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 rueful amazement.

"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 spoon to restore him. "Here, you
Smike; take away now. Look sharp!"

Smike shuffled out with the basin, and Mrs. Squeers, hurried out after him
into a wash-house where there were a number of little wooden bowls which
were arranged upon a board. Into these bowls, Mrs. Squeers poured a brown
composition, which was called porridge. A minute wedge of brown bread was
inserted in each bowl, and when they had eaten their porridge by means of
it, 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.

After eating his share of porridge, and having further disposed of a slice
of bread and butter, allotted to him in virtue of his office, Nicholas sat
himself down, to wait for school-time. He could not but observe how silent
and sad the boys seemed to be. There was none of the noise and clamour of
a school-room; none of its boisterous play, or hearty mirth. 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, and ranged themselves in front of the
schoolmaster's desk.

"This is the 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," answered one of the
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. When the boy knows this out of
book, he goes and does it. Where's the second boy?"

"Pleas