"Mrs. Corney," said Mr. Bumble, stooping over the Matron," what is this, ma'am? has anything happened, ma'am? Pray answer me ; I'm on-on-" Mr. Bumble in his alarm could not immediately think of the word "tenterhooks," so he said "broken bottles." "Oh, Mr. Bumble !" cried the lady, "I have been so dreadfully put out!" "Put out, ma'am !" exclaimed Mr. Bumble; "who has dared to— ? I know!" said Mr. Bumble, checking himself with a native majesty, "this is them wicious paupers יין "It's dreadful to think of!" said the lady, shuddering. "Then don't think of it, ma'am," rejoined Mr. Bumble. "I can't help it," whimpered the lady. "Then take something, ma'am," said Mr. Bumble, soothingly. "A little of the wine ?" "Not for the world!" replied Mrs. Corney. "I couldn't-oh! The top shelf in the right-hand corner-oh!" Uttering these words, the good lady pointed distractedly to the cupboard, and underwent a convulsion from internal spasms. Mr. Bumble rushed to the closet, and, snatching a pint green-glass bottle from the shelf thus incoherently indi. cated, filled a tea-cup with its contents, and held it to the lady's lips. "I'm better now," said Mrs. Corney, falling back after drinking half of it. Mr. Bumble raised his eyes piously to the ceiling in thankfulness, and, bringing them down again to the brim of the cup, lifted it to his nose. 66 "Peppermint," explained Mrs. Corney in a faint voice, smiling gently on the beadle as she spoke. Try it; there's a little-a little something else in it." Mr. Bumble tasted the medicine with a doubtful look; smacked his lips, took another taste, and put the cup down empty. "It's very comforting," said Mrs. Corney. 'Very much so indeed, ma'am," said the beadle. As he spoke, he drew a chair beside the matron, and tenderly inquired what had happened to distress her. "Nothing," replied Mrs. Corney. "I am a foolish, excitable, weak creetur." "Not weak, ma'am," retorted Mr. Bumble, drawing his chair a little eloser. "Are you a weak creetur, Mrs. Corney?" "We are all weak creeturs," said Mrs. Corney, laying down a general principle. "So we are," said the beadle. Nothing was said on either side for a minute or two afterwards; and by the expiration of that time Mr. Bumble had illustrated the position by removing his left arm from the back of Mrs. Corney's chair, where it had previously rested, to Mrs. Corney's apron-string, round which it gradually became entwined. "We are all weak creeturs," said Mr. Bumble. Mrs. Corney sighed. "Don't sigh, Mrs. Corney," said Mr. Bumble. "I can't help it," said Mrs. Corney; and she sighed again. "This is a very comfortable room, ma'am," said Mr. Bumble, looking round. "Another room and this, ma'am, would be a complete thing." "It would be too much for one," murmured the lady. "But not for two, ma'am," rejoined Mr. Bumble in soft accents. "Eh, Mrs. Corney?" Mrs. Corney drooped her head when the beadle said this, and the beadle drooped his to get a view of Mrs. Corney's face. Mrs. Corney with great propriety turned her head away, and released her hand to get at her pocket-handkerchief, but insensibly replaced it in that of Mr. Bumble. "The Board allow you coals, don't they, Mrs. Corney?" affectionately inquired the beadle, pressing her hand. "And candles," replied Mrs. Corney, slightly returning the pres sure. 66 Coals, candles, and house-rent free,” said Mr. Bumble. "Oh, Mrs. Corney, what a angel you are!" The lady was not proof against this burst of feeling. She sunk into Mr. Bumble's arms; and that gentleman, in his agitation, imprinted a passionate kiss upon her chaste nose. "Such porochial perfection!" exclaimed Mr. Bumble rapturously. "You know that Mr. Slout is worse to-night, my fascinator?" "Yes," replied Mrs. Corney bashfully. "He can't live a week, the doctor says," pursued Mr. Bumble. "He is the master of this establishment; his death will cause a wacancy; that wacancy must be filled up. Oh, Mrs. Corney, what a prospect this opens! What a opportunity for a joining of hearts and housekeeping!" Mrs. Corney sobbed. "The little word ?" said Mr. Bumble, bending over the bashful beauty. "The one little, little, little word, my blessed Corney?" "Ye-ye-yes!" sighed out the matron. "One more," pursued the beadle: "compose your darling feelings for only one more. When is it to come off?" Mrs. Corney twice essayed to speak, and twice failed. At length, summoning up courage, she threw her arms round Mr. Bumble's neck, and said it might be as soon as ever he pleased, and that he was "a irresistible duck." Matters being thus amicably and satisfactorily arranged, the contract was solemnly ratified in another tea-cup-full of the peppermint mixture, which was rendered the more necessary by the flutter and agitation of the lady's spirits. While it was being disposed of, she acquainted Mr. Bumble with the old woman's decease. "Very good," said that gentleman, sipping his peppermint. "I'll call at Sowerberry's as I go home, and tell him to send to-morrow morning. Was it that as frightened you, love?" "It wasn't anything particular, dear," said the lady evasively. "It must have been something, love," urged Mr. Bumble. "Won't you tell your own B?" "Not now, rejoined the lady; ried, dear." "After we're married!" exclaimed Mr. Bumble. "It wasn't any impudence from any of them male paupers as "No, no, love!" interposed the lady hastily. "If I thought it was," continued Mr. Bumble,-" if I thought any one of 'em had dared to lift his wulgar eyes to that lovely countenance-" "They wouldn't have dared to do it, love," responded the lady. "They had better not!" said Mr. Bumble, clenching his fist. "Let me see any man, porochial or extra-porochial, as would presume to do it, and I can tell him that he wouldn't do it a second time!" Unembellished by any violence of gesticulation, this might have sounded as no very high compliment to the lady's charms; but, as Mr. Bumble accompanied the threat with many warlike gestures, she was much touched with this proof of his devotion, and protested with great admiration that he was indeed a dove. The dove then turned up his coat-collar, and put on his cocked hat, and, having exchanged a long and affectionate embrace with his future partner, once again braved the cold wind of the night; merely pausing for a few minutes in the male paupers' ward to abuse them a little, with the view of satisfying himself that he could fill the office of work house. master with needful acerbity. Assured of his qualifications, Mr. Bumble left the building with a light heart, and bright visions of his future promotion, which served to occupy his mind until he reached the shop of the undertaker. Now, Mr. and Mrs. Sowerberry having gone out to tea and supper, and Noah Claypole not being at any time disposed to take upon him. self a greater amount of physical exertion than is necessary to a convenient performance of the two functions of eating and drinking, the shop was not closed, although it was past the usual hour of shutting-up. Mr. Bumble tapped with his cane on the counter several times; but, attracting no attention, and beholding a light shining through the glasswindow of the little parlor at the back of the shop, he made bold to peep in and see what was going forward; and, when he saw what was going forward, he was not a little surprised. The cloth was laid for supper, and the table was strewed with bread and butter, plates and glasses, a porter-pot, and a winc-bottle. At the upper end of the table Mr. Noah Claypole lolled negligently in an easy. chair with his legs thrown over one of the arms, an open clasp-knife in one hand, and a mass of buttered bread in the other; close beside him stood Charlotte, opening oysters from a barrel, which Mr. Claypole condescended to swallow with remarkable avidity. A more than ordi. nary redness in the region of the young gentleman's nose, and a kind of fixed wink in his right eye, denoted that he was in a slight degree intoxicated; and these symptoms were confirmed by the intense relish with which he took his oysters, for which nothing but a strong appreciation of their cooling properties in cases of internal fever could have sufficiently accounted. Here's a delicious fat one, Noah dear!" said Charlotte, "try him, do; only this one." "What a delicious thing is a oyster !" remarked Mr. Claypole after he had swallowed it. "What a pity it is a number of 'em should ever make you feel uncomfortable, isn't it, Charlotte ?" "It's quite a cruelty," said Charlotte. "So it is," acquiesced Mr. Claypole. oysters?" "Ain't yer fond of "Not overmuch," replied Charlotte. "I like to see you eat 'em, Noah dear, better than eating them myself." "Lor'!" said Noah reflectively; "how queer!" "Have another?" said Charlotte. "Here's one with such a beau. tiful, delicate beard!" "I can't manage any more," said Noah. "I'm very sorry. Come here, Charlotte, and I'll kiss yer." "What!" said Mr. Bumble, bursting into the room. "Say that again, sir." Charlotte uttered a scream, and hid her face in her apron; while Mr. Claypole, without making any further change in his position than suffering his legs to reach the ground, gazed at the beadle in drunken terror. 66 Say it again, you vile,o wdacious fellow!" said Mr. Bumble. "How dare you mention such a thing, sir? and how dare you encourage him, you insolent minx? Kiss her!" exclaimed Mr. Bnmble in strong indignation. "Faugh!" "I didn't mean to do it!" said Noah, blubbering. a-kissing of me, whether I like it or not." "She's always "She's always "Oh, Noah!" cried Charlotte reproachfully. "Yer are, yer know yer are!" retorted Noah. a-doing of it, Mr. Bumble, sir; she chucks me under the chin, please sir, and makes all manner of love!" "Silence!" cried Mr. Bumble sternly. "Take yourself down stairs, ma'am! Noah, you shut up the shop, and say another word till your master comes home at your peril; and, when he does come home, tell him that Mr. Bumble said he was to send a old woman's shell after breakfast to-morrow morning. Do you hear, sir? Kissing!" cried Mr. Bumble, holding up his hands. "The sin and wickedness of the lower orders in this porochial district is frightful; if parliament don't take their abominable courses under consideration, this country's ruined, and the character of the peasantry gone for ever!" With these words the beadle strode, with a lofty and gloomy air, from the undertaker's premises. And now that we have accompanied him so far on his road home, and have made all necessary preparations for the old woman's funeral, let us set on foot a few inquiries after young Oliver Twist, and ascertain whether he be still lying in the ditch where Toby Crackit left him. THE POPPY. FROM UHLAND. SEE where, soft cradled by the western winds, They told me, with the voice of warning care, Was nought save dreams-dull, passionless, and deep:- In my life's morn, unheeding of the hours, Oh! 'twas a time with joy and sweetness rife! E'er since that hour, within my bosom furled, My dream alone been firmly based and true. Among my locks entwine and bloom for aye! E. N. |