Chapter THE SECOND (1)

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

For the next eight or ten months, Oliver was the victim of a systematic course of treachery and deception--he was brought up by hand. The hungry and destitute situation of the infant orphan was duly reported by the workhouse authorities to the parish authorities. The parish authorities inquired with dignity of the workhouse authorities, whether there was no female then domiciled in "the house" who was in a situation to impart to Oliver Twist the consolation and nourishment of which he stood in need. The workhouse authorities replied with humility that there was not. Upon this, the parish authorities magnanimously and humanely resolved, that Oliver should be "farmed," or, in other words, that he should be 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 sevenpence-halfpenny per small head per week. Sevenpence-halfpenny's worth per week is a good round diet for a child; a great deal may be got for sevenpence-halfpenny--quite enough to overload its stomach, and make it uncomfortable. The elderly female was a woman of wisdom and experience; she knew what was good for children, and she had a very accurate perception of what was good for herself. So, she appropriated the greater part of the weekly stipend to her own use, and consigned the rising parochial generation to even a shorter allowance than was originally provided for them; thereby finding in the lowest depth a deeper still, and proving herself a very great experimental philosopher.

Everybody knows the story of another experimental philosopher, who had a great theory about a horse being able to live without eating, and who demonstrated it so well, that he got his own horse down to a straw a day, and would most unquestionably have rendered him a very spirited and rampacious animal upon nothing at all, if he hadn't died, just four-and-twenty hours before he was to have had his first comfortable bait of air. Unfortunately for the experimental philosophy of the female to whose protecting care Oliver Twist was delivered over, a similar result usually attended the operation of _her_ system; for just at the very moment when a child had contrived to exist upon the smallest possible portion of the weakest possible food, it did perversely happen in eight and a half cases out of ten, either that it sickened from want and cold, or fell into the fire from neglect, or got smothered by accident; in any one of which cases, the miserable little being was usually summoned into another world, and there gathered to the fathers which it had never known in this.

Occasionally, when there was some more than usually interesting inquest upon a parish child who had been overlooked in turning up a bedstead, or inadvertently scalded to death when there happened to be a washing, (though the latter accident was very scarce,--anything approaching to a washing being of rare occurrence in the farm,) the jury would take it into their heads to ask troublesome questions, or the parishioners would rebelliously affix their signatures to a remonstrance: but these impertinencies were speedily checked by the evidence of the surgeon, and the testimony of the beadle; the former of whom had always opened the body, and found nothing inside (which was very probable indeed), and the latter of whom invariably swore whatever the parish wanted, which was very self-devotional. Besides, the board made periodical pilgrimages to the farm, and always sent the beadle the day before, to say they were coming. The children were neat and clean to behold, when _they_ went; and what more would the people have?

It cannot be expected that this system of farming would produce any very extraordinary or luxuriant crop. Oliver Twist's eighth birth-day found him a pale, thin child, somewhat diminutive in stature, and decidedly small in circumference. But nature or inheritance had implanted a good sturdy spirit in Oliver's breast: it had had plenty of room to expand, thanks to the spare diet of the establishment; and perhaps to this circumstance may be attributed his having any eighth birth-day at all. Be this as it may, however, it _was_ his eighth birth-day; and he was keeping it in the coal-cellar with a select party of two other young gentlemen, who, after participating with him in a sound threshing, had been locked up therein, for atrociously presuming to be hungry, when Mrs. Mann, the good lady of the house, was unexpectedly startled by the apparition of Mr. Bumble the beadle, striving to undo the wicket of the garden-gate.

"Goodness gracious! is that you, Mr. Bumble, sir?" said Mrs. Mann, thrusting her head out of the window in well-affected ecstasies of joy. "(Susan, take Oliver and them two brats up stairs, and wash 'em directly.)--My heart alive! Mr. Bumble, how glad I am to see you, sure-ly!"

Now Mr. Bumble was a fat man, and a choleric one; so, instead of responding to this open-hearted salutation in a kindred spirit, he gave the little wicket a tremendous shake, and then bestowed upon it a kick, which could have emanated from no leg but a beadle's.

"Lor, only think," said Mrs. Mann, running out,--for the three boys had been removed by this time,--"only think of that! That I should have forgotten that the gate was bolted on the inside, on account of them dear children! Walk in, sir; walk in, pray, Mr. Bumble; do, sir."

Although this invitation was accompanied with a curtsey that might have softened the heart of a 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 aware, Mrs. Mann, that you are, as I may say, a porochial delegate, and a stipendiary?"

"I'm sure, Mr. Bumble, that I was only a-telling one or two of the dear children as is so fond of you, that it was you a-coming," replied Mrs. Mann with great humility.

Mr. Bumble had a great idea of his oratorical powers and his importance. He had displayed the one, and vindicated the other. He relaxed.

"Well, well, Mrs. Mann," he replied in a calmer tone; "it may be as you say; it may be. Lead the way in, Mrs. Mann; for I come on business, and have got something to say."

Mrs. Mann ushered the beadle into a small parlour with a brick floor, placed a seat for him, and officiously deposited his cocked hat and cane on the table before him. Mr. Bumble wiped from his forehead the perspiration which his walk had engendered, glanced complacently at the cocked hat, and smiled. Yes, he smiled: beadles are but men, and Mr. Bumble smiled.

"Now don't you be offended at what I'm a-going to say," observed Mrs. Mann with captivating sweetness. "You've had a long walk, you know, or I wouldn't mention it. Now will you take a little drop of something, Mr. Bumble?"

"Not a drop--not a drop," said Mr. Bumble, waving his right hand in a dignified, but still placid manner.

"I think you will," said Mrs. Mann, who had noticed the tone of the refusal, and the gesture that had accompanied it. "Just a _leetle_ drop, with a little cold water, and a lump of sugar."

Mr. Bumble coughed.

"Now, just a little 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 in 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."

"Do you give the children Daffy, Mrs. Mann?" inquired Bumble, following with his eyes the interesting process of mixing.

"Ah, bless 'em, that I do, dear as it is," replied the nurse. "I couldn't see 'em suffer before my very eyes, you know, sir."

"No," said Mr. Bumble approvingly; "no, you could not. You are a humane woman, Mrs. Mann."--(Here she set down the glass.)--"I shall take an 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-baptised, Oliver Twist, is eight years old to-day."

"Bless him!" interposed Mrs. Mann, inflaming her left eye with the corner of her apron.

"And notwithstanding an offered reward of ten pound, which was afterwards increased to twenty pound,--notwithstanding the most superlative, and, I may say, supernat'ral exertions on the part of this parish," said Bumble, "we have never been able to discover who is his father, or what is his mother's settlement, name, or condition."

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 foundlin's in alphabetical order. The last was a S,--Swubble: I named him. This was a T,--Twist: I named _him_. The next one as comes will be Unwin, and the next Vilkins. I have got names ready made to the end of the alphabet, and all the way through it again, when we come to Z."

"Why, you're quite a literary 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; and I have come out myself to take him there,--so let me see him at once."

"I'll fetch him directly," said Mrs. Mann, leaving the room for that purpose. And Oliver having by this time had as much of the outer coat of dirt which encrusted his face and hands removed as could be scrubbed off in one washing, was led into the room by his benevolent protectress.

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

Oliver made a bow, which was divided between the beadle on the chair and the cocked hat on the table.

"Will you go along with me, Oliver?" said Mr. Bumble in a majestic voice.

Oliver was about to say that he would go along with anybody with great readiness, when, glancing upwards, he caught sight of Mrs. Mann, who had got behind the beadle's chair, and was shaking her fist at him with a furious countenance. He took the hint at once, for the fist had been too often impressed upon his body not to be deeply impressed upon his recollection.

"Will _she_ go with me?" inquired poor Oliver.

"No, she can't," replied Mr. Bumble; "but she'll come and see you, sometimes."

This was no very great consolation to the child; but, young as he was, he had sense enough to make a feint of feeling great regret at going away. It was no very difficult matter for the boy to call the tears into his eyes. Hunger and recent ill-usage are great assistants if you want to cry; and Oliver cried very naturally indeed. Mrs. Mann gave him a thousand embraces, and, what Oliver wanted a great deal more, a piece of bread and butter, 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 upon his head, Oliver was then led away by Mr. Bumble from the wretched home where one kind word or look had never lighted the gloom of his infant years. And yet he burst into an agony of childish grief as the cottage-gate closed after him. Wretched as were the little companions in misery he was leaving behind, they were the only friends he had ever known; and a sense of his loneliness in the great wide world sank into the child's heart for the first time.

Mr. Bumble walked on with long strides; and little Oliver, firmly grasping his gold-laced cuff, trotted beside him, inquiring at the end of every quarter of a mile whether they were "nearly there," to which interrogations Mr. Bumble returned very brief and snappish replies; for the temporary blandness which gin and water awakens in some bosoms had by this time evaporated, and he was once again a beadle.

Oliver had not been within the walls of the workhouse a quarter of an hour, and had scarcely completed the demolition of a second slice of bread, when Mr. Bumble, who had handed him over to the care of an old woman, returned, and, telling him it was a board night, informed him that the board had said he was to appear before it forthwith.

Not having a very clearly defined notion of what a live board was, Oliver was rather astounded by this intelligence, and was not quite certain whether he ought to laugh or cry. He had no time to think about the matter, however; for Mr. Bumble gave him a tap on the head with his cane to wake him up, and another on the back to make him lively, and, bidding him follow, conducted him into a large whitewashed room, where eight or ten fat gentlemen were sitting round a table, at the top of which, seated in an arm-chair rather higher than the rest, was a particularly fat gentleman with a very round, red face.

"Bow to the board," said Bumble. Oliver brushed away two or three tears that were lingering in his eyes, and seeing no board but the table, fortunately bowed to that.

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

Oliver was frightened at the sight of so many gentlemen, which made him tremble; and the beadle gave him another tap behind, which made him cry; and these two causes made him answer in a very low and hesitating voice; whereupon a gentleman in a white waistcoat said he was a fool, which was a capital way of raising his spirits, and putting him quite at his ease.

"Boy," said the gentleman in the high chair; "listen to me. You know you're an orphan, I suppose?"

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

"The boy _is_ a fool--I thought he was," said the gentleman in the white waistcoat, in a very decided tone. If one member of a class be blessed with an intuitive perception of others of the same race, the gentleman in the white waistcoat was unquestionably well qualified to pronounce an opinion on the matter.

"Hush!" said the gentleman who had spoken first. "You know you've got no father or mother, and that you are brought up by the parish, don't you?"

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

"What are you crying for?" inquired the gentleman in the white waistcoat; and to be sure it was very extraordinary. What _could_ he be crying for?

"I hope you say your prayers every night," said another gentleman in a gruff voice, "and pray for the people who feed you, and take care of you, like a Christian."

"Yes, sir," stammered the boy. The gentleman who spoke last was unconsciously right. It would have been _very_ like a Christian, and a marvellously good Christian, too, if Oliver had prayed for the people who fed and took care of _him_. But he hadn't, because nobody had taught him.

"Well, you have come here to be educated, and taught a useful trade," said the red-faced gentleman in the high chair.

"So you'll begin to pick oakum to-morrow morning at six o'clock," added the surly one in the white waistcoat.

For the combination of both these blessings in the one simple process of picking oakum, Oliver bowed low by the direction of the beadle, and was then hurried away to a large ward, where, on a rough hard bed, he sobbed himself to sleep. What a noble illustration of the tender laws of this favoured country! they let the paupers go to sleep!

Poor Oliver! He little thought, as he lay sleeping in happy unconsciousness of all around him, that the board had that very day arrived at a decision which would exercise the most material influence over all his future fortunes. But they had. And this was it:--

The members of this board were very sage, deep, philosophical men; and when they came to turn their attention to the workhouse, they found out at once, what ordinary folks would never have discovered;--the poor people liked it! It was a regular place of public entertainment for the poorer classes,--a tavern where there was nothing to pay,--a public breakfast, dinner, tea, and supper, all the year round,--a brick and mortar elysium where it was all play and no work. "Oho!" said the board, looking very knowing; "we are the fellows to set this to rights; we'll stop it all in no time." So they established the rule, that all poor people should have the alternative (for they would compel nobody, not they,) of being starved by a gradual process in the house, or by a quick one out of it. With this view, they contracted with the water-works to lay on an unlimited supply of water, and with a corn-factor to supply periodically small quantities of oatmeal; and issued three meals of thin gruel a-day, with an onion twice a week, and half a roll 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 compelling a man to support his family as they had theretofore done, took his family away from him, and made him a bachelor! There is no telling how many applicants for relief under these last two heads would not have started up in all classes of society, if it had not been coupled with the workhouse. But they were long-headed men, and they had provided for this difficulty. The relief was inseparable from the workhouse and the gruel; and that frightened people.

For the first three months after Oliver Twist was removed, the system was in full operation. It was rather expensive at first, in consequence of the increase in the undertaker's bill, and the necessity of taking in the clothes of all the paupers, which fluttered loosely on their wasted, shrunken forms, after a week or two's gruel. But the number of workhouse inmates got thin, as well as the paupers; and the board were in ecstasies.

The room in which the boys were fed, was a large, stone hall, with a copper at one end, out of which the master, dressed in an apron for the purpose, and assisted by one or two women, ladled the gruel at meal-times; of which composition each boy had one porringer, and no more,--except on festive occasions, and then he had two ounces and a quarter of bread besides. The bowls never wanted washing--the boys polished them with their spoons, till they shone again; and when they had performed this operation (which never took very long, the spoons being nearly as large as the bowls), they would sit staring at the copper with such eager eyes as if they could devour the very bricks of which it was composed; employing themselves meanwhile in sucking their fingers most assiduously, with the view of catching up any stray splashes of gruel that might have been cast thereon. Boys have generally excellent appetites: Oliver Twist and his companions suffered the tortures of slow starvation for three months; at last they got so voracious and wild with hunger, that one boy, who was tall for his age, and hadn't been used to that sort of thing, (for his father had kept a small cook's shop,) hinted darkly to his companions, that unless he had another basin of gruel _per diem_, he was afraid he should some night eat the boy who slept next him, who happened to be a weakly youth of tender age. He had a wild, hungry eye, and they implicitly believed him. A council was held; lots were cast who should walk up to the master after supper that evening, and ask for more; and it fell to Oliver Twist.

The evening arrived: the boys took their places; the master in his cook's uniform stationed himself at the copper; his pauper assistants ranged themselves behind him; the gruel was served out, and a long grace was said over the short commons. The gruel disappeared, and the boys whispered each other and winked at Oliver, while his next neighbours nudged him. Child as he was, he was desperate with hunger and reckless with misery. He rose from the table, and advancing, basin and spoon in hand, to the master, said, somewhat alarmed at his own temerity--

"Please, sir, I want some more."

The master was a fat, healthy man, but he turned very pale. He gazed in stupified astonishment on the small rebel for some seconds, and then clung for support to the copper. The assistants were paralyzed with wonder, and the boys with fear.

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

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

The master aimed a blow at Oliver's head with the ladle, pinioned him in his arms, shrieked aloud for the beadle.

The board were sitting in solemn conclave when Mr. Bumble rushed into the room in great excitement, and addressing the gentleman in the high chair, said,--

"Mr. Limbkins, I beg your pardon, sir;--Oliver Twist has asked for more." There was a general start. Horror was depicted on every countenance.

"For _more_!" said Mr. Limbkins. "Compose yourself, Bumble, and answer me distinctly. Do I understand that he asked for more, after he had eaten the supper allotted by the dietary?"

"He did, sir," replied Bumble.

"That boy will be hung," said the gentleman in the white waistcoat; "I know that boy will be hung."

Nobody controverted the prophetic gentleman's opinion. An animated discussion took place. Oliver was ordered into instant confinement; and a bill was next morning pasted on the outside of the gate, offering a reward of five pounds to anybody who would take Oliver Twist off the hands of the perish: in other words, five pounds and Oliver Twist were offered to any man or woman who wanted an apprentice to any trade, business, or calling.

"I never was more convinced of anything in my life," said the gentleman in the white waistcoat, as he knocked at the gate and read the bill next morning,--"I never was more convinced of anything in my life, than I am that that boy will come to be hung."

As I propose to show in the sequel whether the white-waistcoated gentleman was right or not, I should perhaps mar the interest of this narrative, (supposing it to possess any at all,) if I ventured to hint just yet, whether the life of Oliver Twist will be a long or a short piece of biography.

RICHIE BARTER; THE MAN WHO SHOULD, BUT DID NOT.

Yes! the good Sir Toby Plum died; and the very statues in the Stock Exchange were moved,--the very pillars of that sanctuary particularly distinguished themselves by their violent agitation,--the old Lady in Threadneedle Street refused to be comforted,--and the universal brow of 'Change Alley was clouded with the profoundest grief. The dumb animals of that region--the bears and bulls--prowled about in savage woe, and "looked unutterable things," on the day that the remains of Sir Toby Plum were gathered to his fathers. He had a running personal account of seventy years and upwards with old Dame Nature, which is now paid;--(the only one, it was maliciously said, he ever paid;)--and he dies possessed--not he, but others--of ---- thousands, (we leave a blank for the number, to be hereafter filled up,) or, what is quite as good, the name of them.

"What's in a name?" Ask that beautiful inconsolable creature, his widow, who, at the age of twenty-three, finds she is once more mistress of herself, and of her dear Sir Toby's worldly possessions besides. As these were supposed to be infinite, can it be imagined that we will attempt to set down in round numbers what is inconceivable, and, consequently, without a name? But see:--there is a staid, solemn, business-looking personage, just stept out of her boudoir,--Peter Smyrk, the man of business, a kind of lurcher to the late Sir Toby. She is at present too inconsolable to receive him. Perhaps he might inform you--you perceive by his impatience and disappointment he is most anxious to do so. She, poor creature! could not be supposed interested in such details, who was only a few days ago on the very brink of the grave--(for she accompanied the remains of the good Sir Toby to the churchyard).

It was about a fortnight after the death of good Sir Toby that his disconsolate widow felt reconciled to her mourning and "the novelty of her situation." Absorbed in thoughts about her own sweet person, and busy with reflections--such as her mirror gave,--the important Peter Smyrk was announced. The sweetest voice in the city welcomed Peter Smyrk.

"Very happy to see you, madam; but still sincerely sorry----"

"Pray, Mr. Smyrk, don't revive a subject so painful to me. Sir Toby was a good man: I shall never--ne-ver forget----" And tears such us angels--or widows--weep, coursed down her cheek.

"I'm sure not, madam; and I must entreat you to believe how sincerely I sympathise with you on your loss, and how very sorry I am to be----"

"Ah! you are very--very good, Mr. Smyrk--very considerate; so was the good Sir Toby. But these papers----"

"--Will, I fear, madam, but create fresh sorrow. In fact----"

"Very true, Mr. Smyrk; anything that reminds me of that good old man causes my sorrows to flow afresh."

"In truth, madam," said the sympathising man of business, "there _is_ something in these papers to cause just and deserving regret,--but still very little to remind you of him;--he has left you but 500_l._ All the rest of his property goes to his nephew."

"What! all?" exclaimed the relict of Sir Toby Plum.

"All, madam;--everything."

"Then I am the----" But the pillows of her ottoman only knew, as she buried her face in them, the superlative degree of misery to which she said she was consigned by the too prudent Sir Toby.

It was a sweet, voluptuous moonlight night,--so fair, so sweet, so full of that delicious languor that best accords with the human heart in its softest hours, tinging the picturesque summits of chimney-tops as well as towers, and bringing out into pleasing relief each particular brick of the classic region of the Minories,--that Richie Barter, enveloped in a double-milled dreadnought, stood before what _was_ the mansion of the late Sir Toby Plum. Richie was the very personification of a man on 'Change,--busy, important, and imposing. He was head clerk in the house, and having served the good Sir Toby till he could serve him no longer, and having wound up the affairs of the firm, which seem disposed of, in that neatly-tied parcel under his arm, he avoids the garish eye of day, and calls by moonlight to transact a little business and condolence together. Richie was a prudent man, frugal both of his purse and person, and stood at the door of Sir Toby, elevated with the integrity of his purpose, and the consciousness of four thousand good pounds his own making. A few moments, and he was ushered into the prettiest of all parlours, where, reposing on the most seductive of ottomans, reclined the pale and disconsolate mistress of the mansion. By the softened lustre of a solitary lamp, the prudent eye of Richie took a hasty glance around him: everything bespoke comfort and elegance. He sat down, drew his chair near the sofa, and laid the neatly-tied parcel at her feet. Only one of these was visible, and was shrouded from the too curious gaze of Richie in a little slipper; the other, with retiring delicacy, was withdrawn within those precincts where the imagination of Richie did not follow. The communings of Richie on the occasion were worthy of him, and as he feasted his eyes on its fair and delicate proportions, he calculated (for he was a man of calculation) by a rule of _proportions_, that if one sweet foot gave such pleasure, what would two give? In truth, Richie, after trying the question by every rule of proportion that _Cocker_ or _Cupid_ could suggest, boldly asked himself what might the lady give, who abounded in proportion; and, as a prudent man, he thought at no remote period he might put that question.

"Still inconsolable, madam?" said Richie Barter after a few prefatory hems. "Surely you might yield to the soothing anxieties of your friends, and be reconciled to the loss--good man that he was!"

"Ah! Mr. Barter, such a loss!--so undeserved!--so unexpected!--and to be left thus a prey to----"

"We must all go in our turn, madam," interrupted the sententious Richie; "and 'tis a consolation to his successors to know that his affairs were in a most flourishing condition;--a net capital, madam, of forty thousand pounds, after all demands. You will find the exact state of his affairs in these papers."

Lady Plum petulantly kicked the parcel off the sofa.

"I hate business, Mr. Barter; and were forty times the sum" (perceiving his ignorance of the testamentary disposition of the property) "contained in them, I would trust to your skill and integrity to wind up the matter."

"These forty thousand at your command, madam," said Richie, "the bulk of Sir Toby's property, if properly _husbanded_----"

The mention of a sum which she knew she _had not_, coupled with the name of husband, who she knew had not appreciated her merits, brought two pearly drops into her eyes, which Richie would have given a quarter's salary to be permitted to kiss off, and which vied in size and lustre with those that trembled in her ears; but he did what was quite as grateful to the widow,--he summoned a little moisture into his own. This sympathetic display was not lost on the considerate lady.

"'Forty times that sum'--were not these her words?" thought Richie Barter, as, wending his way down Cheapside, he began to ponder on the widow's words, "and would entrust it all to Richie Barter! Well! that sum, and my own four thousand, would make a man of Richie Barter for life." And, brimful of the gayest and happiest anticipations, he strode on.

"Please, sir, what o'clock is it?" asked a little boy of Richie, as he stood staring at the clock of Bow Church; to which Richie, heedless of time and space, answered, "Forty thousand;" and, equally regardless of the shouts of laughter which the answer provoked, he walked on.

Night after night the precise Richie stood before the mansion of the late Sir Toby Plum, enwrapt in his dreadnought, and in thoughts equally fearless. The same low, considerate, but somewhat confidential rap admitted him; the same sweet little parlour and its fair occupant received him; the same confidence was expressed in his integrity and skill. Financial arrangements, discussed by _proportions_, he found irresistibly conclusive; till, in the fulness of time,--according to Richie's own account, three months _after sight_,--he became one of the happiest of husbands, and forthwith began to make arrangements for _husbanding_--now that he was qualified--their joint stock; and Richie Barter was a happy man. Richie was also a cautious man; but how absurd a thing is caution, particularly in affairs of the heart!--with which, if they would prosper, the head must have nothing to do. In a short time Richie began to discover that he might possibly have been a little too precipitate in marriage; that pro_portions_, which gave forty thousand pounds as a result of the most correct calculation, were not to be relied upon; in short, that he might have looked before him;--and Richie sighed profoundly as he exclaimed, "_I should--but did not!_"

The moon that generally succeeds matrimony, and upon which all the sweets of poetry, and prose, and the grocer's shop, have been expended to give an adequate idea of its deliciousness,--thus "gilding refined gold," and making a planet, supposed to be green cheese, the very essence of honey,--that luminary had run its course, and found Richie Barter one day in the dishabille becoming a Benedict, flung on a sofa, with his dexter hand thrown across the back of it, lost in a reverie as profound as his breeches-pocket, with something like a "pale cast of thought" on a countenance once rubicund, and now rendered perfectly cadaverous by a glance at a letter which he was crumpling in his fist.

"How is this, Julia, dear? there must be some mistake," said the agitated Richie to the most prudent of wives, as she entered the room. "Only a paltry five hundred, when I thought forty thousand was in the way!--Surely there must be a mistake in this!"

"In matters of business, Mr. Barter,--you know I hate business,--there _will_ be mistakes," quoth the lady; "business is my aversion;" and she swept by the amazed Richie with all the dignity of a Siddons. "I married you, Mr. Barter, to get rid of business and its degrading details;" and she looked with no very equivocal air of contempt on the bulk of Richie as he lay coiled on the sofa, crumpling the letter.

"Mr. Smyrk," said a servant half opening the door.

"Wish you ten thousand joys, Mrs. Barter," said Sir Toby's man of business as he entered. "An excellent character,--a most prudent man, is Mr. Barter."

"Why not make it forty thousand joys, sir?" exclaimed Richie.

"Very facetious, Mr. Barter; but this just reminds me of a little business I came about,--a few debts of your good lady, which her creditors are a little clamorous for, particularly since you've got the reputation of having got forty thousand pounds with her."

"Forty thousand devils!" roared the furious Richie. "Will the _reputation_ of that sum pay one shilling of her debts?--tell me that."

"Can't exactly say; but, as the friend of the late Sir Toby, I looked in, in the family way. A little business of my own--a trifle over three hundred pounds;--Mrs. Barter will tell you the value received." And the prudent Mr. Smyrk presented his bill to that amount, and left Richie glaring and grinning at this fresh demand.

"This is beyond all endurance, Mrs. Barter," said Richie, as he flung the bill on the ground.

Mrs. B. deliberately took it up, and appeared for a moment absorbed in thought. "I have it!--I have it!" at length she exclaimed, as the bewildered Richie stood staring at her abstraction.

"Well, Mrs. B.; and what have you--not forty thousand pounds?"

"No--a thought," said she seriously.

"A fiddle-stick!" cried Richie.

"No such thing, love!" and the fascinating Mrs. B. slid her arm round her helpmate's neck, and began to unfold her purpose. "You know," said she, "how I was disappointed in my just expectations at the death of Sir Toby. I had every reason to expect that the bulk of his property, which goes to his nephew, would have been mine. That young man is as yet unacquainted with the fact, and by the assistance of Smyrk, whom we might get over, he might remain so, and for a period sufficiently long for our purpose. Smyrk may manage that, and also to keep the world in ignorance of the matter. At present we have the _reputation_ of being the sole owners of forty thousand pounds."

"Nonsense, Mrs. B.! What's in a name?" muttered Richie.

"I'll tell you what's in it. There is, in the first place, the credit derived from the reputation of that sum,--the splendour, the elegance, the comfort, the world's good opinion, the world's----"

"Laugh!" exclaimed Barter, with deriding bitterness, as he sneered at the chimera of his helpmate. "I'm a ruined man! I'm a beggar!--a fool!"

"You may be all three together, Mr. Barter, if you choose; but that would be too extravagant. Let us first settle this trifle of Smyrk's, whose bare whisper, you know, in the city, will settle the affair for us; and with your present savings, love,--isn't it four thousand pounds?--and the name of forty thousand pounds----"

"What's in a name?" sighed the desponding Richie; but, brightening at the prospect conjured up before him, he appeared to acquiesce, and the bill of Peter Smyrk was instantly paid. Mrs. B's drafts on futurity, and on Richie's four thousand pounds, began to be pretty considerable; and all the _good debts_, which, as sleeping partner in the firm, she brought with her, were paid.

How often did he revert to his former unambitious and peaceful life when freed from any attachments either of love or law,--when, with a clear conscience, and a well-brushed coat, he sat perched on the high stool at his desk in ---- Alley, where his horizon was bounded by cotton-bags and wool-sacks, and through a vista of tea-chests, as they were piled in pyramidal precision, before his considerate eyes! Thoughts of better days and better things came over him as he flung his last sovereign in payment for some pretty trumpery of his very dear Mrs. B. and cried, "I might have prevented all this,--_I should_--_but did not_!"

In this mood of mind it was, that Richie, as he was one day exercising his ruminating faculties on the number and colour of the flags on London Bridge, and profoundly intent on the diagrams formed by the mud thereon, was roused from his reverie by a smart tap on the shoulder. Now this was given with such precision, there was no mistaking it; and if he had any doubts of the intent of the individual thus accosting him, they were at once dispelled by his _captivating_ manner, which, though manly, was somewhat _apprehensive_, and of such a nature as to be quite _taking_ at first sight;--such is the overpowering, irresistible charm of manner!

"'Tis rather sudden, sir," said Richie, "and the amount not very great; it might have been settled without arrest."

"You must admit, Mr. Barter," said the sheriff's officer, "that the thing is done genteelly; no noise or exposure. Surely you won't go to jail for this trifle;" and Richie groaned as the _Bench_ and its bars stared him in the face.

"No use in fretting, sir," said the chief performer in this civil action. "There's nothing like bending to a storm. If a man reels and staggers, the best thing he can do is to 'go to the wall' for support: and let me tell you, sir, that many a man has made a right good stand _there_ when driven to it. Lord bless you! the coats of half my acquaintance are absolutely threadbare from standing too close to it. You don't understand me, mayhap not; two or three good _compositions_, and _then_ a good fat insolvency, friendly assignees, and a few other friendly etceteras,--that's what I mean by 'going to the wall,' Mr. Barter. You'll make a pretty _wall_flower yourself--an excellent creeping plant. You may be bruised a little, and in that case the _wall_ will be good for shelter and support, and in time you may creep against it;" and the worthy official gentlemen chuckled, as he gave poor Barter a nudge in the side, and conducted him through what he called the way of all flesh,--a small wicket studded with spikes, on either side of which stood fellows with looks as sharp and as full of iron. And as Richie found himself in the midst of the prison, a sinking of the heart--a feeling of loneliness and desolation came over him, and he exclaimed,

"How easily I might have avoided this!--I could have done so--'tis clear I SHOULD--BUT I DID NOT!" L.

PLUNDER CREEK.--1783.
_A Legend of New York._

BY THE AUTHOR OF "TALES OF AN ANTIQUARY."

I cannot tell how the truth may be,
I say the tale as 'twas said to me.--SCOTT.

The reader perhaps scarcely requires to be reminded, that an acknowledgment of the independence of America, and preliminaries of peace between that country and Britain, were signed at Paris, November 30th, 1782; though it was not until the following February that a vessel from the United States first arrived in the river Thames. Early in that month the friend who communicated this narrative chanced to visit an old London physician, who had long since retired from practice, and who had, oddly enough, selected as the seat of his repose one of those ancient houses, built half of brick and half of wood, which stood within the last seven years, on the western side of the Southwark end of old London Bridge, partly hanging over the roaring water, and partly standing in the street called Bridge-Foot. Another visitor, who was then present, was a zealous old Dissenting clergyman, probably originally of the family of Dunwoodie, or Dinwithie, but who at this time was called Doctor Downwithit; a name which he singularly well deserved, from his practice of beating the cushion in his fervency, in the pulpit, and of vehemently striking the table in conversation, to enforce his arguments and observations. In supporting these, he was generally rather loud and tenacious; and one of his most favourite notions was, that almost all genuine religion had travelled westward to America, which had thus become the ark wherein it was preserved, and the very Salem of the modern world. He believed, however, on the authority of the early historians of the country, and especially on that of the strange narratives of the Mather family, that certain parts were grievously vexed by witches and evil spirits; for, like many of his brethren, he held that compacts with the infernal powers were still possible. But if _New_ England were thus troubled, he also considered that _Old_ England was in a still worse condition; for he maintained the well-known saying to be no allegory, but a literal fact, that Satan was bodily resident in London!

The remainder of the party, to which the reader is now introduced, consisted of the old physician himself, and his wife,--a little sharp old dame, most terrifically stiff and ceremonious, and dressed in the most solemn fashion of half-a-dozen years previous. Her hair, superbly powdered, was most exactly combed straight upright over a cushion, the sides being curiously frizzed, and the back turned up in a broad loop; upon the top of which tower appeared a tremulous little gauze cap, decorated with ribands, and fastened by long pins with heads of diamond-paste. The rest of her dress consisted of a stiff rose-colour silk gown, of great length in the waist, and bordered in every part with rich full trimmings; whilst the front, and all around it, was open, and drawn up in large festoons with knots of riband, discovering an under garment of purple silk, and a round and full-flounced white muslin apron. Black silk shoes, with high French heels and rich diamond-cut steel buckles, completed her costume. Next to this stately dress, if there were any thing in which Mistress Cleopatra Curetoun was most particularly particular, it was in observing and exacting the most punctilious manners, and in the exhibition and preservation of her tea-equipage; a very rare, very small, and very fragile, set of Nan-kin porcelain, which forty years back, was in the highest estimation and value.

The recent peace with America, and particularly the arrival of a ship from the United States, had inspired Dr. Downwithit with even more than his usual warmth and energy in discoursing of them, especially when he spake of the unlooked-for happiness and glory of "the Thirteen Stripes of America at that moment flying in the river!" He also farther expressed his joyful zeal by frequent and vigorous blows upon Mrs. Cleopatra's small round tea-table, of the carved Honduras mahogany then so fashionable, which approached in colour to ebony itself. At every stroke of his broad and heavy fist, all the china simultaneously leaped and chattered, and the table declined and rose again with a creaking jerk, which showed how much it was internally affected by the worthy preacher's zealous orations; and it may be doubted if either spring or hinge ever perfectly recovered them. At each of these convulsions, Mrs. Cleopatra regarded her visitor with a withering frown, every lineament of which was visible, from the extremely open character of her head-dress; and she appeared to be earnestly wishing that the boisterous admirer of America were safe in irons on board the vessel he declaimed about, with thrice the thirteen stripes duly laid upon his back.

"The Thirteen Stripes of America in the river, madam!" exclaimed the doctor for the twentieth time; and for the twentieth time he drove his fist upon the table with the aforesaid consequences; "the Thirteen Stripes of America in the river!--it's a step towards the universal peace of the world, and an event not to be paralleled in our times! But what do we hereupon? Why, I'll tell you: instead of receiving our American brethren with repentance, kindness, and honour, we let their ship come up even to the very Custom-house with as little regard as a herring-buss or the Gravesend tilt-boat!

"Convince yourself of it by today's _London Chronicle_. Only listen. 'February 8th. Mr. Hammet begged to inform the House of a very recent and extraordinary event; that, at the very time he was speaking, an American ship was in the river Thames, with the Thirteen Stripes flying on board!'--an interjectional bang upon the table.--'She offered to enter at the Custom-house, but the officers were at a loss what to do.' Now, Mr. Physician, what have you to say to this?"

"Why, doctor," said Curetoun merrily, "that brother Jonathan was in vastly great haste to get a week sooner where nobody wanted him at all; and so we may conclude that he's very glad the war's over, notwithstanding his swaggering."

"But, sir, we _do_ want our Transatlantic brother," instantly rejoined Downwithit, in a vehement and positive voice; "we want all those blessings which America has in such abundance,--her liberty, her patriotism, her pastoral simplicity, her temperance, her humanity, her piety, her----"

"Her witches, and her slaves!" added the physician quietly.

"Sir," said the minister, innocently, "there has not been either witch or conjuror in America for these last fifty years, and more. If I live another day, I will go to the wharf and glad my eyes with the sight of that most happy vessel wherein the Thirteen Stripes of America are now floating in the river; nor will I refuse to give the right hand of fellowship to the meanest mariner or servant on board, but think myself honoured and happy in his grasp: for methinks there must be something soul-refreshing in the very voice and touch of persons coming from so pious a country. _Here_ we speak with the tongues of worldlings; but _there_ the common converse is framed out of that used by our ancient godly ancestors, who, for conscience sake, emigrated to the American deserts and forests. It is 'holy oil from the lamps of the sanctuary,' as the pious John Clarke calls it; a sort of blessed tongue, which----"

"You're an awful smart chap, I calkilate," exclaimed a loud voice in the passage, with a most remarkable kind of twang; "you _are_ mighty 'cute, but I rather guess now the 'squire is _to_ home, and that I must see him right slick away at once, and so here I sticks."

"Yes, sure, he speak to massa," added another voice, evidently that of a negro, with a thick gobbling sound; "he berry 'ticklar message for him from berry ole friend." Then, in a lower tone, it continued, "He give Ivory lilly drop o' rum, Mister Spanker Pokehorn see him."

These speeches had followed a loud knocking at the door, and the servant's vain attempt to explain that Dr. Curetoun was engaged with visitors. The domestic, however, at length succeeded in tranquillising the guests, and then entered with a letter for the physician, of which he almost immediately announced the contents, by saying, "Well, Dr. Downwithit, you will now have it in your power to shake hands with a _real_ American from yonder ship, without waiting till to-morrow, or even going down to the wharf; for I learn by this letter, that my old acquaintance Backwoodsley, who went to settle in Kentucky twenty years ago, has sent over his intended son-in-law, and one of his negroes, to collect his outstanding debts, and dispose of his property."

"By your favour, then, sir," said the clergyman, "I beg that we may presently have them both in."

The physician's orders to this effect being given, in a few seconds appeared the American and his negro. The former was a very tall and strong man, with a sallow and most audacious countenance, shaded by hog-colour hair, which grew in stiff pendent flakes; he was dressed in a large loose suit of coarse light-brown duffel, with a long and wide frock-coat and trousers, and a broad white hat. He carried a five-feet untrimmed bamboo in one hand, and in the other a Dutch pipe, which he continued to smoke and swing about, to the great molestation of Mrs. Cleopatra, who absolutely started with horror, at the sight of a human being clad in a style so savage, and so entirely opposite to the fashion of the time. Of the negro it is enough to say, that he was of the Dutch race, broad and big in person, very greasy in the face, something like a ship's cook; his mouth was of an enormous size, and evidently accustomed to both good laughing and good living; and his dress consisted of coarse dark-grey cloth, with a tow shirt and trousers, and a dirty striped woollen cap. After a courteous welcome and introduction, the physician inquired after the welfare of his acquaintance in Kentucky, to which the American replied in the same loud nasal tone as before,--

"Why, the 'squire's pretty kedge for an ould un, and I guess that I'm cleverly myself; though, as I've been progressing all day hither and yon, I arn't in such good kilter as I was when I first got in the ould country; for I reckon it rained some to-day, and was dreadful sloshy going, enough to make mankind slump at every step. It was mighty near four o'clock, too, afore I could see a plate-house to feed at; and when I made an enquerry for one, folk laughed and said nout, as if I'd spoke Greek, or was moosical, for you doosn't talk such dreadful coorious elegant English here in your little place of an island as we do, I reckon. So I began to rile, I did; and grow tarnation wolfy: but at last I saw the New York Coffee-house, and in I turns, and spends the balance of the day there. They charged me four dollars for feed and drinking, they did; and yet couldn't give me a beaker of egging, or gin cock-tail, or a grain of sangaree, or any other fogmatic, or a dish of homminy. And now I should like to make an enquerry of you; what's your names? and how have you got along?--I say, Ivory, you precious nigger!" he continued, suddenly turning round and aiming a long stroke at him with his rattan, "What do _you_ do, in the 'squire's keeping-room?"

"Massa help tell he to come in," returned Ivory, most adroitly edging and skipping out of the sweep of the bamboo.

"Yes, sir," interposed the physician, coming between them, "it was at my request he came, and so he is not at all to blame. My friend here is extremely desirous of hearing from your own lips something about a country which he esteems so _free_, so _pious_, and so _happy_ as America." This he uttered with a peculiarly arch expression, and a side-glance at Downwithit; and then continued, "But first what refreshments shall we offer you, Mr. Pokehorn; I believe that's your name?"

"Oh, I arn't nice, by no manner of means," returned the American; "I can take considerable of anything now, but the nigger will like a beaker of rum best."

"Pray, sir," said Mrs. Cleopatra in a very stately manner, though meant to be very gracious, "what family has Mr. Backwoodsley? I was but a mere girl when he left Europe, though I _can_ remember he was a fine tall portly gentleman."