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    <h2 style="text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold">The Project Gutenberg eBook of <span lang="en" xml:lang="en">Oliver Twist; or, The Parish Boy's Progress. Illustrated</span>, by Charles Dickens</h2>
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        <p style="display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em"><strong>Title</strong>: Oliver Twist; or, The Parish Boy's Progress. Illustrated</p>
        
        <p style="display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em"><strong>Author</strong>: Charles Dickens</p>
        <p style="display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em"><strong>Release Date</strong>: August 24, 2014 [EBook #46675]</p>
        <p style="display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em"><strong>Language</strong>: English</p>
        
        <p style="display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em"><strong>Credits</strong>: Updated: 2021-10-29</p>
    </div>
    <div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"><br/></div>
        <div style="text-align:center">
            <span>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLIVER TWIST; OR, THE PARISH BOY'S PROGRESS. ILLUSTRATED ***</span>
        </div>
</div><div style="margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em"/>
<h1 id="pgepubid00000">
      OLIVER TWIST,
    </h1>
<h3 id="pgepubid00001">
      Or, The Parish Boy’s Progress
    </h3>
<h2>
      By Charles Dickens
    </h2>
<h3 id="pgepubid00002">Illustrated by George Cruikshank</h3>
<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
<img alt="0030m " src="1646223070011777107_0030m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-7438678345896535569"/><br/>
</div>
<h5>
<a href="1646223070011777107_0030.jpg.id-1183726650125691339.wrap-0.html.html" style="width:100%;" id="id-1183726650125691339" title="linked image"><i>Original</i></a>
</h5>
<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
<img alt="20012m " src="1646223070011777107_20012m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-8506364886889554255"/><br/>
</div>
<h5>
<a href="1646223070011777107_20012.jpg.id-1704195601912851600.wrap-0.html.html" style="width:100%;" id="id-1704195601912851600" title="linked image"><i>Original</i></a>
</h5>
<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
<img alt="0031m " src="1646223070011777107_0031m.jpg" style="width:100%;" id="id-18742440593637268"/><br/>
</div>
<h5>
<a href="1646223070011777107_0031.jpg.id-5261285897719863734.wrap-0.html.html" style="width:100%;" id="id-5261285897719863734" title="linked image"><i>Original</i></a>
</h5>
<p>
<br/><br/>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<br/><br/>
</p>
<p>
<b>CONTENTS</b>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-0.htm.html#link2HCH0001" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER I — TREATS OF THE PLACE WHERE
      OLIVER TWIST WAS BORN AND OF THE CIRCUMSTANCES ATTENDING HIS BIRTH </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-0.htm.html#link2HCH0002" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER II — TREATS OF OLIVER TWIST’S
      GROWTH, EDUCATION, AND BOARD </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-1.htm.html#link2HCH0003" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER III — RELATES HOW OLIVER TWIST WAS
      VERY NEAR GETTING A PLACE WHICH WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN A SINECURE </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-1.htm.html#link2HCH0004" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER IV — OLIVER, BEING OFFERED ANOTHER
      PLACE, MAKES HIS FIRST ENTRY INTO PUBLIC LIFE </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-1.htm.html#link2HCH0005" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER V — OLIVER MINGLES WITH NEW
      ASSOCIATES. GOING TO A FUNERAL FOR THE FIRST TIME, HE FORMS AN
      UNFAVOURABLE NOTION OF HIS MASTER’S BUSINESS </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-1.htm.html#link2HCH0006" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER VI — OLIVER, BEING GOADED BY THE
      TAUNTS OF NOAH, ROUSES INTO ACTION, AND RATHER ASTONISHES HIM </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-2.htm.html#link2HCH0007" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER VII — OLIVER CONTINUES REFRACTORY
      </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-2.htm.html#link2HCH0008" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER VIII — OLIVER WALKS TO LONDON. HE
      ENCOUNTERS ON THE ROAD A STRANGE SORT OF YOUNG GENTLEMAN </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-2.htm.html#link2HCH0009" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER IX — CONTAINING FURTHER PARTICULARS
      CONCERNING THE PLEASANT OLD GENTLEMAN, AND HIS HOPEFUL PUPILS </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-3.htm.html#link2HCH0010" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER X — OLIVER BECOMES 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 </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-3.htm.html#link2HCH0011" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XI — TREATS OF MR. FANG THE POLICE
      MAGISTRATE; AND FURNISHES A SLIGHT SPECIMEN OF HIS MODE OF ADMINISTERING
      JUSTICE </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-3.htm.html#link2HCH0012" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER 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 FRIENDS. </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-4.htm.html#link2HCH0013" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XIII — SOME NEW ACQUAINTANCES ARE
      INTRODUCED TO THE INTELLIGENT READER, CONNECTED WITH WHOM VARIOUS PLEASANT
      MATTERS ARE RELATED, APPERTAINING TO THIS HISTORY </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-4.htm.html#link2HCH0014" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER 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 </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-4.htm.html#link2HCH0015" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XV — SHOWING HOW VERY FOND OF
      OLIVER TWIST, THE MERRY OLD JEW AND MISS NANCY WERE </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-5.htm.html#link2HCH0016" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XVI — RELATES WHAT BECAME OF OLIVER
      TWIST, AFTER HE HAD BEEN CLAIMED BY NANCY </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-5.htm.html#link2HCH0017" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XVII — OLIVER’S DESTINY CONTINUING
      UNPROPITIOUS, BRINGS A GREAT MAN TO LONDON TO INJURE HIS REPUTATION </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-6.htm.html#link2HCH0018" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XVIII — HOW OLIVER PASSED HIS TIME
      IN THE IMPROVING SOCIETY OF HIS REPUTABLE FRIENDS </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-6.htm.html#link2HCH0019" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XIX — IN WHICH A NOTABLE PLAN IS
      DISCUSSED AND DETERMINED ON </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-6.htm.html#link2HCH0020" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XX — WHEREIN OLIVER IS DELIVERED
      OVER TO MR. WILLIAM SIKES </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-7.htm.html#link2HCH0021" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XXI — THE EXPEDITION </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-7.htm.html#link2HCH0022" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XXII — THE BURGLARY </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-8.htm.html#link2HCH0023" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XXIII — WHICH CONTAINS THE
      SUBSTANCE OF A PLEASANT CONVERSATION BETWEEN MR. BUMBLE AND A LADY; AND
      SHOWS THAT EVEN A BEADLE MAY BE SUSCEPTIBLE ON SOME POINTS </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-8.htm.html#link2HCH0024" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XXIV — TREATS ON A VERY POOR
      SUBJECT. BUT IS A SHORT ONE, AND MAY BE FOUND OF IMPORTANCE IN THIS
      HISTORY </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-8.htm.html#link2HCH0025" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XXV — WHEREIN THIS HISTORY REVERTS
      TO MR. FAGIN AND COMPANY </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-8.htm.html#link2HCH0026" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XXVI — IN WHICH A MYSTERIOUS
      CHARACTER APPEARS UPON THE SCENE; AND MANY THINGS, INSEPARABLE FROM THIS
      HISTORY, ARE DONE AND PERFORMED </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-9.htm.html#link2HCH0027" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XXVII — ATONES FOR THE UNPOLITENESS
      OF A FORMER CHAPTER; WHICH DESERTED A LADY, MOST UNCEREMONIOUSLY </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-9.htm.html#link2HCH0028" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XXVIII — LOOKS AFTER OLIVER, AND
      PROCEEDS WITH HIS ADVENTURES </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-10.htm.html#link2HCH0029" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XXIX — HAS AN INTRODUCTORY ACCOUNT
      OF THE INMATES OF THE HOUSE, TO WHICH OLIVER RESORTED </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-10.htm.html#link2HCH0030" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XXX — RELATES WHAT OLIVER’S NEW
      VISITORS THOUGHT OF HIM </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-10.htm.html#link2HCH0031" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XXXI — INVOLVES A CRITICAL POSITION
      </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-11.htm.html#link2HCH0032" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XXXII — OF THE HAPPY LIFE OLIVER
      BEGAN TO LEAD WITH HIS KIND FRIENDS </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-11.htm.html#link2HCH0033" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XXXIII — WHEREIN THE HAPPINESS OF
      OLIVER AND HIS FRIENDS, EXPERIENCES A SUDDEN CHECK </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-12.htm.html#link2HCH0034" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XXXIV — CONTAINS SOME INTRODUCTORY
      PARTICULARS RELATIVE TO A YOUNG GENTLEMAN WHO NOW ARRIVES UPON THE SCENE;
      AND A NEW ADVENTURE WHICH HAPPENED TO OLIVER </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-12.htm.html#link2HCH0035" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XXXV — CONTAINING THE
      UNSATISFACTORY RESULT OF OLIVER’S ADVENTURE; AND A CONVERSATION OF SOME
      IMPORTANCE BETWEEN HARRY MAYLIE AND ROSE </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-12.htm.html#link2HCH0036" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XXXVI — IS A VERY SHORT ONE, AND
      MAY APPEAR OF NO GREAT IMPORTANCE IN ITS PLACE, BUT IT SHOULD BE READ
      NOTWITHSTANDING, AS A SEQUEL TO THE LAST, AND A KEY TO ONE THAT WILL
      FOLLOW WHEN ITS </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-13.htm.html#link2HCH0037" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XXXVII — IN WHICH THE READER MAY
      PERCEIVE A CONTRAST, NOT UNCOMMON IN MATRIMONIAL CASES </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-13.htm.html#link2HCH0038" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XXXVIII — CONTAINING AN ACCOUNT OF
      WHAT PASSED BETWEEN MR. AND MRS. BUMBLE, AND MR. MONKS, AT THEIR NOCTURNAL
      INTERVIEW </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-14.htm.html#link2HCH0039" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XXXIX — INTRODUCES SOME RESPECTABLE
      CHARACTERS WITH WHOM THE READER IS ALREADY ACQUAINTED, AND SHOWS HOW MONKS
      AND THE JEW LAID THEIR WORTHY HEADS TOGETHER </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-14.htm.html#link2HCH0040" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XL — A STRANGE INTERVIEW, WHICH IS
      A SEQUEL TO THE LAST CHAMBER </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-14.htm.html#link2HCH0041" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XLI — CONTAINING FRESH DISCOVERIES,
      AND SHOWING THAT SUPRISES, LIKE MISFORTUNES, SELDOM COME ALONE </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-15.htm.html#link2HCH0042" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XLII — AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE OF
      OLIVER’S, EXHIBITING DECIDED MARKS OF GENIUS, BECOMES A PUBLIC CHARACTER
      IN THE METROPOLIS </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-15.htm.html#link2HCH0043" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XLIII — WHEREIN IS SHOWN HOW THE
      ARTFUL DODGER GOT INTO TROUBLE </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-16.htm.html#link2HCH0044" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XLIV — THE TIME ARRIVES FOR NANCY
      TO REDEEM HER PLEDGE TO ROSE MAYLIE. SHE FAILS. </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-16.htm.html#link2HCH0045" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XLV — NOAH CLAYPOLE IS EMPLOYED BY
      FAGIN ON A SECRET MISSION </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-16.htm.html#link2HCH0046" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XLVI — THE APPOINTMENT KEPT </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-17.htm.html#link2HCH0047" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XLVII — FATAL CONSEQUENCES </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-17.htm.html#link2HCH0048" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XLVIII — THE FLIGHT OF SIKES </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-18.htm.html#link2HCH0049" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XLIX — MONKS AND MR. BROWNLOW AT
      LENGTH MEET. THEIR CONVERSATION, AND THE INTELLIGENCE THAT INTERRUPTS IT
      </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-18.htm.html#link2HCH0050" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER L — THE PURSUIT AND ESCAPE </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-19.htm.html#link2HCH0051" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER LI — AFFORDING AN EXPLANATION OF
      MORE MYSTERIES THAN ONE, AND COMPREHENDING A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE WITH NO
      WORD OF SETTLEMENT OR PIN-MONEY </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-19.htm.html#link2HCH0052" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER LII — FAGIN’S LAST NIGHT ALIVE </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="9019646091544952148_46675-h-19.htm.html#link2HCH0053" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER LIII — AND LAST </a>
</p>
<p>
<br/><br/>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<a id="link2HCH0001"> </a>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br/><br/><br/><br/>
</div>
<h2 id="pgepubid00003">
      CHAPTER I — TREATS OF THE PLACE WHERE OLIVER TWIST WAS BORN AND OF
      THE CIRCUMSTANCES ATTENDING HIS BIRTH
    </h2>
<p>
      Among other public buildings in a certain town, which for many reasons it
      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 born; 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 whose name is prefixed to the head of
      this chapter.
    </p>
<p>
      For a long time after it was ushered into this world of sorrow and
      trouble, by the parish surgeon, it remained a matter of considerable doubt
      whether the child would survive to bear any name at all; in which case it
      is somewhat more than probable that these memoirs would never have
      appeared; or, if they had, that being comprised within a couple of pages,
      they would have possessed the inestimable merit of being the most concise
      and faithful specimen of biography, extant in the literature of any age or
      country.
    </p>
<p>
      Although I am not disposed to maintain that the being born in a workhouse,
      is in itself the most fortunate and enviable circumstance that can
      possibly befall a human being, I do mean to say that in this particular
      instance, it was the best thing for Oliver Twist that could by possibility
      have occurred. 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 between this world and the next: the
      balance being decidedly in favour 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
      inevitably and indubitably have 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
      contract; Oliver and Nature fought out the point between them. The result
      was, that, after a few struggles, Oliver breathed, sneezed, and proceeded
      to advertise to the inmates of the workhouse the fact of a new burden
      having been imposed upon the parish, by setting up as loud a cry as could
      reasonably have been expected from a male infant who had not been
      possessed of that very useful appendage, a voice, for a much longer space
      of time than three minutes and a quarter.
    </p>
<p>
      As Oliver gave this first proof of the free and proper action of his
      lungs, the patchwork coverlet which was carelessly flung over the iron
      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.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      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 advancing to the bed’s head, said, with more kindness
      than might have been expected of him:
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Oh, you must not talk about dying yet.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Lor bless her dear heart, no!’ interposed the nurse, hastily depositing
      in her pocket a green glass bottle, the contents of which she had been
      tasting in a corner with evident satisfaction.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Lor bless her dear heart, when she has lived as long as I have, sir, and
      had thirteen children of her own, and all on ‘em dead except two, and them
      in the wurkus with me, she’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.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Apparently this consolatory perspective of a mother’s prospects failed in
      producing its due effect. The patient shook her head, and stretched out
      her hand towards the child.
    </p>
<p>
      The surgeon deposited it in her arms. She imprinted her cold white lips
      passionately on its forehead; passed her hands over her face; gazed wildly
      round; shuddered; fell back—and died. They chafed her breast, hands,
      and temples; but the blood had stopped forever. They talked of hope and
      comfort. They had been strangers too long.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘It’s all over, Mrs. Thingummy!’ said the surgeon at last.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Ah, poor dear, so it is!’ said the nurse, picking up the cork of the
      green bottle, which had fallen out on the pillow, as she stooped to take
      up the child. ‘Poor dear!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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 <i>will</i> 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?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘She was brought here last night,’ replied the old woman, ‘by the
      overseer’s order. She was found lying in the street. She had walked some
      distance, for her shoes were worn to pieces; but where she came from, or
      where she was going to, nobody knows.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      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!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      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.
    </p>
<p>
      What an excellent example of the power of dress, young Oliver Twist was!
      Wrapped in the blanket which had hitherto formed his only covering, he
      might have been the child of a nobleman or a beggar; it would have been
      hard for the haughtiest stranger to have 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—a parish child—the orphan of a
      workhouse—the humble, half-starved drudge—to be cuffed and
      buffeted through the world—despised by all, and pitied by none.
    </p>
<p>
      Oliver cried lustily. If he could have known that he was an orphan, left
      to the tender mercies of church-wardens and overseers, perhaps he would
      have cried the louder.
    </p>
<p>
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</p>
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<h2 id="pgepubid00004">
      CHAPTER II — TREATS OF OLIVER TWIST’S GROWTH, EDUCATION, AND BOARD
    </h2>
<p>
      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
      dispatched 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.
    </p>
<p>
      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 had got his own horse down to a straw a
      day, and would unquestionably have rendered him a very spirited and
      rampacious animal on nothing at all, if he had not died, 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 <i>her</i> system; for at the very moment when
      the 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 half-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 it had never known in this.
    </p>
<p>
      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
      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 periodical 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 <i>they</i> went; and
      what more would the people have!
    </p>
<p>
      It cannot be expected that this system of farming would produce any very
      extraordinary or luxuriant crop. Oliver Twist’s ninth birthday 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 ninth birth-day at all. Be this as it may,
      however, it was his ninth birthday; and he was keeping it in the
      coal-cellar with a select party of two other young gentleman, who, after
      participating with him in a sound thrashing, had been locked up 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.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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 upstairs, and wash ‘em directly.)—My
      heart alive! Mr. Bumble, how glad I am to see you, sure-ly!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Now, Mr. Bumble was a fat man, and a choleric; 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.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Although this invitation was accompanied with a curtsey that might have
      softened the heart of a church-warden, it by no means mollified the
      beadle.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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 with the
      porochial orphans? Are you aweer, Mrs. Mann, that you are, as I may say, a
      porochial delegate, and a stipendiary?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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.
    </p>
<p>
      Mr. Bumble had a great idea of his oratorical powers and his importance.
      He had displayed the one, and vindicated the other. He relaxed.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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 something to say.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      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.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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 somethink, Mr.
      Bumble?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Not a drop. Nor a drop,’ said Mr. Bumble, waving his right hand in a
      dignified, but placid manner.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Mr. Bumble coughed.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Now, just a leetle drop,’ said Mrs. Mann persuasively.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What is it?’ inquired the beadle.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Do you give the children Daffy, Mrs. Mann?’ inquired Bumble, following
      with his eyes the interesting process of mixing.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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 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.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Bless him!’ interposed Mrs. Mann, inflaming her left eye with the corner
      of her apron.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘And notwithstanding a 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 was his
      mother’s settlement, name, or condition.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      Mrs. Mann raised her hands in astonishment; but added, after a moment’s
      reflection, ‘How comes he to have any name at all, then?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      The beadle drew himself up with great pride, and said, ‘I inwented it.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘You, Mr. Bumble!’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘I, Mrs. Mann. We name our fondlings in alphabetical order. The last was a
      S,—Swubble, I named him. This was a T,—Twist, I named <i>him</i>.
      The next one 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.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Why, you’re quite a literary character, sir!’ said Mrs. Mann.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Make a bow to the gentleman, Oliver,’ said Mrs. Mann.
    </p>
<p>
      Oliver made a bow, which was divided between the beadle on the chair, and
      the cocked hat on the table.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Will you go along with me, Oliver?’ said Mr. Bumble, in a majestic voice.
    </p>
<p>
      Oliver was about to say that he would go along with anybody 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 impressed upon his body not to be deeply impressed upon his
      recollection.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Will she go with me?’ inquired poor Oliver.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘No, she can’t,’ replied Mr. Bumble. ‘But she’ll come and see you
      sometimes.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      This was no very great consolation to the child. Young as he was, however,
      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 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, less 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 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.
    </p>
<p>
      Mr. Bumble walked on with long strides; 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 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.
    </p>
<p>
      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.
    </p>
<p>
      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 to follow, conducted him into a large white-washed room, where eight
      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
      gentleman with a very round, red face.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What’s your name, boy?’ said the gentleman in the high chair.
    </p>
<p>
      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.
      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.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Boy,’ said the gentleman in the high chair, ‘listen to me. You know
      you’re an orphan, I suppose?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What’s that, sir?’ inquired poor Oliver.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘The boy <i>is</i> a fool—I thought he was,’ said the gentleman in
      the white waistcoat.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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?’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Yes, sir,’ replied Oliver, weeping bitterly.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What are you crying for?’ inquired the gentleman in the white waistcoat.
      And to be sure it was very extraordinary. What <i>could</i> the boy be
      crying for?
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      ‘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 <i>him</i>. But he hadn’t, because nobody had taught
      him.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Well! You have come here to be educated, and taught a useful trade,’ said
      the red-faced gentleman in the high chair.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘So you’ll begin to pick oakum to-morrow morning at six o’clock,’ added
      the surly one in the white waistcoat.
    </p>
<p>
      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 novel illustration of the tender laws of England!
      They let the paupers go to sleep!
    </p>
<p>
      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:
    </p>
<p>
      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 of 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 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.
    </p>
<p>
      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.
    </p>
<p>
      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 mealtimes. Of this
      festive composition each boy had one porringer, and no more—except
      on occasions of great public rejoicing, when he had two ounces and a
      quarter of bread besides.
    </p>
<p>
      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
      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 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-shop), hinted darkly to his companions, that
      unless he had another basin of gruel per 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.
    </p>
<p>
      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; the boys whispered each
      other, and winked at Oliver; while his next neighbors nudged him. Child as
      he was, he was desperate with hunger, and reckless with misery. He rose
      from the table; and advancing to the master, basin and spoon in hand,
      said: somewhat alarmed at his own temerity:
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Please, sir, I want some more.’ 
    </p>
<p>
      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 clung
      for support to the copper. The assistants were paralysed with wonder; the
      boys with fear.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘What!’ said the master at length, in a faint voice.
    </p>
<p>
      ‘Please, sir,’ replied Oliver, ‘I want some more.’ 
    </p>
</body></html>
