Oldal 132 [132]
OCR
92 CHAPTER THE FIRST, Which contains the substance of a pleasant conversation between Mr. Bumble and a lady; and shows that even a beadle may he susceptible on some points. THE night was bitter cold; the snow lay upon the ground frozen into a hard had drifted into by-ways and corners were affected by the sharp wind that howled abroad, which, as if expending increased fury on such preys as it found, caught it savagely up in clouds, and, whirling it into a thousand misty eddies, scattered it in air. Bleak, dark, and piercing cold, it was a night for the well-housed and fed to draw round the bright fire, and thank God they were at home; and for the homeless starving wretch to lay him down and die. Many hunger-worn outcasts close their eyes in our bare streets at such times, who, let their crimes have been what they may, can hardly open them in a more bitter world. Such was the aspect of out-of-door affairs when Mrs. Corney, the matron of the workhouse to which our readers have been already introduced as the birth-place of Oliver Twist, set herself down before a cheerful fire in her own little room, and glanced with no small degree of complacency at a small round table, on which stood a tray of corresponding size, furnished with all necessary materials for the most grateful meal that matrons enjcy. In fact, Mrs. Corney was about to solace herself with a cup of tea: and as she glanced from the table to the fireplace, where the smallest of all possible kettles was singing a small song in a small voice, her inward satisfaction evidently increased -—so much so, indeed, that Mrs. Corney smiled. “ Well,” said the matron, leaning her elbow on the table, and looking reflectively at the fire, “I’m sure we have all on us a great deal to be grateful for—a great deal, if we did but know it. Ah! Mrs. Corney shook her head mournfully, as if deploring the mental blindness of paupers who did not know it, and, thrusting a silver spoon (private property) into the inmost recesses of a two-ounce tin tea-caddy, proceeded to make the tea. How slight a thing will disturb the equanimity of our frail minds! The black teapot, being very small and easily filled, ran over while Mrs. Corney was moralizing, and the water slightly scalded Mrs. Corney’s hand. c Drat the pot!” said the worthy matron, setting it down very hastily on the hob; “a little stupid thing, that only holds a couple of cups! What use is it of to anybody "except," said Mrs. Corney, pausing,—* except to a poor desolate creature like me. Oh dear!” With these words the matron dropped into her chair, and, once more resting her elbow on the table, thought of her solitary fate. ‘The small teapot and the single cup had awakened in her mind sad recollections of Mr. Corney, (who had not been dead more than five-and-twenty years,) and she was overpowered. cc JT shall never get another !” said Mrs. Corney pettishly, “I shall never get another—like him!" Whether this remark bore reference to the husband or the teapot is uncertain. It might have been the latter; for Mrs. Corney looked at it as she spoke, and took it up afterwards. She had just tasted her first cup, when she was disturbed by a soft tap at the room door. s Oh, come in with yoy!” said Mrs. Corney sharply. “Some of the old women dying, | suppose ;—they always die when I’m at meals. Don’t stand there, letting the cold air in, don’t! What’s amiss now, eh ?”’ c Nothing, ma’am, nothing,” replied a man’s voice. “ Dear me!" exclaimed the matron in a much sweeter tone, “is that Mr. Bumble ?” 6 At your service, ma’am,” said Mr. Bumble, who had been stopping outside to rub his shoes clean, and shake the snow off his coat, and who now made his appearance, bearing the cocked-hat in one hand and a bundle in the other. “Shall I shut the door, ma’am 7?” The lady modestly hesitated to reply, lest there should be any impropriety in holding an interview with Mr. Bumble with closed doors. Mr. Bumble, taking advantage of the hesitation, and being very cold himself, shut it without farther permission. “ Hard weather, Mr. Bumble,” said the matron.
