【资料下载】雾都孤儿 （英语原版）

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In great families, when an advantageous place cannot be obtained,

either in possession, reversion, remainder, or expectancy, for

the young man who is growing up, it is a very general custom to

send him to sea.  The board, in imitation of so wise and salutary

an example, took counsel together on the expediency of shipping

off Oliver Twist, in some small trading vessel bound to a good

unhealthy port.  This suggested itself as the very best thing

that could possibly be done with him: the probability being, that

the skipper would flog him to death, in a playful mood, some day

after dinner, or would knock his brains out with an iron bar;

both pastimes being, as is pretty generally known, very favourite

and common recreations among gentleman of that class.  The more

the case presented itself to the board, in this point of view,

the more manifold the advantages of the step appeared; so, they

came to the conclusion that the only way of providing for Oliver

effectually, was to send him to sea without delay.

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Mr. Bumble had been despatched to make various preliminary

inquiries, with the view of finding out some captain or other who

wanted a cabin-boy without any friends; and was returning to the

workhouse to communicate the result of his mission; when he

encountered at the gate, no less a person than Mr. Sowerberry,

the parochial undertaker.

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Mr. Sowerberry was a tall gaunt, large-jointed man, attired in a

suit of threadbare black, with darned cotton stockings of the

same colour, and shoes to answer.  His features were not

naturally intended to wear a smiling aspect, but he was in

general rather given to professional jocosity.  His step was

elastic, and his face betokened inward pleasantry, as he advanced

to Mr. Bumble, and shook him cordially by the hand.

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'I have taken the measure of the two women that died last night,

Mr. Bumble,' said the undertaker.

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'You'll make your fortune, Mr. Sowerberry,' said the beadle, as

he thrust his thumb and forefinger into the proferred snuff-box

of the undertaker:  which was an ingenious little model of a

patent coffin.  'I say you'll make your fortune, Mr. Sowerberry,'

repeated Mr. Bumble, tapping the undertaker on the shoulder, in a

friendly manner, with his cane.

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'Think so?' said the undertaker in a tone which half admitted and

half disputed the probability of the event.  'The prices allowed

by the board are very small, Mr. Bumble.'

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'So are the coffins,' replied the beadle:  with precisely as near

an approach to a laugh as a great official ought to indulge in.

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Mr. Sowerberry was much tickled at this:  as of course he ought

to be; and laughed a long time without cessation.  'Well, well,

Mr. Bumble,' he said at length, 'there's no denying that, since

the new system of feeding has come in, the coffins are something

narrower and more shallow than they used to be; but we must have

some profit, Mr. Bumble.  Well-seasoned timber is an expensive

article, sir; and all the iron handles come, by canal, from

Birmingham.'

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'Well, well,' said Mr. Bumble, 'every trade has its drawbacks. A

fair profit is, of course, allowable.'

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'Of course, of course,' replied the undertaker; 'and if I don't

get a profit upon this or that particular article, why, I make it

up in the long-run, you see--he! he! he!'