Nicholas Nickleby

[فرناز]

سلااااااااااااااااااااااا ام بر زبان دوستان عزیز
بچه ها چند روزه که دارم یه کتاب جدید از Charles Dickens میخونم که خیلی جالبه.بهتون معرفیش میکنم اگه دوست داشتین بخونینش!

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خلاصه داستان
after his father`s death,Nicholas has no money,no job, and family to support.His only hope is uncle Ralph,a cold-hearted money lender with unpleasant, dangerous frieads.
can Nicholas and his family find happiness,or will his uncle manage to destroy them?

[فرناز]

CHAPTER 1

Introduces all the Rest


There once lived, in a sequestered part of the county of Devonshire,
one Mr Godfrey Nickleby: a worthy gentleman, who, taking it into his
head rather late in life that he must get married, and not being
young enough or rich enough to aspire to the hand of a lady of
fortune, had wedded an old flame out of mere attachment, who in her
turn had taken him for the same reason. Thus two people who cannot
afford to play cards for money, sometimes sit down to a quiet game
for love.

Some ill-conditioned persons who sneer at the life-matrimonial, may
perhaps suggest, in this place, that the good couple would be better
likened to two principals in a sparring match, who, when fortune is
low and backers scarce, will chivalrously set to, for the mere
pleasure of the buffeting; and in one respect indeed this comparison
would hold good; for, as the adventurous pair of the Fives' Court
will afterwards send round a hat, and trust to the bounty of the
lookers-on for the means of regaling themselves, so Mr Godfrey
Nickleby and HIS partner, the honeymoon being over, looked out
wistfully into the world, relying in no inconsiderable degree upon
chance for the improvement of their means. Mr Nickleby's income, at
the period of his marriage, fluctuated between sixty and eighty
pounds PER ANNUM.

There are people enough in the world, Heaven knows! and even in
London (where Mr Nickleby dwelt in those days) but few complaints
prevail, of the population being scanty. It is extraordinary how
long a man may look among the crowd without discovering the face of
a friend, but it is no less true. Mr Nickleby looked, and looked,
till his eyes became sore as his heart, but no friend appeared; and
when, growing tired of the search, he turned his eyes homeward, he
saw very little there to relieve his weary vision. A painter who
has gazed too long upon some glaring colour, refreshes his dazzled
sight by looking upon a darker and more sombre tint; but everything
that met Mr Nickleby's gaze wore so black and gloomy a hue, that he
would have been beyond description refreshed by the very reverse of
the contrast.

At length, after five years, when Mrs Nickleby had presented her
husband with a couple of sons, and that embarassed gentleman,
impressed with the necessity of making some provision for his
family, was seriously revolving in his mind a little commercial
speculation of insuring his life next quarter-day, and then falling
from the top of the Monument by accident, there came, one morning,
by the general post, a black-bordered letter to inform him how his
uncle, Mr Ralph Nickleby, was dead, and had left him the bulk of his
little property, amounting in all to five thousand pounds sterling.

As the deceased had taken no further notice of his nephew in his
lifetime, than sending to his eldest boy (who had been christened
after him, on desperate speculation) a silver spoon in a morocco
case, which, as he had not too much to eat with it, seemed a kind of
satire upon his having been born without that useful article of
plate in his mouth, Mr Godfrey Nickleby could, at first, scarcely
believe the tidings thus conveyed to him. On examination, however,
they turned out to be strictly correct. The amiable old gentleman,
it seemed, had intended to leave the whole to the Royal Humane
Society, and had indeed executed a will to that effect; but the
Institution, having been unfortunate enough, a few months before, to
save the life of a poor relation to whom he paid a weekly allowance
of three shillings and sixpence, he had, in a fit of very natural
exasperation, revoked the bequest in a codicil, and left it all to
Mr Godfrey Nickleby; with a special mention of his indignation, not
only against the society for saving the poor relation's life, but
against the poor relation also, for allowing himself to be saved.

With a portion of this property Mr Godfrey Nickleby purchased a
small farm, near Dawlish in Devonshire, whither he retired with his
wife and two children, to live upon the best interest he could get
for the rest of his money, and the little produce he could raise
from his land. The two prospered so well together that, when he
died, some fifteen years after this period, and some five after his
wife, he was enabled to leave, to his eldest son, Ralph, three
thousand pounds in cash, and to his youngest son, Nicholas, one
thousand and the farm, which was as small a landed estate as one
would desire to see.

These two brothers had been brought up together in a school at
Exeter; and, being accustomed to go home once a week, had often
heard, from their mother's lips, long accounts of their father's
sufferings in his days of poverty, and of their deceased uncle's
importance in his days of affluence: which recitals produced a very
different impression on the two: for, while the younger, who was of
a timid and retiring disposition, gleaned from thence nothing but
forewarnings to shun the great world and attach himself to the quiet
routine of a country life, Ralph, the elder, deduced from the often-
repeated tale the two great morals that riches are the only true
source of happiness and power, and that it is lawful and just to
compass their acquisition by all means short of felony. 'And,'
reasoned Ralph with himself, 'if no good came of my uncle's money
when he was alive, a great deal of good came of it after he was
dead, inasmuch as my father has got it now, and is saving it up for
me, which is a highly virtuous purpose; and, going back to the old
gentleman, good DID come of it to him too, for he had the pleasure
of thinking of it all his life long, and of being envied and courted
by all his family besides.' And Ralph always wound up these mental
soliloquies by arriving at the conclusion, that there was nothing
like money.

Not confining himself to theory, or permitting his faculties to
rust, even at that early age, in mere abstract speculations, this
promising lad commenced usurer on a limited scale at school; putting
out at good interest a small capital of slate-pencil and marbles,
and gradually extending his operations until they aspired to the
copper coinage of this realm, in which he speculated to considerable
advantage. Nor did he trouble his borrowers with abstract
calculations of figures, or references to ready-reckoners; his
simple rule of interest being all comprised in the one golden
sentence, 'two-pence for every half-penny,' which greatly simplified
the accounts, and which, as a familiar precept, more easily acquired
and retained in the memory than any known rule of arithmetic, cannot
be too strongly recommended to the notice of capitalists, both large
and small, and more especially of money-brokers and bill-
discounters. Indeed, to do these gentlemen justice, many of them
are to this day in the frequent habit of adopting it, with eminent
success.

In like manner, did young Ralph Nickleby avoid all those minute and
intricate calculations of odd days, which nobody who has worked sums
in simple-interest can fail to have found most embarrassing, by
establishing the one general rule that all sums of principal and
interest should be paid on pocket-money day, that is to say, on
Saturday: and that whether a loan were contracted on the Monday, or
on the Friday, the amount of interest should be, in both cases, the
same. Indeed he argued, and with great show of reason, that it
ought to be rather more for one day than for five, inasmuch as the
borrower might in the former case be very fairly presumed to be in
great extremity, otherwise he would not borrow at all with such odds
against him. This fact is interesting, as illustrating the secret
connection and sympathy which always exist between great minds.
Though Master Ralph Nickleby was not at that time aware of it, the
class of gentlemen before alluded to, proceed on just the same
principle in all their transactions.

From what we have said of this young gentleman, and the natural
admiration the reader will immediately conceive of his character, it
may perhaps be inferred that he is to be the hero of the work which
we shall presently begin. To set this point at rest, for once and
for ever, we hasten to undeceive them, and stride to its commencement.

On the death of his father, Ralph Nickleby, who had been some time
before placed in a mercantile house in London, applied himself
passionately to his old pursuit of money-getting, in which he
speedily became so buried and absorbed, that he quite forgot his
brother for many years; and if, at times, a recollection of his old
playfellow broke upon him through the haze in which he lived--for
gold conjures up a mist about a man, more destructive of all his old
senses and lulling to his feelings than the fumes of charcoal--it
brought along with it a companion thought, that if they were
intimate he would want to borrow money of him. So, Mr Ralph Nickleby
shrugged his shoulders, and said things were better as they were.

As for Nicholas, he lived a single man on the patrimonial estate
until he grew tired of living alone, and then he took to wife the
daughter of a neighbouring gentleman with a dower of one thousand
pounds. This good lady bore him two children, a son and a daughter,
and when the son was about nineteen, and the daughter fourteen, as
near as we can guess--impartial records of young ladies' ages
being, before the passing of the new act, nowhere preserved in the
registries of this country--Mr Nickleby looked about him for the
means of repairing his capital, now sadly reduced by this increase
in his family, and the expenses of their education.

'Speculate with it,' said Mrs Nickleby.

'Spec--u--late, my dear?' said Mr Nickleby, as though in doubt.

'Why not?' asked Mrs Nickleby.

'Because, my dear, if we SHOULD lose it,' rejoined Mr Nickleby, who
was a slow and time-taking speaker, 'if we SHOULD lose it, we shall
no longer be able to live, my dear.'

'Fiddle,' said Mrs Nickleby.

'I am not altogether sure of that, my dear,' said Mr Nickleby.

'There's Nicholas,' pursued the lady, 'quite a young man--it's time
he was in the way of doing something for himself; and Kate too, poor
girl, without a penny in the world. Think of your brother! Would
he be what he is, if he hadn't speculated?'

'That's true,' replied Mr Nickleby. 'Very good, my dear. Yes. I
WILL speculate, my dear.'

Speculation is a round game; the players see little or nothing of
their cards at first starting; gains MAY be great--and so may
losses. The run of luck went against Mr Nickleby. A mania
prevailed, a bubble burst, four stock-brokers took villa residences
at Florence, four hundred nobodies were ruined, and among them Mr
Nickleby.

'The very house I live in,' sighed the poor gentleman, 'may be taken
from me tomorrow. Not an article of my old furniture, but will be
sold to strangers!'

The last reflection hurt him so much, that he took at once to his
bed; apparently resolved to keep that, at all events.

'Cheer up, sir!' said the apothecary.

'You mustn't let yourself be cast down, sir,' said the nurse.

'Such things happen every day,' remarked the lawyer.

'And it is very sinful to rebel against them,' whispered the
clergyman.

'And what no man with a family ought to do,' added the neighbours.

Mr Nickleby shook his head, and motioning them all out of the room,
embraced his wife and children, and having pressed them by turns to
his languidly beating heart, sunk exhausted on his pillow. They
were concerned to find that his reason went astray after this; for
he babbled, for a long time, about the generosity and goodness of
his brother, and the merry old times when they were at school
together. This fit of wandering past, he solemnly commended them to
One who never deserted the widow or her fatherless children, and,
smiling gently on them, turned upon his face, and observed, that he
thought he could fall asleep.

[فرناز]

CHAPTER 2

Of Mr Ralph Nickleby, and his Establishments, and his Undertakings,
and of a great Joint Stock Company of vast national Importance


Mr Ralph Nickleby was not, strictly speaking, what you would call a
merchant, neither was he a banker, nor an attorney, nor a special
pleader, nor a notary. He was certainly not a tradesman, and still
less could he lay any claim to the title of a professional
gentleman; for it would have been impossible to mention any
recognised profession to which he belonged. Nevertheless, as he
lived in a spacious house in Golden Square, which, in addition to a
brass plate upon the street-door, had another brass plate two sizes
and a half smaller upon the left hand door-post, surrounding a brass
model of an infant's fist grasping a fragment of a skewer, and
displaying the word 'Office,' it was clear that Mr Ralph Nickleby
did, or pretended to do, business of some kind; and the fact, if it
required any further circumstantial evidence, was abundantly
demonstrated by the diurnal attendance, between the hours of half-
past nine and five, of a sallow-faced man in rusty brown, who sat
upon an uncommonly hard stool in a species of butler's pantry at the
end of the passage, and always had a pen behind his ear when he
answered the bell.

Although a few members of the graver professions live about Golden
Square, it is not exactly in anybody's way to or from anywhere. It
is one of the squares that have been; a quarter of the town that has
gone down in the world, and taken to letting lodgings. Many of its
first and second floors are let, furnished, to single gentlemen; and
it takes boarders besides. It is a great resort of foreigners. The
dark-complexioned men who wear large rings, and heavy watch-guards,
and bushy whiskers, and who congregate under the Opera Colonnade,
and about the box-office in the season, between four and five in the
afternoon, when they give away the orders,--all live in Golden
Square, or within a street of it. Two or three violins and a wind
instrument from the Opera band reside within its precincts. Its
boarding-houses are musical, and the notes of pianos and harps float
in the evening time round the head of the mournful statue, the
guardian genius of a little wilderness of shrubs, in the centre of
the square. On a summer's night, windows are thrown open, and
groups of swarthy moustached men are seen by the passer-by, lounging
at the casements, and smoking fearfully. Sounds of gruff voices
practising vocal music invade the evening's silence; and the fumes
of choice tobacco scent the air. There, snuff and cigars, and
German pipes and flutes, and violins and violoncellos, divide the
supremacy between them. It is the region of song and smoke. Street
bands are on their mettle in Golden Square; and itinerant glee-
singers quaver involuntarily as they raise their voices within its
boundaries.

This would not seem a spot very well adapted to the transaction of
business; but Mr Ralph Nickleby had lived there, notwithstanding,
for many years, and uttered no complaint on that score. He knew
nobody round about, and nobody knew him, although he enjoyed the
reputation of being immensely rich. The tradesmen held that he was
a sort of lawyer, and the other neighbours opined that he was a kind
of general agent; both of which guesses were as correct and definite
as guesses about other people's affairs usually are, or need to be.

Mr Ralph Nickleby sat in his private office one morning, ready
dressed to walk abroad. He wore a bottle-green spencer over a blue
coat; a white waistcoat, grey mixture pantaloons, and Wellington
boots drawn over them. The corner of a small-plaited shirt-frill
struggled out, as if insisting to show itself, from between his chin
and the top button of his spencer; and the latter garment was not
made low enough to conceal a long gold watch-chain, composed of a
series of plain rings, which had its beginning at the handle of a
gold repeater in Mr Nickleby's pocket, and its termination in two
little keys: one belonging to the watch itself, and the other to
some patent padlock. He wore a sprinkling of powder upon his head,
as if to make himself look benevolent; but if that were his purpose,
he would perhaps have done better to powder his countenance also,
for there was something in its very wrinkles, and in his cold
restless eye, which seemed to tell of cunning that would announce
itself in spite of him. However this might be, there he was; and as
he was all alone, neither the powder, nor the wrinkles, nor the
eyes, had the smallest effect, good or bad, upon anybody just then,
and are consequently no business of ours just now.

Mr Nickleby closed an account-book which lay on his desk, and,
throwing himself back in his chair, gazed with an air of abstraction
through the dirty window. Some London houses have a melancholy
little plot of ground behind them, usually fenced in by four high
whitewashed walls, and frowned upon by stacks of chimneys: in which
there withers on, from year to year, a crippled tree, that makes a
show of putting forth a few leaves late in autumn when other trees
shed theirs, and, drooping in the effort, lingers on, all crackled
and smoke-dried, till the following season, when it repeats the same
process, and perhaps, if the weather be particularly genial, even
tempts some rheumatic sparrow to chirrup in its branches. People
sometimes call these dark yards 'gardens'; it is not supposed that
they were ever planted, but rather that they are pieces of
unreclaimed land, with the withered vegetation of the original
brick-field. No man thinks of walking in this desolate place, or of
turning it to any account. A few hampers, half-a-dozen broken
bottles, and such-like rubbish, may be thrown there, when the tenant
first moves in, but nothing more; and there they remain until he
goes away again: the damp straw taking just as long to moulder as it
thinks proper: and mingling with the scanty box, and stunted
everbrowns, and broken flower-pots, that are scattered mournfully
about--a prey to 'blacks' and dirt.

It was into a place of this kind that Mr Ralph Nickleby gazed, as he
sat with his hands in his pockets looking out of the window. He had
fixed his eyes upon a distorted fir tree, planted by some former
tenant in a tub that had once been green, and left there, years
before, to rot away piecemeal. There was nothing very inviting in
the object, but Mr Nickleby was wrapt in a brown study, and sat
contemplating it with far greater attention than, in a more
conscious mood, he would have deigned to bestow upon the rarest
exotic. At length, his eyes wandered to a little dirty window on
the left, through which the face of the clerk was dimly visible;
that worthy chancing to look up, he beckoned him to attend.

In obedience to this summons the clerk got off the high stool (to
which he had communicated a high polish by countless gettings off
and on), and presented himself in Mr Nickleby's room. He was a tall
man of middle age, with two goggle eyes whereof one was a fixture, a
rubicund nose, a cadaverous face, and a suit of clothes (if the term
be allowable when they suited him not at all) much the worse for
wear, very much too small, and placed upon such a short allowance of
buttons that it was marvellous how he contrived to keep them on.

'Was that half-past twelve, Noggs?' said Mr Nickleby, in a sharp and
grating voice.

'Not more than five-and-twenty minutes by the--' Noggs was going to
add public-house clock, but recollecting himself, substituted
'regular time.'

'My watch has stopped,' said Mr Nickleby; 'I don't know from what
cause.'

'Not wound up,' said Noggs.

'Yes it is,' said Mr Nickleby.

'Over-wound then,' rejoined Noggs.

'That can't very well be,' observed Mr Nickleby.

'Must be,' said Noggs.

'Well!' said Mr Nickleby, putting the repeater back in his pocket;
'perhaps it is.'

Noggs gave a peculiar grunt, as was his custom at the end of all
disputes with his master, to imply that he (Noggs) triumphed; and
(as he rarely spoke to anybody unless somebody spoke to him) fell
into a grim silence, and rubbed his hands slowly over each other:
cracking the joints of his fingers, and squeezing them into all
possible distortions. The incessant performance of this routine on
every occasion, and the communication of a fixed and rigid look to
his unaffected eye, so as to make it uniform with the other, and to
render it impossible for anybody to determine where or at what he
was looking, were two among the numerous peculiarities of Mr Noggs,
which struck an inexperienced observer at first sight.

'I am going to the London Tavern this morning,' said Mr Nickleby.

'Public meeting?' inquired Noggs.

Mr Nickleby nodded. 'I expect a letter from the solicitor
respecting that mortgage of Ruddle's. If it comes at all, it will
be here by the two o'clock delivery. I shall leave the city about
that time and walk to Charing Cross on the left-hand side of the
way; if there are any letters, come and meet me, and bring them with
you.'

Noggs nodded; and as he nodded, there came a ring at the office
bell. The master looked up from his papers, and the clerk calmly
remained in a stationary position.

'The bell,' said Noggs, as though in explanation. 'At home?'

'Yes.'

'To anybody?'

'Yes.'

'To the tax-gatherer?'

'No! Let him call again.'

Noggs gave vent to his usual grunt, as much as to say 'I thought
so!' and, the ring being repeated, went to the door, whence he
presently returned, ushering in, by the name of Mr Bonney, a pale
gentleman in a violent hurry, who, with his hair standing up in
great disorder all over his head, and a very narrow white cravat
tied loosely round his throat, looked as if he had been knocked up
in the night and had not dressed himself since.

'My dear Nickleby,' said the gentleman, taking off a white hat which
was so full of papers that it would scarcely stick upon his head,
'there's not a moment to lose; I have a cab at the door. Sir
Matthew Pupker takes the chair, and three members of Parliament are
positively coming. I have seen two of them safely out of bed. The
third, who was at Crockford's all night, has just gone home to put a
clean shirt on, and take a bottle or two of soda water, and will
certainly be with us, in time to address the meeting. He is a
little excited by last night, but never mind that; he always speaks
the stronger for it.'

'It seems to promise pretty well,' said Mr Ralph Nickleby, whose
deliberate manner was strongly opposed to the vivacity of the other
man of business.

'Pretty well!' echoed Mr Bonney. 'It's the finest idea that was
ever started. "United Metropolitan Improved Hot Muffin and Crumpet
Baking and Punctual Delivery Company. Capital, five millions, in
five hundred thousand shares of ten pounds each." Why the very name
will get the shares up to a premium in ten days.'

'And when they ARE at a premium,' said Mr Ralph Nickleby, smiling.

'When they are, you know what to do with them as well as any man
alive, and how to back quietly out at the right time,' said Mr
Bonney, slapping the capitalist familiarly on the shoulder. 'By-
the-bye, what a VERY remarkable man that clerk of yours is.'

'Yes, poor devil!' replied Ralph, drawing on his gloves. 'Though
Newman Noggs kept his horses and hounds once.'

'Ay, ay?' said the other carelessly.

'Yes,' continued Ralph, 'and not many years ago either; but he
squandered his money, invested it anyhow, borrowed at interest, and
in short made first a thorough fool of himself, and then a beggar.
He took to drinking, and had a touch of paralysis, and then came
here to borrow a pound, as in his better days I had--'

'Done business with him,' said Mr Bonney with a meaning look.

'Just so,' replied Ralph; 'I couldn't lend it, you know.'

'Oh, of course not.'

'But as I wanted a clerk just then, to open the door and so forth, I
took him out of charity, and he has remained with me ever since. He
is a little mad, I think,' said Mr Nickleby, calling up a charitable
look, 'but he is useful enough, poor creature--useful enough.'

The kind-hearted gentleman omitted to add that Newman Noggs, being
utterly destitute, served him for rather less than the usual wages
of a boy of thirteen; and likewise failed to mention in his hasty
chronicle, that his eccentric taciturnity rendered him an especially
valuable person in a place where much business was done, of which it
was desirable no mention should be made out of doors. The other
gentleman was plainly impatient to be gone, however, and as they
hurried into the hackney cabriolet immediately afterwards, perhaps
Mr Nickleby forgot to mention circumstances so unimportant.

There was a great bustle in Bishopsgate Street Within, as they drew
up, and (it being a windy day) half-a-dozen men were tacking across
the road under a press of paper, bearing gigantic announcements that
a Public Meeting would be holden at one o'clock precisely, to take
into consideration the propriety of petitioning Parliament in favour
of the United Metropolitan Improved Hot Muffin and Crumpet Baking
and Punctual Delivery Company, capital five millions, in five
hundred thousand shares of ten pounds each; which sums were duly set
forth in fat black figures of considerable size. Mr Bonney elbowed
his way briskly upstairs, receiving in his progress many low bows
from the waiters who stood on the landings to show the way; and,
followed by Mr Nickleby, dived into a suite of apartments behind the
great public room: in the second of which was a business-looking
table, and several business-looking people.

'Hear!' cried a gentleman with a double chin, as Mr Bonney presented
himself. 'Chair, gentlemen, chair!'

The new-comers were received with universal approbation, and Mr
Bonney bustled up to the top of the table, took off his hat, ran his
fingers through his hair, and knocked a hackney-coachman's knock on
the table with a little hammer: whereat several gentlemen cried
'Hear!' and nodded slightly to each other, as much as to say what
spirited conduct that was. Just at this moment, a waiter, feverish
with agitation, tore into the room, and throwing the door open with
a crash, shouted 'Sir Matthew Pupker!'

The committee stood up and clapped their hands for joy, and while
they were clapping them, in came Sir Matthew Pupker, attended by two
live members of Parliament, one Irish and one Scotch, all smiling
and bowing, and looking so pleasant that it seemed a perfect marvel
how any man could have the heart to vote against them. Sir Matthew
Pupker especially, who had a little round head with a flaxen wig on
the top of it, fell into such a paroxysm of bows, that the wig
threatened to be jerked off, every instant. When these symptoms had
in some degree subsided, the gentlemen who were on speaking terms
with Sir Matthew Pupker, or the two other members, crowded round
them in three little groups, near one or other of which the
gentlemen who were NOT on speaking terms with Sir Matthew Pupker or
the two other members, stood lingering, and smiling, and rubbing
their hands, in the desperate hope of something turning up which
might bring them into notice. All this time, Sir Matthew Pupker and
the two other members were relating to their separate circles what
the intentions of government were, about taking up the bill; with a
full account of what the government had said in a whisper the last
time they dined with it, and how the government had been observed to
wink when it said so; from which premises they were at no loss to
draw the conclusion, that if the government had one object more at
heart than another, that one object was the welfare and advantage of
the United Metropolitan Improved Hot Muffin and Crumpet Baking and
Punctual Delivery Company.

Meanwhile, and pending the arrangement of the proceedings, and a
fair division of the speechifying, the public in the large room were
eyeing, by turns, the empty platform, and the ladies in the Music
Gallery. In these amusements the greater portion of them had been
occupied for a couple of hours before, and as the most agreeable
diversions pall upon the taste on a too protracted enjoyment of
them, the sterner spirits now began to hammer the floor with their
boot-heels, and to express their dissatisfaction by various hoots
and cries. These vocal exertions, emanating from the people who had
been there longest, naturally proceeded from those who were nearest
to the platform and furthest from the policemen in attendance, who
having no great mind to fight their way through the crowd, but
entertaining nevertheless a praiseworthy desire to do something to
quell the disturbance, immediately began to drag forth, by the coat
tails and collars, all the quiet people near the door; at the same
time dealing out various smart and tingling blows with their
truncheons, after the manner of that ingenious actor, Mr Punch:
whose brilliant example, both in the fashion of his weapons and
their use, this branch of the executive occasionally follows.

Several very exciting skirmishes were in progress, when a loud shout
attracted the attention even of the belligerents, and then there
poured on to the platform, from a door at the side, a long line of
gentlemen with their hats off, all looking behind them, and uttering
vociferous cheers; the cause whereof was sufficiently explained when
Sir Matthew Pupker and the two other real members of Parliament came
to the front, amidst deafening shouts, and testified to each other
in dumb motions that they had never seen such a glorious sight as
that, in the whole course of thier public career.

At length, and at last, the assembly left off shouting, but Sir
Matthew Pupker being voted into the chair, they underwent a relapse
which lasted five minutes. This over, Sir Matthew Pupker went on to
say what must be his feelings on that great occasion, and what must
be that occasion in the eyes of the world, and what must be the
intelligence of his fellow-countrymen before him, and what must be
the wealth and respectability of his honourable friends behind him,
and lastly, what must be the importance to the wealth, the
happiness, the comfort, the liberty, the very existence of a free
and great people, of such an Institution as the United Metropolitan
Improved Hot Muffin and Crumpet Baking and Punctual Delivery
Company!

Mr Bonney then presented himself to move the first resolution; and
having run his right hand through his hair, and planted his left, in
an easy manner, in his ribs, he consigned his hat to the care of the
gentleman with the double chin (who acted as a species of bottle-
holder to the orators generally), and said he would read to them the
first resolution--'That this meeting views with alarm and
apprehension, the existing state of the Muffin Trade in this
Metropolis and its neighbourhood; that it considers the Muffin Boys,
as at present constituted, wholly underserving the confidence of the
public; and that it deems the whole Muffin system alike prejudicial
to the health and morals of the people, and subversive of the best
interests of a great commercial and mercantile community.' The
honourable gentleman made a speech which drew tears from the eyes of
the ladies, and awakened the liveliest emotions in every individual
present. He had visited the houses of the poor in the various
districts of London, and had found them destitute of the slightest
vestige of a muffin, which there appeared too much reason to believe
some of these indigent persons did not taste from year's end to
year's end. He had found that among muffin-sellers there existed
drunkenness, debauchery, and profligacy, which he attributed to the
debasing nature of their employment as at present exercised; he had
found the same vices among the poorer class of people who ought to
be muffin consumers; and this he attributed to the despair
engendered by their being placed beyond the reach of that nutritious
article, which drove them to seek a false stimulant in intoxicating
liquors. He would undertake to prove before a committee of the
House of Commons, that there existed a combination to keep up the
price of muffins, and to give the bellmen a monopoly; he would prove
it by bellmen at the bar of that House; and he would also prove,
that these men corresponded with each other by secret words and
signs as 'Snooks,' 'Walker,' 'Ferguson,' 'Is Murphy right?' and many
others. It was this melancholy state of things that the Company
proposed to correct; firstly, by prohibiting, under heavy penalties,
all private muffin trading of every description; secondly, by
themselves supplying the public generally, and the poor at their own
homes, with muffins of first quality at reduced prices. It was with
this object that a bill had been introduced into Parliament by their
patriotic chairman Sir Matthew Pupker; it was this bill that they
had met to support; it was the supporters of this bill who would
confer undying brightness and splendour upon England, under the name
of the United Metropolitan Improved Hot Muffin and Crumpet Baking
and Punctual Delivery Company; he would add, with a capital of Five
Millions, in five hundred thousand shares of ten pounds each.

Mr Ralph Nickleby seconded the resolution, and another gentleman
having moved that it be amended by the insertion of the words 'and
crumpet' after the word 'muffin,' whenever it occurred, it was
carried triumphantly. Only one man in the crowd cried 'No!' and he
was promptly taken into custody, and straightway borne off.

The second resolution, which recognised the expediency of
immediately abolishing 'all muffin (or crumpet) sellers, all traders
in muffins (or crumpets) of whatsoever description, whether male or
female, boys or men, ringing hand-bells or otherwise,' was moved by
a grievous gentleman of semi-clerical appearance, who went at once
into such deep pathetics, that he knocked the first speaker clean
out of the course in no time. You might have heard a pin fall--a
pin! a feather--as he described the cruelties inflicted on muffin
boys by their masters, which he very wisely urged were in themselves
a sufficient reason for the establishment of that inestimable
company. It seemed that the unhappy youths were nightly turned out
into the wet streets at the most inclement periods of the year, to
wander about, in darkness and rain--or it might be hail or snow--for
hours together, without shelter, food, or warmth; and let the public
never forget upon the latter point, that while the muffins were
provided with warm clothing and blankets, the boys were wholly
unprovided for, and left to their own miserable resources. (Shame!)
The honourable gentleman related one case of a muffin boy, who
having been exposed to this inhuman and barbarous system for no less
than five years, at length fell a victim to a cold in the head,
beneath which he gradually sunk until he fell into a perspiration
and recovered; this he could vouch for, on his own authority, but he
had heard (and he had no reason to doubt the fact) of a still more
heart-rending and appalling circumstance. He had heard of the case
of an orphan muffin boy, who, having been run over by a hackney
carriage, had been removed to the hospital, had undergone the
amputation of his leg below the knee, and was now actually pursuing
his occupation on crutches. Fountain of justice, were these things
to last!

This was the department of the subject that took the meeting, and
this was the style of speaking to enlist their sympathies. The men
shouted; the ladies wept into their pocket-handkerchiefs till they
were moist, and waved them till they were dry; the excitement was
tremendous; and Mr Nickleby whispered his friend that the shares
were thenceforth at a premium of five-and-twenty per cent.

The resolution was, of course, carried with loud acclamations, every
man holding up both hands in favour of it, as he would in his
enthusiasm have held up both legs also, if he could have
conveniently accomplished it. This done, the draft of the proposed
petition was read at length: and the petition said, as all petitions
DO say, that the petitioners were very humble, and the petitioned
very honourable, and the object very virtuous; therefore (said the
petition) the bill ought to be passed into a law at once, to the
everlasting honour and glory of that most honourable and glorious
Commons of England in Parliament assembled.

Then, the gentleman who had been at Crockford's all night, and who
looked something the worse about the eyes in consequence, came
forward to tell his fellow-countrymen what a speech he meant to make
in favour of that petition whenever it should be presented, and how
desperately he meant to taunt the parliament if they rejected the
bill; and to inform them also, that he regretted his honourable
friends had not inserted a clause rendering the purchase of muffins
and crumpets compulsory upon all classes of the community, which he
--opposing all half-measures, and preferring to go the extreme
animal-- pledged himself to propose and divide upon, in committee.
After announcing this determination, the honourable gentleman grew
jocular; and as patent boots, lemon-coloured kid gloves, and a fur
coat collar, assist jokes materially, there was immense laughter and
much cheering, and moreover such a brilliant display of ladies'
pocket-handkerchiefs, as threw the grievous gentleman quite into the
shade.

And when the petition had been read and was about to be adopted,
there came forward the Irish member (who was a young gentleman of
ardent temperament,) with such a speech as only an Irish member can
make, breathing the true soul and spirit of poetry, and poured forth
with such fervour, that it made one warm to look at him; in the
course whereof, he told them how he would demand the extension of
that great boon to his native country; how he would claim for her
equal rights in the muffin laws as in all other laws; and how he yet
hoped to see the day when crumpets should be toasted in her lowly
cabins, and muffin bells should ring in her rich green valleys.
And, after him, came the Scotch member, with various pleasant
allusions to the probable amount of profits, which increased the
good humour that the poetry had awakened; and all the speeches put
together did exactly what they were intended to do, and established
in the hearers' minds that there was no speculation so promising, or
at the same time so praiseworthy, as the United Metropolitan
Improved Hot Muffin and Crumpet Baking and Punctual Delivery
Company.

So, the petition in favour of the bill was agreed upon, and the
meeting adjourned with acclamations, and Mr Nickleby and the other
directors went to the office to lunch, as they did every day at
half-past one o'clock; and to remunerate themselves for which
trouble, (as the company was yet in its infancy,) they only charged
three guineas each man for every such attendance.

[فرناز]

CHAPTER 3

Mr Ralph Nickleby receives Sad Tidings of his Brother, but bears up
nobly against the Intelligence communicated to him. The Reader is
informed how he liked Nicholas, who is herein introduced, and how
kindly he proposed to make his Fortune at once


Having rendered his zealous assistance towards dispatching the
lunch, with all that promptitude and energy which are among the most
important qualities that men of business can possess, Mr Ralph
Nickleby took a cordial farewell of his fellow-speculators, and bent
his steps westward in unwonted good humour. As he passed St Paul's
he stepped aside into a doorway to set his watch, and with his hand
on the key and his eye on the cathedral dial, was intent upon so
doing, when a man suddenly stopped before him. It was Newman Noggs.

'Ah! Newman,' said Mr Nickleby, looking up as he pursued his
occupation. 'The letter about the mortgage has come, has it? I
thought it would.'

'Wrong,' replied Newman.

'What! and nobody called respecting it?' inquired Mr Nickleby,
pausing. Noggs shook his head.

'What HAS come, then?' inquired Mr Nickleby.

'I have,' said Newman.

'What else?' demanded the master, sternly.

'This,' said Newman, drawing a sealed letter slowly from his pocket.
'Post-mark, Strand, black wax, black border, woman's hand, C. N. in
the corner.'

'Black wax?' said Mr Nickleby, glancing at the letter. 'I know
something of that hand, too. Newman, I shouldn't be surprised if my
brother were dead.'

'I don't think you would,' said Newman, quietly.

'Why not, sir?' demanded Mr Nickleby.

'You never are surprised,' replied Newman, 'that's all.'

Mr Nickleby snatched the letter from his assistant, and fixing a
cold look upon him, opened, read it, put it in his pocket, and
having now hit the time to a second, began winding up his watch.

'It is as I expected, Newman,' said Mr Nickleby, while he was thus
engaged. 'He IS dead. Dear me! Well, that's sudden thing. I
shouldn't have thought it, really.' With these touching expressions
of sorrow, Mr Nickleby replaced his watch in his fob, and, fitting
on his gloves to a nicety, turned upon his way, and walked slowly
westward with his hands behind him.

'Children alive?' inquired Noggs, stepping up to him.

'Why, that's the very thing,' replied Mr Nickleby, as though his
thoughts were about them at that moment. 'They are both alive.'

'Both!' repeated Newman Noggs, in a low voice.

'And the widow, too,' added Mr Nickleby, 'and all three in London,
confound them; all three here, Newman.'

Newman fell a little behind his master, and his face was curiously
twisted as by a spasm; but whether of paralysis, or grief, or inward
laughter, nobody but himself could possibly explain. The expression
of a man's face is commonly a help to his thoughts, or glossary on
his speech; but the countenance of Newman Noggs, in his ordinary
moods, was a problem which no stretch of ingenuity could solve.

'Go home!' said Mr Nickleby, after they had walked a few paces:
looking round at the clerk as if he were his dog. The words were
scarcely uttered when Newman darted across the road, slunk among the
crowd, and disappeared in an instant.

'Reasonable, certainly!' muttered Mr Nickleby to himself, as he
walked on, 'very reasonable! My brother never did anything for me,
and I never expected it; the breath is no sooner out of his body
than I am to be looked to, as the support of a great hearty woman,
and a grown boy and girl. What are they to me! I never saw them.'

Full of these, and many other reflections of a similar kind, Mr
Nickleby made the best of his way to the Strand, and, referring to
his letter as if to ascertain the number of the house he wanted,
stopped at a private door about half-way down that crowded
thoroughfare.

A miniature painter lived there, for there was a large gilt frame
screwed upon the street-door, in which were displayed, upon a black
velvet ground, two portraits of naval dress coats with faces looking
out of them, and telescopes attached; one of a young gentleman in a
very vermilion uniform, flourishing a sabre; and one of a literary
character with a high forehead, a pen and ink, six books, and a
curtain. There was, moreover, a touching representation of a young
lady reading a manuscript in an unfathomable forest, and a charming
whole length of a large-headed little boy, sitting on a stool with
his legs fore-shortened to the size of salt-spoons. Besides these
works of art, there were a great many heads of old ladies and
gentlemen smirking at each other out of blue and brown skies, and an
elegantly written card of terms with an embossed border.

Mr Nickleby glanced at these frivolities with great contempt, and
gave a double knock, which, having been thrice repeated, was
answered by a servant girl with an uncommonly dirty face.

'Is Mrs Nickleby at home, girl?' demanded Ralph sharply.

'Her name ain't Nickleby,' said the girl, 'La Creevy, you mean.'

Mr Nickleby looked very indignant at the handmaid on being thus
corrected, and demanded with much asperity what she meant; which she
was about to state, when a female voice proceeding from a
perpendicular staircase at the end of the passage, inquired who was
wanted.

'Mrs Nickleby,' said Ralph.

'It's the second floor, Hannah,' said the same voice; 'what a stupid
thing you are! Is the second floor at home?'

'Somebody went out just now, but I think it was the attic which had
been a cleaning of himself,' replied the girl.

'You had better see,' said the invisible female. 'Show the
gentleman where the bell is, and tell him he mustn't knock double
knocks for the second floor; I can't allow a knock except when the
bell's broke, and then it must be two single ones.'

'Here,' said Ralph, walking in without more parley, 'I beg your
pardon; is that Mrs La what's-her-name?'

'Creevy--La Creevy,' replied the voice, as a yellow headdress bobbed
over the banisters.

'I'll speak to you a moment, ma'am, with your leave,' said Ralph.

The voice replied that the gentleman was to walk up; but he had
walked up before it spoke, and stepping into the first floor, was
received by the wearer of the yellow head-dress, who had a gown to
correspond, and was of much the same colour herself. Miss La Creevy
was a mincing young lady of fifty, and Miss La Creevy's apartment
was the gilt frame downstairs on a larger scale and something
dirtier.

'Hem!' said Miss La Creevy, coughing delicately behind her black
silk mitten. 'A miniature, I presume. A very strongly-marked
countenance for the purpose, sir. Have you ever sat before?'

'You mistake my purpose, I see, ma'am,' replied Mr Nickleby, in his
usual blunt fashion. 'I have no money to throw away on miniatures,
ma'am, and nobody to give one to (thank God) if I had. Seeing you
on the stairs, I wanted to ask a question of you, about some lodgers
here.'

Miss La Creevy coughed once more--this cough was to conceal her
disappointment--and said, 'Oh, indeed!'

'I infer from what you said to your servant, that the floor above
belongs to you, ma'am,' said Mr Nickleby.

Yes it did, Miss La Creevy replied. The upper part of the house
belonged to her, and as she had no necessity for the second-floor
rooms just then, she was in the habit of letting them. Indeed,
there was a lady from the country and her two children in them, at
that present speaking.

'A widow, ma'am?' said Ralph.

'Yes, she is a widow,' replied the lady.

'A POOR widow, ma'am,' said Ralph, with a powerful emphasis on that
little adjective which conveys so much.

'Well, I'm afraid she IS poor,' rejoined Miss La Creevy.

'I happen to know that she is, ma'am,' said Ralph. 'Now, what
business has a poor widow in such a house as this, ma'am?'

'Very true,' replied Miss La Creevy, not at all displeased with this
implied compliment to the apartments. 'Exceedingly true.'

'I know her circumstances intimately, ma'am,' said Ralph; 'in fact,
I am a relation of the family; and I should recommend you not to
keep them here, ma'am.'

'I should hope, if there was any incompatibility to meet the
pecuniary obligations,' said Miss La Creevy with another cough,
'that the lady's family would--'

'No they wouldn't, ma'am,' interrupted Ralph, hastily. 'Don't think
it.'

'If I am to understand that,' said Miss La Creevy, 'the case wears a
very different appearance.'

'You may understand it then, ma'am,' said Ralph, 'and make your
arrangements accordingly. I am the family, ma'am--at least, I
believe I am the only relation they have, and I think it right that
you should know I can't support them in their extravagances. How
long have they taken these lodgings for?'

'Only from week to week,' replied Miss La Creevy. 'Mrs Nickleby
paid the first week in advance.'

'Then you had better get them out at the end of it,' said Ralph.
'They can't do better than go back to the country, ma'am; they are
in everybody's way here.'

'Certainly,' said Miss La Creevy, rubbing her hands, 'if Mrs
Nickleby took the apartments without the means of paying for them,
it was very unbecoming a lady.'

'Of course it was, ma'am,' said Ralph.

'And naturally,' continued Miss La Creevy, 'I who am, AT PRESENT--
hem--an unprotected female, cannot afford to lose by the apartments.'

'Of course you can't, ma'am,' replied Ralph.

'Though at the same time,' added Miss La Creevy, who was plainly
wavering between her good-nature and her interest, 'I have nothing
whatever to say against the lady, who is extremely pleasant and
affable, though, poor thing, she seems terribly low in her spirits;
nor against the young people either, for nicer, or better-behaved
young people cannot be.'

'Very well, ma'am,' said Ralph, turning to the door, for these
encomiums on poverty irritated him; 'I have done my duty, and
perhaps more than I ought: of course nobody will thank me for saying
what I have.'

'I am sure I am very much obliged to you at least, sir,' said Miss
La Creevy in a gracious manner. 'Would you do me the favour to look
at a few specimens of my portrait painting?'

'You're very good, ma'am,' said Mr Nickleby, making off with great
speed; 'but as I have a visit to pay upstairs, and my time is
precious, I really can't.'

'At any other time when you are passing, I shall be most happy,'
said Miss La Creevy. 'Perhaps you will have the kindness to take a
card of terms with you? Thank you--good-morning!'

'Good-morning, ma'am,' said Ralph, shutting the door abruptly after
him to prevent any further conversation. 'Now for my sister-in-law.
Bah!'

Climbing up another perpendicular flight, composed with great
mechanical ingenuity of nothing but corner stairs, Mr Ralph Nickleby
stopped to take breath on the landing, when he was overtaken by the
handmaid, whom the politeness of Miss La Creevy had dispatched to
announce him, and who had apparently been making a variety of
unsuccessful attempts, since their last interview, to wipe her dirty
face clean, upon an apron much dirtier.

'What name?' said the girl.

'Nickleby,' replied Ralph.

'Oh! Mrs Nickleby,' said the girl, throwing open the door, 'here's
Mr Nickleby.'

A lady in deep mourning rose as Mr Ralph Nickleby entered, but
appeared incapable of advancing to meet him, and leant upon the arm
of a slight but very beautiful girl of about seventeen, who had been
sitting by her. A youth, who appeared a year or two older, stepped
forward and saluted Ralph as his uncle.

'Oh,' growled Ralph, with an ill-favoured frown, 'you are Nicholas,
I suppose?'

'That is my name, sir,' replied the youth.

'Put my hat down,' said Ralph, imperiously. 'Well, ma'am, how do
you do? You must bear up against sorrow, ma'am; I always do.'

'Mine was no common loss!' said Mrs Nickleby, applying her
handkerchief to her eyes.

'It was no UNcommon loss, ma'am,' returned Ralph, as he coolly
unbuttoned his spencer. 'Husbands die every day, ma'am, and wives
too.'

'And brothers also, sir,' said Nicholas, with a glance of indignation.

'Yes, sir, and puppies, and pug-dogs likewise,' replied his uncle,
taking a chair. 'You didn't mention in your letter what my
brother's complaint was, ma'am.'

'The doctors could attribute it to no particular disease,' said Mrs
Nickleby; shedding tears. 'We have too much reason to fear that he
died of a broken heart.'

'Pooh!' said Ralph, 'there's no such thing. I can understand a
man's dying of a broken neck, or suffering from a broken arm, or a
broken head, or a broken leg, or a broken nose; but a broken heart!
--nonsense, it's the cant of the day. If a man can't pay his debts,
he dies of a broken heart, and his widow's a martyr.'

'Some people, I believe, have no hearts to break,' observed
Nicholas, quietly.

'How old is this boy, for God's sake?' inquired Ralph, wheeling back
his chair, and surveying his nephew from head to foot with intense
scorn.

'Nicholas is very nearly nineteen,' replied the widow.

'Nineteen, eh!' said Ralph; 'and what do you mean to do for your
bread, sir?'

'Not to live upon my mother,' replied Nicholas, his heart swelling
as he spoke.

'You'd have little enough to live upon, if you did,' retorted the
uncle, eyeing him contemptuously.

'Whatever it be,' said Nicholas, flushed with anger, 'I shall not
look to you to make it more.'

'Nicholas, my dear, recollect yourself,' remonstrated Mrs Nickleby.

'Dear Nicholas, pray,' urged the young lady.

'Hold your tongue, sir,' said Ralph. 'Upon my word! Fine
beginnings, Mrs Nickleby--fine beginnings!'

Mrs Nickleby made no other reply than entreating Nicholas by a
gesture to keep silent; and the uncle and nephew looked at each
other for some seconds without speaking. The face of the old man
was stern, hard-featured, and forbidding; that of the young one,
open, handsome, and ingenuous. The old man's eye was keen with the
twinklings of avarice and cunning; the young man's bright with the
light of intelligence and spirit. His figure was somewhat slight,
but manly and well formed; and, apart from all the grace of youth
and comeliness, there was an emanation from the warm young heart in
his look and bearing which kept the old man down.

However striking such a contrast as this may be to lookers-on, none
ever feel it with half the keenness or acuteness of perfection with
which it strikes to the very soul of him whose inferiority it marks.
It galled Ralph to the heart's core, and he hated Nicholas from that
hour.

The mutual inspection was at length brought to a close by Ralph
withdrawing his eyes, with a great show of disdain, and calling
Nicholas 'a boy.' This word is much used as a term of reproach by
elderly gentlemen towards their juniors: probably with the view of
deluding society into the belief that if they could be young again,
they wouldn't on any account.

'Well, ma'am,' said Ralph, impatiently, 'the creditors have
administered, you tell me, and there's nothing left for you?'

'Nothing,' replied Mrs Nickleby.

'And you spent what little money you had, in coming all the way to
London, to see what I could do for you?' pursued Ralph.

'I hoped,' faltered Mrs Nickleby, 'that you might have an
opportunity of doing something for your brother's children. It was
his dying wish that I should appeal to you in their behalf.'

'I don't know how it is,' muttered Ralph, walking up and down the
room, 'but whenever a man dies without any property of his own, he
always seems to think he has a right to dispose of other people's.
What is your daughter fit for, ma'am?'

'Kate has been well educated,' sobbed Mrs Nickleby. 'Tell your
uncle, my dear, how far you went in French and extras.'

The poor girl was about to murmur something, when her uncle stopped
her, very unceremoniously.

'We must try and get you apprenticed at some boarding-school,' said
Ralph. 'You have not been brought up too delicately for that, I
hope?'

'No, indeed, uncle,' replied the weeping girl. 'I will try to do
anything that will gain me a home and bread.'

'Well, well,' said Ralph, a little softened, either by his niece's
beauty or her distress (stretch a point, and say the latter). 'You
must try it, and if the life is too hard, perhaps dressmaking or
tambour-work will come lighter. Have YOU ever done anything, sir?'
(turning to his nephew.)

'No,' replied Nicholas, bluntly.

'No, I thought not!' said Ralph. 'This is the way my brother
brought up his children, ma'am.'

'Nicholas has not long completed such education as his poor father
could give him,' rejoined Mrs Nickleby, 'and he was thinking of--'

'Of making something of him someday,' said Ralph. 'The old story;
always thinking, and never doing. If my brother had been a man of
activity and prudence, he might have left you a rich woman, ma'am:
and if he had turned his son into the world, as my father turned me,
when I wasn't as old as that boy by a year and a half, he would have
been in a situation to help you, instead of being a burden upon you,
and increasing your distress. My brother was a thoughtless,
inconsiderate man, Mrs Nickleby, and nobody, I am sure, can have
better reason to feel that, than you.'

This appeal set the widow upon thinking that perhaps she might have
made a more successful venture with her one thousand pounds, and
then she began to reflect what a comfortable sum it would have been
just then; which dismal thoughts made her tears flow faster, and in
the excess of these griefs she (being a well-meaning woman enough,
but weak withal) fell first to deploring her hard fate, and then to
remarking, with many sobs, that to be sure she had been a slave to
poor Nicholas, and had often told him she might have married better
(as indeed she had, very often), and that she never knew in his
lifetime how the money went, but that if he had confided in her they
might all have been better off that day; with other bitter
recollections common to most married ladies, either during their
coverture, or afterwards, or at both periods. Mrs Nickleby
concluded by lamenting that the dear departed had never deigned to
profit by her advice, save on one occasion; which was a strictly
veracious statement, inasmuch as he had only acted upon it once, and
had ruined himself in consequence.

Mr Ralph Nickleby heard all this with a half-smile; and when the
widow had finished, quietly took up the subject where it had been
left before the above outbreak.

'Are you willing to work, sir?' he inquired, frowning on his nephew.

'Of course I am,' replied Nicholas haughtily.

'Then see here, sir,' said his uncle. 'This caught my eye this
morning, and you may thank your stars for it.'

With this exordium, Mr Ralph Nickleby took a newspaper from his
pocket, and after unfolding it, and looking for a short time among
the advertisements, read as follows:

'"EDUCATION.--At Mr Wackford Squeers's Academy, Dotheboys Hall, at
the delightful village of Dotheboys, near Greta Bridge in Yorkshire,
Youth are boarded, clothed, booked, furnished with pocket-money,
provided with all necessaries, instructed in all languages living
and dead, mathematics, orthography, geometry, astronomy,
trigonometry, the use of the globes, algebra, single stick (if
required), writing, arithmetic, fortification, and every other
branch of classical literature. Terms, twenty guineas per annum.
No extras, no vacations, and diet unparalleled. Mr Squeers is in
town, and attends daily, from one till four, at the Saracen's Head,
Snow Hill. N.B. An able assistant wanted. Annual salary 5 pounds.
A Master of Arts would be preferred."

'There!' said Ralph, folding the paper again. 'Let him get that
situation, and his fortune is made.'

'But he is not a Master of Arts,' said Mrs Nickleby.

'That,' replied Ralph, 'that, I think, can be got over.'

'But the salary is so small, and it is such a long way off, uncle!'
faltered Kate.

'Hush, Kate my dear,' interposed Mrs Nickleby; 'your uncle must know
best.'

'I say,' repeated Ralph, tartly, 'let him get that situation, and
his fortune is made. If he don't like that, let him get one for
himself. Without friends, money, recommendation, or knowledge of
business of any kind, let him find honest employment in London,
which will keep him in shoe leather, and I'll give him a thousand
pounds. At least,' said Mr Ralph Nickleby, checking himself, 'I
would if I had it.'

'Poor fellow!' said the young lady. 'Oh! uncle, must we be
separated so soon!'

'Don't tease your uncle with questions when he is thinking only for
our good, my love,' said Mrs Nickleby. 'Nicholas, my dear, I wish
you would say something.'

'Yes, mother, yes,' said Nicholas, who had hitherto remained silent
and absorbed in thought. 'If I am fortunate enough to be appointed
to this post, sir, for which I am so imperfectly qualified, what
will become of those I leave behind?'

'Your mother and sister, sir,' replied Ralph, 'will be provided for,
in that case (not otherwise), by me, and placed in some sphere of
life in which they will be able to be independent. That will be my
immediate care; they will not remain as they are, one week after
your departure, I will undertake.'

'Then,' said Nicholas, starting gaily up, and wringing his uncle's
hand, 'I am ready to do anything you wish me. Let us try our
fortune with Mr Squeers at once; he can but refuse.'

'He won't do that,' said Ralph. 'He will be glad to have you on my
recommendation. Make yourself of use to him, and you'll rise to be
a partner in the establishment in no time. Bless me, only think! if
he were to die, why your fortune's made at once.'

'To be sure, I see it all,' said poor Nicholas, delighted with a
thousand visionary ideas, that his good spirits and his inexperience
were conjuring up before him. 'Or suppose some young nobleman who
is being educated at the Hall, were to take a fancy to me, and get
his father to appoint me his travelling tutor when he left, and when
we come back from the continent, procured me some handsome appointment.
Eh! uncle?'

'Ah, to be sure!' sneered Ralph.

'And who knows, but when he came to see me when I was settled (as he
would of course), he might fall in love with Kate, who would be
keeping my house, and--and marry her, eh! uncle? Who knows?'

'Who, indeed!' snarled Ralph.

'How happy we should be!' cried Nicholas with enthusiasm. 'The pain
of parting is nothing to the joy of meeting again. Kate will be a
beautiful woman, and I so proud to hear them say so, and mother so
happy to be with us once again, and all these sad times forgotten,
and--' The picture was too bright a one to bear, and Nicholas,
fairly overpowered by it, smiled faintly, and burst into tears.

This simple family, born and bred in retirement, and wholly
unacquainted with what is called the world--a conventional phrase
which, being interpreted, often signifieth all the rascals in it--
mingled their tears together at the thought of their first
separation; and, this first gush of feeling over, were proceeding to
dilate with all the buoyancy of untried hope on the bright prospects
before them, when Mr Ralph Nickleby suggested, that if they lost
time, some more fortunate candidate might deprive Nicholas of the
stepping-stone to fortune which the advertisement pointed out, and
so undermine all their air-built castles. This timely reminder
effectually stopped the conversation. Nicholas, having carefully
copied the address of Mr Squeers, the uncle and nephew issued forth
together in quest of that accomplished gentleman; Nicholas firmly
persuading himself that he had done his relative great injustice in
disliking him at first sight; and Mrs Nickleby being at some pains
to inform her daughter that she was sure he was a much more kindly
disposed person than he seemed; which, Miss Nickleby dutifully
remarked, he might very easily be.

To tell the truth, the good lady's opinion had been not a little
influenced by her brother-in-law's appeal to her better
understanding, and his implied compliment to her high deserts; and
although she had dearly loved her husband, and still doted on her
children, he had struck so successfully on one of those little
jarring chords in the human heart (Ralph was well acquainted with
its worst weaknesses, though he knew nothing of its best), that she
had already begun seriously to consider herself the amiable and
suffering victim of her late husband's imprudence.

[فرناز]

CHAPTER 4

Nicholas and his Uncle (to secure the Fortune without loss of time)
wait upon Mr Wackford Squeers, the Yorkshire Schoolmaster


Snow Hill! What kind of place can the quiet townspeople who see the
words emblazoned, in all the legibility of gilt letters and dark
shading, on the north-country coaches, take Snow Hill to be? All
people have some undefined and shadowy notion of a place whose name
is frequently before their eyes, or often in their ears. What a
vast number of random ideas there must be perpetually floating
about, regarding this same Snow Hill. The name is such a good one.
Snow Hill--Snow Hill too, coupled with a Saracen's Head: picturing
to us by a double association of ideas, something stern and rugged!
A bleak desolate tract of country, open to piercing blasts and
fierce wintry storms--a dark, cold, gloomy heath, lonely by day, and
scarcely to be thought of by honest folks at night--a place which
solitary wayfarers shun, and where desperate robbers congregate;--
this, or something like this, should be the prevalent notion of Snow
Hill, in those remote and rustic parts, through which the Saracen's
Head, like some grim apparition, rushes each day and night with
mysterious and ghost-like punctuality; holding its swift and
headlong course in all weathers, and seeming to bid defiance to the
very elements themselves.

The reality is rather different, but by no means to be despised
notwithstanding. There, at the very core of London, in the heart of
its business and animation, in the midst of a whirl of noise and
motion: stemming as it were the giant currents of life that flow
ceaselessly on from different quarters, and meet beneath its walls:
stands Newgate; and in that crowded street on which it frowns so
darkly--within a few feet of the squalid tottering houses--upon the
very spot on which the vendors of soup and fish and damaged fruit
are now plying their trades--scores of human beings, amidst a roar
of sounds to which even the tumult of a great city is as nothing,
four, six, or eight strong men at a time, have been hurried
violently and swiftly from the world, when the scene has been
rendered frightful with excess of human life; when curious eyes have
glared from casement and house-top, and wall and pillar; and when,
in the mass of white and upturned faces, the dying wretch, in his
all-comprehensive look of agony, has met not one--not one--that bore
the impress of pity or compassion.

Near to the jail, and by consequence near to Smithfield also, and
the Compter, and the bustle and noise of the city; and just on that
particular part of Snow Hill where omnibus horses going eastward
seriously think of falling down on purpose, and where horses in
hackney cabriolets going westward not unfrequently fall by accident,
is the coach-yard of the Saracen's Head Inn; its portal guarded by
two Saracens' heads and shoulders, which it was once the pride and
glory of the choice spirits of this metropolis to pull down at
night, but which have for some time remained in undisturbed
tranquillity; possibly because this species of humour is now
confined to St James's parish, where door knockers are preferred as
being more portable, and bell-wires esteemed as convenient
toothpicks. Whether this be the reason or not, there they are,
frowning upon you from each side of the gateway. The inn itself
garnished with another Saracen's Head, frowns upon you from the top
of the yard; while from the door of the hind boot of all the red
coaches that are standing therein, there glares a small Saracen's
Head, with a twin expression to the large Saracens' Heads below, so
that the general appearance of the pile is decidedly of the
Saracenic order.

When you walk up this yard, you will see the booking-office on your
left, and the tower of St Sepulchre's church, darting abruptly up
into the sky, on your right, and a gallery of bedrooms on both
sides. Just before you, you will observe a long window with the
words 'coffee-room' legibly painted above it; and looking out of
that window, you would have seen in addition, if you had gone at the
right time, Mr Wackford Squeers with his hands in his pockets.

Mr Squeers's appearance was not prepossessing. He had but one eye,
and the popular prejudice runs in favour of two. The eye he had,
was unquestionably useful, but decidedly not ornamental: being of a
greenish grey, and in shape resembling the fan-light of a street
door. The blank side of his face was much wrinkled and puckered up,
which gave him a very sinister appearance, especially when he
smiled, at which times his expression bordered closely on the
villainous. His hair was very flat and shiny, save at the ends,
where it was brushed stiffly up from a low protruding forehead,
which assorted well with his harsh voice and coarse manner. He was
about two or three and fifty, and a trifle below the middle size; he
wore a white neckerchief with long ends, and a suit of scholastic
black; but his coat sleeves being a great deal too long, and his
trousers a great deal too short, he appeared ill at ease in his
clothes, and as if he were in a perpetual state of astonishment at
finding himself so respectable.

Mr Squeers was standing in a box by one of the coffee-room fire-
places, fitted with one such table as is usually seen in coffee-
rooms, and two of extraordinary shapes and dimensions made to suit
the angles of the partition. In a corner of the seat, was a very
small deal trunk, tied round with a scanty piece of cord; and on the
trunk was perched--his lace-up half-boots and corduroy trousers
dangling in the air--a diminutive boy, with his shoulders drawn up
to his ears, and his hands planted on his knees, who glanced timidly
at the schoolmaster, from time to time, with evident dread and
apprehension.

'Half-past three,' muttered Mr Squeers, turning from the window, and
looking sulkily at the coffee-room clock. 'There will be nobody
here today.'

Much vexed by this reflection, Mr Squeers looked at the little boy
to see whether he was doing anything he could beat him for. As he
happened not to be doing anything at all, he merely boxed his ears,
and told him not to do it again.

'At Midsummer,' muttered Mr Squeers, resuming his complaint, 'I took
down ten boys; ten twenties is two hundred pound. I go back at
eight o'clock tomorrow morning, and have got only three--three
oughts is an ought--three twos is six--sixty pound. What's come of
all the boys? what's parents got in their heads? what does it all
mean?'

Here the little boy on the top of the trunk gave a violent sneeze.

'Halloa, sir!' growled the schoolmaster, turning round. 'What's
that, sir?'

'Nothing, please sir,' replied the little boy.

'Nothing, sir!' exclaimed Mr Squeers.

'Please sir, I sneezed,' rejoined the boy, trembling till the little
trunk shook under him.

'Oh! sneezed, did you?' retorted Mr Squeers. 'Then what did you say
"nothing" for, sir?'

In default of a better answer to this question, the little boy
screwed a couple of knuckles into each of his eyes and began to cry,
wherefore Mr Squeers knocked him off the trunk with a blow on one
side of the face, and knocked him on again with a blow on the other.

'Wait till I get you down into Yorkshire, my young gentleman,' said
Mr Squeers, 'and then I'll give you the rest. Will you hold that
noise, sir?'

'Ye--ye--yes,' sobbed the little boy, rubbing his face very hard
with the Beggar's Petition in printed calico.

'Then do so at once, sir,' said Squeers. 'Do you hear?'

As this admonition was accompanied with a threatening gesture, and
uttered with a savage aspect, the little boy rubbed his face harder,
as if to keep the tears back; and, beyond alternately sniffing and
choking, gave no further vent to his emotions.

'Mr Squeers,' said the waiter, looking in at this juncture; 'here's
a gentleman asking for you at the bar.'

'Show the gentleman in, Richard,' replied Mr Squeers, in a soft
voice. 'Put your handkerchief in your pocket, you little scoundrel,
or I'll murder you when the gentleman goes.'

The schoolmaster had scarcely uttered these words in a fierce
whisper, when the stranger entered. Affecting not to see him, Mr
Squeers feigned to be intent upon mending a pen, and offering
benevolent advice to his youthful pupil.

'My dear child,' said Mr Squeers, 'all people have their trials.
This early trial of yours that is fit to make your little heart
burst, and your very eyes come out of your head with crying, what is
it? Nothing; less than nothing. You are leaving your friends, but
you will have a father in me, my dear, and a mother in Mrs Squeers.
At the delightful village of Dotheboys, near Greta Bridge in
Yorkshire, where youth are boarded, clothed, booked, washed,
furnished with pocket-money, provided with all necessaries--'

'It IS the gentleman,' observed the stranger, stopping the
schoolmaster in the rehearsal of his advertisement. 'Mr Squeers, I
believe, sir?'

'The same, sir,' said Mr Squeers, with an assumption of extreme
surprise.

'The gentleman,' said the stranger, 'that advertised in the Times
newspaper?'

'--Morning Post, Chronicle, Herald, and Advertiser, regarding the
Academy called Dotheboys Hall at the delightful village of
Dotheboys, near Greta Bridge in Yorkshire,' added Mr Squeers. 'You
come on business, sir. I see by my young friends. How do you do,
my little gentleman? and how do you do, sir?' With this salutation
Mr Squeers patted the heads of two hollow-eyed, small-boned little
boys, whom the applicant had brought with him, and waited for
further communications.

'I am in the oil and colour way. My name is Snawley, sir,' said the
stranger.

Squeers inclined his head as much as to say, 'And a remarkably
pretty name, too.'

The stranger continued. 'I have been thinking, Mr Squeers, of
placing my two boys at your school.'

'It is not for me to say so, sir,' replied Mr Squeers, 'but I don't
think you could possibly do a better thing.'

'Hem!' said the other. 'Twenty pounds per annewum, I believe, Mr
Squeers?'

'Guineas,' rejoined the schoolmaster, with a persuasive smile.

'Pounds for two, I think, Mr Squeers,' said Mr Snawley, solemnly.

'I don't think it could be done, sir,' replied Squeers, as if he had
never considered the proposition before. 'Let me see; four fives is
twenty, double that, and deduct the--well, a pound either way shall
not stand betwixt us. You must recommend me to your connection,
sir, and make it up that way.'

'They are not great eaters,' said Mr Snawley.

'Oh! that doesn't matter at all,' replied Squeers. 'We don't
consider the boys' appetites at our establishment.' This was
strictly true; they did not.

'Every wholesome luxury, sir, that Yorkshire can afford,' continued
Squeers; 'every beautiful moral that Mrs Squeers can instil; every--
in short, every comfort of a home that a boy could wish for, will be
theirs, Mr Snawley.'

'I should wish their morals to be particularly attended to,' said Mr
Snawley.

'I am glad of that, sir,' replied the schoolmaster, drawing himself
up. 'They have come to the right shop for morals, sir.'

'You are a moral man yourself,' said Mr Snawley.

'I rather believe I am, sir,' replied Squeers.

'I have the satisfaction to know you are, sir,' said Mr Snawley. 'I
asked one of your references, and he said you were pious.'

'Well, sir, I hope I am a little in that line,' replied Squeers.

'I hope I am also,' rejoined the other. 'Could I say a few words
with you in the next box?'

'By all means,' rejoined Squeers with a grin. 'My dears, will you
speak to your new playfellow a minute or two? That is one of my
boys, sir. Belling his name is,--a Taunton boy that, sir.'

'Is he, indeed?' rejoined Mr Snawley, looking at the poor little
urchin as if he were some extraordinary natural curiosity.

'He goes down with me tomorrow, sir,' said Squeers. 'That's his
luggage that he is a sitting upon now. Each boy is required to
bring, sir, two suits of clothes, six shirts, six pair of stockings,
two nightcaps, two pocket-handkerchiefs, two pair of shoes, two
hats, and a razor.'

'A razor!' exclaimed Mr Snawley, as they walked into the next box.
'What for?'

'To shave with,' replied Squeers, in a slow and measured tone.

There was not much in these three words, but there must have been
something in the manner in which they were said, to attract
attention; for the schoolmaster and his companion looked steadily at
each other for a few seconds, and then exchanged a very meaning
smile. Snawley was a sleek, flat-nosed man, clad in sombre
garments, and long black gaiters, and bearing in his countenance an
expression of much mortification and sanctity; so, his smiling
without any obvious reason was the more remarkable.

'Up to what age do you keep boys at your school then?' he asked at
length.

'Just as long as their friends make the quarterly payments to my
agent in town, or until such time as they run away,' replied
Squeers. 'Let us understand each other; I see we may safely do so.
What are these boys;--natural children?'

'No,' rejoined Snawley, meeting the gaze of the schoolmaster's one
eye. 'They ain't.'

'I thought they might be,' said Squeers, coolly. 'We have a good
many of them; that boy's one.'

'Him in the next box?' said Snawley.

Squeers nodded in the affirmative; his companion took another peep
at the little boy on the trunk, and, turning round again, looked as
if he were quite disappointed to see him so much like other boys,
and said he should hardly have thought it.

'He is,' cried Squeers. 'But about these boys of yours; you wanted
to speak to me?'

'Yes,' replied Snawley. 'The fact is, I am not their father, Mr
Squeers. I'm only their father-in-law.'

'Oh! Is that it?' said the schoolmaster. 'That explains it at
once. I was wondering what the devil you were going to send them to
Yorkshire for. Ha! ha! Oh, I understand now.'

'You see I have married the mother,' pursued Snawley; 'it's
expensive keeping boys at home, and as she has a little money in her
own right, I am afraid (women are so very foolish, Mr Squeers) that
she might be led to squander it on them, which would be their ruin,
you know.'

'I see,' returned Squeers, throwing himself back in his chair, and
waving his hand.

'And this,' resumed Snawley, 'has made me anxious to put them to
some school a good distance off, where there are no holidays--none
of those ill-judged coming home twice a year that unsettle
children's minds so--and where they may rough it a little--you
comprehend?'

'The payments regular, and no questions asked,' said Squeers,
nodding his head.

'That's it, exactly,' rejoined the other. 'Morals strictly attended
to, though.'

'Strictly,' said Squeers.

'Not too much writing home allowed, I suppose?' said the father-in-
law, hesitating.

'None, except a circular at Christmas, to say they never were so
happy, and hope they may never be sent for,' rejoined Squeers.

'Nothing could be better,' said the father-in-law, rubbing his
hands.

'Then, as we understand each other,' said Squeers, 'will you allow
me to ask you whether you consider me a highly virtuous, exemplary,
and well-conducted man in private life; and whether, as a person
whose business it is to take charge of youth, you place the
strongest confidence in my unimpeachable integrity, liberality,
religious principles, and ability?'

'Certainly I do,' replied the father-in-law, reciprocating the
schoolmaster's grin.

'Perhaps you won't object to say that, if I make you a reference?'

'Not the least in the world.'

'That's your sort!' said Squeers, taking up a pen; 'this is doing
business, and that's what I like.'

Having entered Mr Snawley's address, the schoolmaster had next to
perform the still more agreeable office of entering the receipt of
the first quarter's payment in advance, which he had scarcely
completed, when another voice was heard inquiring for Mr Squeers.

'Here he is,' replied the schoolmaster; 'what is it?'

'Only a matter of business, sir,' said Ralph Nickleby, presenting
himself, closely followed by Nicholas. 'There was an advertisement
of yours in the papers this morning?'

'There was, sir. This way, if you please,' said Squeers, who had by
this time got back to the box by the fire-place. 'Won't you be
seated?'

'Why, I think I will,' replied Ralph, suiting the action to the
word, and placing his hat on the table before him. 'This is my
nephew, sir, Mr Nicholas Nickleby.'

'How do you do, sir?' said Squeers.

Nicholas bowed, said he was very well, and seemed very much
astonished at the outward appearance of the proprietor of Dotheboys
Hall: as indeed he was.

'Perhaps you recollect me?' said Ralph, looking narrowly at the
schoolmaster.

'You paid me a small account at each of my half-yearly visits to
town, for some years, I think, sir,' replied Squeers.

'I did,' rejoined Ralph.

'For the parents of a boy named Dorker, who unfortunately--'

'--unfortunately died at Dotheboys Hall,' said Ralph, finishing the
sentence.

'I remember very well, sir,' rejoined Squeers. 'Ah! Mrs Squeers,
sir, was as partial to that lad as if he had been her own; the
attention, sir, that was bestowed upon that boy in his illness! Dry
toast and warm tea offered him every night and morning when he
couldn't swallow anything--a candle in his bedroom on the very night
he died--the best dictionary sent up for him to lay his head upon--I
don't regret it though. It is a pleasant thing to reflect that one
did one's duty by him.'

Ralph smiled, as if he meant anything but smiling, and looked round
at the strangers present.

'These are only some pupils of mine,' said Wackford Squeers,
pointing to the little boy on the trunk and the two little boys on
the floor, who had been staring at each other without uttering a
word, and writhing their bodies into most remarkable contortions,
according to the custom of little boys when they first become
acquainted. 'This gentleman, sir, is a parent who is kind enough to
compliment me upon the course of education adopted at Dotheboys
Hall, which is situated, sir, at the delightful village of
Dotheboys, near Greta Bridge in Yorkshire, where youth are boarded,
clothed, booked, washed, furnished with pocket-money--'

'Yes, we know all about that, sir,' interrupted Ralph, testily.
'It's in the advertisement.'

'You are very right, sir; it IS in the advertisement,' replied
Squeers.

'And in the matter of fact besides,' interrupted Mr Snawley. 'I
feel bound to assure you, sir, and I am proud to have this
opportunity OF assuring you, that I consider Mr Squeers a gentleman
highly virtuous, exemplary, well conducted, and--'

'I make no doubt of it, sir,' interrupted Ralph, checking the
torrent of recommendation; 'no doubt of it at all. Suppose we come
to business?'

'With all my heart, sir,' rejoined Squeers. '"Never postpone
business," is the very first lesson we instil into our commercial
pupils. Master Belling, my dear, always remember that; do you
hear?'

'Yes, sir,' repeated Master Belling.

'He recollects what it is, does he?' said Ralph.

'Tell the gentleman,' said Squeers.

'"Never,"' repeated Master Belling.

'Very good,' said Squeers; 'go on.'

'Never,' repeated Master Belling again.

'Very good indeed,' said Squeers. 'Yes.'

'P,' suggested Nicholas, good-naturedly.

'Perform--business!' said Master Belling. 'Never--perform--
business!'

'Very well, sir,' said Squeers, darting a withering look at the
culprit. 'You and I will perform a little business on our private
account by-and-by.'

'And just now,' said Ralph, 'we had better transact our own,
perhaps.'

'If you please,' said Squeers.

'Well,' resumed Ralph, 'it's brief enough; soon broached; and I hope
easily concluded. You have advertised for an able assistant, sir?'

'Precisely so,' said Squeers.

'And you really want one?'

'Certainly,' answered Squeers.

'Here he is!' said Ralph. 'My nephew Nicholas, hot from school,
with everything he learnt there, fermenting in his head, and nothing
fermenting in his pocket, is just the man you want.'

'I am afraid,' said Squeers, perplexed with such an application from
a youth of Nicholas's figure, 'I am afraid the young man won't suit
me.'

'Yes, he will,' said Ralph; 'I know better. Don't be cast down,
sir; you will be teaching all the young noblemen in Dotheboys Hall
in less than a week's time, unless this gentleman is more obstinate
than I take him to be.'

'I fear, sir,' said Nicholas, addressing Mr Squeers, 'that you
object to my youth, and to my not being a Master of Arts?'

'The absence of a college degree IS an objection,' replied Squeers,
looking as grave as he could, and considerably puzzled, no less by
the contrast between the simplicity of the nephew and the worldly
manner of the uncle, than by the incomprehensible allusion to the
young noblemen under his tuition.

'Look here, sir,' said Ralph; 'I'll put this matter in its true
light in two seconds.'

'If you'll have the goodness,' rejoined Squeers.

'This is a boy, or a youth, or a lad, or a young man, or a
hobbledehoy, or whatever you like to call him, of eighteen or
nineteen, or thereabouts,' said Ralph.

'That I see,' observed the schoolmaster.

'So do I,' said Mr Snawley, thinking it as well to back his new
friend occasionally.

'His father is dead, he is wholly ignorant of the world, has no
resources whatever, and wants something to do,' said Ralph. 'I
recommend him to this splendid establishment of yours, as an opening
which will lead him to fortune if he turns it to proper account. Do
you see that?'

'Everybody must see that,' replied Squeers, half imitating the sneer
with which the old gentleman was regarding his unconscious relative.

'I do, of course,' said Nicholas, eagerly.

'He does, of course, you observe,' said Ralph, in the same dry, hard
manner. 'If any caprice of temper should induce him to cast aside
this golden opportunity before he has brought it to perfection, I
consider myself absolved from extending any assistance to his mother
and sister. Look at him, and think of the use he may be to you in
half-a-dozen ways! Now, the question is, whether, for some time to
come at all events, he won't serve your purpose better than twenty
of the kind of people you would get under ordinary circumstances.
Isn't that a question for consideration?'

'Yes, it is,' said Squeers, answering a nod of Ralph's head with a
nod of his own.

'Good,' rejoined Ralph. 'Let me have two words with you.'

The two words were had apart; in a couple of minutes Mr Wackford
Squeers announced that Mr Nicholas Nickleby was, from that moment,
thoroughly nominated to, and installed in, the office of first
assistant master at Dotheboys Hall.

'Your uncle's recommendation has done it, Mr Nickleby,' said
Wackford Squeers.

Nicholas, overjoyed at his success, shook his uncle's hand warmly,
and could almost have worshipped Squeers upon the spot.

'He is an odd-looking man,' thought Nicholas. 'What of that?
Porson was an odd-looking man, and so was Doctor Johnson; all these
bookworms are.'

'At eight o'clock tomorrow morning, Mr Nickleby,' said Squeers, 'the
coach starts. You must be here at a quarter before, as we take
these boys with us.'

'Certainly, sir,' said Nicholas.

'And your fare down, I have paid,' growled Ralph. 'So, you'll have
nothing to do but keep yourself warm.'

Here was another instance of his uncle's generosity! Nicholas felt
his unexpected kindness so much, that he could scarcely find words
to thank him; indeed, he had not found half enough, when they took
leave of the schoolmaster, and emerged from the Saracen's Head
gateway.

'I shall be here in the morning to see you fairly off,' said Ralph.
'No skulking!'

'Thank you, sir,' replied Nicholas; 'I never shall forget this
kindness.'

'Take care you don't,' replied his uncle. 'You had better go home
now, and pack up what you have got to pack. Do you think you could
find your way to Golden Square first?'

'Certainly,' said Nicholas. 'I can easily inquire.'

'Leave these papers with my clerk, then,' said Ralph, producing a
small parcel, 'and tell him to wait till I come home.'

Nicholas cheerfully undertook the errand, and bidding his worthy
uncle an affectionate farewell, which that warm-hearted old
gentleman acknowledged by a growl, hastened away to execute his
commission.

He found Golden Square in due course; Mr Noggs, who had stepped out
for a minute or so to the public-house, was opening the door with a
latch-key, as he reached the steps.

'What's that?' inquired Noggs, pointing to the parcel.

'Papers from my uncle,' replied Nicholas; 'and you're to have the
goodness to wait till he comes home, if you please.'

'Uncle!' cried Noggs.

'Mr Nickleby,' said Nicholas in explanation.

'Come in,' said Newman.

Without another word he led Nicholas into the passage, and thence
into the official pantry at the end of it, where he thrust him into
a chair, and mounting upon his high stool, sat, with his arms
hanging, straight down by his sides, gazing fixedly upon him, as
from a tower of observation.

'There is no answer,' said Nicholas, laying the parcel on a table
beside him.

Newman said nothing, but folding his arms, and thrusting his head
forward so as to obtain a nearer view of Nicholas's face, scanned
his features closely.

'No answer,' said Nicholas, speaking very loud, under the impression
that Newman Noggs was deaf.

Newman placed his hands upon his knees, and, without uttering a
syllable, continued the same close scrutiny of his companion's face.

This was such a very singular proceeding on the part of an utter
stranger, and his appearance was so extremely peculiar, that
Nicholas, who had a sufficiently keen sense of the ridiculous, could
not refrain from breaking into a smile as he inquired whether Mr
Noggs had any commands for him.

Noggs shook his head and sighed; upon which Nicholas rose, and
remarking that he required no rest, bade him good-morning.

It was a great exertion for Newman Noggs, and nobody knows to this
day how he ever came to make it, the other party being wholly
unknown to him, but he drew a long breath and actually said, out
loud, without once stopping, that if the young gentleman did not
object to tell, he should like to know what his uncle was going to
do for him.

Nicholas had not the least objection in the world, but on the
contrary was rather pleased to have an opportunity of talking on the
subject which occupied his thoughts; so, he sat down again, and (his
sanguine imagination warming as he spoke) entered into a fervent and
glowing description of all the honours and advantages to be derived
from his appointment at that seat of learning, Dotheboys Hall.

'But, what's the matter--are you ill?' said Nicholas, suddenly
breaking off, as his companion, after throwing himself into a
variety of uncouth attitudes, thrust his hands under the stool, and
cracked his finger-joints as if he were snapping all the bones in
his hands.

Newman Noggs made no reply, but went on shrugging his shoulders and
cracking his finger-joints; smiling horribly all the time, and
looking steadfastly at nothing, out of the tops of his eyes, in a
most ghastly manner.

At first, Nicholas thought the mysterious man was in a fit, but, on
further consideration, decided that he was in liquor, under which
circumstances he deemed it prudent to make off at once. He looked
back when he had got the street-door open. Newman Noggs was still
indulging in the same extraordinary gestures, and the cracking of
his fingers sounded louder that ever.

[فرناز]

CHAPTER 5

Nicholas starts for Yorkshire. Of his Leave-taking and his Fellow-
Travellers, and what befell them on the Road


If tears dropped into a trunk were charms to preserve its owner from
sorrow and misfortune, Nicholas Nickleby would have commenced his
expedition under most happy auspices. There was so much to be done,
and so little time to do it in; so many kind words to be spoken, and
such bitter pain in the hearts in which they rose to impede their
utterance; that the little preparations for his journey were made
mournfully indeed. A hundred things which the anxious care of his
mother and sister deemed indispensable for his comfort, Nicholas
insisted on leaving behind, as they might prove of some after use,
or might be convertible into money if occasion required. A hundred
affectionate contests on such points as these, took place on the sad
night which preceded his departure; and, as the termination of every
angerless dispute brought them nearer and nearer to the close of
their slight preparations, Kate grew busier and busier, and wept
more silently.

The box was packed at last, and then there came supper, with some
little delicacy provided for the occasion, and as a set-off against
the expense of which, Kate and her mother had feigned to dine when
Nicholas was out. The poor lady nearly choked himself by attempting
to partake of it, and almost suffocated himself in affecting a jest
or two, and forcing a melancholy laugh. Thus, they lingered on till
the hour of separating for the night was long past; and then they
found that they might as well have given vent to their real feelings
before, for they could not suppress them, do what they would. So,
they let them have their way, and even that was a relief.

Nicholas slept well till six next morning; dreamed of home, or of
what was home once--no matter which, for things that are changed or
gone will come back as they used to be, thank God! in sleep--and
rose quite brisk and gay. He wrote a few lines in pencil, to say
the goodbye which he was afraid to pronounce himself, and laying
them, with half his scanty stock of money, at his sister's door,
shouldered his box and crept softly downstairs.

'Is that you, Hannah?' cried a voice from Miss La Creevy's sitting-
room, whence shone the light of a feeble candle.

'It is I, Miss La Creevy,' said Nicholas, putting down the box and
looking in.

'Bless us!' exclaimed Miss La Creevy, starting and putting her hand
to her curl-papers. 'You're up very early, Mr Nickleby.'

'So are you,' replied Nicholas.

'It's the fine arts that bring me out of bed, Mr Nickleby,' returned
the lady. 'I'm waiting for the light to carry out an idea.'

Miss La Creevy had got up early to put a fancy nose into a miniature
of an ugly little boy, destined for his grandmother in the country,
who was expected to bequeath him property if he was like the family.

'To carry out an idea,' repeated Miss La Creevy; 'and that's the
great convenience of living in a thoroughfare like the Strand. When
I want a nose or an eye for any particular sitter, I have only to
look out of window and wait till I get one.'

'Does it take long to get a nose, now?' inquired Nicholas, smiling.

'Why, that depends in a great measure on the pattern,' replied Miss
La Creevy. 'Snubs and Romans are plentiful enough, and there are
flats of all sorts and sizes when there's a meeting at Exeter Hall;
but perfect aquilines, I am sorry to say, are scarce, and we
generally use them for uniforms or public characters.'

'Indeed!' said Nicholas. 'If I should meet with any in my travels,
I'll endeavour to sketch them for you.'

'You don't mean to say that you are really going all the way down
into Yorkshire this cold winter's weather, Mr Nickleby?' said Miss
La Creevy. 'I heard something of it last night.'

'I do, indeed,' replied Nicholas. 'Needs must, you know, when
somebody drives. Necessity is my driver, and that is only another
name for the same gentleman.'

'Well, I am very sorry for it; that's all I can say,' said Miss La
Creevy; 'as much on your mother's and sister's account as on yours.
Your sister is a very pretty young lady, Mr Nickleby, and that is an
additional reason why she should have somebody to protect her. I
persuaded her to give me a sitting or two, for the street-door case.
'Ah! she'll make a sweet miniature.' As Miss La Creevy spoke, she
held up an ivory countenance intersected with very perceptible sky-
blue veins, and regarded it with so much complacency, that Nicholas
quite envied her.

'If you ever have an opportunity of showing Kate some little
kindness,' said Nicholas, presenting his hand, 'I think you will.'

'Depend upon that,' said the good-natured miniature painter; 'and
God bless you, Mr Nickleby; and I wish you well.'

It was very little that Nicholas knew of the world, but he guessed
enough about its ways to think, that if he gave Miss La Creevy one
little kiss, perhaps she might not be the less kindly disposed
towards those he was leaving behind. So, he gave her three or four
with a kind of jocose gallantry, and Miss La Creevy evinced no
greater symptoms of displeasure than declaring, as she adjusted her
yellow turban, that she had never heard of such a thing, and
couldn't have believed it possible.

Having terminated the unexpected interview in this satisfactory
manner, Nicholas hastily withdrew himself from the house. By the
time he had found a man to carry his box it was only seven o'clock,
so he walked slowly on, a little in advance of the porter, and very
probably with not half as light a heart in his breast as the man
had, although he had no waistcoat to cover it with, and had
evidently, from the appearance of his other garments, been spending
the night in a stable, and taking his breakfast at a pump.

Regarding, with no small curiosity and interest, all the busy
preparations for the coming day which every street and almost every
house displayed; and thinking, now and then, that it seemed rather
hard that so many people of all ranks and stations could earn a
livelihood in London, and that he should be compelled to journey so
far in search of one; Nicholas speedily arrived at the Saracen's
Head, Snow Hill. Having dismissed his attendant, and seen the box
safely deposited in the coach-office, he looked into the coffee-room
in search of Mr Squeers.

He found that learned gentleman sitting at breakfast, with the three
little boys before noticed, and two others who had turned up by some
lucky chance since the interview of the previous day, ranged in a
row on the opposite seat. Mr Squeers had before him a small measure
of coffee, a plate of hot toast, and a cold round of beef; but he
was at that moment intent on preparing breakfast for the little
boys.

'This is twopenn'orth of milk, is it, waiter?' said Mr Squeers,
looking down into a large blue mug, and slanting it gently, so as to
get an accurate view of the quantity of liquid contained in it.

'That's twopenn'orth, sir,' replied the waiter.

'What a rare article milk is, to be sure, in London!' said Mr
Squeers, with a sigh. 'Just fill that mug up with lukewarm water,
William, will you?'

'To the wery top, sir?' inquired the waiter. 'Why, the milk will be
drownded.'

'Never you mind that,' replied Mr Squeers. 'Serve it right for
being so dear. You ordered that thick bread and butter for three,
did you?'

'Coming directly, sir.'

'You needn't hurry yourself,' said Squeers; 'there's plenty of time.
Conquer your passions, boys, and don't be eager after vittles.' As
he uttered this moral precept, Mr Squeers took a large bite out of
the cold beef, and recognised Nicholas.

'Sit down, Mr Nickleby,' said Squeers. 'Here we are, a breakfasting
you see!'

Nicholas did NOT see that anybody was breakfasting, except Mr
Squeers; but he bowed with all becoming reverence, and looked as
cheerful as he could.

'Oh! that's the milk and water, is it, William?' said Squeers.
'Very good; don't forget the bread and butter presently.'

At this fresh mention of the bread and butter, the five little boys
looked very eager, and followed the waiter out, with their eyes;
meanwhile Mr Squeers tasted the milk and water.

'Ah!' said that gentleman, smacking his lips, 'here's richness!
Think of the many beggars and orphans in the streets that would be
glad of this, little boys. A shocking thing hunger, isn't it, Mr
Nickleby?'

'Very shocking, sir,' said Nicholas.

'When I say number one,' pursued Mr Squeers, putting the mug before
the children, 'the boy on the left hand nearest the window may take
a drink; and when I say number two, the boy next him will go in, and
so till we come to number five, which is the last boy. Are you
ready?'

'Yes, sir,' cried all the little boys with great eagerness.

'That's right,' said Squeers, calmly getting on with his breakfast;
'keep ready till I tell you to begin. Subdue your appetites, my
dears, and you've conquered human natur. This is the way we
inculcate strength of mind, Mr Nickleby,' said the schoolmaster,
turning to Nicholas, and speaking with his mouth very full of beef
and toast.

Nicholas murmured something--he knew not what--in reply; and the
little boys, dividing their gaze between the mug, the bread and
butter (which had by this time arrived), and every morsel which Mr
Squeers took into his mouth, remained with strained eyes in torments
of expectation.

'Thank God for a good breakfast,' said Squeers, when he had
finished. 'Number one may take a drink.'

Number one seized the mug ravenously, and had just drunk enough to
make him wish for more, when Mr Squeers gave the signal for number
two, who gave up at the same interesting moment to number three; and
the process was repeated until the milk and water terminated with
number five.

'And now,' said the schoolmaster, dividing the bread and butter for
three into as many portions as there were children, 'you had better
look sharp with your breakfast, for the horn will blow in a minute
or two, and then every boy leaves off.'

Permission being thus given to fall to, the boys began to eat
voraciously, and in desperate haste: while the schoolmaster (who was
in high good humour after his meal) picked his teeth with a fork,
and looked smilingly on. In a very short time, the horn was heard.

'I thought it wouldn't be long,' said Squeers, jumping up and
producing a little basket from under the seat; 'put what you haven't
had time to eat, in here, boys! You'll want it on the road!'

Nicholas was considerably startled by these very economical
arrangements; but he had no time to reflect upon them, for the
little boys had to be got up to the top of the coach, and their
boxes had to be brought out and put in, and Mr Squeers's luggage was
to be seen carefully deposited in the boot, and all these offices
were in his department. He was in the full heat and bustle of
concluding these operations, when his uncle, Mr Ralph Nickleby,
accosted him.

'Oh! here you are, sir!' said Ralph. 'Here are your mother and
sister, sir.'

'Where?' cried Nicholas, looking hastily round.

'Here!' replied his uncle. 'Having too much money and nothing at
all to do with it, they were paying a hackney coach as I came up,
sir.'

'We were afraid of being too late to see him before he went away
from us,' said Mrs Nickleby, embracing her son, heedless of the
unconcerned lookers-on in the coach-yard.

'Very good, ma'am,' returned Ralph, 'you're the best judge of
course. I merely said that you were paying a hackney coach. I
never pay a hackney coach, ma'am; I never hire one. I haven't been
in a hackney coach of my own hiring, for thirty years, and I hope I
shan't be for thirty more, if I live as long.'

'I should never have forgiven myself if I had not seen him,' said
Mrs Nickleby. 'Poor dear boy--going away without his breakfast too,
because he feared to distress us!'

'Mighty fine certainly,' said Ralph, with great testiness. 'When I
first went to business, ma'am, I took a penny loaf and a ha'porth of
milk for my breakfast as I walked to the city every morning; what do
you say to that, ma'am? Breakfast! Bah!'

'Now, Nickleby,' said Squeers, coming up at the moment buttoning his
greatcoat; 'I think you'd better get up behind. I'm afraid of one
of them boys falling off and then there's twenty pound a year gone.'

'Dear Nicholas,' whispered Kate, touching her brother's arm, 'who is
that vulgar man?'

'Eh!' growled Ralph, whose quick ears had caught the inquiry. 'Do
you wish to be introduced to Mr Squeers, my dear?'

'That the schoolmaster! No, uncle. Oh no!' replied Kate, shrinking
back.

'I'm sure I heard you say as much, my dear,' retorted Ralph in his
cold sarcastic manner. 'Mr Squeers, here's my niece: Nicholas's
sister!'

'Very glad to make your acquaintance, miss,' said Squeers, raising
his hat an inch or two. 'I wish Mrs Squeers took gals, and we had
you for a teacher. I don't know, though, whether she mightn't grow
jealous if we had. Ha! ha! ha!'

If the proprietor of Dotheboys Hall could have known what was
passing in his assistant's breast at that moment, he would have
discovered, with some surprise, that he was as near being soundly
pummelled as he had ever been in his life. Kate Nickleby, having a
quicker perception of her brother's emotions, led him gently aside,
and thus prevented Mr Squeers from being impressed with the fact in
a peculiarly disagreeable manner.

'My dear Nicholas,' said the young lady, 'who is this man? What
kind of place can it be that you are going to?'

'I hardly know, Kate,' replied Nicholas, pressing his sister's hand.
'I suppose the Yorkshire folks are rather rough and uncultivated;
that's all.'

'But this person,' urged Kate.

'Is my employer, or master, or whatever the proper name may be,'
replied Nicholas quickly; 'and I was an ass to take his coarseness
ill. They are looking this way, and it is time I was in my place.
Bless you, love, and goodbye! Mother, look forward to our meeting
again someday! Uncle, farewell! Thank you heartily for all you
have done and all you mean to do. Quite ready, sir!'

With these hasty adieux, Nicholas mounted nimbly to his seat, and
waved his hand as gallantly as if his heart went with it.

At this moment, when the coachman and guard were comparing notes for
the last time before starting, on the subject of the way-bill; when
porters were screwing out the last reluctant sixpences, itinerant
newsmen making the last offer of a morning paper, and the horses
giving the last impatient rattle to their harness; Nicholas felt
somebody pulling softly at his leg. He looked down, and there stood
Newman Noggs, who pushed up into his hand a dirty letter.

'What's this?' inquired Nicholas.

'Hush!' rejoined Noggs, pointing to Mr Ralph Nickleby, who was
saying a few earnest words to Squeers, a short distance off: 'Take
it. Read it. Nobody knows. That's all.'

'Stop!' cried Nicholas.

'No,' replied Noggs.

Nicholas cried stop, again, but Newman Noggs was gone.

A minute's bustle, a banging of the coach doors, a swaying of the
vehicle to one side, as the heavy coachman, and still heavier guard,
climbed into their seats; a cry of all right, a few notes from the
horn, a hasty glance of two sorrowful faces below, and the hard
features of Mr Ralph Nickleby--and the coach was gone too, and
rattling over the stones of Smithfield.

The little boys' legs being too short to admit of their feet resting
upon anything as they sat, and the little boys' bodies being
consequently in imminent hazard of being jerked off the coach,
Nicholas had enough to do over the stones to hold them on. Between
the manual exertion and the mental anxiety attendant upon this task,
he was not a little relieved when the coach stopped at the Peacock
at Islington. He was still more relieved when a hearty-looking
gentleman, with a very good-humoured face, and a very fresh colour,
got up behind, and proposed to take the other corner of the seat.

'If we put some of these youngsters in the middle,' said the new-
comer, 'they'll be safer in case of their going to sleep; eh?'

'If you'll have the goodness, sir,' replied Squeers, 'that'll be the
very thing. Mr Nickleby, take three of them boys between you and
the gentleman. Belling and the youngest Snawley can sit between me
and the guard. Three children,' said Squeers, explaining to the
stranger, 'books as two.'

'I have not the least objection I am sure,' said the fresh-coloured
gentleman; 'I have a brother who wouldn't object to book his six
children as two at any butcher's or baker's in the kingdom, I dare
say. Far from it.'

'Six children, sir?' exclaimed Squeers.

'Yes, and all boys,' replied the stranger.

'Mr Nickleby,' said Squeers, in great haste, 'catch hold of that
basket. Let me give you a card, sir, of an establishment where
those six boys can be brought up in an enlightened, liberal, and
moral manner, with no mistake at all about it, for twenty guineas a
year each--twenty guineas, sir--or I'd take all the boys together
upon a average right through, and say a hundred pound a year for the
lot.'

'Oh!' said the gentleman, glancing at the card, 'you are the Mr
Squeers mentioned here, I presume?'

'Yes, I am, sir,' replied the worthy pedagogue; 'Mr Wackford Squeers
is my name, and I'm very far from being ashamed of it. These are
some of my boys, sir; that's one of my assistants, sir--Mr Nickleby,
a gentleman's son, amd a good scholar, mathematical, classical, and
commercial. We don't do things by halves at our shop. All manner
of learning my boys take down, sir; the expense is never thought of;
and they get paternal treatment and washing in.'

'Upon my word,' said the gentleman, glancing at Nicholas with a
half-smile, and a more than half expression of surprise, 'these are
advantages indeed.'

'You may say that, sir,' rejoined Squeers, thrusting his hands into
his great-coat pockets. 'The most unexceptionable references are
given and required. I wouldn't take a reference with any boy, that
wasn't responsible for the payment of five pound five a quarter, no,
not if you went down on your knees, and asked me, with the tears
running down your face, to do it.'

'Highly considerate,' said the passenger.

'It's my great aim and end to be considerate, sir,' rejoined
Squeers. 'Snawley, junior, if you don't leave off chattering your
teeth, and shaking with the cold, I'll warm you with a severe
thrashing in about half a minute's time.'

'Sit fast here, genelmen,' said the guard as he clambered up.

'All right behind there, Dick?' cried the coachman.

'All right,' was the reply. 'Off she goes!' And off she did go--if
coaches be feminine--amidst a loud flourish from the guard's horn,
and the calm approval of all the judges of coaches and coach-horses
congregated at the Peacock, but more especially of the helpers, who
stood, with the cloths over their arms, watching the coach till it
disappeared, and then lounged admiringly stablewards, bestowing
various gruff encomiums on the beauty of the turn-out.

When the guard (who was a stout old Yorkshireman) had blown himself
quite out of breath, he put the horn into a little tunnel of a
basket fastened to the coach-side for the purpose, and giving
himself a plentiful shower of blows on the chest and shoulders,
observed it was uncommon cold; after which, he demanded of every
person separately whether he was going right through, and if not,
where he WAS going. Satisfactory replies being made to these
queries, he surmised that the roads were pretty heavy arter that
fall last night, and took the liberty of asking whether any of them
gentlemen carried a snuff-box. It happening that nobody did, he
remarked with a mysterious air that he had heard a medical gentleman
as went down to Grantham last week, say how that snuff-taking was
bad for the eyes; but for his part he had never found it so, and
what he said was, that everybody should speak as they found. Nobody
attempting to controvert this position, he took a small brown-paper
parcel out of his hat, and putting on a pair of horn spectacles (the
writing being crabbed) read the direction half-a-dozen times over;
having done which, he consigned the parcel to its old place, put up
his spectacles again, and stared at everybody in turn. After this,
he took another blow at the horn by way of refreshment; and, having
now exhausted his usual topics of conversation, folded his arms as
well as he could in so many coats, and falling into a solemn
silence, looked carelessly at the familiar objects which met his eye
on every side as the coach rolled on; the only things he seemed to
care for, being horses and droves of cattle, which he scrutinised
with a critical air as they were passed upon the road.

The weather was intensely and bitterly cold; a great deal of snow
fell from time to time; and the wind was intolerably keen. Mr
Squeers got down at almost every stage--to stretch his legs as he
said--and as he always came back from such excursions with a very
red nose, and composed himself to sleep directly, there is reason to
suppose that he derived great benefit from the process. The little
pupils having been stimulated with the remains of their breakfast,
and further invigorated by sundry small cups of a curious cordial
carried by Mr Squeers, which tasted very like toast-and-water put
into a brandy bottle by mistake, went to sleep, woke, shivered, and
cried, as their feelings prompted. Nicholas and the good-tempered
man found so many things to talk about, that between conversing
together, and cheering up the boys, the time passed with them as
rapidly as it could, under such adverse circumstances.

So the day wore on. At Eton Slocomb there was a good coach dinner,
of which the box, the four front outsides, the one inside, Nicholas,
the good-tempered man, and Mr Squeers, partook; while the five
little boys were put to thaw by the fire, and regaled with
sandwiches. A stage or two further on, the lamps were lighted, and
a great to-do occasioned by the taking up, at a roadside inn, of a
very fastidious lady with an infinite variety of cloaks and small
parcels, who loudly lamented, for the behoof of the outsides, the
non-arrival of her own carriage which was to have taken her on, and
made the guard solemnly promise to stop every green chariot he saw
coming; which, as it was a dark night and he was sitting with his
face the other way, that officer undertook, with many fervent
asseverations, to do. Lastly, the fastidious lady, finding there
was a solitary gentleman inside, had a small lamp lighted which she
carried in reticule, and being after much trouble shut in, the
horses were put into a brisk canter and the coach was once more in
rapid motion.

The night and the snow came on together, and dismal enough they
were. There was no sound to be heard but the howling of the wind;
for the noise of the wheels, and the tread of the horses' feet, were
rendered inaudible by the thick coating of snow which covered the
ground, and was fast increasing every moment. The streets of
Stamford were deserted as they passed through the town; and its old
churches rose, frowning and dark, from the whitened ground. Twenty
miles further on, two of the front outside passengers, wisely
availing themselves of their arrival at one of the best inns in
England, turned in, for the night, at the George at Grantham. The
remainder wrapped themselves more closely in their coats and cloaks,
and leaving the light and warmth of the town behind them, pillowed
themselves against the luggage, and prepared, with many half-
suppressed moans, again to encounter the piercing blast which swept
across the open country.

They were little more than a stage out of Grantham, or about halfway
between it and Newark, when Nicholas, who had been asleep for a
short time, was suddenly roused by a violent jerk which nearly threw
him from his seat. Grasping the rail, he found that the coach had
sunk greatly on one side, though it was still dragged forward by the
horses; and while--confused by their plunging and the loud screams
of the lady inside--he hesitated, for an instant, whether to jump
off or not, the vehicle turned easily over, and relieved him from
all further uncertainty by flinging him into the road.

[فرناز]

CHAPTER 6

In which the Occurrence of the Accident mentioned in the last
Chapter, affords an Opportunity to a couple of Gentlemen to tell
Stories against each other


'Wo ho!' cried the guard, on his legs in a minute, and running to
the leaders' heads. 'Is there ony genelmen there as can len' a
hond here? Keep quiet, dang ye! Wo ho!'

'What's the matter?' demanded Nicholas, looking sleepily up.

'Matther mun, matter eneaf for one neight,' replied the guard; 'dang
the wall-eyed bay, he's gane mad wi' glory I think, carse t'coorch
is over. Here, can't ye len' a hond? Dom it, I'd ha' dean it if
all my boans were brokken.'

'Here!' cried Nicholas, staggering to his feet, 'I'm ready. I'm
only a little abroad, that's all.'

'Hoold 'em toight,' cried the guard, 'while ar coot treaces. Hang
on tiv'em sumhoo. Well deane, my lod. That's it. Let'em goa noo.
Dang 'em, they'll gang whoam fast eneaf!'

In truth, the animals were no sooner released than they trotted
back, with much deliberation, to the stable they had just left,
which was distant not a mile behind.

'Can you blo' a harn?' asked the guard, disengaging one of the
coach-lamps.

'I dare say I can,' replied Nicholas.

'Then just blo' away into that 'un as lies on the grund, fit to
wakken the deead, will'ee,' said the man, 'while I stop sum o' this
here squealing inside. Cumin', cumin'. Dean't make that noise,
wooman.'

As the man spoke, he proceeded to wrench open the uppermost door of
the coach, while Nicholas, seizing the horn, awoke the echoes far
and wide with one of the most extraordinary performances on that
instrument ever heard by mortal ears. It had its effect, however,
not only in rousing such of their fall, but in summoning assistance
to their relief; for lights gleamed in the distance, and people were
already astir.

In fact, a man on horseback galloped down, before the passengers
were well collected together; and a careful investigation being
instituted, it appeared that the lady inside had broken her lamp,
and the gentleman his head; that the two front outsides had escaped
with black eyes; the box with a bloody nose; the coachman with a
contusion on the temple; Mr Squeers with a portmanteau bruise on his
back; and the remaining passengers without any injury at all--thanks
to the softness of the snow-drift in which they had been overturned.
These facts were no sooner thoroughly ascertained, than the lady
gave several indications of fainting, but being forewarned that if
she did, she must be carried on some gentleman's shoulders to the
nearest public-house, she prudently thought better of it, and walked
back with the rest.

They found on reaching it, that it was a lonely place with no very
great accommodation in the way of apartments--that portion of its
resources being all comprised in one public room with a sanded
floor, and a chair or two. However, a large faggot and a plentiful
supply of coals being heaped upon the fire, the appearance of things
was not long in mending; and, by the time they had washed off all
effaceable marks of the late accident, the room was warm and light,
which was a most agreeable exchange for the cold and darkness out of
doors.

'Well, Mr Nickleby,' said Squeers, insinuating himself into the
warmest corner, 'you did very right to catch hold of them horses. I
should have done it myself if I had come to in time, but I am very
glad you did it. You did it very well; very well.'

'So well,' said the merry-faced gentleman, who did not seem to
approve very much of the patronising tone adopted by Squeers, 'that
if they had not been firmly checked when they were, you would most
probably have had no brains left to teach with.'

This remark called up a discourse relative to the promptitude
Nicholas had displayed, and he was overwhelmed with compliments and
commendations.

'I am very glad to have escaped, of course,' observed Squeers:
'every man is glad when he escapes from danger; but if any one of my
charges had been hurt--if I had been prevented from restoring any
one of these little boys to his parents whole and sound as I
received him--what would have been my feelings? Why the wheel a-top
of my head would have been far preferable to it.'

'Are they all brothers, sir?' inquired the lady who had carried the
'Davy' or safety-lamp.

'In one sense they are, ma'am,' replied Squeers, diving into his
greatcoat pocket for cards. 'They are all under the same parental
and affectionate treatment. Mrs Squeers and myself are a mother and
father to every one of 'em. Mr Nickleby, hand the lady them cards,
and offer these to the gentleman. Perhaps they might know of some
parents that would be glad to avail themselves of the establishment.'

Expressing himself to this effect, Mr Squeers, who lost no
opportunity of advertising gratuitously, placed his hands upon his
knees, and looked at the pupils with as much benignity as he could
possibly affect, while Nicholas, blushing with shame, handed round
the cards as directed.

'I hope you suffer no inconvenience from the overturn, ma'am?' said
the merry-faced gentleman, addressing the fastidious lady, as though
he were charitably desirous to change the subject.

'No bodily inconvenience,' replied the lady.

'No mental inconvenience, I hope?'

'The subject is a very painful one to my feelings, sir,' replied the
lady with strong emotion; 'and I beg you as a gentleman, not to
refer to it.'

'Dear me,' said the merry-faced gentleman, looking merrier still, 'I
merely intended to inquire--'

'I hope no inquiries will be made,' said the lady, 'or I shall be
compelled to throw myself on the protection of the other gentlemen.
Landlord, pray direct a boy to keep watch outside the door--and if a
green chariot passes in the direction of Grantham, to stop it
instantly.'

The people of the house were evidently overcome by this request, and
when the lady charged the boy to remember, as a means of identifying
the expected green chariot, that it would have a coachman with a
gold-laced hat on the box, and a footman, most probably in silk
stockings, behind, the attentions of the good woman of the inn were
redoubled. Even the box-passenger caught the infection, and growing
wonderfully deferential, immediately inquired whether there was not
very good society in that neighbourhood, to which the lady replied
yes, there was: in a manner which sufficiently implied that she
moved at the very tiptop and summit of it all.

'As the guard has gone on horseback to Grantham to get another
coach,' said the good-tempered gentleman when they had been all
sitting round the fire, for some time, in silence, 'and as he must
be gone a couple of hours at the very least, I propose a bowl of hot
punch. What say you, sir?'

This question was addressed to the broken-headed inside, who was a
man of very genteel appearance, dressed in mourning. He was not
past the middle age, but his hair was grey; it seemed to have been
prematurely turned by care or sorrow. He readily acceded to the
proposal, and appeared to be prepossessed by the frank good-nature
of the individual from whom it emanated.

This latter personage took upon himself the office of tapster when
the punch was ready, and after dispensing it all round, led the
conversation to the antiquities of York, with which both he and the
grey-haired gentleman appeared to be well acquainted. When this
topic flagged, he turned with a smile to the grey-headed gentleman,
and asked if he could sing.

'I cannot indeed,' replied gentleman, smiling in his turn.

'That's a pity,' said the owner of the good-humoured countenance.
'Is there nobody here who can sing a song to lighten the time?'

The passengers, one and all, protested that they could not; that
they wished they could; that they couldn't remember the words of
anything without the book; and so forth.

'Perhaps the lady would not object,' said the president with great
respect, and a merry twinkle in his eye. 'Some little Italian thing
out of the last opera brought out in town, would be most acceptable
I am sure.'

As the lady condescended to make no reply, but tossed her head
contemptuously, and murmured some further expression of surprise
regarding the absence of the green chariot, one or two voices urged
upon the president himself, the propriety of making an attempt for
the general benefit.

'I would if I could,' said he of the good-tempered face; 'for I hold
that in this, as in all other cases where people who are strangers
to each other are thrown unexpectedly together, they should
endeavour to render themselves as pleasant, for the joint sake of
the little community, as possible.'

'I wish the maxim were more generally acted on, in all cases,' said
the grey-headed gentleman.

'I'm glad to hear it,' returned the other. 'Perhaps, as you can't
sing, you'll tell us a story?'

'Nay. I should ask you.'

'After you, I will, with pleasure.'

'Indeed!' said the grey-haired gentleman, smiling, 'Well, let it be
so. I fear the turn of my thoughts is not calculated to lighten the
time you must pass here; but you have brought this upon yourselves,
and shall judge. We were speaking of York Minster just now. My
story shall have some reference to it. Let us call it


THE FIVE SISTERS OF YORK


After a murmur of approbation from the other passengers, during
which the fastidious lady drank a glass of punch unobserved, the
grey-headed gentleman thus went on:

'A great many years ago--for the fifteenth century was scarce two
years old at the time, and King Henry the Fourth sat upon the throne
of England--there dwelt, in the ancient city of York, five maiden
sisters, the subjects of my tale.

'These five sisters were all of surpassing beauty. The eldest was
in her twenty-third year, the second a year younger, the third a
year younger than the second, and the fourth a year younger than the
third. They were tall stately figures, with dark flashing eyes and
hair of jet; dignity and grace were in their every movement; and the
fame of their great beauty had spread through all the country round.

'But, if the four elder sisters were lovely, how beautiful was the
youngest, a fair creature of sixteen! The blushing tints in the
soft bloom on the fruit, or the delicate painting on the flower, are
not more exquisite than was the blending of the rose and lily in her
gentle face, or the deep blue of her eye. The vine, in all its
elegant luxuriance, is not more graceful than were the clusters of
rich brown hair that sported round her brow.

'If we all had hearts like those which beat so lightly in the bosoms
of the young and beautiful, what a heaven this earth would be! If,
while our bodies grow old and withered, our hearts could but retain
their early youth and freshness, of what avail would be our sorrows
and sufferings! But, the faint image of Eden which is stamped upon
them in childhood, chafes and rubs in our rough struggles with the
world, and soon wears away: too often to leave nothing but a
mournful blank remaining.

'The heart of this fair girl bounded with joy and gladness. Devoted
attachment to her sisters, and a fervent love of all beautiful
things in nature, were its pure affections. Her gleesome voice and
merry laugh were the sweetest music of their home. She was its very
light and life. The brightest flowers in the garden were reared by
her; the caged birds sang when they heard her voice, and pined when
they missed its sweetness. Alice, dear Alice; what living thing
within the sphere of her gentle witchery, could fail to love her!

'You may seek in vain, now, for the spot on which these sisters
lived, for their very names have passed away, and dusty antiquaries
tell of them as of a fable. But they dwelt in an old wooden house--
old even in those days--with overhanging gables and balconies of
rudely-carved oak, which stood within a pleasant orchard, and was
surrounded by a rough stone wall, whence a stout archer might have
winged an arrow to St Mary's Abbey. The old abbey flourished then;
and the five sisters, living on its fair domains, paid yearly dues
to the black monks of St Benedict, to which fraternity it belonged.

'It was a bright and sunny morning in the pleasant time of summer,
when one of those black monks emerged from the abbey portal, and
bent his steps towards the house of the fair sisters. Heaven above
was blue, and earth beneath was green; the river glistened like a
path of diamonds in the sun; the birds poured forth their songs from
the shady trees; the lark soared high above the waving corn; and the
deep buzz of insects filled the air. Everything looked gay and
smiling; but the holy man walked gloomily on, with his eyes bent
upon the ground. The beauty of the earth is but a breath, and man
is but a shadow. What sympathy should a holy preacher have with
either?

'With eyes bent upon the ground, then, or only raised enough to
prevent his stumbling over such obstacles as lay in his way, the
religious man moved slowly forward until he reached a small postern
in the wall of the sisters' orchard, through which he passed,
closing it behind him. The noise of soft voices in conversation,
and of merry laughter, fell upon his ears ere he had advanced many
paces; and raising his eyes higher than was his humble wont, he
descried, at no great distance, the five sisters seated on the
grass, with Alice in the centre: all busily plying their customary
task of embroidering.

'"Save you, fair daughters!" said the friar; and fair in truth they
were. Even a monk might have loved them as choice masterpieces of
his Maker's hand.

'The sisters saluted the holy man with becoming reverence, and the
eldest motioned him to a mossy seat beside them. But the good friar
shook his head, and bumped himself down on a very hard stone,--at
which, no doubt, approving angels were gratified.

'"Ye were merry, daughters," said the monk.

'"You know how light of heart sweet Alice is," replied the eldest
sister, passing her fingers through the tresses of the smiling girl.

'"And what joy and cheerfulness it wakes up within us, to see all
nature beaming in brightness and sunshine, father," added Alice,
blushing beneath the stern look of the recluse.

'The monk answered not, save by a grave inclination of the head, and
the sisters pursued their task in silence.

'"Still wasting the precious hours," said the monk at length,
turning to the eldest sister as he spoke, "still wasting the
precious hours on this vain trifling. Alas, alas! that the few
bubbles on the surface of eternity--all that Heaven wills we should
see of that dark deep stream--should be so lightly scattered!'

'"Father," urged the maiden, pausing, as did each of the others, in
her busy task, "we have prayed at matins, our daily alms have been
distributed at the gate, the sick peasants have been tended,--all
our morning tasks have been performed. I hope our occupation is a
blameless one?'

'"See here," said the friar, taking the frame from her hand,
"an intricate winding of gaudy colours, without purpose or object,
unless it be that one day it is destined for some vain ornament, to
minister to the pride of your frail and giddy sex. Day after day
has been employed upon this senseless task, and yet it is not half
accomplished. The shade of each departed day falls upon our graves,
and the worm exults as he beholds it, to know that we are hastening
thither. Daughters, is there no better way to pass the fleeting
hours?"

'The four elder sisters cast down their eyes as if abashed by the
holy man's reproof, but Alice raised hers, and bent them mildly on
the friar.

'"Our dear mother," said the maiden; "Heaven rest her soul!"

'"Amen!" cried the friar in a deep voice.

'"Our dear mother," faltered the fair Alice, "was living when these
long tasks began, and bade us, when she should be no more, ply them
in all discretion and cheerfulness, in our leisure hours; she said
that if in harmless mirth and maidenly pursuits we passed those
hours together, they would prove the happiest and most peaceful of
our lives, and that if, in later times, we went forth into the
world, and mingled with its cares and trials--if, allured by its
temptations and dazzled by its glitter, we ever forgot that love and
duty which should bind, in holy ties, the children of one loved
parent--a glance at the old work of our common girlhood would awaken
good thoughts of bygone days, and soften our hearts to affection and
love."

'"Alice speaks truly, father," said the elder sister, somewhat
proudly. And so saying she resumed her work, as did the others.

'It was a kind of sampler of large size, that each sister had before
her; the device was of a complex and intricate description, and the
pattern and colours of all five were the same. The sisters bent
gracefully over their work; the monk, resting his chin upon his
hands, looked from one to the other in silence.

'"How much better," he said at length, "to shun all such thoughts
and chances, and, in the peaceful shelter of the church, devote your
lives to Heaven! Infancy, childhood, the prime of life, and old
age, wither as rapidly as they crowd upon each other. Think how
human dust rolls onward to the tomb, and turning your faces steadily
towards that goal, avoid the cloud which takes its rise among the
pleasures of the world, and cheats the senses of their votaries.
The veil, daughters, the veil!"

'"Never, sisters," cried Alice. "Barter not the light and air of
heaven, and the freshness of earth and all the beautiful things
which breathe upon it, for the cold cloister and the cell. Nature's
own blessings are the proper goods of life, and we may share them
sinlessly together. To die is our heavy portion, but, oh, let us
die with life about us; when our cold hearts cease to beat, let warm
hearts be beating near; let our last look be upon the bounds which
God has set to his own bright skies, and not on stone walls and bars
of iron! Dear sisters, let us live and die, if you list, in this
green garden's compass; only shun the gloom and sadness of a
cloister, and we shall be happy."

'The tears fell fast from the maiden's eyes as she closed her
impassioned appeal, and hid her face in the bosom of her sister.

'"Take comfort, Alice," said the eldest, kissing her fair forehead.
"The veil shall never cast its shadow on thy young brow. How say
you, sisters? For yourselves you speak, and not for Alice, or for
me."

'The sisters, as with one accord, cried that their lot was cast
together, and that there were dwellings for peace and virtue beyond
the convent's walls.

'"Father," said the eldest lady, rising with dignity, "you hear our
final resolve. The same pious care which enriched the abbey of St
Mary, and left us, orphans, to its holy guardianship, directed that
no constraint should be imposed upon our inclinations, but that we
should be free to live according to our choice. Let us hear no more
of this, we pray you. Sisters, it is nearly noon. Let us take
shelter until evening!" With a reverence to the friar, the lady rose
and walked towards the house, hand in hand with Alice; the other
sisters followed.

'The holy man, who had often urged the same point before, but had
never met with so direct a repulse, walked some little distance
behind, with his eyes bent upon the earth, and his lips moving AS IF
in prayer. As the sisters reached the porch, he quickened his pace,
and called upon them to stop.

'"Stay!" said the monk, raising his right hand in the air, and
directing an angry glance by turns at Alice and the eldest sister.
"Stay, and hear from me what these recollections are, which you
would cherish above eternity, and awaken--if in mercy they
slumbered--by means of idle toys. The memory of earthly things is
charged, in after life, with bitter disappointment, affliction,
death; with dreary change and wasting sorrow. The time will one day
come, when a glance at those unmeaning baubles will tear open deep
wounds in the hearts of some among you, and strike to your inmost
souls. When that hour arrives--and, mark me, come it will--turn
from the world to which you clung, to the refuge which you spurned.
Find me the cell which shall be colder than the fire of mortals
grows, when dimmed by calamity and trial, and there weep for the
dreams of youth. These things are Heaven's will, not mine," said
the friar, subduing his voice as he looked round upon the shrinking
girls. "The Virgin's blessing be upon you, daughters!"

'With these words he disappeared through the postern; and the
sisters hastening into the house were seen no more that day.

'But nature will smile though priests may frown, and next day the
sun shone brightly, and on the next, and the next again. And in the
morning's glare, and the evening's soft repose, the five sisters
still walked, or worked, or beguiled the time by cheerful
conversation, in their quiet orchard.

'Time passed away as a tale that is told; faster indeed than many
tales that are told, of which number I fear this may be one. The
house of the five sisters stood where it did, and the same trees
cast their pleasant shade upon the orchard grass. The sisters too
were there, and lovely as at first, but a change had come over their
dwelling. Sometimes, there was the clash of armour, and the
gleaming of the moon on caps of steel; and, at others, jaded
coursers were spurred up to the gate, and a female form glided
hurriedly forth, as if eager to demand tidings of the weary
messenger. A goodly train of knights and ladies lodged one night
within the abbey walls, and next day rode away, with two of the fair
sisters among them. Then, horsemen began to come less frequently,
and seemed to bring bad tidings when they did, and at length they
ceased to come at all, and footsore peasants slunk to the gate after
sunset, and did their errand there, by stealth. Once, a vassal was
dispatched in haste to the abbey at dead of night, and when morning
came, there were sounds of woe and wailing in the sisters' house;
and after this, a mournful silence fell upon it, and knight or lady,
horse or armour, was seen about it no more.

'There was a sullen darkness in the sky, and the sun had gone
angrily down, tinting the dull clouds with the last traces of his
wrath, when the same black monk walked slowly on, with folded arms,
within a stone's-throw of the abbey. A blight had fallen on the
trees and shrubs; and the wind, at length beginning to break the
unnatural stillness that had prevailed all day, sighed heavily from
time to time, as though foretelling in grief the ravages of the
coming storm. The bat skimmed in fantastic flights through the
heavy air, and the ground was alive with crawling things, whose
instinct brought them forth to swell and fatten in the rain.

'No longer were the friar's eyes directed to the earth; they were
cast abroad, and roamed from point to point, as if the gloom and
desolation of the scene found a quick response in his own bosom.
Again he paused near the sisters' house, and again he entered by the
postern.

'But not again did his ear encounter the sound of laughter, or his
eyes rest upon the beautiful figures of the five sisters. All was
silent and deserted. The boughs of the trees were bent and broken,
and the grass had grown long and rank. No light feet had pressed it
for many, many a day.

'With the indifference or abstraction of one well accustomed to the
change, the monk glided into the house, and entered a low, dark
room. Four sisters sat there. Their black garments made their pale
faces whiter still, and time and sorrow had worked deep ravages.
They were stately yet; but the flush and pride of beauty were gone.

'And Alice--where was she? In Heaven.

'The monk--even the monk--could bear with some grief here; for it
was long since these sisters had met, and there were furrows in
their blanched faces which years could never plough. He took his
seat in silence, and motioned them to continue their speech.

'"They are here, sisters," said the elder lady in a trembling voice.
"I have never borne to look upon them since, and now I blame myself
for my weakness. What is there in her memory that we should dread?
To call up our old days shall be a solemn pleasure yet."

'She glanced at the monk as she spoke, and, opening a cabinet,
brought forth the five frames of work, completed long before. Her
step was firm, but her hand trembled as she produced the last one;
and, when the feelings of the other sisters gushed forth at sight of
it, her pent-up tears made way, and she sobbed "God bless her!"

'The monk rose and advanced towards them. "It was almost the last
thing she touched in health," he said in a low voice.

'"It was," cried the elder lady, weeping bitterly.

'The monk turned to the second sister.

'"The gallant youth who looked into thine eyes, and hung upon thy
very breath when first he saw thee intent upon this pastime, lies
buried on a plain whereof the turf is red with blood. Rusty
fragments of armour, once brightly burnished, lie rotting on the
ground, and are as little distinguishable for his, as are the bones
that crumble in the mould!"

'The lady groaned, and wrung her hands.

'"The policy of courts," he continued, turning to the two other
sisters, "drew ye from your peaceful home to scenes of revelry and
splendour. The same policy, and the restless ambition of--proud and
fiery men, have sent ye back, widowed maidens, and humbled outcasts.
Do I speak truly?"

'The sobs of the two sisters were their only reply.

'"There is little need," said the monk, with a meaning look, "to
fritter away the time in gewgaws which shall raise up the pale
ghosts of hopes of early years. Bury them, heap penance and
mortification on their heads, keep them down, and let the convent be
their grave!"

'The sisters asked for three days to deliberate; and felt, that
night, as though the veil were indeed the fitting shroud for their
dead joys. But, morning came again, and though the boughs of the
orchard trees drooped and ran wild upon the ground, it was the same
orchard still. The grass was coarse and high, but there was yet the
spot on which they had so often sat together, when change and sorrow
were but names. There was every walk and nook which Alice had made
glad; and in the minster nave was one flat stone beneath which she
slept in peace.

'And could they, remembering how her young heart had sickened at the
thought of cloistered walls, look upon her grave, in garbs which
would chill the very ashes within it? Could they bow down in
prayer, and when all Heaven turned to hear them, bring the dark
shade of sadness on one angel's face? No.

'They sent abroad, to artists of great celebrity in those times, and
having obtained the church's sanction to their work of piety, caused
to be executed, in five large compartments of richly stained glass,
a faithful copy of their old embroidery work. These were fitted
into a large window until that time bare of ornament; and when the
sun shone brightly, as she had so well loved to see it, the familiar
patterns were reflected in their original colours, and throwing a
stream of brilliant light upon the pavement, fell warmly on the name
of Alice.

'For many hours in every day, the sisters paced slowly up and down
the nave, or knelt by the side of the flat broad stone. Only three
were seen in the customary place, after many years; then but two,
and, for a long time afterwards, but one solitary female bent with
age. At length she came no more, and the stone bore five plain
Christian names.

'That stone has worn away and been replaced by others, and many
generations have come and gone since then. Time has softened down
the colours, but the same stream of light still falls upon the
forgotten tomb, of which no trace remains; and, to this day, the
stranger is shown in York Cathedral, an old window called the Five
Sisters.'


'That's a melancholy tale,' said the merry-faced gentleman, emptying
his glass.

'It is a tale of life, and life is made up of such sorrows,'
returned the other, courteously, but in a grave and sad tone of
voice.

'There are shades in all good pictures, but there are lights too, if
we choose to contemplate them,' said the gentleman with the merry
face. 'The youngest sister in your tale was always light-hearted.'

'And died early,' said the other, gently.

'She would have died earlier, perhaps, had she been less happy,'
said the first speaker, with much feeling. 'Do you think the
sisters who loved her so well, would have grieved the less if her
life had been one of gloom and sadness? If anything could soothe
the first sharp pain of a heavy loss, it would be--with me--the
reflection, that those I mourned, by being innocently happy here,
and loving all about them, had prepared themselves for a purer and
happier world. The sun does not shine upon this fair earth to meet
frowning eyes, depend upon it.'

'I believe you are right,' said the gentleman who had told the
story.

'Believe!' retorted the other, 'can anybody doubt it? Take any
subject of sorrowful regret, and see with how much pleasure it is
associated. The recollection of past pleasure may become pain--'

'It does,' interposed the other.

'Well; it does. To remember happiness which cannot be restored, is
pain, but of a softened kind. Our recollections are unfortunately
mingled with much that we deplore, and with many actions which we
bitterly repent; still in the most chequered life I firmly think
there are so many little rays of sunshine to look back upon, that I
do not believe any mortal (unless he had put himself without the
pale of hope) would deliberately drain a goblet of the waters of
Lethe, if he had it in his power.'

'Possibly you are correct in that belief,' said the grey-haired
gentleman after a short reflection. 'I am inclined to think you
are.'

'Why, then,' replied the other, 'the good in this state of existence
preponderates over the bad, let miscalled philosophers tell us what
they will. If our affections be tried, our affections are our
consolation and comfort; and memory, however sad, is the best and
purest link between this world and a better. But come! I'll tell
you a story of another kind.'

After a very brief silence, the merry-faced gentleman sent round the
punch, and glancing slyly at the fastidious lady, who seemed
desperately apprehensive that he was going to relate something
improper, began


THE BARON OF GROGZWIG


'The Baron Von Koeldwethout, of Grogzwig in Germany, was as likely a
young baron as you would wish to see. I needn't say that he lived
in a castle, because that's of course; neither need I say that he
lived in an old castle; for what German baron ever lived in a new
one? There were many strange circumstances connected with this
venerable building, among which, not the least startling and
mysterious were, that when the wind blew, it rumbled in the
chimneys, or even howled among the trees in the neighbouring forest;
and that when the moon shone, she found her way through certain
small loopholes in the wall, and actually made some parts of the
wide halls and galleries quite light, while she left others in
gloomy shadow. I believe that one of the baron's ancestors, being
short of money, had inserted a dagger in a gentleman who called one
night to ask his way, and it WAS supposed that these miraculous
occurrences took place in consequence. And yet I hardly know how
that could have been, either, because the baron's ancestor, who was
an amiable man, felt very sorry afterwards for having been so rash,
and laying violent hands upon a quantity of stone and timber which
belonged to a weaker baron, built a chapel as an apology, and so
took a receipt from Heaven, in full of all demands.

'Talking of the baron's ancestor puts me in mind of the baron's
great claims to respect, on the score of his pedigree. I am afraid
to say, I am sure, how many ancestors the baron had; but I know that
he had a great many more than any other man of his time; and I only
wish that he had lived in these latter days, that he might have had
more. It is a very hard thing upon the great men of past centuries,
that they should have come into the world so soon, because a man who
was born three or four hundred years ago, cannot reasonably be
expected to have had as many relations before him, as a man who is
born now. The last man, whoever he is--and he may be a cobbler or
some low vulgar dog for aught we know--will have a longer pedigree
than the greatest nobleman now alive; and I contend that this is not
fair.

'Well, but the Baron Von Koeldwethout of Grogzwig! He was a fine
swarthy fellow, with dark hair and large moustachios, who rode
a-hunting in clothes of Lincoln green, with russet boots on his feet,
and a bugle slung over his shoulder like the guard of a long stage.
When he blew this bugle, four-and-twenty other gentlemen of inferior
rank, in Lincoln green a little coarser, and russet boots with a
little thicker soles, turned out directly: and away galloped the
whole train, with spears in their hands like lacquered area
railings, to hunt down the boars, or perhaps encounter a bear: in
which latter case the baron killed him first, and greased his
whiskers with him afterwards.

'This was a merry life for the Baron of Grogzwig, and a merrier
still for the baron's retainers, who drank Rhine wine every night
till they fell under the table, and then had the bottles on the
floor, and called for pipes. Never were such jolly, roystering,
rollicking, merry-making blades, as the jovial crew of Grogzwig.

'But the pleasures of the table, or the pleasures of under the
table, require a little variety; especially when the same five-and-
twenty people sit daily down to the same board, to discuss the same
subjects, and tell the same stories. The baron grew weary, and
wanted excitement. He took to quarrelling with his gentlemen, and
tried kicking two or three of them every day after dinner. This was
a pleasant change at first; but it became monotonous after a week or
so, and the baron felt quite out of sorts, and cast about, in
despair, for some new amusement.

'One night, after a day's sport in which he had outdone Nimrod or
Gillingwater, and slaughtered "another fine bear," and brought him
home in triumph, the Baron Von Koeldwethout sat moodily at the head
of his table, eyeing the smoky roof of the hall with a discontended
aspect. He swallowed huge bumpers of wine, but the more he
swallowed, the more he frowned. The gentlemen who had been honoured
with the dangerous distinction of sitting on his right and left,
imitated him to a miracle in the drinking, and frowned at each
other.

'"I will!" cried the baron suddenly, smiting the table with his
right hand, and twirling his moustache with his left. "Fill to the
Lady of Grogzwig!"

'The four-and-twenty Lincoln greens turned pale, with the exception
of their four-and-twenty noses, which were unchangeable.

'"I said to the Lady of Grogzwig," repeated the baron, looking round
the board.

'"To the Lady of Grogzwig!" shouted the Lincoln greens; and down
their four-and-twenty throats went four-and-twenty imperial pints of
such rare old hock, that they smacked their eight-and-forty lips,
and winked again.

'"The fair daughter of the Baron Von Swillenhausen," said
Koeldwethout, condescending to explain. "We will demand her in
marriage of her father, ere the sun goes down tomorrow. If he
refuse our suit, we will cut off his nose."

'A hoarse murmur arose from the company; every man touched, first
the hilt of his sword, and then the tip of his nose, with appalling
significance.

'What a pleasant thing filial piety is to contemplate! If the
daughter of the Baron Von Swillenhausen had pleaded a preoccupied
heart, or fallen at her father's feet and corned them in salt tears,
or only fainted away, and complimented the old gentleman in frantic
ejaculations, the odds are a hundred to one but Swillenhausen Castle
would have been turned out at window, or rather the baron turned out
at window, and the castle demolished. The damsel held her peace,
however, when an early messenger bore the request of Von
Koeldwethout next morning, and modestly retired to her chamber, from
the casement of which she watched the coming of the suitor and his
retinue. She was no sooner assured that the horseman with the large
moustachios was her proffered husband, than she hastened to her
father's presence, and expressed her readiness to sacrifice herself
to secure his peace. The venerable baron caught his child to his
arms, and shed a wink of joy.

'There was great feasting at the castle, that day. The four-and-
twenty Lincoln greens of Von Koeldwethout exchanged vows of eternal
friendship with twelve Lincoln greens of Von Swillenhausen, and
promised the old baron that they would drink his wine "Till all was
blue"--meaning probably until their whole countenances had acquired
the same tint as their noses. Everybody slapped everybody else's
back, when the time for parting came; and the Baron Von Koeldwethout
and his followers rode gaily home.

'For six mortal weeks, the bears and boars had a holiday. The
houses of Koeldwethout and Swillenhausen were united; the spears
rusted; and the baron's bugle grew hoarse for lack of blowing.

'Those were great times for the four-and-twenty; but, alas! their
high and palmy days had taken boots to themselves, and were already
walking off.

'"My dear," said the baroness.

'"My love," said the baron.

'"Those coarse, noisy men--"

'"Which, ma'am?" said the baron, starting.

'The baroness pointed, from the window at which they stood, to the
courtyard beneath, where the unconscious Lincoln greens were taking
a copious stirrup-cup, preparatory to issuing forth after a boar or
two.

'"My hunting train, ma'am," said the baron.

'"Disband them, love," murmured the baroness.

'"Disband them!" cried the baron, in amazement.

'"To please me, love," replied the baroness.

'"To please the devil, ma'am," answered the baron.

'Whereupon the baroness uttered a great cry, and swooned away at the
baron's feet.

'What could the baron do? He called for the lady's maid, and roared
for the doctor; and then, rushing into the yard, kicked the two
Lincoln greens who were the most used to it, and cursing the others
all round, bade them go--but never mind where. I don't know the
German for it, or I would put it delicately that way.

'It is not for me to say by what means, or by what degrees, some
wives manage to keep down some husbands as they do, although I may
have my private opinion on the subject, and may think that no Member
of Parliament ought to be married, inasmuch as three married members
out of every four, must vote according to their wives' consciences
(if there be such things), and not according to their own. All I
need say, just now, is, that the Baroness Von Koeldwethout somehow
or other acquired great control over the Baron Von Koeldwethout, and
that, little by little, and bit by bit, and day by day, and year by
year, the baron got the worst of some disputed question, or was
slyly unhorsed from some old hobby; and that by the time he was a
fat hearty fellow of forty-eight or thereabouts, he had no feasting,
no revelry, no hunting train, and no hunting--nothing in short that
he liked, or used to have; and that, although he was as fierce as a
lion, and as bold as brass, he was decidedly snubbed and put down,
by his own lady, in his own castle of Grogzwig.

'Nor was this the whole extent of the baron's misfortunes. About a
year after his nuptials, there came into the world a lusty young
baron, in whose honour a great many fireworks were let off, and a
great many dozens of wine drunk; but next year there came a young
baroness, and next year another young baron, and so on, every year,
either a baron or baroness (and one year both together), until the
baron found himself the father of a small family of twelve. Upon
every one of these anniversaries, the venerable Baroness Von
Swillenhausen was nervously sensitive for the well-being of her
child the Baroness Von Koeldwethout; and although it was not found
that the good lady ever did anything material towards contributing
to her child's recovery, still she made it a point of duty to be as
nervous as possible at the castle of Grogzwig, and to divide her
time between moral observations on the baron's housekeeping, and
bewailing the hard lot of her unhappy daughter. And if the Baron of
Grogzwig, a little hurt and irritated at this, took heart, and
ventured to suggest that his wife was at least no worse off than the
wives of other barons, the Baroness Von Swillenhausen begged all
persons to take notice, that nobody but she, sympathised with her
dear daughter's sufferings; upon which, her relations and friends
remarked, that to be sure she did cry a great deal more than her
son-in-law, and that if there were a hard-hearted brute alive, it
was that Baron of Grogzwig.

'The poor baron bore it all as long as he could, and when he could
bear it no longer lost his appetite and his spirits, and sat himself
gloomily and dejectedly down. But there were worse troubles yet in
store for him, and as they came on, his melancholy and sadness
increased. Times changed. He got into debt. The Grogzwig coffers
ran low, though the Swillenhausen family had looked upon them as
inexhaustible; and just when the baroness was on the point of making
a thirteenth addition to the family pedigree, Von Koeldwethout
discovered that he had no means of replenishing them.

'"I don't see what is to be done," said the baron. "I think I'll
kill myself."

'This was a bright idea. The baron took an old hunting-knife from a
cupboard hard by, and having sharpened it on his boot, made what
boys call "an offer" at his throat.

'"Hem!" said the baron, stopping short. "Perhaps it's not sharp
enough."

'The baron sharpened it again, and made another offer, when his hand
was arrested by a loud screaming among the young barons and
baronesses, who had a nursery in an upstairs tower with iron bars
outside the window, to prevent their tumbling out into the moat.

'"If I had been a bachelor," said the baron sighing, "I might have
done it fifty times over, without being interrupted. Hallo! Put a
flask of wine and the largest pipe in the little vaulted room behind
the hall."

'One of the domestics, in a very kind manner, executed the baron's
order in the course of half an hour or so, and Von Koeldwethout
being apprised thereof, strode to the vaulted room, the walls of
which, being of dark shining wood, gleamed in the light of the
blazing logs which were piled upon the hearth. The bottle and pipe
were ready, and, upon the whole, the place looked very comfortable.

'"Leave the lamp," said the baron.

'"Anything else, my lord?" inquired the domestic.

'"The room," replied the baron. The domestic obeyed, and the baron
locked the door.

'"I'll smoke a last pipe," said the baron, "and then I'll be off."
So, putting the knife upon the table till he wanted it, and tossing
off a goodly measure of wine, the Lord of Grogzwig threw himself
back in his chair, stretched his legs out before the fire, and
puffed away.

'He thought about a great many things--about his present troubles
and past days of bachelorship, and about the Lincoln greens, long
since dispersed up and down the country, no one knew whither: with
the exception of two who had been unfortunately beheaded, and four
who had killed themselves with drinking. His mind was running upon
bears and boars, when, in the process of draining his glass to the
bottom, he raised his eyes, and saw, for the first time and with
unbounded astonishment, that he was not alone.

'No, he was not; for, on the opposite side of the fire, there sat
with folded arms a wrinkled hideous figure, with deeply sunk and
bloodshot eyes, and an immensely long cadaverous face, shadowed by
jagged and matted locks of coarse black hair. He wore a kind of
tunic of a dull bluish colour, which, the baron observed, on
regarding it attentively, was clasped or ornamented down the front
with coffin handles. His legs, too, were encased in coffin plates
as though in armour; and over his left shoulder he wore a short
dusky cloak, which seemed made of a remnant of some pall. He took
no notice of the baron, but was intently eyeing the fire.

'"Halloa!" said the baron, stamping his foot to attract attention.

'"Halloa!" replied the stranger, moving his eyes towards the baron,
but not his face or himself "What now?"

'"What now!" replied the baron, nothing daunted by his hollow voice
and lustreless eyes. "I should ask that question. How did you get
here?"

'"Through the door," replied the figure.

'"What are you?" says the baron.

'"A man," replied the figure.

'"I don't believe it," says the baron.

'"Disbelieve it then," says the figure.

'"I will," rejoined the baron.

'The figure looked at the bold Baron of Grogzwig for some time, and
then said familiarly,

'"There's no coming over you, I see. I'm not a man!"

'"What are you then?" asked the baron.

'"A genius," replied the figure.

'"You don't look much like one," returned the baron scornfully.

'"I am the Genius of Despair and Suicide," said the apparition.
"Now you know me."

'With these words the apparition turned towards the baron, as if
composing himself for a talk--and, what was very remarkable, was,
that he threw his cloak aside, and displaying a stake, which was run
through the centre of his body, pulled it out with a jerk, and laid
it on the table, as composedly as if it had been a walking-stick.

'"Now," said the figure, glancing at the hunting-knife, "are you
ready for me?"

'"Not quite," rejoined the baron; "I must finish this pipe first."

'"Look sharp then," said the figure.

'"You seem in a hurry," said the baron.

'"Why, yes, I am," answered the figure; "they're doing a pretty
brisk business in my way, over in England and France just now, and
my time is a good deal taken up."

'"Do you drink?" said the baron, touching the bottle with the bowl
of his pipe.

'"Nine times out of ten, and then very hard," rejoined the figure,
drily.

'"Never in moderation?" asked the baron.

'"Never," replied the figure, with a shudder, "that breeds
cheerfulness."

'The baron took another look at his new friend, whom he thought an
uncommonly queer customer, and at length inquired whether he took
any active part in such little proceedings as that which he had in
contemplation.

'"No," replied the figure evasively; "but I am always present."

'"Just to see fair, I suppose?" said the baron.

'"Just that," replied the figure, playing with his stake, and
examining the ferule. "Be as quick as you can, will you, for
there's a young gentleman who is afflicted with too much money and
leisure wanting me now, I find."

'"Going to kill himself because he has too much money!" exclaimed
the baron, quite tickled. "Ha! ha! that's a good one." (This was
the first time the baron had laughed for many a long day.)

'"I say," expostulated the figure, looking very much scared; "don't
do that again."

'"Why not?" demanded the baron.

'"Because it gives me pain all over," replied the figure. "Sigh as
much as you please: that does me good."

'The baron sighed mechanically at the mention of the word; the
figure, brightening up again, handed him the hunting-knife with most
winning politeness.

'"It's not a bad idea though," said the baron, feeling the edge of
the weapon; "a man killing himself because he has too much money."

'"Pooh!" said the apparition, petulantly, "no better than a man's
killing himself because he has none or little."

'Whether the genius unintentionally committed himself in saying
this, or whether he thought the baron's mind was so thoroughly made
up that it didn't matter what he said, I have no means of knowing.
I only know that the baron stopped his hand, all of a sudden, opened
his eyes wide, and looked as if quite a new light had come upon him
for the first time.

'"Why, certainly," said Von Koeldwethout, "nothing is too bad to be
retrieved."

'"Except empty coffers," cried the genius.

'"Well; but they may be one day filled again," said the baron.

'"Scolding wives," snarled the genius.

'"Oh! They may be made quiet," said the baron.

'"Thirteen children," shouted the genius.

'"Can't all go wrong, surely," said the baron.

'The genius was evidently growing very savage with the baron, for
holding these opinions all at once; but he tried to laugh it off,
and said if he would let him know when he had left off joking he
should feel obliged to him.

'"But I am not joking; I was never farther from it," remonstrated
the baron.

'"Well, I am glad to hear that," said the genius, looking very grim,
"because a joke, without any figure of speech, IS the death of me.
Come! Quit this dreary world at once."

'"I don't know," said the baron, playing with the knife; "it's a
dreary one certainly, but I don't think yours is much better, for
you have not the appearance of being particularly comfortable. That
puts me in mind--what security have I, that I shall be any the
better for going out of the world after all!" he cried, starting up;
"I never thought of that."

'"Dispatch," cried the figure, gnashing his teeth.

'"Keep off!" said the baron. 'I'll brood over miseries no longer,
but put a good face on the matter, and try the fresh air and the
bears again; and if that don't do, I'll talk to the baroness
soundly, and cut the Von Swillenhausens dead.' With this the baron
fell into his chair, and laughed so loud and boisterously, that the
room rang with it.

'The figure fell back a pace or two, regarding the baron meanwhile
with a look of intense terror, and when he had ceased, caught up the
stake, plunged it violently into its body, uttered a frightful howl,
and disappeared.

'Von Koeldwethout never saw it again. Having once made up his mind
to action, he soon brought the baroness and the Von Swillenhausens
to reason, and died many years afterwards: not a rich man that I am
aware of, but certainly a happy one: leaving behind him a numerous
family, who had been carefully educated in bear and boar-hunting
under his own personal eye. And my advice to all men is, that if
ever they become hipped and melancholy from similar causes (as very
many men do), they look at both sides of the question, applying a
magnifying-glass to the best one; and if they still feel tempted to
retire without leave, that they smoke a large pipe and drink a full
bottle first, and profit by the laudable example of the Baron of
Grogzwig.'


'The fresh coach is ready, ladies and gentlemen, if you please,'
said a new driver, looking in.

This intelligence caused the punch to be finished in a great hurry,
and prevented any discussion relative to the last story. Mr Squeers
was observed to draw the grey-headed gentleman on one side, and to
ask a question with great apparent interest; it bore reference to
the Five Sisters of York, and was, in fact, an inquiry whether he
could inform him how much per annum the Yorkshire convents got in
those days with their boarders.

The journey was then resumed. Nicholas fell asleep towards morning,
and, when he awoke, found, with great regret, that, during his nap,
both the Baron of Grogzwig and the grey-haired gentleman had got
down and were gone. The day dragged on uncomfortably enough. At
about six o'clock that night, he and Mr Squeers, and the little
boys, and their united luggage, were all put down together at the
George and New Inn, Greta Bridge.

[فرناز]

CHAPTER 7

Mr and Mrs Squeers at Home


Mr Squeers, being safely landed, left Nicholas and the boys standing
with the luggage in the road, to amuse themselves by looking at the
coach as it changed horses, while he ran into the tavern and went
through the leg-stretching process at the bar. After some minutes,
he returned, with his legs thoroughly stretched, if the hue of his
nose and a short hiccup afforded any criterion; and at the same time
there came out of the yard a rusty pony-chaise, and a cart, driven
by two labouring men.

'Put the boys and the boxes into the cart,' said Squeers, rubbing
his hands; 'and this young man and me will go on in the chaise. Get
in, Nickleby.'

Nicholas obeyed. Mr. Squeers with some difficulty inducing the
pony to obey also, they started off, leaving the cart-load of infant
misery to follow at leisure.

'Are you cold, Nickleby?' inquired Squeers, after they had travelled
some distance in silence.

'Rather, sir, I must say.'

'Well, I don't find fault with that,' said Squeers; 'it's a long
journey this weather.'

'Is it much farther to Dotheboys Hall, sir?' asked Nicholas.

'About three mile from here,' replied Squeers. 'But you needn't
call it a Hall down here.'

Nicholas coughed, as if he would like to know why.

'The fact is, it ain't a Hall,' observed Squeers drily.

'Oh, indeed!' said Nicholas, whom this piece of intelligence much
astonished.

'No,' replied Squeers. 'We call it a Hall up in London, because it
sounds better, but they don't know it by that name in these parts.
A man may call his house an island if he likes; there's no act of
Parliament against that, I believe?'

'I believe not, sir,' rejoined Nicholas.

Squeers eyed his companion slyly, at the conclusion of this little
dialogue, and finding that he had grown thoughtful and appeared in
nowise disposed to volunteer any observations, contented himself
with lashing the pony until they reached their journey's end.

'Jump out,' said Squeers. 'Hallo there! Come and put this horse
up. Be quick, will you!'

While the schoolmaster was uttering these and other impatient cries,
Nicholas had time to observe that the school was a long, cold-
looking house, one storey high, with a few straggling out-buildings
behind, and a barn and stable adjoining. After the lapse of a
minute or two, the noise of somebody unlocking the yard-gate was
heard, and presently a tall lean boy, with a lantern in his hand,
issued forth.

'Is that you, Smike?' cried Squeers.

'Yes, sir,' replied the boy.

'Then why the devil didn't you come before?'

'Please, sir, I fell asleep over the fire,' answered Smike, with
humility.

'Fire! what fire? Where's there a fire?' demanded the schoolmaster,
sharply.

'Only in the kitchen, sir,' replied the boy. 'Missus said as I was
sitting up, I might go in there for a warm.'

'Your missus is a fool,' retorted Squeers. 'You'd have been a
deuced deal more wakeful in the cold, I'll engage.'

By this time Mr Squeers had dismounted; and after ordering the boy
to see to the pony, and to take care that he hadn't any more corn
that night, he told Nicholas to wait at the front-door a minute
while he went round and let him in.

A host of unpleasant misgivings, which had been crowding upon
Nicholas during the whole journey, thronged into his mind with
redoubled force when he was left alone. His great distance from
home and the impossibility of reaching it, except on foot, should he
feel ever so anxious to return, presented itself to him in most
alarming colours; and as he looked up at the dreary house and dark
windows, and upon the wild country round, covered with snow, he felt
a depression of heart and spirit which he had never experienced
before.

'Now then!' cried Squeers, poking his head out at the front-door.
'Where are you, Nickleby?'

'Here, sir,' replied Nicholas.

'Come in, then,' said Squeers 'the wind blows in, at this door, fit
to knock a man off his legs.'

Nicholas sighed, and hurried in. Mr Squeers, having bolted the door
to keep it shut, ushered him into a small parlour scantily furnished
with a few chairs, a yellow map hung against the wall, and a couple
of tables; one of which bore some preparations for supper; while, on
the other, a tutor's assistant, a Murray's grammar, half-a-dozen
cards of terms, and a worn letter directed to Wackford Squeers,
Esquire, were arranged in picturesque confusion.

They had not been in this apartment a couple of minutes, when a
female bounced into the room, and, seizing Mr Squeers by the throat,
gave him two loud kisses: one close after the other, like a
postman's knock. The lady, who was of a large raw-boned figure, was
about half a head taller than Mr Squeers, and was dressed in a
dimity night-jacket; with her hair in papers; she had also a dirty
nightcap on, relieved by a yellow cotton handkerchief which tied it
under the chin.

'How is my Squeery?' said this lady in a playful manner, and a very
hoarse voice.

'Quite well, my love,' replied Squeers. 'How's the cows?'

'All right, every one of'em,' answered the lady.

'And the pigs?' said Squeers.

'As well as they were when you went away.'

'Come; that's a blessing,' said Squeers, pulling off his great-coat.
'The boys are all as they were, I suppose?'

'Oh, yes, they're well enough,' replied Mrs Squeers, snappishly.
'That young Pitcher's had a fever.'

'No!' exclaimed Squeers. 'Damn that boy, he's always at something
of that sort.'

'Never was such a boy, I do believe,' said Mrs Squeers; 'whatever he
has is always catching too. I say it's obstinacy, and nothing shall
ever convince me that it isn't. I'd beat it out of him; and I told
you that, six months ago.'

'So you did, my love,' rejoined Squeers. 'We'll try what can be
done.'

Pending these little endearments, Nicholas had stood, awkwardly
enough, in the middle of the room: not very well knowing whether he
was expected to retire into the passage, or to remain where he was.
He was now relieved from his perplexity by Mr Squeers.

'This is the new young man, my dear,' said that gentleman.

'Oh,' replied Mrs Squeers, nodding her head at Nicholas, and eyeing
him coldly from top to toe.

'He'll take a meal with us tonight,' said Squeers, 'and go among the
boys tomorrow morning. You can give him a shake-down here, tonight,
can't you?'

'We must manage it somehow,' replied the lady. 'You don't much mind
how you sleep, I suppose, sir?'

No, indeed,' replied Nicholas, 'I am not particular.'

'That's lucky,' said Mrs Squeers. And as the lady's humour was
considered to lie chiefly in retort, Mr Squeers laughed heartily,
and seemed to expect that Nicholas should do the same.

After some further conversation between the master and mistress
relative to the success of Mr Squeers's trip and the people who had
paid, and the people who had made default in payment, a young
servant girl brought in a Yorkshire pie and some cold beef, which
being set upon the table, the boy Smike appeared with a jug of ale.

Mr Squeers was emptying his great-coat pockets of letters to
different boys, and other small documents, which he had brought down
in them. The boy glanced, with an anxious and timid expression, at
the papers, as if with a sickly hope that one among them might
relate to him. The look was a very painful one, and went to
Nicholas's heart at once; for it told a long and very sad history.

It induced him to consider the boy more attentively, and he was
surprised to observe the extraordinary mixture of garments which
formed his dress. Although he could not have been less than
eighteen or nineteen years old, and was tall for that age, he wore a
skeleton suit, such as is usually put upon very little boys, and
which, though most absurdly short in the arms and legs, was quite
wide enough for his attenuated frame. In order that the lower part
of his legs might be in perfect keeping with this singular dress, he
had a very large pair of boots, originally made for tops, which
might have been once worn by some stout farmer, but were now too
patched and tattered for a beggar. Heaven knows how long he had
been there, but he still wore the same linen which he had first
taken down; for, round his neck, was a tattered child's frill, only
half concealed by a coarse, man's neckerchief. He was lame; and as
he feigned to be busy in arranging the table, glanced at the letters
with a look so keen, and yet so dispirited and hopeless, that
Nicholas could hardly bear to watch him.

'What are you bothering about there, Smike?' cried Mrs Squeers; 'let
the things alone, can't you?'

'Eh!' said Squeers, looking up. 'Oh! it's you, is it?'

'Yes, sir,' replied the youth, pressing his hands together, as
though to control, by force, the nervous wandering of his fingers.
'Is there--'

'Well!' said Squeers.

'Have you--did anybody--has nothing been heard--about me?'

'Devil a bit,' replied Squeers testily.

The lad withdrew his eyes, and, putting his hand to his face, moved
towards the door.

'Not a word,' resumed Squeers, 'and never will be. Now, this is a
pretty sort of thing, isn't it, that you should have been left here,
all these years, and no money paid after the first six--nor no
notice taken, nor no clue to be got who you belong to? It's a
pretty sort of thing that I should have to feed a great fellow like
you, and never hope to get one penny for it, isn't it?'

The boy put his hand to his head as if he were making an effort to
recollect something, and then, looking vacantly at his questioner,
gradually broke into a smile, and limped away.

'I'll tell you what, Squeers,' remarked his wife as the door closed,
'I think that young chap's turning silly.'

'I hope not,' said the schoolmaster; 'for he's a handy fellow out of
doors, and worth his meat and drink, anyway. I should think he'd
have wit enough for us though, if he was. But come; let's have
supper, for I am hungry and tired, and want to get to bed.'

This reminder brought in an exclusive steak for Mr Squeers, who
speedily proceeded to do it ample justice. Nicholas drew up his
chair, but his appetite was effectually taken away.

'How's the steak, Squeers?' said Mrs S.

'Tender as a lamb,' replied Squeers. 'Have a bit.'

'I couldn't eat a morsel,' replied his wife. 'What'll the young man
take, my dear?'

'Whatever he likes that's present,' rejoined Squeers, in a most
unusual burst of generosity.

'What do you say, Mr Knuckleboy?' inquired Mrs Squeers.

'I'll take a little of the pie, if you please,' replied Nicholas.
'A very little, for I'm not hungry.'

Well, it's a pity to cut the pie if you're not hungry, isn't it?'
said Mrs Squeers. 'Will you try a bit of the beef?'

'Whatever you please,' replied Nicholas abstractedly; 'it's all the
same to me.'

Mrs Squeers looked vastly gracious on receiving this reply; and
nodding to Squeers, as much as to say that she was glad to find the
young man knew his station, assisted Nicholas to a slice of meat
with her own fair hands.

'Ale, Squeery?' inquired the lady, winking and frowning to give him
to understand that the question propounded, was, whether Nicholas
should have ale, and not whether he (Squeers) would take any.

'Certainly,' said Squeers, re-telegraphing in the same manner. 'A
glassful.'

So Nicholas had a glassful, and being occupied with his own
reflections, drank it, in happy innocence of all the foregone
proceedings.

'Uncommon juicy steak that,' said Squeers, as he laid down his knife
and fork, after plying it, in silence, for some time.

'It's prime meat,' rejoined his lady. 'I bought a good large piece
of it myself on purpose for--'

'For what!' exclaimed Squeers hastily. 'Not for the--'

'No, no; not for them,' rejoined Mrs Squeers; 'on purpose for you
against you came home. Lor! you didn't think I could have made such
a mistake as that.'

'Upon my word, my dear, I didn't know what you were going to say,'
said Squeers, who had turned pale.

'You needn't make yourself uncomfortable,' remarked his wife,
laughing heartily. 'To think that I should be such a noddy! Well!'

This part of the conversation was rather unintelligible; but popular
rumour in the neighbourhood asserted that Mr Squeers, being amiably
opposed to cruelty to animals, not unfrequently purchased for by
consumption the bodies of horned cattle who had died a natural
death; possibly he was apprehensive of having unintentionally
devoured some choice morsel intended for the young gentlemen.

Supper being over, and removed by a small servant girl with a hungry
eye, Mrs Squeers retired to lock it up, and also to take into safe
custody the clothes of the five boys who had just arrived, and who
were half-way up the troublesome flight of steps which leads to
death's door, in consequence of exposure to the cold. They were
then regaled with a light supper of porridge, and stowed away, side
by side, in a small bedstead, to warm each other, and dream of a
substantial meal with something hot after it, if their fancies set
that way: which it is not at all improbable they did.

Mr Squeers treated himself to a stiff tumbler of brandy and water,
made on the liberal half-and-half principle, allowing for the
dissolution of the sugar; and his amiable helpmate mixed Nicholas
the ghost of a small glassful of the same compound. This done, Mr
and Mrs Squeers drew close up to the fire, and sitting with their
feet on the fender, talked confidentially in whispers; while
Nicholas, taking up the tutor's assistant, read the interesting
legends in the miscellaneous questions, and all the figures into the
bargain, with as much thought or consciousness of what he was doing,
as if he had been in a magnetic slumber.

At length, Mr Squeers yawned fearfully, and opined that it was high
time to go to bed; upon which signal, Mrs Squeers and the girl
dragged in a small straw mattress and a couple of blankets, and
arranged them into a couch for Nicholas.

'We'll put you into your regular bedroom tomorrow, Nickelby,' said
Squeers. 'Let me see! Who sleeps in Brooks's's bed, my dear?'

'In Brooks's,' said Mrs Squeers, pondering. 'There's Jennings,
little Bolder, Graymarsh, and what's his name.'

'So there is,' rejoined Squeers. 'Yes! Brooks is full.'

'Full!' thought Nicholas. 'I should think he was.'

'There's a place somewhere, I know,' said Squeers; 'but I can't at
this moment call to mind where it is. However, we'll have that all
settled tomorrow. Good-night, Nickleby. Seven o'clock in the
morning, mind.'

'I shall be ready, sir,' replied Nicholas. 'Good-night.'

'I'll come in myself and show you where the well is,' said Squeers.
'You'll always find a little bit of soap in the kitchen window; that
belongs to you.'

Nicholas opened his eyes, but not his mouth; and Squeers was again
going away, when he once more turned back.

'I don't know, I am sure,' he said, 'whose towel to put you on; but
if you'll make shift with something tomorrow morning, Mrs Squeers
will arrange that, in the course of the day. My dear, don't
forget.'

'I'll take care,' replied Mrs Squeers; 'and mind YOU take care,
young man, and get first wash. The teacher ought always to have it;
but they get the better of him if they can.'

Mr Squeers then nudged Mrs Squeers to bring away the brandy bottle,
lest Nicholas should help himself in the night; and the lady having
seized it with great precipitation, they retired together.

Nicholas, being left alone, took half-a-dozen turns up and down the
room in a condition of much agitation and excitement; but, growing
gradually calmer, sat himself down in a chair, and mentally
resolved that, come what come might, he would endeavour, for a time,
to bear whatever wretchedness might be in store for him, and that
remembering the helplessness of his mother and sister, he would give
his uncle no plea for deserting them in their need. Good
resolutions seldom fail of producing some good effect in the mind
from which they spring. He grew less desponding, and--so sanguine
and buoyant is youth--even hoped that affairs at Dotheboys Hall
might yet prove better than they promised.

He was preparing for bed, with something like renewed cheerfulness,
when a sealed letter fell from his coat pocket. In the hurry of
leaving London, it had escaped his attention, and had not occurred
to him since, but it at once brought back to him the recollection of
the mysterious behaviour of Newman Noggs.

'Dear me!' said Nicholas; 'what an extraordinary hand!'

It was directed to himself, was written upon very dirty paper, and
in such cramped and crippled writing as to be almost illegible.
After great difficulty and much puzzling, he contrived to read as
follows:--

My dear young Man.

I know the world. Your father did not, or he would not have done
me a kindness when there was no hope of return. You do not, or you
would not be bound on such a journey.

If ever you want a shelter in London (don't be angry at this, I once
thought I never should), they know where I live, at the sign of the
Crown, in Silver Street, Golden Square. It is at the corner of
Silver Street and James Street, with a bar door both ways. You can
come at night. Once, nobody was ashamed--never mind that. It's all
over.

Excuse errors. I should forget how to wear a whole coat now. I
have forgotten all my old ways. My spelling may have gone with
them.

NEWMAN NOGGS.

P.S. If you should go near Barnard Castle, there is good ale at the
King's Head. Say you know me, and I am sure they will not charge
you for it. You may say Mr Noggs there, for I was a gentleman then.
I was indeed.


It may be a very undignified circumstances to record, but after he
had folded this letter and placed it in his pocket-book, Nicholas
Nickleby's eyes were dimmed with a moisture that might have been
taken for tears.

[فرناز]

CHAPTER 8

Of the Internal Economy of Dotheboys Hall


A ride of two hundred and odd miles in severe weather, is one of the
best softeners of a hard bed that ingenuity can devise. Perhaps it
is even a sweetener of dreams, for those which hovered over the
rough couch of Nicholas, and whispered their airy nothings in his
ear, were of an agreeable and happy kind. He was making his fortune
very fast indeed, when the faint glimmer of an expiring candle shone
before his eyes, and a voice he had no difficulty in recognising as
part and parcel of Mr Squeers, admonished him that it was time to
rise.

'Past seven, Nickleby,' said Mr Squeers.

'Has morning come already?' asked Nicholas, sitting up in bed.

'Ah! that has it,' replied Squeers, 'and ready iced too. Now,
Nickleby, come; tumble up, will you?'

Nicholas needed no further admonition, but 'tumbled up' at once, and
proceeded to dress himself by the light of the taper, which Mr
Squeers carried in his hand.

'Here's a pretty go,' said that gentleman; 'the pump's froze.'

'Indeed!' said Nicholas, not much interested in the intelligence.

'Yes,' replied Squeers. 'You can't wash yourself this morning.'

'Not wash myself!' exclaimed Nicholas.

'No, not a bit of it,' rejoined Squeers tartly. 'So you must be
content with giving yourself a dry polish till we break the ice in
the well, and can get a bucketful out for the boys. Don't stand
staring at me, but do look sharp, will you?'

Offering no further observation, Nicholas huddled on his clothes.
Squeers, meanwhile, opened the shutters and blew the candle out;
when the voice of his amiable consort was heard in the passage,
demanding admittance.

'Come in, my love,' said Squeers.

Mrs Squeers came in, still habited in the primitive night-jacket
which had displayed the symmetry of her figure on the previous
night, and further ornamented with a beaver bonnet of some
antiquity, which she wore, with much ease and lightness, on the top
of the nightcap before mentioned.

'Drat the things,' said the lady, opening the cupboard; 'I can't
find the school spoon anywhere.'

'Never mind it, my dear,' observed Squeers in a soothing manner;
'it's of no consequence.'

'No consequence, why how you talk!' retorted Mrs Squeers sharply;
'isn't it brimstone morning?'

'I forgot, my dear,' rejoined Squeers; 'yes, it certainly is. We
purify the boys' bloods now and then, Nickleby.'

'Purify fiddlesticks' ends,' said his lady. 'Don't think, young
man, that we go to the expense of flower of brimstone and molasses,
just to purify them; because if you think we carry on the business
in that way, you'll find yourself mistaken, and so I tell you
plainly.'

'My dear,' said Squeers frowning. 'Hem!'

'Oh! nonsense,' rejoined Mrs Squeers. 'If the young man comes to be
a teacher here, let him understand, at once, that we don't want any
foolery about the boys. They have the brimstone and treacle, partly
because if they hadn't something or other in the way of medicine
they'd be always ailing and giving a world of trouble, and partly
because it spoils their appetites and comes cheaper than breakfast
and dinner. So, it does them good and us good at the same time, and
that's fair enough I'm sure.'

Having given this explanation, Mrs Squeers put her head into the
closet and instituted a stricter search after the spoon, in which Mr
Squeers assisted. A few words passed between them while they were
thus engaged, but as their voices were partially stifled by the
cupboard, all that Nicholas could distinguish was, that Mr Squeers
said what Mrs Squeers had said, was injudicious, and that Mrs
Squeers said what Mr Squeers said, was 'stuff.'

A vast deal of searching and rummaging ensued, and it proving
fruitless, Smike was called in, and pushed by Mrs Squeers, and boxed
by Mr Squeers; which course of treatment brightening his intellects,
enabled him to suggest that possibly Mrs Squeers might have the
spoon in her pocket, as indeed turned out to be the case. As Mrs
Squeers had previously protested, however, that she was quite
certain she had not got it, Smike received another box on the ear
for presuming to contradict his mistress, together with a promise of
a sound thrashing if he were not more respectful in future; so that
he took nothing very advantageous by his motion.

'A most invaluable woman, that, Nickleby,' said Squeers when his
consort had hurried away, pushing the drudge before her.

'Indeed, sir!' observed Nicholas.

'I don't know her equal,' said Squeers; 'I do not know her equal.
That woman, Nickleby, is always the same--always the same bustling,
lively, active, saving creetur that you see her now.'

Nicholas sighed involuntarily at the thought of the agreeable
domestic prospect thus opened to him; but Squeers was, fortunately,
too much occupied with his own reflections to perceive it.

'It's my way to say, when I am up in London,' continued Squeers,
'that to them boys she is a mother. But she is more than a mother
to them; ten times more. She does things for them boys, Nickleby,
that I don't believe half the mothers going, would do for their own
sons.'

'I should think they would not, sir,' answered Nicholas.

Now, the fact was, that both Mr and Mrs Squeers viewed the boys in
the light of their proper and natural enemies; or, in other words,
they held and considered that their business and profession was to
get as much from every boy as could by possibility be screwed out of
him. On this point they were both agreed, and behaved in unison
accordingly. The only difference between them was, that Mrs Squeers
waged war against the enemy openly and fearlessly, and that Squeers
covered his rascality, even at home, with a spice of his habitual
deceit; as if he really had a notion of someday or other being able
to take himself in, and persuade his own mind that he was a very
good fellow.

'But come,' said Squeers, interrupting the progress of some thoughts
to this effect in the mind of his usher, 'let's go to the
schoolroom; and lend me a hand with my school-coat, will you?'

Nicholas assisted his master to put on an old fustian shooting-
jacket, which he took down from a peg in the passage; and Squeers,
arming himself with his cane, led the way across a yard, to a door
in the rear of the house.

'There,' said the schoolmaster as they stepped in together; 'this is
our shop, Nickleby!'

It was such a crowded scene, and there were so many objects to
attract attention, that, at first, Nicholas stared about him, really
without seeing anything at all. By degrees, however, the place
resolved itself into a bare and dirty room, with a couple of
windows, whereof a tenth part might be of glass, the remainder being
stopped up with old copy-books and paper. There were a couple of
long old rickety desks, cut and notched, and inked, and damaged, in
every possible way; two or three forms; a detached desk for Squeers;
and another for his assistant. The ceiling was supported, like that
of a barn, by cross-beams and rafters; and the walls were so stained
and discoloured, that it was impossible to tell whether they had
ever been touched with paint or whitewash.

But the pupils--the young noblemen! How the last faint traces of
hope, the remotest glimmering of any good to be derived from his
efforts in this den, faded from the mind of Nicholas as he looked in
dismay around! Pale and haggard faces, lank and bony figures,
children with the countenances of old men, deformities with irons
upon their limbs, boys of stunted growth, and others whose long
meagre legs would hardly bear their stooping bodies, all crowded on
the view together; there were the bleared eye, the hare-lip, the
crooked foot, and every ugliness or distortion that told of
unnatural aversion conceived by parents for their offspring, or of
young lives which, from the earliest dawn of infancy, had been one
horrible endurance of cruelty and neglect. There were little faces
which should have been handsome, darkened with the scowl of sullen,
dogged suffering; there was childhood with the light of its eye
quenched, its beauty gone, and its helplessness alone remaining;
there were vicious-faced boys, brooding, with leaden eyes, like
malefactors in a jail; and there were young creatures on whom the
sins of their frail parents had descended, weeping even for the
mercenary nurses they had known, and lonesome even in their
loneliness. With every kindly sympathy and affection blasted in its
birth, with every young and healthy feeling flogged and starved
down, with every revengeful passion that can fester in swollen
hearts, eating its evil way to their core in silence, what an
incipient Hell was breeding here!

And yet this scene, painful as it was, had its grotesque features,
which, in a less interested observer than Nicholas, might have
provoked a smile. Mrs Squeers stood at one of the desks, presiding
over an immense basin of brimstone and treacle, of which delicious
compound she administered a large instalment to each boy in
succession: using for the purpose a common wooden spoon, which might
have been originally manufactured for some gigantic top, and which
widened every young gentleman's mouth considerably: they being all
obliged, under heavy corporal penalties, to take in the whole of the
bowl at a gasp. In another corner, huddled together for
companionship, were the little boys who had arrived on the preceding
night, three of them in very large leather breeches, and two in old
trousers, a something tighter fit than drawers are usually worn; at
no great distance from these was seated the juvenile son and heir of
Mr Squeers--a striking likeness of his father--kicking, with great
vigour, under the hands of Smike, who was fitting upon him a pair of
new boots that bore a most suspicious resemblance to those which the
least of the little boys had worn on the journey down--as the little
boy himself seemed to think, for he was regarding the appropriation
with a look of most rueful amazement. Besides these, there was a
long row of boys waiting, with countenances of no pleasant
anticipation, to be treacled; and another file, who had just escaped
from the infliction, making a variety of wry mouths indicative of
anything but satisfaction. The whole were attired in such motley,
ill-assorted, extraordinary garments, as would have been
irresistibly ridiculous, but for the foul appearance of dirt,
disorder, and disease, with which they were associated.

'Now,' said Squeers, giving the desk a great rap with his cane,
which made half the little boys nearly jump out of their boots, 'is
that physicking over?'

'Just over,' said Mrs Squeers, choking the last boy in her hurry,
and tapping the crown of his head with the wooden spoon to restore
him. 'Here, you Smike; take away now. Look sharp!'

Smike shuffled out with the basin, and Mrs Squeers having called up
a little boy with a curly head, and wiped her hands upon it, hurried
out after him into a species of wash-house, where there was a small
fire and a large kettle, together with a number of little wooden
bowls which were arranged upon a board.

Into these bowls, Mrs Squeers, assisted by the hungry servant,
poured a brown composition, which looked like diluted pincushions
without the covers, and was called porridge. A minute wedge of
brown bread was inserted in each bowl, and when they had eaten their
porridge by means of the bread, the boys ate the bread itself, and
had finished their breakfast; whereupon Mr Squeers said, in a solemn
voice, 'For what we have received, may the Lord make us truly
thankful!'--and went away to his own.

Nicholas distended his stomach with a bowl of porridge, for much the
same reason which induces some savages to swallow earth--lest they
should be inconveniently hungry when there is nothing to eat.
Having further disposed of a slice of bread and butter, allotted to
him in virtue of his office, he sat himself down, to wait for
school-time.

He could not but observe how silent and sad the boys all seemed to
be. There was none of the noise and clamour of a schoolroom; none
of its boisterous play, or hearty mirth. The children sat crouching
and shivering together, and seemed to lack the spirit to move about.
The only pupil who evinced the slightest tendency towards locomotion
or playfulness was Master Squeers, and as his chief amusement was to
tread upon the other boys' toes in his new boots, his flow of
spirits was rather disagreeable than otherwise.

After some half-hour's delay, Mr Squeers reappeared, and the boys
took their places and their books, of which latter commodity the
average might be about one to eight learners. A few minutes having
elapsed, during which Mr Squeers looked very profound, as if he had
a perfect apprehension of what was inside all the books, and could
say every word of their contents by heart if he only chose to take
the trouble, that gentleman called up the first class.

Obedient to this summons there ranged themselves in front of the
schoolmaster's desk, half-a-dozen scarecrows, out at knees and
elbows, one of whom placed a torn and filthy book beneath his
learned eye.

'This is the first class in English spelling and philosophy,
Nickleby,' said Squeers, beckoning Nicholas to stand beside him.
'We'll get up a Latin one, and hand that over to you. Now, then,
where's the first boy?'

'Please, sir, he's cleaning the back-parlour window,' said the
temporary head of the philosophical class.

'So he is, to be sure,' rejoined Squeers. 'We go upon the practical
mode of teaching, Nickleby; the regular education system. C-l-e-a-
n, clean, verb active, to make bright, to scour. W-i-n, win, d-e-r,
der, winder, a casement. When the boy knows this out of book, he
goes and does it. It's just the same principle as the use of the
globes. Where's the second boy?'

'Please, sir, he's weeding the garden,' replied a small voice.

'To be sure,' said Squeers, by no means disconcerted. 'So he is.
B-o-t, bot, t-i-n, tin, bottin, n-e-y, ney, bottinney, noun
substantive, a knowledge of plants. When he has learned that
bottinney means a knowledge of plants, he goes and knows 'em.
That's our system, Nickleby: what do you think of it?'

'It's very useful one, at any rate,' answered Nicholas.

'I believe you,' rejoined Squeers, not remarking the emphasis of his
usher. 'Third boy, what's horse?'

'A beast, sir,' replied the boy.

'So it is,' said Squeers. 'Ain't it, Nickleby?'

'I believe there is no doubt of that, sir,' answered Nicholas.

'Of course there isn't,' said Squeers. 'A horse is a quadruped, and
quadruped's Latin for beast, as everybody that's gone through the
grammar knows, or else where's the use of having grammars at all?'

'Where, indeed!' said Nicholas abstractedly.

'As you're perfect in that,' resumed Squeers, turning to the boy,
'go and look after MY horse, and rub him down well, or I'll rub you
down. The rest of the class go and draw water up, till somebody
tells you to leave off, for it's washing-day tomorrow, and they want
the coppers filled.'

So saying, he dismissed the first class to their experiments in
practical philosophy, and eyed Nicholas with a look, half cunning
and half doubtful, as if he were not altogether certain what he
might think of him by this time.

'That's the way we do it, Nickleby,' he said, after a pause.

Nicholas shrugged his shoulders in a manner that was scarcely
perceptible, and said he saw it was.

'And a very good way it is, too,' said Squeers. 'Now, just take
them fourteen little boys and hear them some reading, because, you
know, you must begin to be useful. Idling about here won't do.'

Mr Squeers said this, as if it had suddenly occurred to him, either
that he must not say too much to his assistant, or that his
assistant did not say enough to him in praise of the establishment.
The children were arranged in a semicircle round the new master, and
he was soon listening to their dull, drawling, hesitating recital of
those stories of engrossing interest which are to be found in the
more antiquated spelling-books.

In this exciting occupation, the morning lagged heavily on. At one
o'clock, the boys, having previously had their appetites thoroughly
taken away by stir-about and potatoes, sat down in the kitchen to
some hard salt beef, of which Nicholas was graciously permitted to
take his portion to his own solitary desk, to eat it there in peace.
After this, there was another hour of crouching in the schoolroom
and shivering with cold, and then school began again.

It was Mr Squeer's custom to call the boys together, and make a sort
of report, after every half-yearly visit to the metropolis,
regarding the relations and friends he had seen, the news he had
heard, the letters he had brought down, the bills which had been
paid, the accounts which had been left unpaid, and so forth. This
solemn proceeding always took place in the afternoon of the day
succeeding his return; perhaps, because the boys acquired strength
of mind from the suspense of the morning, or, possibly, because Mr
Squeers himself acquired greater sternness and inflexibility from
certain warm potations in which he was wont to indulge after his
early dinner. Be this as it may, the boys were recalled from house-
window, garden, stable, and cow-yard, and the school were assembled
in full conclave, when Mr Squeers, with a small bundle of papers in
his hand, and Mrs S. following with a pair of canes, entered the
room and proclaimed silence.

'Let any boy speak a word without leave,' said Mr Squeers mildly,
'and I'll take the skin off his back.'

This special proclamation had the desired effect, and a deathlike
silence immediately prevailed, in the midst of which Mr Squeers went
on to say:

'Boys, I've been to London, and have returned to my family and you,
as strong and well as ever.'

According to half-yearly custom, the boys gave three feeble cheers
at this refreshing intelligence. Such cheers! Sights of extra
strength with the chill on.

'I have seen the parents of some boys,' continued Squeers, turning
over his papers, 'and they're so glad to hear how their sons are
getting on, that there's no prospect at all of their going away,
which of course is a very pleasant thing to reflect upon, for all
parties.'

Two or three hands went to two or three eyes when Squeers said this,
but the greater part of the young gentlemen having no particular
parents to speak of, were wholly uninterested in the thing one way
or other.

'I have had diappointments to contend against,' said Squeers,
looking very grim; 'Bolder's father was two pound ten short. Where
is Bolder?'

'Here he is, please sir,' rejoined twenty officious voices. Boys
are very like men to be sure.

'Come here, Bolder,' said Squeers.

An unhealthy-looking boy, with warts all over his hands, stepped
from his place to the master's desk, and raised his eyes imploringly
to Squeers's face; his own, quite white from the rapid beating of
his heart.

'Bolder,' said Squeers, speaking very slowly, for he was
considering, as the saying goes, where to have him. 'Bolder, if you
father thinks that because--why, what's this, sir?'

As Squeers spoke, he caught up the boy's hand by the cuff of his
jacket, and surveyed it with an edifying aspect of horror and
disgust.

'What do you call this, sir?' demanded the schoolmaster,
administering a cut with the cane to expedite the reply.

'I can't help it, indeed, sir,' rejoined the boy, crying. 'They
will come; it's the dirty work I think, sir--at least I don't know
what it is, sir, but it's not my fault.'

'Bolder,' said Squeers, tucking up his wristbands, and moistening
the palm of his right hand to get a good grip of the cane, 'you're
an incorrigible young scoundrel, and as the last thrashing did you
no good, we must see what another will do towards beating it out of
you.'

With this, and wholly disregarding a piteous cry for mercy, Mr
Squeers fell upon the boy and caned him soundly: not leaving off,
indeed, until his arm was tired out.

'There,' said Squeers, when he had quite done; 'rub away as hard as
you like, you won't rub that off in a hurry. Oh! you won't hold
that noise, won't you? Put him out, Smike.'

The drudge knew better from long experience, than to hesitate about
obeying, so he bundled the victim out by a side-door, and Mr Squeers
perched himself again on his own stool, supported by Mrs Squeers,
who occupied another at his side.

'Now let us see,' said Squeers. 'A letter for Cobbey. Stand up,
Cobbey.'

Another boy stood up, and eyed the letter very hard while Squeers
made a mental abstract of the same.

'Oh!' said Squeers: 'Cobbey's grandmother is dead, and his uncle
John has took to drinking, which is all the news his sister sends,
except eighteenpence, which will just pay for that broken square of
glass. Mrs Squeers, my dear, will you take the money?'

The worthy lady pocketed the eighteenpence with a most business-like
air, and Squeers passed on to the next boy, as coolly as possible.

'Graymarsh,' said Squeers, 'he's the next. Stand up, Graymarsh.'

Another boy stood up, and the schoolmaster looked over the letter as
before.

'Graymarsh's maternal aunt,' said Squeers, when he had possessed
himself of the contents, 'is very glad to hear he's so well and
happy, and sends her respectful compliments to Mrs Squeers, and
thinks she must be an angel. She likewise thinks Mr Squeers is too
good for this world; but hopes he may long be spared to carry on the
business. Would have sent the two pair of stockings as desired, but
is short of money, so forwards a tract instead, and hopes Graymarsh
will put his trust in Providence. Hopes, above all, that he will
study in everything to please Mr and Mrs Squeers, and look upon them
as his only friends; and that he will love Master Squeers; and not
object to sleeping five in a bed, which no Christian should. Ah!'
said Squeers, folding it up, 'a delightful letter. Very affecting
indeed.'

It was affecting in one sense, for Graymarsh's maternal aunt was
strongly supposed, by her more intimate friends, to be no other than
his maternal parent; Squeers, however, without alluding to this part
of the story (which would have sounded immoral before boys),
proceeded with the business by calling out 'Mobbs,' whereupon
another boy rose, and Graymarsh resumed his seat.

'Mobbs's step-mother,' said Squeers, 'took to her bed on hearing
that he wouldn't eat fat, and has been very ill ever since. She
wishes to know, by an early post, where he expects to go to, if he
quarrels with his vittles; and with what feelings he could turn up
his nose at the cow's-liver broth, after his good master had asked a
blessing on it. This was told her in the London newspapers--not by
Mr Squeers, for he is too kind and too good to set anybody against
anybody--and it has vexed her so much, Mobbs can't think. She is
sorry to find he is discontented, which is sinful and horrid, and
hopes Mr Squeers will flog him into a happier state of mind; with
which view, she has also stopped his halfpenny a week pocket-money,
and given a double-bladed knife with a corkscrew in it to the
Missionaries, which she had bought on purpose for him.'

'A sulky state of feeling,' said Squeers, after a terrible pause,
during which he had moistened the palm of his right hand again,
'won't do. Cheerfulness and contentment must be kept up. Mobbs,
come to me!'

Mobbs moved slowly towards the desk, rubbing his eyes in
anticipation of good cause for doing so; and he soon afterwards
retired by the side-door, with as good cause as a boy need have.

Mr Squeers then proceeded to open a miscellaneous collection of
letters; some enclosing money, which Mrs Squeers 'took care of;' and
others referring to small articles of apparel, as caps and so forth,
all of which the same lady stated to be too large, or too small, and
calculated for nobody but young Squeers, who would appear indeed to
have had most accommodating limbs, since everything that came into
the school fitted him to a nicety. His head, in particular, must
have been singularly elastic, for hats and caps of all dimensions
were alike to him.

This business dispatched, a few slovenly lessons were performed, and
Squeers retired to his fireside, leaving Nicholas to take care of
the boys in the school-room, which was very cold, and where a meal of
bread and cheese was served out shortly after dark.

There was a small stove at that corner of the room which was nearest
to the master's desk, and by it Nicholas sat down, so depressed and
self-degraded by the consciousness of his position, that if death
could have come upon him at that time, he would have been almost
happy to meet it. The cruelty of which he had been an unwilling
witness, the coarse and ruffianly behaviour of Squeers even in his
best moods, the filthy place, the sights and sounds about him, all
contributed to this state of feeling; but when he recollected that,
being there as an assistant, he actually seemed--no matter what
unhappy train of circumstances had brought him to that pass--to be
the aider and abettor of a system which filled him with honest
disgust and indignation, he loathed himself, and felt, for the
moment, as though the mere consciousness of his present situation
must, through all time to come, prevent his raising his head again.

But, for the present, his resolve was taken, and the resolution he
had formed on the preceding night remained undisturbed. He had
written to his mother and sister, announcing the safe conclusion of
his journey, and saying as little about Dotheboys Hall, and saying
that little as cheerfully, as he possibly could. He hoped that by
remaining where he was, he might do some good, even there; at all
events, others depended too much on his uncle's favour, to admit of
his awakening his wrath just then.

One reflection disturbed him far more than any selfish
considerations arising out of his own position. This was the
probable destination of his sister Kate. His uncle had deceived
him, and might he not consign her to some miserable place where her
youth and beauty would prove a far greater curse than ugliness and
decrepitude? To a caged man, bound hand and foot, this was a
terrible idea--but no, he thought, his mother was by; there was the
portrait-painter, too--simple enough, but still living in the world,
and of it. He was willing to believe that Ralph Nickleby had
conceived a personal dislike to himself. Having pretty good reason,
by this time, to reciprocate it, he had no great difficulty in
arriving at this conclusion, and tried to persuade himself that the
feeling extended no farther than between them.

As he was absorbed in these meditations, he all at once encountered
the upturned face of Smike, who was on his knees before the stove,
picking a few stray cinders from the hearth and planting them on the
fire. He had paused to steal a look at Nicholas, and when he saw
that he was observed, shrunk back, as if expecting a blow.

'You need not fear me,' said Nicholas kindly. 'Are you cold?'

'N-n-o.'

'You are shivering.'

'I am not cold,' replied Smike quickly. 'I am used to it.'

There was such an obvious fear of giving offence in his manner, and
he was such a timid, broken-spirited creature, that Nicholas could
not help exclaiming, 'Poor fellow!'

If he had struck the drudge, he would have slunk away without a
word. But, now, he burst into tears.

'Oh dear, oh dear!' he cried, covering his face with his cracked and
horny hands. 'My heart will break. It will, it will.'

'Hush!' said Nicholas, laying his hand upon his shoulder. 'Be a
man; you are nearly one by years, God help you.'

'By years!' cried Smike. 'Oh dear, dear, how many of them! How
many of them since I was a little child, younger than any that are
here now! Where are they all!'

'Whom do you speak of?' inquired Nicholas, wishing to rouse the poor
half-witted creature to reason. 'Tell me.'

'My friends,' he replied, 'myself--my--oh! what sufferings mine have
been!'

'There is always hope,' said Nicholas; he knew not what to say.

'No,' rejoined the other, 'no; none for me. Do you remember the boy
that died here?'

'I was not here, you know,' said Nicholas gently; 'but what of him?'

'Why,' replied the youth, drawing closer to his questioner's side,
'I was with him at night, and when it was all silent he cried no
more for friends he wished to come and sit with him, but began to
see faces round his bed that came from home; he said they smiled,
and talked to him; and he died at last lifting his head to kiss
them. Do you hear?'

'Yes, yes,' rejoined Nicholas.

'What faces will smile on me when I die!' cried his companion,
shivering. 'Who will talk to me in those long nights! They cannot
come from home; they would frighten me, if they did, for I don't
know what it is, and shouldn't know them. Pain and fear, pain and
fear for me, alive or dead. No hope, no hope!'

The bell rang to bed: and the boy, subsiding at the sound into his
usual listless state, crept away as if anxious to avoid notice. It
was with a heavy heart that Nicholas soon afterwards--no, not
retired; there was no retirement there--followed--to his dirty and
crowded dormitory.