Oldal 133 [133]
OCR
93 “Hard, indeed, majam," replied the beadle. " Anti-porochial weather this, ma’am. We have given away, Mrs. Corney,—we have given away a matter of twenty quartern loaves, and a cheese and a half, this very blessed afternoon; and yet them paupers are not contented.” “Of course not. When would they be, Mr. Bumble ?” said the matron, sipping her tea. “ When, indeed, ma’am!” rejoined Mr. Bumble. “Why, here’s one man that, in consideration of his wife and large family, has a quartern loaf and a good pound of cheese, full weight. Is he grateful, ma’am,—is he grateful? Nota copper farthing’s worth of it! What does he do, ma’am, but ask for a few coals, if it’s only a pocket-handkerchief full, he says! Coals!—what would he do with coals '—T'oast his cheese with "em, and then come back for more. That’s the way with these people, ma’am ;—give "em a apron full of coals to-day, and they ’ll come back for another the day after tomorrow, as brazen as alabaster !” The matron expressed her entire concurrence in this intelligible simile, and the beadle went on. 6 [ never,” said Mr. Bumble, “see anything like the pitch it’s gotto. The day afore yesterday, a man—you have been a married woman, ma’am, and I may mention it to you—a man, with hardly a rag upon his back, (here Mrs. Corney looked at the floor,) goes to our overseer’s door when he has got company coming to dinner, and says he must be relieved, Mrs. Corney. As he wouldn’t go away, and shocked the company very much, our overseer sent him out a pound of potatoes and half a pint of oatmeal. "My God! says the ungrateful villain, ‘ what’s the use of this to me? You might as well give me a pair of iron spectacles.’—* Very good,’ says our overseer, taking ’em away again, ‘ you won’t get anything else here.’ —‘ Then I 711 die in the streets ! says the vagrant.—* Oh no, you wo’nt,’ says our overseer.” like Mr. Grannet, wasn’t it ?’ interposed the matron. ‘“ Well, Mr. Bumble ?” “ Well, ma’am,” rejoined the beadle, “he went away, and did die in the streets. There ’s a obstinate pauper for you !” “It beats anything I could have believed !” observed the matron emphatically. “ But don’t you think out-of-door relief a very bad t sc Mrs. Corney,” said the beadle, smiling as men smile who are conscious of superior information, “ out-of-door relief, properly managed,—properly managed, ma’am,—is the porochial safe-guard. The great principle of out-of-door relief is to give the paupers exactly what they don’t want, and then they get tired of coming.” 6 Dear me!” exclaimed Mrs. Corney. c Well, that is a good one, too!” ‘Yes, Betwixt you and me, ma’am,” returned Mr. Bumble, “that’s the great principle ; and that’s the reason why, if you look at any cases that get into them owdacious newspapers, you "11 always observe that sick families have been relieved with slices of cheese. That’s the rule now, Mrs. Corney, all over the country.—But, however,” said the beadle, stooping to unpack his bundle, “ these are official secrets, ma’am ; not to be spoken of except, as | may say, among the porochial officers such as ourselves. ‘This is the port wine, ma’am, that the board ordered for the infirmary,—real fresh, genuine port wine, only out of the cask this afternoon,—clear as a bell, and no sediment.” Having held the first bottle up to the hight, and shaken it well to test its excellence, Mr. Bumble placed them both on the top of a chest of drawers, folded the handkerchief in which they had been wrapped, put it carefully in his pocket, and took up his hat as if to go. “You “ll have a very cold walk, Mr. Bumble,” said the matron. “It blows, ma’am,” replied Mr. Bumble, turning up his coat-collar, “ enough to cut one’s ears off.” The matron looked from the little kettle to the beadle, who was moving towards the door ; and as the beadle coughed, preparatory to bidding her good-night, bashfully inquired whether—whether he wouldn’t take a cup of tea? Mr. Bumble instantaneously turned back his collar again, laid his hat and stick upon a chair, and drew another chair up to the table. As he slowly seated himself, he looked at the lady: she fixed her eyes upon the little teapot. Mr. Bumble coughed again, and slightly smiled. Mrs. Corney rose to get another cup and saucer from the closet. As she sat down, her eyes once again encountered those of the gallant beadle; she coloured, and applied herself to the task of making his tea. Again Mr. Bumble coughed,— and ought to know. Come.”
