which has a quaint and re- 
 markable appearance, and which the wiseacres of the place 
 have consequently determined to pull down immediately. 
 The Government House is very superior to that at Kingston, 
 and the town is full of life and bustle. In one of the sub- 
 urbs is a plank road — ^not footpath— five or six miles lon^ 
 and a famous road it is too. All the rides in the vicinity 
 were made doubly interesting by the bursting out of spring, 
 which is here so rapid, that it is but a day's leap from barren 
 winter, to the blooming youth of summer. 
 
 The steamboats to Quebec, perform the . journey in the 
 night; that is to say, they leave Montreal at six: in the even- 
 ing, and arrive at Quebec at six next morning. We made 
 this excursion during our stay in Montreal (which exceeded a 
 fortnight), and we were charmed by its interest and beauty. 
 
 The impression made upon the visitor by this Gibraltar of 
 America ; its giddy heights ; its citadel suspended, as it were, 
 in the air ; its picturesque steep streets and frowning gate- 
 ways ; and the splendid views which burst upon the eye at 
 every turn : is at once unique and lasting. 
 
 It is a place not to be forgotten or mixed up in the mind 
 ■with other places, or altered for a moment in the crowd of 
 scenes a traveller can recall. Apart from the realities of 
 this most picturesque city, there are associations clustering 
 about it which would make a desert rich in interest The 
 dangerous precipice along whose rocky front, Wolfe and his 
 brave companions climbed to glory ; the Plains of Abraham, 
 where he received his mortal wound ; the fortress so chival- 
 rously defended by Montcalm ; and his soldier's grave, dug 
 for him while yet alive, by the bursting of a shell ;. are not 
 the least among them, or among the gallant incidents of his- 
 tory. That is a noble monument too, and worthy of two 
 great nations, which perpetuates the memory of both brave 
 generals, and on which their names are jointly written. 
 
 The city is rich in public institutions and in Catholic 
 churches and charities, but it is mainly in the prospect from 
 the site of the Old Government House, and from the citadel, 
 that its surpassing beauty lies. The exquisite expanse of 
 country, rich in field and forest, mountain-height and water, 
 which lies stretched out before the view, with miles of Cana- 
 
y84 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 dian villages, glancing in long white streaks, like veins along 
 the landscape ; the motley crowd of gables, roofs, and chimr 
 ney tops in the old hilly town immediately at hand ; the beau- 
 tiful St. Lawrence sparkling and flashing in the sunlight ; and 
 the tiny ships below the rock from which you gaze, whose 
 distant rigging looks like spiders' webs against the light, 
 while casks and barrels on their decks dwindle into toys, and 
 busy mariners become so many puppets ; all this, framed by 
 a sunken window in the fortress and looked at from the 
 shadowed room within, fonns one of the brightest and most 
 enchanting pictures that the eye can rest upon. 
 
 In the spring of the year, vast numbers of emigrants who 
 have newly arrived from England or from Ireland; pass be- 
 tween Quebec and Montreal on their way to the backwoods 
 and new settlements of Canada. If it be an entertaining 
 lounge (as I very often found it) to take a morning stroll 
 upon the quay at Montreal, and see them grouped in hun- 
 dreds on the public wharfs about their chests and boxes, it is 
 matter of deep interest to be their fellow-passenger on one of 
 these steamboats, and mingling with the concourse, see and 
 hear them unobserved. 
 
 The vessel in which we returned from Quebec to Mon- 
 treal was crowded with them, and at night they spread their 
 beds between decks (those who had beds, at least), and slept 
 so close and thick about our cabin door, that the' passage to 
 and fro was quite blocked up. They were nearly all English ; 
 from Gloucestershire the greater part ; and had had a long 
 winter-passage out ; but it was wonderful to see how clean 
 the children had been kept, and how untiring in their love 
 and self-denial all the poor parents were. 
 
 Cant as we may, and as we shall to the end of all things, 
 it it very much harder for the poor to be virtuous than it is 
 for the rich ; and the good that is in them, shines the brighter 
 for it. In m.any a noble mansion lives a man, the best of 
 husbands and of fathers, whose private worth in both capaci- 
 ties is justly lauded to the skies. But bring him" here, upon 
 this crowded deck. Strip from his fair young wife her silken 
 dress and jewels, unbind her braided hair, stamp early 
 wrinkles on her brow, pinch her pale cheek with care and 
 much privation, array her faded form in coarsely patched 
 attire, let there be nothing but his love to set her forth or 
 deck her out, and you shall put it to the proof indeed. So 
 change his station in the world, that he shall see in those 
 
IN CANADA, ETC. 785 
 
 young things who climb about his knee : not records of his 
 wealth and name : but little wrestlers with him for his daily 
 bread ; so many poachers on his scanty meal ; so many units 
 to divide his every sum of comfort, and farther to reduce its 
 small amount. In lieu of the endearments of childhood in 
 its sweetest aspect, heap upon him all its pains and wants, its 
 sicknesses and ills, its fretfulness, caprice, and querulous en- 
 durance : let its prattle be, not of engaging infant fancies, but 
 of cold, and thirst, and hunger ; and if his fatherly affection 
 outlive all this, and he be patient, watchful, tender ; careful of 
 his children's lives, and mindful always of their joys and sor- 
 rows ; then send him back to Parliament, and Pulpit, and to 
 Quarter Sessions, and when he hears fine talk of the deprav- 
 ity of those who live from hand to mouth, and labor hard to 
 do it, let him speak up, as one who knows, and tell those 
 holders forth that they, by parallel with such a class, should 
 be High Angels in their daily lives, and lay but humble siege 
 to Heaven at last. 
 
 Which of us shall say what he would be, if such realities, 
 with small relief or change all through his days, were his ! 
 Looking round upon these people : far from home, houseless, 
 indigent, wandering, weary with travel and hard living : and 
 seeing how patiently they nursed and tended their young 
 children : how they consulted ever their wants first, then half 
 supplied their own ; what gentle ministers of hope and faith 
 the women were ; how the men profited by their example ; 
 and how very, very seldom even a moment's petulance or harsh 
 complaint broke out among, them : I felt a stronger love and' 
 honor of my kind come glowing on my heart, and wished to 
 God there had been many Atheists in the better part of 
 human nature there, to read this simple lesson in the Book of 
 Life. 
 
 We left Montreal for New York again, on the thirtieth of 
 May ; crossing to La Prairie, on the Opposite shore of the St. 
 Lawrence, in a steamboat ; we then took the railroad to St. 
 John's, which is on the brink of Lake Champlain. Our last 
 greeting in Canada was from the English officers in the pleas^ 
 ant barracks at that place (a. class of gentlemen who had 
 made every hour of our visit memorable by their hospitality 
 and friendship) ; and with " Rule Britannia " sounding in our 
 ears, soon left it far behind. 
 
 But Canada has held, and always will retain, a foremost 
 
786 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 place in my remembrance. Few Englishmen are prepared to 
 find it what it is. Advancing quietly ; old differences settlmg 
 down, and being fast forgotten ; public ' feeling and private 
 enterprise alike in a sound and wholesome state ; nothing of 
 flush or fever in its system, but health and vigor throbbing in 
 its steady pulse : it is full of hope and promise. To me — 
 who had been accustomed to think of it as something left 
 behind in the strides of advancing society, as something neg- 
 lected and forgotten, slumbering and wasting in its sleep — the 
 demand for labor and the rates of wages ; the busy quays^ of 
 Montreal ; the vessels taking in their cargoes, and discharging 
 them ; the amount of shipping in the different poits j the 
 commerce, roads, and public works, all made to last ; the re- 
 spectability and character of the public journals ; and the 
 amount of rational comfort and happiness which honest indus- 
 try may earn : were very great surprises. The steamboats 
 on the lakes, in their conveniences, cleanliness, and safety ; 
 in the gentlemanly character and bearing of their captains ; 
 and in the politeness and perfect comfort of their social regu- 
 lations ; are unsurpassed even by the famous Scotch vessels, 
 deservedly so much esteemed at home. The inns are usually 
 bad ; because the custom of boarding at hotels is not so 
 general here -as in the States, and the British officers, who 
 form a large portion of the society of every town, live chiefly 
 at the regimental messes : but in every other respect, the 
 traveller in Canada will find as good provision for his comfort 
 as in any place I know. 
 
 There is one American boat— the vessel which carried us 
 on Lake Champlain, from St. John's to Whitehall — which I 
 praise very highly, but no more than it deserves, when I say 
 that it is superior even to that in which we went from Quee'n- 
 ston to Toronto, or to that in which we travelled from the 
 latter place to Kingston, or I have no doubt I may add to 
 any other in the world. This steamboat, which is called the 
 Burlington, is a perfectly exquisite achievement of neatness, 
 elegance, and order. The decks are drawing-rooms ; the 
 cabins are boudoirs, choicely furnished and adorned with 
 prints, pictures, and musical instruments ; every nook and 
 corner in the vessel is a perfect curiosity of graceful comfort 
 and beautiful contrivance. Captain Sherman, her commander, 
 to whose ingenuity and excellent taste these results are solely 
 attributable, has bravely and worthily distinguished himself 
 on more than one trying occasion : not least among them, in 
 
IN CANADA, ETC. 
 
 787 
 
 having the moral courage to carry British troops, at a time 
 (during the Canadian rebellion) when no other conveyance 
 was open to them. He and his vessel are held in universal 
 respect, both by his own countrymen and ours ; and no man 
 ever enjoyed the popular esteem, who, in his sphere of action, 
 won and wore it better than this gentleman. 
 I By means of this floating palace we were soon in the 
 United States again, and called that evening at Burlington ; 
 a pretty town, where we lay an hour or so. We reached 
 Whitehall, where we were to disembark, at six next morning ; 
 and might have done so earlier, but that these steamboats 
 lie by for some hours in the night, in consequence of the lake 
 becoming very narrow at that part of the journey, and difficult 
 of navigation in the dark. Its width is so contracted at one 
 point, indeed, that they are obliged to warp round by means 
 of a rope. 
 
 After breakfasting at Whitehall, we took the stage-coach 
 for Albany : a large and busy town, where we arrived between 
 five and six o'clock that afternoon ; after a very hot day's 
 journey, for we were now in the height of summer again. ' At 
 seven we started for New York on board a great North River 
 steamboat, which was so crowded with passengers that the 
 upper deck was like the box lobby of a theatre between the 
 pieces, and the lower one like Tottenham Court Road on a 
 Saturday night. But we slept soundly, notwithstanding, and 
 soon after five o'clock next morning reached New York. 
 
 Tarrying here, only that day and night, to recruit after 
 our late fatigues, we started off once more upon our last 
 journey in America. We had yet five days to spare before 
 embarking for England, and I had a great desire to see " the 
 Shaker Village," which is peopled by a religious sect from 
 whom it takes its name. 
 
 To this end, we went up the North River again, as far as 
 the town of Hudson, and there hired an extra to carry us to 
 Lebanon, thirty miles distant : and of course another and a 
 different Lebanon from that village where I slept on the night 
 of the Prairie trip. 
 
 The country through which the road meandered, was rich 
 and beautiful ; the weather very fine ; and for many miles the 
 Kaatskill mountains, where Rip Van Winkle and the ghastly 
 Dutchmen played at ninepins one memorable gusty afternoon, 
 towered in the blue distance, like stately clouds. At one 
 point as we ascended a steep hill, athwart whose base a rail- 
 
y88 AMERICAN NO TES. 
 
 road, yet constructing, took its course, we came upon an Insb 
 colony. With means at hand of building decent cabins, it 
 was wonderful to see how clumsy, rough, and wretched, its 
 hovels were. The best were poor protection from tne 
 weather ; the worst let in the wind and rain through wide 
 breaches in the roofs of sodden grass, and in the walls of 
 mud ; some had neither door nor window ; some had nearly 
 fallen down, and were imperfectly propped up by stakes and 
 poles; all were ruinous and filthy. Hideously ugly old 
 women and very buxom young ones, pigs, dogs, men, children, 
 babies, pots, kettles, dunghills, vile refuse, rank straw, and 
 standing water, all wallowing together in an inseparable heap, 
 composed the furniture of every dark and dirty hut. 
 
 Between nine and ten o'clock at night, we arrived at Leb- 
 anon : which is renowned for its warm baths, and for a great 
 hotel, well adapted, I have no doubt, to the gregarious taste 
 of those seekers after Health or pleasure who repair here, but 
 inexpressibly comfortless to me. We were shown into an 
 immense apartment, lighted by two dim candles, called the 
 drawing-room : from which there was a descent by a flight of 
 steps, to another vast desert, called the dining-room : our bed 
 chambers were among certain long rows of little white-washed 
 cells, which opened from either side of a dreary passage ; and 
 were so like rooms in a prison that I half expected to be 
 locked up when I went to bed, and listened involuntarily for 
 the turning of the key on the outside. There need be baths 
 somewhere in the neighborhood, for the other washing ar- 
 rangements were on as limited a scale as I ever saw, even in 
 America : indeed, these bed-rooms were so very bare of even 
 such common luxuries as chairs, that I should say they were 
 not provided with enough of anything, but that I bethink my- 
 self of our having been most bountifully bitten all night. 
 
 The house is very pleasantly situated, however, and we 
 had a good breakfast. That done, we went to visit our place 
 of destination, which was some two miles off, and the way to 
 which was soon indicated by a finger-post, whereon was 
 painted, " To the Shaker Village." 
 
 As we rode along, we passed a party of Shakers, who were 
 at work upon the road ; who wore the broadest of all broad- 
 brimmed hats ; and were in all visible respects such very 
 wooden men, that I felt about as much sympathy for them 
 and as much interest in them, as if they had been so many 
 figure-heads of ships. Presently we came to the beginning of 
 
IN CAI^ADA, E7V. 789 
 
 the village, and alighting^ at the door of a house where the 
 Shaker manufactures are sold, and which is the head-quar- 
 ters of the elders, requested- permission to see the Shaker 
 worship. 
 
 Pending the conveyance of this request to some petson in 
 authority, we walked into a grim room, where several grim 
 hats were hanging on grim pegs, and the time was grimly told 
 by a grim clocik, which uttered every tick with a kind of strug- 
 gle, as if it broke the grim silence reluctantly, and under pro- 
 test. ■ -Raiiged: against the Wall were six or eight stiff high- 
 backed chairs, and they partook so strongly of the general grim- 
 ness, that one would much rather have sat on the floor than 
 incurred the slightest obligation to any of them. 
 
 Presently, there stalked into this apaftmfintj a grim old 
 Shaker, with eyes as hard, and dull, and cold, as the great 
 round metal buttons on his coat and waistcoat ; a sort of calm 
 goblin. Being infonried of our desire, he produced a news- 
 paper wherein the body of elders, whereof he was a member, 
 had advertised but a few days before, that in consequence of 
 certain unseemly interruptions which their worship bad re- 
 ceived from strangers, dieir chapel was closed to the public 
 for the-sipace of' one year. 
 
 As nothing was to be urged in opposition to this reason- 
 able arrangement, we reqtiested leave to make some trifling 
 purchases of Shaker goods ; which was grimly conceded. 
 We accordingly repaired to a store in the same house and on 
 the opposite side of the passage, where the stock was pre- 
 sided over by something' alive in a russet case, which the 
 elder said was a woman ; and which I suppose was a woman, 
 though I should not have Suspected it. 
 
 On the opposite side of the road was their place ■ of wor- 
 ship : a cool, clean edifice of wood, with large windows and 
 green blinds : like a spacious summer-house. As there was 
 no getting into this place, and nothing was to be done but 
 walk up and down, and loOk at it and the other buildings in 
 the village (which were chiefly of wood, painted a dark red 
 like English bams; and composed of mafty stories like Eng- 
 lish factories), I have nothing to communicate to the reader, 
 beyond the scanty results I gleaned the while our purchases 
 were making. 
 
 These people are called Shakers from their peculiar form 
 of adoration, which consists of a dance, performed by the 
 men and women of all ages, who arrange themselves for that 
 
 34. 
 
7go AMERICAN NO TES. 
 
 purpose in opposite parties: the men first divesting them- 
 selves of, their hats and coats, which they gravely hang against 
 the wall before they begin ; and' tying a ribbon round tlieir 
 shirt-sleeves, as though they were going to be bled. They 
 accompany themselves with a droning, humming noise, and 
 dance until they are quite exhausted, alternately advancmg 
 and retiring in a preposterous sort of trot. The effect is said 
 to be unspeakably absurd : and if I may judge from a pript of 
 this ceremony which I have in my possession ; and which I 
 am informed by those who have visited the chapel, is perfectly 
 accurate ;_ it must be infinitely grotesque. 
 
 They are. governed by a woman,, and her rule is under- 
 stood to be absolute, though she has the assistance of a coun- 
 cil of elders. She lives, it is said, in strict seclusion in certain 
 rooms above the chapel, and is never shown to profane eyes. 
 If she at all -resemble the lady who presided over the store, it 
 is a great charity to keep her as close as possible, and I can- 
 not too strongly express my perfect concurrence in this be- 
 nevolent proceeding. 
 
 All the possessions and revenues of the settlement are 
 thrown into a common stock, which is-managed by the elders. 
 As they have made converts among people who are well to do 
 in the world, and are frugal and thrifty, it is understood that 
 this fund prospers ; the more especially as they have made 
 large purchases of land. Nor is this at Lebanoa the only 
 Shaker settlement : there are, I think, at least three others. 
 
 They are good farmers, and all their produce is eagerly 
 purchased and highly esteemed. " Shaker seeds," " Shaker 
 herbs," and " Shaker distilled waters," are commonly an- 
 nounced for sale in the shops of towns and cities. They are 
 good breeders of cattle, and are kind and merciful to the 
 brute creation. Consequently, Shaker beasts seldom fail to 
 find a readymarket 
 
 They eat and drink together, after the Spartan model,, at 
 a great public table. There is no union of sexes, and every 
 Shaker, male and female, is devoted to a life of celibacy. 
 Rumor has been busy upon this theme, but here again I must 
 refer to the lady of the store, and say, that if many of the sis- 
 ter Shakers resemble her, I treat all such.slander as bearino- 
 on its face the strongest marks of wild iiiiprobabilitv. But 
 that they take as proselytes, persons so young that they can- 
 not know their own minds, and cannot possess much strength 
 of resolution in this or any other respect, I can assert from 
 
IN CANAPA, ETC. 79 1 
 
 my own .observation of the extreme juvenility of certain youth- 
 ful Shakers whom I saw at work among the party on the 
 road. , , , 
 
 They are said to be good drivers of bargains, bnt to be 
 honest and just in their transactions, and even in horse-deal- 
 ing to resist thpse thievish tendencies which would seem, for 
 some undiscovered reason, to be almost inseparable from lrl;»a<t 
 bi3.nch of traffic. ; In all matters, they hold their own course 
 quietly, live in tliieir gloomy silent ,|Cpminonwealth, and show 
 little desire to ipterfere with other people. 
 
 This is well enough, but nevertheless I cannot, I confess, 
 ip^ine.towa,r^S the, Shsikers; vif^jir. them with much favor, or 
 extend towards them any very lenient construction. I so ab- 
 hor, and from: my soul detest that bad: spirit, no matter by 
 what class or sect it maybe entertained, which would strip 
 life of its healthful graces, rob youth of, its innocent pleasures, 
 pluck from maturity and age their pleasant ornaments, and 
 make existence but a narrow pathway towards the grave. : that 
 odious spirit which, if it could have had fyill scope and sway 
 upon the earth, must have blasted and made barren the imag- 
 inations of the greatest men, and left, them, in their power of 
 raising up enduring images before their fellow-creatures yet 
 unborn, no better than the beasts : that, in, these very broad- 
 brimmed hats and very ^ombrecoats-rrin stiff-necked, ;Solemn 
 visaged piety, in short, no., matter what its garb, whether it 
 have cropped hair as in a Shaker village, or long nails as in a 
 Hindoo temple — -I recognize the worst among the enemies of 
 Heaven and Earth, who turn the water al; the marriage feasts 
 qf this poor wprld, riot into wine, but gall. , And if there must 
 be people vowed to crush the harmless fancies and the love 
 of innacent delights and gayeties, which are a part of human 
 nature : as much a part of it as any other love or hope that is 
 our common portion : let them, ,f or me, stapd openly revealed 
 among the ribald and licentious ; tlie very idiots know that 
 they arp not on the Immortal road, and will despise th^m, and 
 avoid .them readily. 
 
 Leaving the Shaker village .Dyith, a hearty dislike of the old 
 Shakers, and a hearty pity for the young ones : tempered by 
 the strong probability of their running away as they grow 
 older and wiser, which they not uncommonly do : we returned, 
 to Lebanon and so to Hudson, by the way we had come upon 
 the previous day. There, we took the steamboat down ,th^ 
 North River towards New York, Isut stopped, some four 
 
yga AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 hours' journey short of it, at West Point, where we remained 
 that ilight, and all next day, and next night too. 
 
 In this beautiful place : the fairest among the fair and lovely 
 Highlands of the North River': shut in by deep green heights 
 and ruined forts, and looking down upon the distant town of 
 Newburgh, along a glittering path of sunlit water, with here 
 and there a skiffi, whose white sail often bends on some new 
 tack as sudden flaws of wind come down upon her from the 
 gullies in the hills : hemmed in, besides, all round with memo- 
 ries of Washington, and events of the revolutionary war : is 
 the Military School of America. 
 
 It could not stand on more appropriate ground, and any 
 ground more beautiful can hardly be. The -course of educa- 
 tion is severe, but well devised, and manly. Through June, 
 July, and August, the young men encamp upon the spacious 
 plain whereon the college stands ; and all the year their mili- 
 tary exercises* are performed there, daily. The term of study 
 at this institution, which the State requires from all cadets, is 
 four years ; but, whether it be from the rigid nature of the 
 discipline, or the national impatience of restraint, or both 
 causes combined, not more than half the number who begfin 
 their studies here, ever remain to finish them. 
 
 The . mirriber of cadets being about equal to that of the 
 members of Congress, one is sent here from every Congres- 
 sional district : its member influencing the selection. Commis- 
 sicjns in the service are distributed on the same principle. The 
 dwellings Of the various Professors are beautifully situated ; and 
 there is a most excellent hotel for strangers, though it has the 
 two drawbacks of being a total abstinence house (wines and 
 spirits being forbidden, to the students), and of serving the 
 piiblic meals at rather uncomfortable hours : to wit, breakfast 
 at seven, dinner at one, and supper at sunset. 
 
 The beauty and freshness of this calm retreat, in the very 
 dawn and greenness of summer — ^it was then the beginning of 
 June— were exquisite indeed. Leaving it upon the sixth, and 
 returning to New York, to embark for England on the suc- 
 ceeding day, i was glad to think that among the last memor- 
 aible beauties which had glided past us, and softened in the 
 bright perspective, were those whose pictures, traced by no 
 common hand, are fresh in most men's mind ; not easily to 
 grbw old, or fade beneath the dust of Time : the Kaatskill 
 Mountains, Sleepy Hollow, and the Tappaan Zee. 
 
THE PASSAGE HOME. ^gj 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE PASSAGE HOME. 
 
 I NEVER had SO much interest before, and very i likely I 
 shall never have so much interest again, in the state of 
 the wind, as on the long-looked-for morning of Tutesday the 
 Seventh of June. Some nautical authority had told me a day 
 or two previous, " anything with west in it, will do ; " so when 
 I da,rted out of bed at daylight, and throwing up the window, 
 was saluted by a lively breeze from the northwest which had 
 sprung up inithp night, it came upon me so freshly, rustling 
 with so many happy associations, that I conceived upon the 
 spot a special regard for all airs blowing from that quarter of 
 the compass, which J shall cherish; I dare say, until my own 
 wind has breathed its last frail puff, and withdrawn itself for 
 ever from the mortal calendar. 
 
 The pilot had not been slow to take advantage of this 
 favorable weather, and,th6 ship which yesterday had been in 
 such a crowded dock that she might have retired from trade 
 for good and all, for any chance she seemed to have of going 
 to sea, was now full sixteen miles away. A gallant sight she 
 was, when we, fast gaining on her in a steamboat, saw her in 
 the distjance riding at anchor : her tall masts pointing up in 
 gir-aceful lines against the sky, and every rope and spar ex-' 
 pressed in delicate and thread-like outline : gallant, too, when, 
 we being all aboard, the anchor came up to the sturdy chorus 
 " Cheerily men, oh cheerily ! " and she followed proudly in the 
 -towipg steamboat's wake : but bravest and most gallant of 
 all, when the tow-rope being cast adrift, the canvas fluttered 
 from her masts, and spreading her white wings she soared 
 away upon her free and solitary course. 
 
 In the after cabin we were only fifteen , passengers in all,' 
 and the greater part were from Canada, where some of us had 
 known each other. The night was rough and squally, so 
 were the next two days, but they flfiw by quickly, and we were 
 soon as cheerful and snug a party, with an honest, manly- 
 hearted captain at pur head, as ever came to the resolution of 
 being mutually agreeable, on land or water. 
 
 We breakfasted at eight, lunched at twelve, dined at three, 
 
7 54 AMERICAN NO TES. 
 
 and took our tea at half-past seven. We had abundance of 
 amusements, and dinner was not the least among them : 
 firstly, for its own sake ; secondly, because of its extraordi- 
 nary length : its duration, inclusive of all the long pauses be- 
 tween the courses, being seldom less than two hours and a 
 half ; which was a subject of never-failing entertainment. By 
 way of beguiling the tediousness of these banquets, a select 
 association was formed at the lower end of the table, belov/ 
 the mast, to whose distinguished president modesty forbids 
 me to make any further allusion, which, being a very hilarious 
 and jovial institution, was (prejudice apart) in high favo-rwith 
 the rest of the community, and particularly with a black stew- 
 ard, who lived for three weeks in a biroad grin at the marvel^ 
 lous humor of three incorporated worthies. 
 
 Then, we had chess for those who played it^ whist, crib- 
 bage, books, backgammon, and shovelboard. In all weathers, 
 fair or foul, calm or windy, we were every one on deck, walk- 
 ing up and down in pairs, lying in the boats, leaning over the 
 side, or chatting in a lazy group together. We had no lack 
 of music, for one played the accordion, another the violin, 
 and another (who usually began at sii o'clock a.m. the key- 
 bugle : the combined effect of which instruments, when they 
 all played different tunes in different parts of the ship, at the 
 same time, and within hearing of each other, as they sometimes 
 did (everybody being intensely satisfied with his own perform- 
 ance), was subliiuely hideous. 
 
 When all these means of entertainment failed, a sail would 
 heave in sight : looming, perhaps, the very spirit of a ship, in 
 the misty distance, or passing us so close that through our 
 glasses we could see the people on her decks, and easily make 
 out her name, and whitliisfr she was bound. For hours to- 
 gether we could watch the dolphins and porpoises as they 
 rolled and leaped and dived round the vessel ; or those small 
 creatures ever on the wingj' the Mother Carey's chickens, 
 which had borne us company from New York bay, and for a 
 whole fortnight fluttered about the vessel's stern. For some 
 days we had a dead calm, or very light winds, during which 
 the crew amused themselves with fishing and hooked an un- 
 lucky dolphin, who expired, in all his rainbow colors, on the 
 deck : an event of such importance in our barren calendar, 
 that afterwards we dated from the dolphin, and made the day 
 on which he died, an era. 
 
 Besides all this, when we were five or six days out, there 
 
THE PASSAGE HOME. 755 
 
 began to be much talk of icebergs, of which wandering islands 
 an unusual number had been seen by the vessels that had come 
 into NewYdfk a day' or two before we left that port, and of 
 whose dangerous neighborhood we were warned by the sudden 
 coldness of the weather, and the sinking of the mercury in the 
 barometer. While these tokens lasted, a double look-out was 
 kept, and many dismal tales were whispered after dark, ofi. 
 ships that had struck upon the ice and gone down in the 
 night ; but the wind obliging us to hold a southward course, 
 we saw none of them, and the weather soon grew bright and 
 warm again. 
 
 The observation every day at noon, and the subsequent 
 working of the vessel's course, was, as may be supposed, a 
 feature in our lives of paramount importance ; nor were there 
 wanting (as there never are) sagacious doubters of the cap- 
 tain's calculations, who, so soon as his back was turned, would, 
 in the absence of compasses, measure the chart with bits of 
 string, and ends of pocket-handkerchiefs, and points of snuff- 
 ers, and clearly prove him to be wrong by an odd thousand 
 miles or so. It was very edifying to see thesfe unbelievers 
 shake their heads and frown, and hear them hold forth strongly 
 upon navigation : not that they knew anything about it, but 
 that they always mistrusted the captain in calm weather, or 
 when the wind was adverse. Indeed, the mercury itself is not 
 so variable as this class of passengers, whom you will see, 
 when the ship is going nobly through the water, quite pale 
 with admiration, swearing that the captain beats all captains 
 ever known, and even hinting at subscriptions for a piece of 
 plate ; and who, next morning, when the breeze has lulled, 
 and all the sails hang useless in the idle air, shake their de- 
 spondent heads again, and say, with screwed-up lips, they hope 
 that captain is a sailor — but they shrewdly doubt him. 
 
 It even became an occupation in thecalm, to wonder when 
 the wind k/^w/(/ spring up in the favorable quarter, where, it 
 was clearly shown by all the rules and precedents, it ought to 
 have sprung up long ago. The first mate, who whistled for it 
 zealously, was much respected for his perseverance, and was 
 regarded even by the unbelievers. as a first-rate sa.ilor. Many 
 gloomy looks would be cast upward through the cabin sky- 
 lights at the flapping sails while dinner was in progress ; and 
 some, growing bold in ruefulness, predicted that we should 
 land about the middle of July. There are always on board 
 ship, a Sanguine One, and a Despondent One. The latter 
 
79& AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 charactej: carried it hollow at this period of the voyage, and 
 triumphed over the Sanguine One at every meal, by inquiring 
 where he supposed the Great Western (which left New York 
 a week after us) was now : and where he supposed the Cu- 
 nard ' steam-packet was now : and what he thought of sailing 
 vessels, as compared with steamships now : and so beset his 
 life with pestilent attacks of that kind, that he too was obliged 
 to affect despondency, for very peace and qmetude. 
 
 These were additions to the list of entertaining incidents, 
 but there was still another source of interest. We carried in 
 the steerage nearly a hundred passengers : a little wwld of 
 poverty : and as we came to know individuals among them by 
 sight, from looking down upon the deck where they took tlie 
 air in the daytime, and cooked their food, and very often ate 
 it too, we became curious to know their histories, and wi(h 
 what expectations they had gone out to America, and on what 
 errands they were going home, and what their circumstances 
 were. The information we got on these heads from the car- 
 penter, who had charge of these people, was often of tlie 
 strangest kind. Some of them had been in America but three 
 days, some but three months, and some had gone out in the 
 last voyage of that veiy ship in which !they were now return- 
 ing home. Others had sold their clothes to raise tlie passage 
 money, and had hardly rags to cover them ; others had no 
 food, and lived upon the charity of the rest : and one man, it 
 was discovered nearly at the end-of the voyage, not before — 
 for he kept his secret close, and did not court compassion- 
 had had no sustenance whatever but the bones and scraps of 
 fat he took from the plates used in the after-cabin dinner, 
 when they were put out to be washed. 
 
 The whole system of shipping and conveying these unfor- 
 tunate persons, is one that stands in need of thorough revi- 
 sion. If anyi class deserve to be protected and assisted by 
 the Government, it is that class who are banished from their 
 native land in search of the bare means of subsistence. All 
 that could be done for these poor people, by the great com- 
 passion and humanity of the captain and officers was done, 
 but they require much more. The law is bound, at least upon 
 the English side, to see that too many of them are not put on 
 board one ship : and that their accommodations are decent- 
 not demoralizing and profligate. It is bound, too, in commori 
 humanity,^ to declare that lio man shall be taken on board 
 without his stock of provisions being previously inspected by 
 
THE PASSAGE HOME. >jm 
 
 some proper officer, and pronounced moderately sufficient for 
 his support upon the voyage, , It is bound to provide, or to 
 require that there be provided, a medical attendant ; whereas 
 in these ships there are none, though sickness of adults, and 
 deaths of children, on the passage, are matters of the very 
 commonest occurrence. Above all it is the duty of any Gov- 
 ernment, be it monarchy or republic, to interpose and put an 
 epd to that system by which a firm of traders in emigrants 
 purchase of the owners the whole 'tween-decks of a ship, and 
 send on board as many wretched people as they can lay hold 
 of, on any terms they can get, without the smallest reference 
 to the conveniences of the steerage, thp number of berths, the 
 slightest separation of the sexes, or anything but their own im- 
 mediate profit. Nor is even this the worst of the vicious Sys- 
 tem : for, certain crimping agents of these houses, who have a 
 percentage on all the passengers they inveiglfcy are constantly 
 travelling about those districts where poverty and discon- 
 tent are rife, and tempting the credulous into h^ore misery, by 
 holding out monstrous inducements to emigration which can 
 never be realized. 
 
 The history of every family we had on board was pretty 
 much the same. After hoarding up, and borrowing, and 
 begging, and selling everything to pay the passage, they had 
 gone out to New York, expecting to find its streets paved with; 
 gold ; and had found them paved with' very hard and very real 
 stones. Enterprise was duU ; laborers were not wanted ; jobs 
 of work were to be got, but the payment was not. They were 
 coming back, even poorer than they went. One of them was; 
 carrying an open letter from a young English artisan, who had 
 been in New York a fortnight, to a friend near Manchester, 
 whom he Strongly urged to follow him. One oftlie officers 
 brought it to me as a curiosity. •" This is the country, Jem," 
 said the writer. " I like America. There is no despotism 
 here ; that's the great thing. Employment of all sorts is going- 
 a-begging, and wages are capital. You have only to choose a 
 trade, Jem, and be it. I haven't made choice of one yet, but 
 I .shall soon. At present I haven't quite made up my mind 
 whether to be a carpenter — or a tailor." 
 
 There was yet another kind of passenger, and but one 
 more, who, in the calm and the light winds, was a constant- 
 theme of conversation and observation among us. This was 
 an English sailot, a smart, thorough-built, English m^n-of- 
 w;ar's-raan, from his hat to his shoes, who was serving in the! 
 
ygS AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 American navy, and having got leave of absence was on his 
 way home to see his friends. When he presented himself to 
 take and pay for his passage, it had been suggested to him 
 that being an able seaman he might as well work it and save 
 the money, but this piece of advice he very indignantly re- 
 jected : saying, " He'd be damned but for once he'd go aboard 
 ship as a gentleman." Accordingly, they took his money, but 
 he no sooner came abdard, than lie stowed his kit in the fore- 
 castle, arranged to mess with the crew, and the very first time 
 the hands were turned up, went aloft like a cat, before any- 
 body. And all through the passage there he was, first at the 
 braces, outermost on the yards, perpetually lending a hand 
 everywhere, but always with a sober dignity in his manner, 
 and a sober grin on his face, which plainly said, " I do it as a 
 gentleman. For my own pleasure, mind you 1 " 
 
 At length and at last, the promised wind came up in right 
 good earnest, and away we went before it, with every stitch 
 of canvas set, slashing through the water nobly. There was 
 a grandeur in the motion of the splendid Ship, as overshad- 
 owed by her mass of sails, she rode at a furious pace upon 
 the waves, which filled one with an indescribable sense of 
 pride and exultation. As she plunged into a foaming vslley, 
 how I loved to see the green waves, bordered deep with white, 
 come rushing on astern, to buoy her.upward at their pleasure, 
 and curl about her as she stooped again, biit always own her 
 for their haughty mistress still ! On, on we flew, with chang- 
 ing lights upon the water, being now in the blessed region of 
 fleecy skies ; a bright sun lighting us by daj', and a bright 
 moon by night ; the vane pointing directly homeward, alike 
 the truthful index to the favoring wind and to our cheerful 
 hearts ; until at sunrise, one fair Monday morning — the 
 twenty-seventh of June, I shall not easily forget the day — 
 there lay before us, old Cape Clear, God bless it, showing, in 
 the' mist of early morning, like a cloud : the brightest and 
 most welcome cloud, to us, that ever hid the face of Heaven's 
 fallen sister-— Home. 
 
 Dim speck as it' was in the wide prospect, it made the 
 sunrise a more cheerful sight, and gave to it that sort of- 
 human interest which it seems to want at sea. There, as 
 elsewhere, the return of day is inseparable from some sense 
 of renewed hope and gladness ; but the light shining on the 
 dreary waste of water, and showing it in all its vast extent of 
 lorieliuess, presents a solemn spectacle, which even night, 
 
THE PASSAGE HOME. ygg 
 
 veiling it in darkness and uncertainty, does not surpass. The 
 rising of the moon is more in keeping with the soUtary ocean j 
 and has an air of melancholy grandeur, which in its soft and 
 gentle influence, seems to comfort while it saddens. I recol- 
 lect when I was a very young child having a fancy that the 
 reflection of the moon in water was a path to Heaven, trodden 
 by the spirits of good people on their way to God ; and this 
 old feeling often came over me again, when I watched it on 
 a tranquil night at sea. 
 
 The wind was very light on this same Monday morning; 
 hut it was still in the right quarter, and so, by slow degrees, 
 we left Cape Clear behind, and sailed along within sight of 
 the coast of Ireland. And how merry we all were, and how 
 loyal to the George Washington, and how full of mutual eon- 
 gmtulations, and - how venturesome in predicting • the exact 
 beur at which we should arrive at Liverpool, may be easily 
 imagined and readily understood. Also, how heartily we 
 drank the captain's health that day at dinner ; and liow rest- 
 less we became about packing up : and how two or three of 
 the most sanguine spirits rejected the idea of going to bed at 
 all that night as something it was not worth while to do, so 
 near the shore, but went nevertheless, and slept soundly ; and 
 liow to be so Bear our journey's end, was like a pleasant dream, 
 from which one feared to wake. 
 
 The friendly breeze freshened again next day, and on we 
 went once more before it. gallantly : descrying now and then 
 an English ship going homeward under shortened sail, while 
 we with.eyfiiy inch of canvas xirowded on, dashed gayly past, 
 and left her far behind. Towards evening, the weather turned 
 hazy, with a drizzling rain ; and soon became so thick, that 
 we sailed, as it were, in a cloud. Still we swept onward like 
 a phantom ship, and many an eager eye glanced up to where 
 the Look-out on the mast kept watch for Holyhead. 
 
 At length his long-expected cry was heard, and at the same 
 moment there shone out from the - haze and mist ahead, a 
 gleaming light, which presently was gone, and soon returned, 
 and soon was gone again. Whenever it came back, the eyes 
 of all on board, brightened and sparkled like itself : and there 
 we all stood, watching this revolving light upon the rock at 
 Holyhead, and praising it for its brightness and its friendly 
 warning, and lauding it, ia short, above all other signal lights 
 that ever were displayed, until it once more glimmered faintly 
 in the distance, far behind us. 
 
8oo AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 Then, it was time to fire a gun, for a pilot ; and almost 
 before its smoke had cleared away, a little boat with a light 
 at her mast-head came bearing down upon us, through the 
 darkness, swiftly. And presently, our sails being backed, she 
 ran alongside ; and the hoarse pilot, wrapped and' mufifled in 
 pea-coats and shawls to the. very bridge of his weather-plough- 
 ed-up nose, stood bodily among us on the deck. And I think 
 if that pilot had wanted to borrow fifty pounds for an indefi- 
 nite period on no security, we should have engaged to lend it 
 to hifti, among us, before his boat ,had, dropped astern, or 
 (^which is the same thing) before every scrap of news in the 
 paper he brought with him had become the common property 
 of all on board. 
 
 We turned in pretty late that night, and turned out pretty 
 early next morning. By six o'clock we clustered on the deck, 
 prepared to go ashore ; and looked upon the spires, and roofs, 
 and smoke, of Liverpool. By eight we all sat down in one of 
 its Hotels, to eat and drink together for the last time. And 
 by nine we had shaken hands all round, and broken up our 
 social company for ever. , 
 
 The country, by , the railroad, seemed, as we rattled 
 through it, like a luxuriant garden. The beauty of the fields 
 (so small they looked 1)^ the hedge-rows, and the trees ; the 
 pretty cottages, the beds of flowersj the old churchyards, the 
 antique houses, and every well-known object ; the exquisite 
 delights of that one journey, crowding, in the short compass 
 of a summer's day, the joy of many years, with the winding 
 up with Home and all that makes it dear;: no tongue can tell, 
 or pen of mine describe. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 SLAVERY. 
 
 The upholders of slavery in America — of the atrocities of 
 which system, I shall not write one word for whicli I have 
 not had ample proof and warrant — may be diwdod into three 
 great classes. ; ■ 
 
 The first, are those more moderate and rational owners of 
 
SLAVERY. 8oi 
 
 human cattle, who nave come into the possession of them as 
 so many coins in their trading capital^ but who admit the 
 frightful nature of the Institution in the abstract, and perceive 
 the dangers to society with which it is fraught : dangers which 
 however distant they may be, or howsoever tardy in their 
 coming on, are as certain to fall upon its guilty head, as is the 
 Day of Judgment. 
 
 The second, consists of all those owners, breeders, users, 
 buyers and sellers of slaves, who will, until the bloody chapter 
 has a bloody end, own, breed, use, buy, and sell thenj at all haz- 
 ards ; wJio. doggedly deny the horrors of the system in the teeth 
 of such- a mass of evidence as never was brought to bear on 
 any other subject, and to which the experience of every day con- 
 tributes its immense amount; who would; at this or any other 
 moment, gladly involve America in a war, civil or foreign, pro- 
 vided thatit had for its- sole end and object the assertion of their 
 right to perpetuate slavery, and to whip and work and torture 
 slaves, unquestioned by any human authority, and unassailed by 
 any human power ; who, when they speak of Freedom, mean 
 the Freedom to oppress their kind, and to be savage, mercir 
 less, and cruel ; and of whom every roan on his own .ground,, in 
 republican America, is a more exacting, and a sterner, and a 
 less responsible despot than the Caliph Haroun Alraschid in 
 his angry robe of scarlet. 
 
 The third, and not the. least numerous pr infiuiential, is 
 composed of all that delioate gentility which . cannot bear a 
 superior, and cannot brook an equal ; of that class whose 
 Republicanism means, " I will not tolerate a man above me : 
 arid of those belowj none must approach too near ; " whose 
 pride, in a land where voluntary servitude is shunned as a 
 disgrace, must be ministered to by slaves ; an,d whose inalien- 
 able rights can only have their growth in negro wrongs. 
 
 It has been sometimes ufged that, in the unavailing efforts 
 which have been made to advance the cause of Human Free- 
 dom in the. republic of America (strange cause for history 
 to treat of.!), sufficient regard has not been had, to the exist- 
 ence of the first class of persons ; and it has been contended 
 that they are hardly used, in being confounded with the 
 second. This is, no doubt, the ca:se; noble instances of 
 pecuniary and personal sacrifice have already had their growth 
 among them ; and it is much to be regretted that the gulf 
 between them and the advocates of emancipation should have 
 been widened and deepened by any means ; the rather, as 
 
8o2 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 there are, beyond dispute, among these slave-owners, many 
 kind masters who are tender in the exercise of their unnatural 
 power. Still, it is to be feared that this injustice is insepara- 
 ble from the state of things with which humanity -and: truth, 
 are called upon to deal. Slavery is not a whit tlie more 
 endurable because some hearts are to be found which can 
 partially resist its hardening influences ; nor can the indignant 
 tide of honest wrath stand still, because in its onward course 
 it overwhelms a few who are comparatively innocent, among a 
 host of guilty. 
 
 The ground most commonly taken by -these better men 
 among the advocates of slavery, is this : " It is a bad system ; 
 and for myself I would willingly get rid of it, if I could ; most 
 willingly. But it is not so bad, as you in England take it to 
 be. You are deceived by the representations of. the emanci- 
 pationists. The greater part of my slaves are much attached 
 to me. You will' say that I do not allow them to be severely 
 treated ; but I will put it to you whether you belkve that it 
 can be a general practice to treat them inhumanly, when it 
 would impair their Value, and would be obviously against the 
 interests of their masters." " ■ 
 
 Is it the interest of • any man to steal, to game, to waste his 
 health and mental faculties' by drunkenness, to lie, forswear 
 himself, indulge hatred, seek desperate revenge, or do murder? 
 No. All these are roads to ruin. And why, then,, do men 
 tread them ? Because such inclinations are among the vicious 
 qualities of mankind. Blot out, ye friends of slavery, from 
 the catalogue of human passions, brutal lust, cruelty, and the 
 abuse of irresponsible power (of all earthly temptations the 
 most difficult to be resisted), and when ye have done so, and 
 not before, we will inquire whether it be the interest of a 
 master to lash and maim the slaves, over whose lives and 
 limbs he has an absolute control ! 
 
 But again : this class, together with that last one I have 
 named, the miserable aristocracy spawned of a false republic, 
 lift up their voices and exclaim " Public opinion isall sufficient 
 to prevent such cruelty as you denounce." Public opinion ! 
 Why, public opinion in the slave States is slavery, is it not? 
 Public opinion, in the slave States, has delivered- the slaves 
 over, tp the gentle mercies of their masters. Public opinion 
 has made the laws, and denied the slaves legislative protec- 
 tion. Public opinion has knotted the lash, heated the brand- 
 ing-iron, loaded the rifle, and shielded the murderer. Public 
 
SLAVERY. 803 
 
 Opinion threatens the abolitionist with death, if he venture to 
 the South j and drags him with a rope about his middle, in 
 broad unblushing noon, through the first city in the East.. 
 Public opinion has, within a few years, burned a slave alive at 
 a slow fire in the- city of St. Louig ; and public opinion has to 
 this day maintained upon the :bench4hat estimable Judge who\ 
 charged the Jury, impanelled there to try his murderers, that'' 
 their most horrid- deed was an act of public opinion, and being 
 so, must noT be punished by the laws the publiosentimeni: had 
 made. Public opinion hailed this doctrine iwith a howl of 
 wild applause, and set the prisoners free, to walk the city, mevi 
 of mark, and influencci' and station, as they had been before. 
 
 Public opinion ! what class of men have an immense pre- 
 ponderance over the- rest of the community, in their power of 
 representing public opinion in the legislature ? the slave 
 owners. They send from their twelve States one hundred 
 members, while the fourteen free States, with afree population 
 nearly double, return but a hundred and forty-two. Before 
 whom do the presidential candidates bow down the most 
 humbly, on jwhom dp; they fawn the most fofidly, and for 
 whose tastes do they cater the most assiduously in their servile 
 protestations ? The slave owners always. 
 
 Public opinion ! hear the public opinion of the free South, 
 as expressed by its own members in the House of Represen- 
 tatives at Washington. " I have a great respect for the chair," 
 quoth North Carolina^ " I have a great respect for the chair 
 as an officer of the Jiouse, aaid a great respect for him person- 
 ally ; nothing but that respect prevents me from rushing to 
 the table and tearing that petition which has just beeii pre- 
 sented for the abolition of slavery in the district of Columbia, 
 to pieces." — " I warn the abolitionists," says South Carolina, 
 " ignorant, infuriated barbarians as they are, that if chance 
 shall throw any of them into our hands, he may expect a 
 felon's death." — "Let an abolitionist come witliin the borders 
 of South Carolina," cries a third ; mild Carolina's colleague ; 
 " and if we can catch him, we will try him, and notwithstand- 
 ing the interference of all the governments on earth, including 
 the Federal government, we will hang him." 
 
 Public opinion has made this law. — It has declared that 
 in Washington, in that city which takes its name from the 
 father of American liberty, any jiKtice of -tlie peace may bind 
 with fetters any negro passing down the street and thrust him 
 into jail : no offence on the black' man's part is necessary^ 
 
8o4 AiMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 The justice says ! " I choose to think this man a runaway : " and 
 locks him up. Public opinion impowers the man of Jaw when 
 this is done, to advertise the negro in the newspapers, warning 
 his owner to come and claim him, or he will be sold to pay 
 the jail fees. But supposing he is a free black, and has no 
 owner, it may naturally be presumed, that he is set at liberty. 
 No : HE IS SOLD To RECOMPENSE HIS Jailer. This has 
 been done again, and again, and again..'- He has noncifians of 
 proving his freedom; has no adviser,, messenger, ot assistance 
 of any sort or. kind; no investigation into his case lis made 
 or inquiry instituted. He, a free man, who may have served 
 for yearsi and bought his liberty, is thrown into jail on no 
 process, for no crime, and on no pretence of crime : and is 
 sold to pay the jail fees. This seems incredible, even of 
 America, but it is the law. 
 
 Public opinion is deferred to, in such cases as the follow-, 
 ing : which is headed in the newspapers : — 
 
 " Interesting Law-Qasfi^ . 
 
 " Ah interesting case is now on trial in the Supreme Court, 
 arising out of fhe following facts. A gentleman residing in 
 Maryland had allowed an aged pair of his slaves, substantial 
 though not legal freedom for several years. While thus living, 
 a daughter was born t6 them, -w/ho grew up in the same liberty, 
 until she married a free negro, and went with him to reside 
 in Pennsylvania. They had seyeralchildren, and lived unmo- 
 lested until the original owner died, when his heir attempted 
 to regain them ; but the magistrate before whom they were 
 brought, decided that he had no jurisdiction in the case. Tfte 
 owner seized the woman and her children in the night, and car- 
 ried them to Maryland." 
 
 " Cash for negroes," "cash for negroes," " cash for negroes," 
 is the Heading of advertisements in great capitals down the 
 long columns of the criowded journals. Woodcuts of a run- 
 away negro with manacled hands, crouching beneath a bluff 
 pursuer in top boots, who, having caught him grasps him by tlie 
 throat, agreeably diversify the pleasant text. The leading 
 article protests against "that abominable and hellish doctrine 
 of abolition, which is repugnant alike to every law of God. and 
 nature." The delicate mama, who smiles her acquiescence in 
 this sprightly writing as she readsthe paper -in her cool piazza- 
 quiets her youngest drild who dings about her skirts, by 
 
SLAVERY. 805 
 
 ^BOfiiising the boy "a whip to beat the little niggers with." 
 — But the negroes, little and big, are protected by public 
 opinion. 
 
 Let us try this public opinion by another test, which is im- 
 portant in three points of. view : first, as showing how desper- 
 ately timid of the public opinion slave owners are, in their 
 delicate iflesoriptions of fugitive slaves in widely cirtiulated 
 newspapers; secondly, as showing haw perfectly contented the 
 slaves are, and how very seldom they run away ; thirdly, as 
 exhibiting their entire .freedoin from scar, or blemish, or' any 
 mark of cruel infliction, as their pictures are .drawn, hot by 
 abolitionists, but by their own truthful masters. 
 
 The following are a few specimens of the advertisements 
 in the public papers. It is only four years since the oldest 
 among them appeared ;• and others of the same nature con- 
 tinue to be published every day in shoals. 
 
 " Ran away, Negress Caroline. Had on a collar with one 
 prong fumed down." 
 
 " Ran away, a black, woman, Betsy. Had an iron bar on 
 her right leg."' 
 
 ."Ran away,' the negro ; Manuel. Much marked with 
 irons." 
 
 " Ran away, die negress Fanny. Had on an iron band 
 about her neck." 
 
 " Ran away, a negro boy about twelve years old. Had 
 round his neck a chain dog-collar with ' De Lampert ' engraved 
 on it." ' : 
 
 " Ran away, the negro Hown. Has a ring of iron on 
 his left foot. Also, Grise, his wife, having a ring and chain 
 on the left ]eg." ; 
 
 "Ran aw'ay, a negro boy named James. Said boy was 
 ironed when he left me." 
 
 " Committed to jail, a man who calls his name John. He 
 has a clog of iron on his right foot which will weigh four or 
 five pounds." 
 
 "Betained at the police jail, the negro wench, Myra, 
 Has several marks of tASHiNG, and has irons on her feet." 
 
 "Ran away, a negro woman and two children. A few 
 days before she went off, I burnt her with a hot iron; on the 
 left side of: her face. J tried to make the letter. M." 
 
 " Ran away, a negro man named Henry ; his left eye out, 
 some scars from a; dark on and under hds left arm, and much 
 scarred with the whip." 
 
8o6 AMEKICAN NOTES. 
 
 " One hundred dollars reward, for a negro fellow, Pompey, 
 40 years old. He is branded on the left jaw." 
 
 " Committed to jail, a negro man. Has no toes on the 
 left foot." 
 
 " Ran away, a negro woman named Rachel. Has lost all 
 her toes except the large one." 
 
 "Ran away, Sam; He was shot a short time since 
 through the hand,, and has several shots ia his left arm and 
 side." ... 
 
 " Ran away, my. negro man Dennis. Said negi^o has been 
 shot in the left arm between the shoulder and elboWj which 
 has paralyzed. the left hand." 
 
 " Ran away, my negro man named Simon. He has been 
 shot badly, in his back and right arm." 
 
 " Ran away, a negro named Arthur. Has a considerable 
 scar across his breast and each arm,, made by a knife ; loves 
 to talk much of the goodness of God.". 
 
 " Twenty-five dollars reward for my man Isaac. He has 
 a scar on his forehead, caused by a blow ; and one on his back, 
 made by a shot from a pistol." • ' 
 
 " Ran awayi a negro girl called Mary. Has a small scar 
 over her eye, a good many teeth missing, the letter A is branded 
 on her cheek and forehead." 
 
 " Ran away, negro Ben. Has a scar on his right hand ■; his 
 thumb and forefinger being injured by being shot last fall. A 
 part of the bone came out. He has also one or two large 
 scars on his back and hips." 
 
 " Detained at the jail, a mulatto, named Tom. Has d scar 
 on the right cheek, and appears to have been burned with 
 powder on the face." 
 
 " Ran away, a negro man named Ned. Three of his 
 fingers are drawn into the palm of his hand by a cut. Has 
 a scar on the back of his neck nearly half round, done by a 
 knife." 
 
 "Was committed to jail, a negro man. Says his name is 
 Josiah. His back very much scarred by the whip ; and branded 
 on the tliigh and hips in three or four places, thus (J. M). The 
 rim of his right ear has been bit or cut off." 
 
 "Fifty dollars reward, for my fellow Edward. He has a 
 scar on the corner of his mouth, two cuts on and under his 
 arm, and the letter E on his arm." 
 
 " Ran away, negro boy Ellie. Has a scar on one of his 
 arms from the bite of a dog." 
 
SLAVERY. goy 
 
 '} Ran away, from;:the plantation of James Surgette, the 
 following negroes : Randal, has one ear cropped ; Bob, 
 has lost one eye ; Kentucky Tom, has one jaw. broken." 
 
 " Ran away, Anthony. One of his ears cut off, and his 
 left hand cut with- an axCi" 
 
 " Fifty dollars reward, for the negro Jim Blake. Has a 
 piece cut out of each ear, and the middle finger of the left 
 hand cut off to the second joint." 
 
 " Ran away, a negro woman named Maria. . Has a scar 
 on one side of her cheek, by a cut. Some scars on her 
 back." 
 
 " Ran away,, the Mulatto wench Mary. Has a cut on the 
 left arm, a scar on the left shoulder, and two . upper teeth 
 missing." 
 
 I should say, perhaps in explanation of this latter piece of 
 description, that among the other blessings which public 
 opinion secures to the negroes, is the common practice of 
 violently punching out their teeth. To, make them wear iron 
 collars by day and. night, and to worry them with dogs, are 
 practices almost too ordinary to deserve mention. 
 
 " Ran away, my man Fountain. Has holes in his ears, a 
 scar on the right side of his forehead, has been shot in the 
 hind parts of his legs, and is marked on the back with the 
 whip." 
 
 " Two hundred and fifty dollars reward for my negro man 
 Jim. He is much marked with shot in his right thigh. The 
 shot entered on the outside, half way between the hip and 
 knee joints." 
 
 " Btbiight to jail, John. Left ear cropt." 
 
 " Taken up, a negro man. Is very much scarred about 
 the face and body, and has the left ear bit off." 
 
 " Ran away, a black girl, named Maty. Has a scar on 
 her cheek, and the: end of one of her toes cut off." 
 
 " Ran away, my Mulatto woman, Judy. She has had her 
 right arm broke." 
 
 , " Ran away, my negro man, Levi. , His left hand has been 
 burnt, and I think the end of his forefinger is off." 
 
 , " Ran away, a negro man, named Washington. Has lost 
 a part of his middle finger, and the end of his little finger." 
 
 " Twenty-five dollars reward for my man John. The tip 
 of his nose is bit off." 
 
 "Twenty-five dollars reward for the negro slave, Sally, 
 Walks as though crippled in the^ back." 
 
8p8 AMERICAN NO TES. 
 
 " Ran away, Joe Dennis. Has a small notch in one of 
 his ears." 
 
 " Ran away, negro boy, Jack. Has a small crop out of 
 his left ear." 
 
 " Ran away, a negro man, named Ivory. Has a small 
 piece cut out of the top of each ear." 
 
 - Wlaile upon the subject of ears, I may observe that a dis- 
 tinguished abolitionist in New York once received a negro's 
 ear, which had been cut off close to the head, in a general 
 post letter. It was forwarded by the free and independent 
 gentleman who had caused it to be amputated, with a polite 
 request that he Would place the specimen in his " collection." 
 
 I could enlarge this catalogue with broken arms, and 
 broken legs, and gashed flesh and missing teeth, and lacerated 
 backs, and bites of dogs, and brands of red-hot irons innumer- 
 able : but as my readers will be sufficiently sickened and re- 
 pelled already, I will turn to another branch of the subject. 
 
 These advertisements, of which a Similar collection might' 
 be made for every year, and month, and week, and day 5 and 
 which are coolly read in families as things of course, and as a 
 part of the current news and small-talk ; will serve to show 
 how very much the slaves profit by public opinion, and how 
 tender it is in their behalf. But it may be worth while to in-- 
 quire how the slave owners, and the class of society to which 
 great numbers of tliem belong; defer to public opinion in their 
 conduct, not to their slaves but to each other ; how they are 
 accustomed to restrain their passions J what their bearing is 
 among themselves ; whether they are fierce or gentle ; whether 
 their social customs be brutal, sanguinary, and violent, or 
 bear the impress of civilization and refinement. 
 
 That we may liave no partial e\'idence from abolitionists 
 in this inquiry, either, I will once more turn to their own 
 newspapers, and I will confine myself, this time, to a selection 
 from paragraphs which appeared from, day to day, during my 
 visit to America, and which refer to occurrences happening 
 " while I was there. The italics in these extracts, as in the 
 foregoing, are my own. 
 
 These cases did hot all occur, it will be seen, in territ&ry 
 actually belonging to legalized Slave States, thongh most, and 
 tfiose.the very worst among them did, as their counterparts 
 constantly do ; but the position of the scenes of action in 
 reference to places immediately at hand, Where slavery is the 
 law ; arid the strong resemblance between that class of out' 
 
SLA VERY. 
 
 809- 
 
 rages and the riest ; lead to the just presuftiption that the 
 character of the parties concerned was formed in slave dis- 
 tricts, and brutalized by slave customs. 
 
 "Horrible Tragedy. 
 
 •' By a slip from The Southport Telegraph., Wisconsiri, we 
 learn that the Hon. Charles C. P. Arndt,' Member of the 
 Council for BroWn county, was shot dead on the floor of the 
 Council ehamber, by James R. Vinyard, Member from Grant 
 county. The- affair grew out of a nomination for Sheriff of 
 Grant county. Mr. E. S.'Skker was nominated and supported 
 by Mr. Arndt. This . noniination was opposed by Vinyard, 
 who wanted the appointment to vest in his own brother. In 
 the course of debate, the deceased made some statements 
 which Vinyard pronounced false, and made use of violent and 
 insulting language, de9.1ing largely, in personalities, to which 
 Mr. A. mp.dte no reply. After the adjournment, Mr.' A. 
 stepped up to Vinyard, and requested him to retVadt, which 
 he refused to do, repeating the offensive words. Mr. Arndt 
 then'riiade a blow at Vinyard, who stepped badk a pace, drew 
 a pistol, and shot him dead. 
 
 , "The issue appears to have been provoked on the part of 
 Vi>nyard, who was determined at all hazards tci defeat the ap- 
 pointment of Baker, and who, hiniself defeated, turned his ire 
 and revenge upon the unfortunate Arndt." 
 
 '■'■The J^isconsin Trdgedy. 
 
 " Public indignation runs high in the territory of Wiscon- 
 sin, in relation to the murder of C. C. P. Arndt, in the Legis- 
 lative Hall of the Territory. Meetings have been held in 
 different counties of Wisconsin, denouncing the practice oj 
 secretly ^heHtwg arms in the Legislative chambers of the country. 
 We have seen the account of the expulsion of James Ri Vin- 
 yard, the perpetrator of the bloody deed, and are amazed to 
 hear, that, after this expulsion by those who saw Vinyard kill 
 Mr. Arndt in the presence of his aged father, who was on a 
 visit to see his s6n, little dreaming that he was to witness his 
 murder, jfudge Ihhin has discharged Vinyard on bail. The 
 Miners' Free Press speaks in terms of merited rebuke at the 
 outrage upon the feelings of the people of Wisconsin. Vinyard 
 was' within arm's 'Ifength of Mn Arndt, when he took such 
 
8 1 o AMERICAN NO TES. 
 
 deadly aim at him, that he never spoke. Vinyard might at 
 pleasure, being so near, have only wounded him, but he chose 
 to kill him." 
 
 " Murder. 
 
 "By a letter in a St. Louis paper of the 14th, we rjatice a 
 terrible outrage at Burlington, Iowa. A Mr. Pridgman having 
 had a difficulty with a citizen of the. place, Mr. Ross ; a 
 brother-in-law of the latter provided himself wth one of Colt's 
 revolving pistols, met Mr. B. in the. street, and discharged, the 
 contents of five of the barrels at him -: each shot taking effect. 
 Mr. B., though horribly wounded, anfi dying, returned the fire, 
 and killed Ross on the spot." 
 
 " Terrible death of Robert Potter. 
 
 "From the ' Caddo Gazette,' of the 12th inst, we learn 
 the frightful death of Colonel Robert Potter. * * * * He was 
 beset in his house by an enemy, named Rose. He sprang 
 from his couch, seized his gun, and, in his night^Jothes, rushed 
 from the house. For about two hundred yards his speed 
 seamed to defy his pursuers ; but, getting entangled .in ia 
 thicket, he was captured. Rose told him thai he ^ieiifk^i-.io 
 act a generous part, and give . him a chance for his. life. He 
 then told Potter he might run, and he should not be inter- 
 rupted till he reached a certain distance. Potter started at 
 the word of command, and . before a gun was fired he had 
 reached the lake. His first impulse was to jump in the water 
 and dive for it, which he did. Rose was close behind him, 
 and formed his men on the bank ready to shoot him as he 
 rose. In a few seconds he came up to breathe,; and scarce 
 had his head reached the surface of the water, when it was 
 completely riddled with the shot of their guns, and he sunk, 
 to rise no more ! " 
 
 " Murder in Arkansas. 
 
 " We understand that a severe rcTuontre came off Si few days 
 since in the Seneca Nation, between Mr. Loose, the sub-agent 
 of the mixed band of the Senecas, Quapaw, and Shawnees, 
 and Mr. James Gillespie, of the mercantile firm of Thomas G. 
 Allisoni and Co., of Maysville, Benton County,, Arif,., in which 
 
SLAVERY. gii 
 
 the latter was slain with a bowie-knife. Some difficulty had 
 for some time existed between the parties. It is said that 
 Major Gillespie brought on the attack with a cane. A severe 
 conflict ensued, during which two pistols were fired by Gilles- 
 pie and one by Loose. Loose then stabbed Gillespie with 
 one of those never-failing weapons, a bowie-knife. The death, 
 . of Major G. is much regretted, as he was a liberal-minded 
 and energetic, man. Since the above was in type, we have 
 learned that Major Allison has stated to some of our citizens 
 in town that Mr. Loose gave the first blow. We forbear, to 
 give any particulars, as the matter will be tlie subject ofja4ieial 
 investigation''- 
 
 "Foul Deed. , 
 
 "The steamer Thames, just from Missouri river, brought 
 us a handbill, offering a reward of 500 dollars, for the person 
 who assassinated Lilburn W. Baggs, late Governor of this 
 State, at Independence, on the night of the 6th inst. Gover- 
 nor Baggs, it is stated in a written memorandum, was not 
 dead, but mortally wounded. , ; 
 
 " Since the above was written, we received a note from the 
 d.erk of the Thames, giving the following particulars.; Gov. 
 Baggs was shot by some villain on Friday^ :6th inst., in the 
 evening, while sitting in a room in his own hQus.e in Indepen- 
 dence. His son, a boy, hesariog.a report,'ran into the room, 
 and found the Governor sitting in his chair, with his jaw fallen 
 down, and his head leaning back ; on discovering the injury 
 done to his father, he gave the alarm. Foot tracks were found 
 in the garden below, the window, and a pistol picked up sup- 
 posed to have been overloaded, and thrown from th^ hand of 
 the scoundrel who fired it. Three buck shots of a heavy load, 
 took effect ;• one going through his mouth, one into the brain, 
 and another probably in. or near the brain ;. all going into the 
 back part of the neck and head. The governor was still alive 
 on the morning of the 7th ; but no hopes for his recovery by 
 his friends, and but slight hopes from his physicians. 
 
 " A man was suspected, and the sheriff most probably has 
 possession of him, by this time. 
 
 " The pistol was one of a pair stolen some days previous 
 from a baker in Independence, and the legal authorities have 
 the description of the other." 
 
8 12 ' AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 ^'■Rencontre. 
 
 " An unfortunate affair took place on Friday evening in 
 Chatres Street, in which One of ourmost respectable citizens 
 received a dangerous wound; from a poignard, in; the abdo- 
 men. From the Bee (New Orleans) of yesterday, we learn 
 the follb#ihg particulars. It appears that an article was. pub- . 
 lished in the French side of the paper on Monday last, con- 
 taining some strictures on the Artillery Battalion for firing 
 their guns on Sunday morning, in answer to those from the 
 Ontario and Woodbury, and thereby much alarm was caused 
 to the families of those persons who were out all night pre- 
 serving the peace of die city. Major C. Gaily, Commander 
 of the battalion, resented this, called at the office and de- 
 manded the author's name ; that of Mr. P. Arpin was given to 
 him, who was absent at the time. Some angry words then 
 passed with one of the proprietors, and a challenge followed; 
 the friends of both parties tried to arrange the affair, but failed 
 to do ^o. On Friday evening, about seven o'clock, Major 
 Gaily met Mr. P. Arpin in Chatres Street, and accosted him. 
 ' Are you Mr. Arpin ? ' 
 
 "'Yes, Sir.' 
 
 " ' Then I have to tell you that you are a — ' (applying an 
 appropriate epithet). 
 
 " ' I shall remind you of your words, sir.' 
 
 " ' But I have said I would break my cane on your shoul- 
 ders.' 
 
 " ' I know it, but I have not yet received the blow.' 
 
 " At these words, Major Gaily, having a cane in his hands, 
 struck Mr. Arpin across the face, and the latter drew a poig- 
 nard from his pocket and stabbed Major Gaily in the abdo- 
 men. 
 
 " JFears are entertained that the wound will be mortal. 
 We understand that Mr , Arpin has given security for /lis appear- 
 ance at the Criminal Court to answer the charge^'' 
 
 " Affray in Mississippi. 
 
 " On the 27th ult., in an affray near Carthage, Lake county, 
 Mississippi, between James Cottingham and John WilbUrn, 
 the latter was shot by the former, and so horribly wounded, 
 that there was no hope of his recovety. On the 2d instant, 
 there was an affray at Carthage between A. C. Sharkey and 
 
SLAVERY. 813 
 
 George Goff, in which the. latter was shot,, and thought mor^ 
 tally wounded. Sharkey delivered himself up to the author- 
 ities, but changed his mind and escaped / " 
 
 " Personal Encounter. 
 
 " An encounter took place in Sparta, a few days since, 
 between the, barkeeper of an hotel, and, a man named Bury. 
 It appears that Bury had become somewhat rioisy, and that 
 the ha,rkeeper, determined to preserve order., had threatened to 
 shoot Bury, whereupon Bury drew a pistol and shot the bar- 
 keeper down. He was not dead at the last accounts, but 
 slight hopes were entertained of his recovery." 
 
 " Dnel. 
 
 " The clerk of the steamboat Tribune informs us that an- 
 other duel was fought on Tuesday last, by Mr. Robbins, a 
 bank officer in Vicksburg, and Mr. Fall, the editor of the 
 Vicksburg Sentinel. According to the. arra,ngement, the 
 parties had six pistols each,, which ^ter the word ' Fire ! ' 
 they were to discharge as fast as they pleased. Fall fired two 
 pistols without effect. Mr, Robbins' first shot took effect in 
 Fall's thigh, who fiell and was unable to continue the combat." 
 
 " Affray in Clarke County. 
 
 " An unfortunate affray occurred in Clarke county (Mo.), 
 near Waterloo, on Tuesday the 19th ult., which originated in 
 settling the partnership concerns of Messrs. M'Kane and 
 M'Allister, who had been engaged in the business of distilling, 
 and resulted in the death of the latter, who was shot down by 
 Mr. M'Kane, because of his attempting to take possession of 
 seven barrels of whiskey,, the property *of M'Kane^ which had 
 been knocked off to M'Allister at a sheriff's sale at one dollar 
 per barrel. M'Kane immediately fled and at the latest dates 
 had not been taken. 
 
 This unfortunate affray caused considerable excitement in 
 the -neighborhood, as both the parties were men with large 
 families depending upon them and stood well in the com- 
 munity." 
 
 r will quote but one more paragraph, which, by reason of 
 35 
 
8 1 4 AMERICAN NO TES. 
 
 its monstrous absurdity, may be a relief to these atrocious 
 deeds. 
 
 " Affair of Honor. 
 
 " We have just heard the particulars of a meeting which 
 took place on Six Mile Island, on Tuesday, between two 
 young bloods of our city : Samuel Thurston, aged fifteen, and 
 William Hine, aged thirteen years. They were attended by 
 young gentlemen of the same age. The weapons used on the 
 occasion, were a couple of Dickson's best rifles ; the distance, 
 thirty yards. They took one fire, without any damage being 
 sustained by either party, except the ball of Thurston's gun 
 passing through the crown of Hine's hat. Through the inter- 
 cession of the Board of Honor, the challenge was withdrawn, 
 and the difference amicably adjusted." 
 
 If the reader will picture to himself the kind of Board of 
 Honor which amicably adjusted the difference between these 
 two little boys, who in any other part of the world would have 
 been amicably adjusted on two porters' backs and soundly 
 flogged with birchdri rods, he will be possessed, no doubt, 
 with as strong a sense of its ludicrous character, as that which 
 sets me laughing whenever its image rises up before me. 
 
 Now, I appeal to every human mind, imbued with the 
 commonest of common sense, and the commonest of common 
 humanity; to all dispassionate, reasoning creatures, of any 
 shade of opinion ; and ask, with these revolting evidences of 
 the state of society which exists in and about the slave dis- 
 tricts of America before them, can they have a doubt of the 
 real condition of the slaves, or can they for a moment make 
 a compromise between the institution or any of its flagrant 
 fearful features, and their own just consciences ? Will they 
 say of any tale of cruelty and horror, however aggravated in 
 degree, that it is impro"bable, when they can turn to the public 
 prints, and, running, read such signs as these, laid before 
 them by the men who rule the slaves : in their own acts and 
 under their own hands ? 
 
 Do we hot know that the worst deformity and tigliness of 
 slavery are at once the cause and the effect of the reckless 
 license taken by these f reeborn outlaws ? Do we not know 
 that the man who has been born and bred among its wrongs \ 
 who has seen in his childhood husbands obliged at the word 
 of command to flog their wives j women, indecently compelled 
 
.' SLAVERY. 8i^ 
 
 to hold up their own garments that men might lay tl;ie heavier 
 stripes upon their legs, driven and harried by brutal overseers 
 in their time of travail, and becoming mothers on the field of 
 toil, under the very lash itself ; who has read in youth, and 
 seen his virgin sisters read, descriptions of runaway men and 
 women, and their disfigured persons, which coUid not be 
 published elsewhere, of so much stock upon a farm, or at a 
 show of beasts : — do we not know that that man, whenever 
 his wrath is kindled up, will be a brutal saVage ? Do we not 
 know that as he is a coward in his domestic life, stalking 
 among his shrinking men and women slaves armed with his 
 heavy whip, so he will be a coward out of doors, and carrying 
 cowards' weapons hidden in his breast, will shoot men down and 
 stab them when he quarrels ? And if our reason did not teach 
 us this and much beyond ; if we were such idiots as to close 
 our eyes to that fine mode of training which rears up such 
 men ; should we not know that they who among their equals 
 stab and pistol in the legislative halls, and iii the counting- 
 house, and on the market-place, and in all the elsewhere 
 peaceful pursuits of life, must be to their dependants, even 
 though they were free servants, so many merciless and unre- 
 lenting tyrants ? 
 
 What ! shall we declaim against the ' ignorant peasantry 
 of Ireland, aiid mince the matter when these American task- 
 masters are in question ? Shall we cry shame on the brutality 
 of those who ham-string cattle : and spare the lights of Free- 
 dom upon earth who notch the ears of men and women, cut 
 pleasant posies in the shrinking flesh, learn to write with pens 
 of red-hot iron on the human face, rack their poetic fancies 
 for liveries of mutilation which their slaves shall \vear for life 
 and carry to the grave, breaking living liibbs as did the 
 soldiery who mocked and slew the Saviour pf. the world, and 
 set defenceless creatures up for targets ! Shall we whimper 
 over legends of the tortures practised on each other by the 
 Pagan Indians, and smile upon the cruelties of Christian men ! 
 Shall we, so long as these things last, exult above the scat- 
 tered remnants of that race, and triumph in the white enjoy- 
 ment of their possessions ? Rather, for me, restore the forest 
 and the Indian yilla^ ; in lieu of stars and stripes, let some 
 poor feather flatter in the breeze; replace the streets and 
 squares by wigwams ; and though the deaf h-s6ng of a hundred 
 haughty warriors fill the air, it will be music to the shriek of 
 one unhappy slave. 
 
8i6 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 Oil one theiaCj whicl* js -commonly before; our eyes, and 
 in respect of whidi ouir national character is, changing fast, 
 let the plain Truth be. spoken, and let us not, like dastards, 
 beat about the bush by hinting at the Spaniard and the fierce 
 Italian. When knives are :drawn by Englishmen in conflict 
 let it be said and known : " We owe this change to Republi- 
 can Slavery. These are the weapons of Freedom. With 
 sharp points and edges such as these, Liberty in America 
 hews and hacks her slaves ; or, failing that pursuit, her sons 
 devote them to a better use, and turn them on each other," 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 CONCLUDING REMARKS. 
 
 There are many passages in this book, where I have been 
 at some pains to resist the temptation of troubling my readers 
 with my own deductions and conclusions : preferring that 
 they should judge for themselves, from such premises as I 
 have laid before them. My only object in the outset, was, 
 to carry tjiem with me faithfully wheresoever I went : and 
 that task I have discharged. 
 
 But I may be pardoned,, if on such a theme as the general 
 character of the American people, and the general character 
 of their social system, as, presented to a stranger's eyes, I de- 
 sire to express my own opinions in a few words, before I 
 bring these volumes to a close. 
 
 They are, by nature, frank, brave, cordial, hospitable, and 
 affectionate. Cultivation and refinement seem but to enhance 
 their warmth of heart and ardent enthusiasm; and it is the 
 possession of these latter qualities in a most remarkable de- 
 gree, which renders an educated American one of the most 
 endearing and most generous of friends. I never was so won 
 upon, as by this class ; never yielded up my full confidence 
 and esteem so readily and pleasurably,. as to them ; never can 
 make again, in half-a-year, so many friends for whom I seem 
 to entertain the regard of half a life. 
 
 These qualities are natural, I implicity believe, to the 
 whole people. That they are, however, sadly sapped and 
 
CONCLUDING REMARKS. 8iy 
 
 blighted in their growth amoiig the mass ; and that there are 
 influences at work which endanger them still more, and give 
 but little present promise of their healthy restoration ; is a 
 truth that Ought to be told. ■ ^ 
 
 It is an essential part of every national character to pique 
 itself mightily Upon its faults, and to deduce tokens of its 
 virtue or its wisdom from their very exaggeration. One great 
 blemish : in • the popular mind of America, and the prolific 
 parent of an innumerable brood of evils, is Universal Distrust. 
 Yet the American citizen plumes himself upon this spirit, even 
 when he is sufficiently dispassionate to perceive the ruin it 
 works ; and will often adduce it, in spite of his own reason, 
 as an instance of the great sagacity and acuteness of the peo- 
 ple, and their superior shrewdness' and independence. 
 
 "You carry," says the stranger, " this jealousy and dis- 
 trust into every transaction of public life. By repelling 
 worthy men from your legislative assemblies, it has bred up a 
 class of candidates for the suffrage, who, in their every act, 
 disgrace your Institutions and your people's choice. It has 
 rendered you so fickle, and so given to change, that your in- 
 constancy has passed into a proverb ; for you ho sooner set 
 up an idol, firmly, than you are sure to pull it down and dash 
 it into fragments : and this, because directly you reward a 
 benefactor, or a public servant, you distrust him, merely be- 
 cause he is rewarded ; and inamediatSly apply yourselves to 
 find out, either that you have been too bountiful in your ac- 
 Kitowledgments, or he remiss in his deserts. Any man who 
 attains a high place among you, from the' President down- 
 wards, may date his downfall from that moment ; for any 
 printed lie that any notorious villain pens, although it militate 
 directly against the character and conduct of a life, appeals 
 at once to your distrust, and is believed. You will strain at 
 a gnat in the way of trustfulness and confidence, however 
 fairly won and well deserved ; but yoU will swallow a whole 
 caravan of eamels, if they be laden with tinwoirthy doubts and 
 mean suspicions. Is this well, think you, or likely 'to elevate 
 the character of the governors or the governed, among you ? " 
 
 The answer is invariably the same : "There's freedom of 
 opinion here, you know. Every man thinks for himself, and 
 we are not to be easily overreached. Thaf s how our people 
 come to be suspicious." 
 
 Another prominent feature is the love of " smart " deal- 
 ing: which gilds over many a swindle and gross breach of 
 
 52 
 
8i 8 AMERICAN NO TES. 
 
 trust ; many a defalcation, public and: private ; and enables \ 
 
 many a knave to hold his head up with the best* who well de- 
 serves a halter; though it has not been without its retributive 
 operation, for this, smartness has done more in a few years to 
 impair the public credit, and to cripple the public resources, 
 than dull honesty, however rash, could have effected in a cen- 
 tury. The merits, of a broken speculation, or a bankruptcy, 
 or of a successful scoundrel, are not gauged by its or his ob- 
 servance of the golden rule, " Do as you would be done by," 
 but are considered with reference to their smartness. I recol- 
 lect, on both occasions of our passing that ill-fated Cairo on 
 the Mississippi, remarking on the. bad effects such gross de- 
 ceits must have when they exploded, in generating a want of 
 confidence abroad, and discouraging foreign investment : but 
 I was given to understand that tjis was a very -smart scheme 
 by which a deal of money had been made : and that its smart- 
 est feature was, that they forgot these things abroad, in a 
 very short time, and speculated again, as freely as ever. 
 The following dialogue I have held a hundred times ; " Is it 
 not a very disgraceful circumstance that such a man as So 
 and So should be acquiring a large property by the most 
 infamous and odious ineans, and notwithstanding all the 
 crimes of which he has been guilty, should be tolerated and 
 abetted by your Citizens ? He is a public nuisance, is he 
 not?" Yes, sir." " A convicted liar ? " "Yes, sir." "He 
 has been kicked, and cuffed, and caned ? " " Yes, sir." 
 " And he is utterly dishonorable,- debased, and profligate ? " 
 " Yes, sir." " In the name of wonder, then, what is his 
 merit ? " " Well, sir, he is a smart man." 
 
 In like manner, ajl kinds of deficient and impolitic usages 
 are referred to the national love of trade; though, oddly 
 enough, it would be a weighty charge against a foreigner that 
 he regarded the Americans as a trading people. The love of 
 trade is assigned as a reason for that comfortless custom, so 
 very prevalent in country towns, of married persons living in 
 hotels, having no fireside; of their own, and seldom meeting 
 from early morning until late at night, but at the hasty public 
 meals. The love of trade is the reason why the literature of 
 America is to remain for ever unprotected : "For we are a 
 trading people, and don't care for poetry ; " though we do, by 
 the way, profess to be very proud of our poets : while health- 
 ful amusements, cheerful means of recreation, and wholesome 
 fancies, must fade before the stern utilitarian joys of trade. 
 
CONCLUDING REMARKS. 819 
 
 These three characteristics are strongly presented at 
 eveiyturn, full. in, the stranger's view. But, the foul growth 
 of America has a more tangled root than this ; and it strikes 
 its fibres, deep in its licentious Press. 
 
 Schools may be erected. East, West, North, and South ; 
 pupils be taught, and masters reared, by scores upon scores 
 of thousands ; colleges may thrive, churches may be crammed, 
 temperance may be diffused, and advancing knowledge iii all 
 other forms walk through the land with giant strides : but 
 while the newspaper press of Amierica is in, or near, its pres' 
 ent abject state, high moral improvement in that country is 
 hopeless. Year by year, it must and will go back ; year by 
 year, the tone of public Reeling must sink lower down ; year 
 by year, the Congress and the Senate must become of less 
 account before all decent men ; and year by year, the memory 
 of the Great Fathers of the Revolution must, be outraged 
 more and more, in the bad life of their degenerate child. 
 
 Among the herd of journals which are published in the 
 States, there are some, the reader scarcely need be told, of 
 character and credit. From personal intercourse with accom- 
 plished gentlemen connected with publications of this class, I 
 have derived both pleasure and profit. But the name of 
 these is Few, and of the others Legion ; and the influence of 
 the good, is powerless to counteract the moral poison of the 
 bad. 
 
 Among the gentry of America ; among the well-informed 
 and moderate : in the learned professions ; at the bar and at 
 the bench : there is, as there can be, but one opinion, in refer- 
 ence to the vicious character of these infamous journals.- It 
 is sometimes contended — I will not say strangely, for it is 
 natural to seek excuses for such a disgrace — that their inflii-- 
 ence is not so great as a visitor would suppose. I must be 
 pardoned for saying that there is no warrant for this plea, and 
 that every fact and circumstance tends directly to the opposite 
 conclusion. 
 
 When any man, of any grade of desert in intellect or char- 
 acter, can climb to any public distinction, no matter what, in 
 America, without first grovelling down upon the earth, and 
 bending the knee before this monster of depravity ; when any 
 private excellence is safe from its attacks ; when any social 
 confidence if left unbroken by it, or any tie of social decency 
 and honor is held in the least regard ; when any man in that 
 free country has freedom of opinion, and presumes to think 
 
8zo AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 for himself, and speak for himself, without humble reference 
 to a censorship which, for its rampant ignorance and base 
 dishonesty, he utterly loathes and despises in his heart ; when 
 those who most acutely feel its infamy and the reproach it 
 casts upon the nation, and who most denounce it to each 
 other, dare to set their heels upon, and crush it openly, in the. 
 sight of all men : then, I will believe that its influence is les- 
 sening, and men are returning to their manly senses. But 
 while that Press has its evil eye in every house, and its black- 
 hand in every appointment in the state, from a president to a 
 postman ; while, with ribald slander for its only stock in trade, 
 it is the standard literature of an enormous class, who must 
 find their reading in a newspaper, or they will not read at all ; 
 so long must its odium be upon the country's head, and so 
 long must the evil it works,;be plainly visible in the Republic. 
 
 To those who. are accustomed to the- leading English jour- 
 nals, or to the respectable journals of the Continent of 
 Europe ; to those who are accustomed to anything else in 
 print and paper ; it would be impossible, without an amount 
 of extract for which I have neither space nor inclination, to 
 convey an adequate idea of this frightful engine in America. 
 But if any man desire confirmation of my statement on this 
 head, let him repair to anyplace in this city of London, where 
 scattered numbers of these publications are to be found; and 
 there, let him form his own opinion.* 
 
 It would be well, there cati be no doubt, for the Anierican 
 people as a whole, if they loved the Real less, and the Ideal 
 somewhat more. It would be well, if there were greater en- 
 couragement, to lightness of heart and gayety, and a wider 
 cultivation of what is beautiful, without being eminently and 
 directly useful. But here, I think the general remonstrance, 
 "we are a new country," which is so often advanced as an 
 excuse for defects which- are quite unjustifiable, as being, of 
 right, only the slow growth of an old one, may be very rea- 
 sonably urged : and I yet hope to hear of there being some 
 other national amusement in the United States, besides news- 
 paper politics. 
 
 They certainly are not a humorous people, and their tem- 
 perament always impressed me as being of a dull and gloomy 
 
 *NoTH TO THE Origin Ai. Edition.— Or let him refer to an able, and perfectly 
 truthful article, m The Foreign Quarterly Review, published in the present month A 
 October ; to whieli my attention has been attracted, since these sheets have been passine 
 through the press. He will find some specimens there, by no means remarkable to an» 
 man who has been in America, but sufGcieutly striking to one who has not. 
 
CONCLUDING REMARKS. 821 
 
 character. In shrewdness of remark, and a certain cast-iron 
 quaintness, the Yankees, or people of New England, unques- 
 tiionably take the lead ; as they do in most other evidences 
 of intelligence. But in travelling about, out of the large 
 cities — as I have remarked in former parte of these volumes 
 — I was quite oppressed by the prevailing seriousness and 
 melancholy air of business ; which was so general and un- 
 varying, that at every new town I came to, I seemed to meet 
 the very same people whom I had left behind me, at the last. 
 Such defects as are perceptible in the national manners, 
 seem, to me, to be referable, in a great degree^ to this cause : 
 which has .generated a dull, sullen persistence in course 
 usages, and rejected the graces of life as undeserving of at- 
 tention. There is no doubt that WashingtOpy whbwas always 
 most scrupulous and exact on points of ceremony, perceived 
 the tendency towards this mistake, even in his time, and did 
 his utmost to correct it. 
 
 I: cannot hold with other writers on these subjects that 
 the prevalence of various forms of dissent in America, is in 
 any way attributable to the non-existence there of an estab- 
 lished church : indped, I think the temper of the people, if it 
 admitted of such an Institution being founded amongst them, 
 would lead them to desert it, as. a matter of course, merely 
 because it was established. But, supposing it to exist, I 
 doubt itsprobable efficacy in summoning the wandering sheep 
 to one great fold, simply beca,use of the immense . amount of 
 dissent which prevails at home ; and because I do not find in 
 America any one form of religion with ■which we in Europe, or 
 even in Englandj are unacquainted. Dissenters resort thither 
 in great numbers, as other people do, simply because it is a 
 land of resort : and great settlements of them are founded, 
 because ground can be purchased, :and towns and villages 
 reared, where there were none of the human creation before. 
 But even the Shakers . emigrated from England ; our country 
 is not unknown to Mr. Joseph Smith, the apostle of Mormon- 
 ism, or to his benighted disciples ; I have beheld religious 
 scenes myself in some of our populous towns which can 
 hardly be surpassed by an American camp-meeting ; and I 
 am not aware that, any instance of superstitious imposture on 
 the one hand, and superstitious credulity on the other, has 
 hgd its origin in the United States, which we cannot more 
 than parallel by the precedents of Mrs. Sputhcote, Mary 
 Tofts the rabbit-breeder, or even: Mr. Thorn of Canterbury; 
 
822 AMERICAN NO TES. 
 
 which latter case arose, some time after the dark ages had 
 passed away. , „ j, i j 
 
 The Republican Institutions of America undoubtedly lead 
 the people to assert their self-respect and their eqtiahty ; but 
 a traveller is bound to bear those Institutions in his mind, 
 and not hastily to resent the near approach of a class ol 
 strangers, who, at home, would keep aloof. This characteris- 
 tic, when it was tinctured with no foolish pride, a:nd stopped 
 short of no honest service, never offended me ; and I very 
 seldom, if ever, experienced its rude or unbecoming display. 
 Once or twice it was comically developed, as in the following 
 case ; but this was an amusing incident, and not the rule, or 
 near it. 
 
 !• wanted a pair of boots at a certain town, for I had none 
 to travel in, but those with the memorable cork soles, which 
 were much too- hot for the fiery decks of a steamboat. I 
 therefore sent a message to an artist in boots, importing, with 
 my compliments, that I should be happy to see him, if he 
 would do me the polite favor to call. He very kindly re- 
 turned for answer, that he would "look round " at six o'clock 
 that evening. 
 
 I was lyihg on the sofa, with a book and a wineglass, at 
 about that time, when the door opened, and a gentleman in a 
 stiff cravat, within a year or two- on either side of thirty, en- 
 tered, in his hat and gloves ; walked up to the looking-glass ; 
 arranged his hair ; took off his gloves ; slowly produced a 
 measure from .the uttermost depths of his coat pocket ; and 
 requested me, in a languid tone, to " unfix " my straps. I 
 complied, but looked with some curiosity at his hat, which 
 was still upon his head. It might have been that, or it might 
 have been the heat — but he took it off. Then, Ke sat himself 
 down on a chair opposite to me ; rested an arm on each 
 knee ; and, leaning forward very much, took from the ground, 
 by a great effort, -the specimen of metropolitan workmanship 
 which I had just pulled off: whistling, pleasantly, as he did 
 so. He turned it over and over ; surveyed it with a contempt 
 no language can express ; and inquired if I wished him to fix 
 me a boot like that ? I courteously replied, that provided 
 the boots were large enough, I would leave the rest to him ; 
 that if convenient and practicable, I should hot object to their 
 bearing some resemblance to tlie model then before him ; but 
 that I would be entirely guided by, and would ijeg to leave 
 the whole subject to, his jud:gment and discretion. " You 
 
COMCLUDmc RERi-ARKS. 823 
 
 an't partickler, about this scoop in the heel, I Suppose theti ? " 
 says he : "we don't foller that, here," I repeated my last 
 observation. He looked at himself in the glass again ; went 
 closer to it to dash a grain or two of dust out of the corner of 
 his eye ; and settled his cravat. All this time, ttiy leg and 
 foot were in the air. " Nearly ready, sir ? " I inquired. 
 " Well, pretty nigh," he said ; "keep steady." I keep as 
 steady as I coijil(j[i,both in foot ^nd face j,and,having by this 
 time got the dust but, and found his pencil-case, he measured 
 me, and made the necesgary nptes. When he fiad finished, 
 he fell into his bid attitude, and taking up the boot again, 
 mused for some time. " And this," he said, at last, " is an 
 English boot, is it ? This is a tondon boot, eh?" "That, 
 sir," I replied, "is a London boot," He mused over it again, 
 after the inanner of Hamlet with Yorick's skull ; nodded his 
 head, as ,who should say, " I pity the In5ti|:utiohs that led to 
 the production of this boot J " ; rose ; put up his pencil, npfes, 
 and paper— glancing at himself in the glass, all the time— put 
 on his. hat ; drew on his gloveg very slowly ; and filially walked 
 out. When he. had been gorie about a minute, the door re- 
 opened, and his hat and his head reappeared. He 'looked 
 round the room, and at 1;he boot again, yhigh was still lying 
 on the floor ; appeared thoughtful for a minute ; ^.nd then 
 said " Well, good arternooh," " Good afternoon, sir," said 
 I: and that was the end of the interview. 
 
 There is but one other head on which' I wish. to offer a 
 remark J and th^.t has reference to the public health. Iii so 
 vast a coiiritry, where there are thbusands of rniUiofts of acres 
 of land yet unsettled and uncleared, and on every rood of 
 which, vegetable decomposition is annually taking place ; 
 where there are so many great rivers, and such opposite vari- 
 eties of climate ; there cannot fail to be a great amount of 
 sickness at certain seasons. But I may venture to say, after 
 conversing with many members of. the medical profession in 
 America, that I am not singliiar m the opinion that much of 
 the disease which does prevail, might be avoided, if a few 
 common precautions were observed. Greater means of per- 
 sonal cleanliness, are indispensable to this end ; the custom 
 of hastily swallowing large quantities of animal food, three 
 times a-day, and rushing back to sedentary pursuits after each 
 meal, must be changed ; the gentler sex must go more wisely 
 clad, and take more healthful exercise ; and in the latter 
 clause, the males must be included also. Above all, in public 
 
824 AMERICAN NOTES. 
 
 institutions, and thioughout the whole of every town and city, 
 the system of ventilation, and drainage, and removal of im- 
 purities requires to be thoroughly revised. There is no local 
 Legislature in America which may not study Mr. Chadwick's 
 excellent Report upon the Sanitary Condition of our Labor- 
 ing Classes, with immense aidvantage. 
 
 I have now arrived at the close of this book. I have 
 little reason to. believe, from certain warnings . I have had 
 since I returned to England, that it will be tenderly or favor- 
 ably received by ^the American people ; and as I have written 
 the Truth in relation to the mass of those who form their 
 judgments and express their opinions, it will be seen that I 
 have tio desire to court, by any adventitious means, the pop- 
 ular applause. 
 
 It is enough for ihe, to know, that what I have set down 
 in these pages, cannot cost me a single friend on the other 
 side of the Atlantic, who is, in anything, deserving of the 
 name. For the rest, I put my trust, implicitly, in the spirit in 
 which they have been conceived and penned ; and I can bide 
 my tirtie, 
 
 I have made no reference to my reception, nor have I suf- 
 fered it to influence me in what I have written ; for, in either 
 case, I should have offered bi^t. a sorry acknowledgment, 
 compared, with that I bear within my breast, towards those 
 partial readers of my former books, across the Water, who 
 met me with aa open hand, and not with one that closed upon 
 an iron miizzle. 
 
 THE END. 
 
POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 At a Publip Dinner giv;en to me on Saturday, the i8th of 
 April, 1868, in the City of New York, by two hundred repre- 
 sentatives of the Press of the United States of America, I 
 made the following observations amprig others : — 
 
 " So much of my voice has lately been heard in the land, 
 that I might have been contented with troubling yoii no fur- 
 ther from my present standing-point, were it not a duty with 
 which I henceforth charge myself, not only here, but on every 
 suitable occasion, whatsoever and wheresoever, to express my 
 high and grateful sense of my second reception in America, 
 and to bear my honest testimony to the national generosity 
 and magnanimity. Also, to declare hPw astoutided I have 
 been by the amazing changes I have seen around me on every 
 side, — changes moral, changes physical, chihges in the 
 amount of land subdued and peopled, changes in the rise of 
 vast new cities, changes in the growth of older cities almost 
 out of recognition, changes in the graces and amenities of life, 
 changes in the Press, withoiit whose advancettierit no advance- 
 ment can. take plac^ anywhere. Nor am I, believe me, so 
 arrogant as to suppose that in five-and-twenty years there 
 have been no changes in me, and that I had nothing to learn 
 and no extreme expressions to correct when I was here first. 
 And this brings me to a point on which I have, ever since I 
 landed in the United States last November, observed a strict 
 silence, though sometimes tempted to break it, but in refer- 
 ence to which I will, with your good leave, take you into my 
 confidence now. Even the Press, being human, may be some- 
 times mistaken or misinformed, and I rather think that I have 
 in one or two rare instances observed its information to be 
 not strictly accurate with reference to myself. Indeed, I 
 
 825 
 
826 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 have, now and again, been more surprised by printed news 
 that I have read of myself, than by any printed news that I 
 have ever read in my present state of existence. Thus, the 
 vigor and perseverance with which I have for some months past 
 been collecting materials for, and hammering away at, a new 
 book on America has much astonished me ; seeing that all that 
 time my declaratipji has been perfectly well known to my pub- 
 lishers on both .sides :of the Atlantic, that no consideration on 
 earth would induce me to write one. But what I have in- 
 tended, what I have resolved upon (and this is the confidence 
 I seek to place in you) is, on my return to England, in my 
 own person, in my own Journal, to bear, for the behoof of my 
 countrymen, such testimony to the gigantic changes in this 
 country as. I -have hinted at to-night. Also, to record that 
 wherever IfiSiVe been, in. the smallest places equally with the 
 largest, I have been received with unsurpassable politeness, 
 delicacy, sweet temper, hospitality, Consideratioti, and with 
 unsurpassable respect for the privacy daily enforced upon me 
 by the nature of my avocation here, and the state of my 
 health. . ; This testirnpny, so long as I live, atid so lotig as my 
 descendants have aiiy legal right in my books, I shall cause 
 tp be republished, as an appendix to every copy of those two 
 books of mine in wl};ch I. have referred to America. And 
 this I will do and cause to be done, not in mere love and 
 thankfulness, but because I regard, it as an act of plain justice 
 and honor.'* 
 
 "l said these words with the greatest earnestness that I 
 could lay upon them, and I repeat therh in print here with 
 equal earnestness. So long as this book shalf last, 1 hope 
 that they will form a part .of it, and will be fairly read as in- 
 separable from my experiences arid impressions of America. 
 
 Charles Dickens. 
 May, 1868. 
 
CHARLES DICKENS' 
 
 COMPLETE :WORKS. 
 
 The following Index contains the names ©fall the writings 
 of Mr. CHARLiES Dickens, the nuHibers referring to the volume 
 in which they will be found, in the order mentioned, as fol- 
 lows : — 
 
 1. Pickwick Papers. 
 
 2. David Copperfield. 
 
 3. Martin Chuzzlewit'. 
 
 4. Nicholas Nickleby. 
 
 5. Bleak House. 
 
 6. Little Dorrit. 
 
 7. DoMBEY & Son. 
 
 8. Our Mutual Friend. 
 
 9. Oliver Twist, Pictures from 
 Italy, and American Notes. 
 
 10. Old Curiosity Shop and 
 Hard Times. 
 
 11. Tale of Two Cities and 
 Sketches by Boz. 
 
 12. Barnabx Rudge Anp Myst- 
 ^ ERY OF Edwin DIrood. 
 
 13. Great 'Expectations, Un 
 commercial Traveller, and 
 Miscellaneous. .^ 
 
 14. Christmas Stories ano Rk- 
 PRINTED Pieces. 
 
 15. Child's.Historv OF England 
 AND Miscellaneous. 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Aboard Ship r. 13^ I Americdii Notes <• 9 I Arcadian I/ondon 13 
 
 Addit. Christmas Stories' 14 Anecdotes, Three Detec- Astleys '.. 11 
 
 I tive '. •..* 14 I 
 
 Barlow, Mr. 13 
 
 Barnaby Rudge... 13 
 
 Battle of Life, The 14 
 
 Beadle, The n 
 
 Begging-Letter Writer... 14 
 
 BijT-Sticking...... .. ..<. 14 
 
 Birth-Day Celebrations.. 13 
 
 B^ 
 
 Bir$hsr fx"*..'.* •>..•..' X4 
 
 Bl^Jc y^il, The II 
 
 ^leak Hoi^e.t. 5 
 
 BloomEJbtFry- .Christmas, 
 
 . The. -• " 
 
 Boardii^-Hoii^ev The.. 11 
 BoiiedBeetof N. EnglM 13 
 
 Bpuivd fpr theX^zeat Salt 
 
 . Lake ■ i- ^Fffr. i% 
 
 Boy^afe ftSi^by, Tbe..^>.. 14 
 Boz, Sketcnes by> ...... . 11 
 
 Brokjsc's^Manf.^he. ....>.., 11 
 
 Brokers* &JkIarine-:StprB 
 Shops II 
 
 (827) 
 
828 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Calais Night Mail, The.. 13 
 
 Chambers 13 
 
 Characters iz 
 
 Chatham Dockyard 13 
 
 Child's Bream of a Star. 14 
 Child's History of Ene- 
 
 land 15 
 
 Child's Story, The 14 
 
 Chimes, The 14 
 
 Christmas Carol,' A. ..-. 14 
 Christmas Dinner, A . . . . 1 1 
 
 Christmas Stories 14 
 
 Christmas Tree, A 14 
 
 Christmas Stories, Addi- 
 tional 14 
 
 Chuzzlewit, Martin 3 
 
 City of London Churches 13 
 City of the Absent, The 13 
 Clock, Master Humph- 
 rey's IS 
 
 Qontradictpry Coupl^....' 13 
 Cool Couple, The 13 
 
 D. ,.,_. 
 
 Dangirig At^emy^fThe.. 11 I Ddttor's Coitnhons^....^ 11 
 
 Det&ptive ^liecdfot^^. -.., 14 pDembey & Sod .-..-..- i. 7 
 
 Detective Police, The • . 14 | Down with the Tide , . . . 14 
 
 Copperiield, David 2 
 
 Couple who coddle them- 
 selves, The 13 
 
 Couple who dote upon 
 their Children, The... 13 
 
 Couples, young, Sketches 
 of 13 
 
 Cricket in the Hearth, 
 The 14 
 
 Criminal" ijCourts 11 
 
 Curate, The ix 
 
 DroodjEdwin, Mystery of 12 
 T>runkaTd's Death, The. 11 
 Dullborough Town 13 
 
 Early Coaches 11 I Election for Beadle,.... 11 I 
 
 EdWiTi Droodj Mystery of 12 England, History of, 
 Eg9tistical Couple, Thp,J3 I Child's 15.I 
 
 English Watering Place, 
 
 Our... 14 
 
 Expectations, Great 13 
 
 Fairy Tale, Prince Bull.. 14 I 
 
 First of May, The 11 
 
 First Omnibus Cad 11 | 
 
 '■'■' F, 
 
 Flight, A 14 I 
 
 Fly-Leaf in a Life, A.... 13 
 Formal Couple, The ... 13 | 
 
 Four Sisters, The ir 
 
 French Flemish Country. 13 
 French Watering Place. 14 
 
 Ghdst'of Art, The 14 
 
 Ghost Stories, Two 14 
 
 Ghost's Bargains, The.. 14 
 
 G. 
 
 Gin Shops 11 I Great Tasmania's Cargo 13 
 
 Going into Society 13 j Great Winglebury Duel, . 1 1 
 
 Great Expectations 13 | Greenwich Fair 11 
 
 Hackney Coach Stand., zi 
 Half-Pay .Captain, The.. 11 
 
 Hard Times 10 
 
 Haunted House, The.. i ig 
 Haunted Man, The. . . . . 14 
 
 H. 
 His General Line of Busi- 
 
 History of England, 
 Child's z5 
 
 Holiday Romance 15 
 
 Holly Ti-ee Inn zo 
 
 Horatio Sparkins ix 
 
 Hospital Patient, The., iz 
 Humphrey, Mast'r, clock 15 
 
 Ins[}ectolr Field, On Duty [ Italian Prisoner, The... 
 with 14 I 
 
 13 I Italy, Pictures from...,. 9 
 
 Ladies* Societies, The., it 
 
 I^ast Cab Driver, The. . 11 
 
 Lirriper's, Mrs., Lbdg- . 
 
 ings... 14 
 
 Makine a Night of It . . . . xi 
 
 Marigold* Dr > ^ 14 
 
 Master H' u m p h r e y ' s 
 
 'Clock X5 
 
 Medicine Men of Civil- 
 ization.- z3 
 
 L. 
 
 Lirriperjs, Mrs,, Legacy 14 
 ; I-ittle Dinner in.9n Hour, 
 
 A., ...' .i.^ , 13 
 
 Little Dprrit....,, 6 
 
 M. 
 
 Meditations in Monmouth 
 Street. •... zi 
 
 Meek, Mrs., of a Soii... 14 
 
 Minnsj Mr., and his 
 cousm. IZ 
 
 MisplacbEl Attachment of 
 
 London Recreations. ... 11 
 
 Long Voyage, The 14 
 
 Loving Couple, The .... 13 
 Lying Awake 14 
 
 Mr. John Dounce. ^ . . , u 
 Mistaken Milliner, The . . zi 
 Miss Evans and the Eagle z \ 
 Monument of French 
 
 Folly,A.; ,4 
 
 Mudff^ Association, The ig 
 
INDEX. 
 
 829 
 
 New Uncommercial Sam- 
 ples 13 
 
 New Year, The 11 
 
 Newgate, A Visit to ... . 11 
 
 N. 
 
 Nice Little Couple, The 13 
 
 NiclclebVf Nicholas 4 
 
 Night Walks 13 
 
 Noble Savage, The 14 
 
 Nobody's Story 14 
 
 No Thoroughfare 15 
 
 Notes, American 9 
 
 Nurse s Stories 13 
 
 Old Couple, The 13 
 
 Old Curiosity Shop 10 
 
 Old Lady, The 11 
 
 Old Stage Coaching 
 
 House 13 
 
 Oliver Twist. . : 9 
 
 Omnibuses 11 
 
 On an Amateur Beat .... 13 
 
 Parish En^ne, The 11 
 
 Parish, Our 11 
 
 Parliamentary Sketch, A 11 
 
 Parlor Orator, The 11 
 
 Passage in the Life of Mr. 
 
 Watkins Tottle 11 
 
 Pawnbroker's Shop, The 1 1 
 
 Pieces, Reprinted 14 
 
 Perils of certam English 
 
 Refreshments for Travel- 1 
 lers 13 I 
 
 Samples, New Uncom- 
 mercial 13 
 
 Scenes zi 
 
 Schoolboy's Story, The 14 
 
 Schoolmaster, The ix 
 
 Scotland Yard 11 
 
 Sentiment zi 
 
 Seven Poor Travellers, 
 The 14 
 
 On duty with Inspector 
 Field 14 
 
 Our Bore 14 
 
 Our English Watering 
 Place 14 
 
 Our French Watering 
 Place 14 
 
 P. 
 
 Travellers 15 
 
 Pickwick Papers i 
 
 Pictures from Italy 9 
 
 Plated Article, A 14 
 
 Plausible Couple, The.. 13 
 Plea for Total Abstin- 
 ence 13 
 
 Poor Man's Tale of a 
 Patent , 14 
 
 R. 
 
 Reprinted Pieces 14 I 
 
 River, The 11 | 
 
 S. 
 
 Seven Dials 11 
 
 Shabby Genteel People.. 11 
 Shipwreck, The., .r... 13 
 Shops and their Tenants ix 
 
 Shy Neighborhoods 13 
 
 Signal Man, The 14 
 
 Silverman's, George, Ex- 
 planation 15 
 
 Sketches by Boz 11 
 
 Our Honorable Friend.. 14 
 
 Our Mutual Friend 8 
 
 Our Next Boor Neighbor 1 1 
 
 Our Parish 11 
 
 Our School 14 
 
 Our Vestry 14 
 
 Out of the Season 14 
 
 Out of Town 14 
 
 Poor Mercantile Jack... 13 
 Poor Relation's Story, 
 
 The 14 
 
 Porter, Mrs. Joseph 11 
 
 Prince Bull, a Fairy 
 
 Tale 14 
 
 Private Theatres 11 
 
 Prisoners* Van, The. ... it 
 
 Public Dinners 11 
 
 Romance, Holiday 15 
 
 Rudge, Bamaby. * 12 
 
 Sketches of Young 
 
 Couples .' 13 
 
 Small Star in the East, A 13 
 Somebody's Luggage.... 14 
 Some • Recollections of 
 
 Mortality 13 
 
 Steam Excursion, The. . 11 
 
 Streets — Morning 11 
 
 Streets— Evening 1 1 
 
 Tale of Two Cities u 
 
 Tales II 
 
 Thoughts about People.. 1 1 
 Three Detective Anec- 
 dotes.. 14 
 
 Uncommercial Samples, I 
 Ne*. 13 I 
 
 TitbuU's Alms-houses.. 13 
 Tom Tiddler's Ground . 15 
 
 Tramps ■ .. 13 
 
 Traveller, Uncommercial 13 
 
 Travelling Abroad 13 
 
 Trial for Murder, The.. 14 
 
 U. V. 
 
 Uncommercial Travellef 13 
 Visit to Newgate z i 
 
 W, Y. 
 
 Twist, Oliver g 
 
 Two Ghost Stories 14 
 
 Two Vieivs of a Cheap 
 
 Theatre 13 
 
 Tugg's at Ramsgate, The 1 1 
 
 I Vauxhall Gardens by 
 I Day 
 
 Walk in a Workhouse, A 14 I Wreck of the Golden I Young Couple, The 13 
 
 Wvpping Workhouse.... 13 Mary 15 Young Couples, Sketches 
 
 W'tfkhouse, A Walk in a 14 I J of 12 
 
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