'As we gang awa' fra' Lunnun tomorrow neeght, and as I dinnot know thatI was e'er so happy in a' my days, Misther Nickleby, Ding! but I WILLtak' anoother glass to our next merry meeting!'

So said John Browdie, rubbing his hands with great joyousness, andlooking round him with a ruddy shining face, quite in keeping with thedeclaration.

The time at which John found himself in this enviable condition was thesame evening to which the last chapter bore reference; the place wasthe cottage; and the assembled company were Nicholas, Mrs Nickleby, MrsBrowdie, Kate Nickleby, and Smike.

A very merry party they had been. Mrs Nickleby, knowing of her son'sobligations to the honest Yorkshireman, had, after some demur, yieldedher consent to Mr and Mrs Browdie being invited out to tea; in theway of which arrangement, there were at first sundry difficulties andobstacles, arising out of her not having had an opportunity of 'calling'upon Mrs Browdie first; for although Mrs Nickleby very often observedwith much complacency (as most punctilious people do), that she had notan atom of pride or formality about her, still she was a great sticklerfor dignity and ceremonies; and as it was manifest that, until a callhad been made, she could not be (politely speaking, and according to thelaws of society) even cognisant of the fact of Mrs Browdie's existence,she felt her situation to be one of peculiar delicacy and difficulty.

'The call MUST originate with me, my dear,' said Mrs Nickleby, 'that'sindispensable. The fact is, my dear, that it's necessary there shouldbe a sort of condescension on my part, and that I should show thisyoung person that I am willing to take notice of her. There's a veryrespectable-looking young man,' added Mrs Nickleby, after a shortconsideration, 'who is conductor to one of the omnibuses that go byhere, and who wears a glazed hat--your sister and I have noticed himvery often--he has a wart upon his nose, Kate, you know, exactly like agentleman's servant.'

'Have all gentlemen's servants warts upon their noses, mother?' askedNicholas.

'Nicholas, my dear, how very absurd you are,' returned his mother; 'ofcourse I mean that his glazed hat looks like a gentleman's servant, andnot the wart upon his nose; though even that is not so ridiculous as itmay seem to you, for we had a footboy once, who had not only a wart, buta wen also, and a very large wen too, and he demanded to have his wagesraised in consequence, because he found it came very expensive. Let mesee, what was I--oh yes, I know. The best way that I can think of wouldbe to send a card, and my compliments, (I've no doubt he'd take 'em fora pot of porter,) by this young man, to the Saracen with Two Necks. Ifthe waiter took him for a gentleman's servant, so much the better. Thenall Mrs Browdie would have to do would be to send her card back by thecarrier (he could easily come with a double knock), and there's an endof it.'

'My dear mother,' said Nicholas, 'I don't suppose such unsophisticatedpeople as these ever had a card of their own, or ever will have.'

'Oh that, indeed, Nicholas, my dear,' returned Mrs Nickleby, 'that'sanother thing. If you put it upon that ground, why, of course, I haveno more to say, than that I have no doubt they are very good sort ofpersons, and that I have no kind of objection to their coming here totea if they like, and shall make a point of being very civil to them ifthey do.'

The point being thus effectually set at rest, and Mrs Nickleby dulyplaced in the patronising and mildly-condescending position which becameher rank and matrimonial years, Mr and Mrs Browdie were invited andcame; and as they were very deferential to Mrs Nickleby, and seemedto have a becoming appreciation of her greatness, and were very muchpleased with everything, the good lady had more than once given Kateto understand, in a whisper, that she thought they were the verybest-meaning people she had ever seen, and perfectly well behaved.

And thus it came to pass, that John Browdie declared, in the parlourafter supper, to wit, and twenty minutes before eleven o'clock p.m.,that he had never been so happy in all his days.

Nor was Mrs Browdie much behind her husband in this respect, for thatyoung matron, whose rustic beauty contrasted very prettily with themore delicate loveliness of Kate, and without suffering by the contrasteither, for each served as it were to set off and decorate the other,could not sufficiently admire the gentle and winning manners of theyoung lady, or the engaging affability of the elder one. Then Kate hadthe art of turning the conversation to subjects upon which the countrygirl, bashful at first in strange company, could feel herself athome; and if Mrs Nickleby was not quite so felicitous at times in theselection of topics of discourse, or if she did seem, as Mrs Browdieexpressed it, 'rather high in her notions,' still nothing could bekinder, and that she took considerable interest in the young couple wasmanifest from the very long lectures on housewifery with which shewas so obliging as to entertain Mrs Browdie's private ear, whichwere illustrated by various references to the domestic economy of thecottage, in which (those duties falling exclusively upon Kate) the goodlady had about as much share, either in theory or practice, as any oneof the statues of the Twelve Apostles which embellish the exterior of StPaul's Cathedral.

'Mr Browdie,' said Kate, addressing his young wife, 'is thebest-humoured, the kindest and heartiest creature I ever saw. If I wereoppressed with I don't know how many cares, it would make me happy onlyto look at him.'

'He does seem indeed, upon my word, a most excellent creature, Kate,'said Mrs Nickleby; 'most excellent. And I am sure that at all times itwill give me pleasure--really pleasure now--to have you, Mrs Browdie,to see me in this plain and homely manner. We make no display,' said MrsNickleby, with an air which seemed to insinuate that they could make avast deal if they were so disposed; 'no fuss, no preparation; I wouldn'tallow it. I said, "Kate, my dear, you will only make Mrs Browdie feeluncomfortable, and how very foolish and inconsiderate that would be!"'

'I am very much obliged to you, I am sure, ma'am,' returned Mrs Browdie,gratefully. 'It's nearly eleven o'clock, John. I am afraid we arekeeping you up very late, ma'am.'

'Late!' cried Mrs Nickleby, with a sharp thin laugh, and one littlecough at the end, like a note of admiration expressed. 'This is quiteearly for us. We used to keep such hours! Twelve, one, two, threeo'clock was nothing to us. Balls, dinners, card-parties! Never were suchrakes as the people about where we used to live. I often think now, Iam sure, that how we ever could go through with it is quite astonishing,and that is just the evil of having a large connection and being a greatdeal sought after, which I would recommend all young married peoplesteadily to resist; though of course, and it's perfectly clear, and avery happy thing too, I think, that very few young married people canbe exposed to such temptations. There was one family in particular,that used to live about a mile from us--not straight down the road, butturning sharp off to the left by the turnpike where the Plymouth mailran over the donkey--that were quite extraordinary people for givingthe most extravagant parties, with artificial flowers and champagne, andvariegated lamps, and, in short, every delicacy of eating and drinkingthat the most singular epicure could possibly require. I don't thinkthat there ever were such people as those Peltiroguses. You remember thePeltiroguses, Kate?'

Kate saw that for the ease and comfort of the visitors it was high timeto stay this flood of recollection, so answered that she entertained ofthe Peltiroguses a most vivid and distinct remembrance; and then saidthat Mr Browdie had half promised, early in the evening, that he wouldsing a Yorkshire song, and that she was most impatient that he shouldredeem his promise, because she was sure it would afford her mama moreamusement and pleasure than it was possible to express.

Mrs Nickleby confirming her daughter with the best possible grace--forthere was patronage in that too, and a kind of implication that she hada discerning taste in such matters, and was something of a critic--JohnBrowdie proceeded to consider the words of some north-country ditty, andto take his wife's recollection respecting the same. This done, he madedivers ungainly movements in his chair, and singling out one particularfly on the ceiling from the other flies there asleep, fixed his eyesupon him, and began to roar a meek sentiment (supposed to be utteredby a gentle swain fast pining away with love and despair) in a voice ofthunder.

At the end of the first verse, as though some person without hadwaited until then to make himself audible, was heard a loud and violentknocking at the street-door; so loud and so violent, indeed, that theladies started as by one accord, and John Browdie stopped.

'It must be some mistake,' said Nicholas, carelessly. 'We know nobodywho would come here at this hour.'

Mrs Nickleby surmised, however, that perhaps the counting-house wasburnt down, or perhaps 'the Mr Cheerybles' had sent to take Nicholasinto partnership (which certainly appeared highly probable at that timeof night), or perhaps Mr Linkinwater had run away with the property, orperhaps Miss La Creevy was taken in, or perhaps--

But a hasty exclamation from Kate stopped her abruptly in herconjectures, and Ralph Nickleby walked into the room.

'Stay,' said Ralph, as Nicholas rose, and Kate, making her way towardshim, threw herself upon his arm. 'Before that boy says a word, hear me.'

Nicholas bit his lip and shook his head in a threatening manner, butappeared for the moment unable to articulate a syllable. Kate clungcloser to his arm, Smike retreated behind them, and John Browdie,who had heard of Ralph, and appeared to have no great difficulty inrecognising him, stepped between the old man and his young friend, asif with the intention of preventing either of them from advancing a stepfurther.

'Hear me, I say,' said Ralph, 'and not him.'

'Say what thou'st gotten to say then, sir,' retorted John; 'and tak'care thou dinnot put up angry bluid which thou'dst betther try toquiet.'

'I should know YOU,' said Ralph, 'by your tongue; and HIM' (pointing toSmike) 'by his looks.'

'Don't speak to him,' said Nicholas, recovering his voice. 'I will nothave it. I will not hear him. I do not know that man. I cannot breathethe air that he corrupts. His presence is an insult to my sister. It isshame to see him. I will not bear it.'

'Stand!' cried John, laying his heavy hand upon his chest.

'Then let him instantly retire,' said Nicholas, struggling. 'I am notgoing to lay hands upon him, but he shall withdraw. I will not have himhere. John, John Browdie, is this my house, am I a child? If he standsthere,' cried Nicholas, burning with fury, 'looking so calmly upon thosewho know his black and dastardly heart, he'll drive me mad.'

To all these exclamations John Browdie answered not a word, but heretained his hold upon Nicholas; and when he was silent again, spoke.

'There's more to say and hear than thou think'st for,' said John. 'Itell'ee I ha' gotten scent o' thot already. Wa'at be that shadowootside door there? Noo, schoolmeasther, show thyself, mun; dinnot besheame-feaced. Noo, auld gen'l'man, let's have schoolmeasther, coom.'

Hearing this adjuration, Mr Squeers, who had been lingering in thepassage until such time as it should be expedient for him to enter andhe could appear with effect, was fain to present himself in a somewhatundignified and sneaking way; at which John Browdie laughed with suchkeen and heartfelt delight, that even Kate, in all the pain, anxiety,and surprise of the scene, and though the tears were in her eyes, felt adisposition to join him.

'Have you done enjoying yourself, sir?' said Ralph, at length.

'Pratty nigh for the prasant time, sir,' replied John.

'I can wait,' said Ralph. 'Take your own time, pray.'

Ralph waited until there was a perfect silence, and then turning to MrsNickleby, but directing an eager glance at Kate, as if more anxious towatch his effect upon her, said:

'Now, ma'am, listen to me. I don't imagine that you were a party to avery fine tirade of words sent me by that boy of yours, because I don'tbelieve that under his control, you have the slightest will of your own,or that your advice, your opinion, your wants, your wishes, anythingwhich in nature and reason (or of what use is your great experience?)ought to weigh with him, has the slightest influence or weight whatever,or is taken for a moment into account.'

Mrs Nickleby shook her head and sighed, as if there were a good deal inthat, certainly.

'For this reason,' resumed Ralph, 'I address myself to you, ma'am. Forthis reason, partly, and partly because I do not wish to be disgraced bythe acts of a vicious stripling whom I was obliged to disown, and who,afterwards, in his boyish majesty, feigns to--ha! ha!--to disown ME, Ipresent myself here tonight. I have another motive in coming: a motiveof humanity. I come here,' said Ralph, looking round with a biting andtriumphant smile, and gloating and dwelling upon the words as if hewere loath to lose the pleasure of saying them, 'to restore a parent hischild. Ay, sir,' he continued, bending eagerly forward, and addressingNicholas, as he marked the change of his countenance, 'to restore aparent his child; his son, sir; trepanned, waylaid, and guarded at everyturn by you, with the base design of robbing him some day of any littlewretched pittance of which he might become possessed.'

'In that, you know you lie,' said Nicholas, proudly.

'In this, I know I speak the truth. I have his father here,' retortedRalph.

'Here!' sneered Squeers, stepping forward. 'Do you hear that? Here!Didn't I tell you to be careful that his father didn't turn up and sendhim back to me? Why, his father's my friend; he's to come back to medirectly, he is. Now, what do you say--eh!--now--come--what do you sayto that--an't you sorry you took so much trouble for nothing? an't you?an't you?'

'You bear upon your body certain marks I gave you,' said Nicholas,looking quietly away, 'and may talk in acknowledgment of them as muchas you please. You'll talk a long time before you rub them out, MrSqueers.'

The estimable gentleman last named cast a hasty look at the table, as ifhe were prompted by this retort to throw a jug or bottle at the head ofNicholas, but he was interrupted in this design (if such design he had)by Ralph, who, touching him on the elbow, bade him tell the father thathe might now appear and claim his son.

This being purely a labour of love, Mr Squeers readily complied,and leaving the room for the purpose, almost immediately returned,supporting a sleek personage with an oily face, who, bursting from him,and giving to view the form and face of Mr Snawley, made straight upto Smike, and tucking that poor fellow's head under his arm in a mostuncouth and awkward embrace, elevated his broad-brimmed hat at arm'slength in the air as a token of devout thanksgiving, exclaiming,meanwhile, 'How little did I think of this here joyful meeting, when Isaw him last! Oh, how little did I think it!'

'Be composed, sir,' said Ralph, with a gruff expression of sympathy,'you have got him now.'

'Got him! Oh, haven't I got him! Have I got him, though?' cried MrSnawley, scarcely able to believe it. 'Yes, here he is, flesh and blood,flesh and blood.'

'Vary little flesh,' said John Browdie.

Mr Snawley was too much occupied by his parental feelings to notice thisremark; and, to assure himself more completely of the restoration of hischild, tucked his head under his arm again, and kept it there.

'What was it,' said Snawley, 'that made me take such a strong interestin him, when that worthy instructor of youth brought him to my house?What was it that made me burn all over with a wish to chastise himseverely for cutting away from his best friends, his pastors andmasters?'

'It was parental instinct, sir,' observed Squeers.

'That's what it was, sir,' rejoined Snawley; 'the elevated feeling, thefeeling of the ancient Romans and Grecians, and of the beasts of thefield and birds of the air, with the exception of rabbits and tom-cats,which sometimes devour their offspring. My heart yearned towards him. Icould have--I don't know what I couldn't have done to him in the angerof a father.'

'It only shows what Natur is, sir,' said Mr Squeers. 'She's rum 'un, isNatur.'

'She is a holy thing, sir,' remarked Snawley.

'I believe you,' added Mr Squeers, with a moral sigh. 'I should liketo know how we should ever get on without her. Natur,' said Mr Squeers,solemnly, 'is more easier conceived than described. Oh what a blessedthing, sir, to be in a state of natur!'

Pending this philosophical discourse, the bystanders had been quitestupefied with amazement, while Nicholas had looked keenly from Snawleyto Squeers, and from Squeers to Ralph, divided between his feelings ofdisgust, doubt, and surprise. At this juncture, Smike escaping from hisfather fled to Nicholas, and implored him, in most moving terms, neverto give him up, but to let him live and die beside him.

'If you are this boy's father,' said Nicholas, 'look at the wreck he is,and tell me that you purpose to send him back to that loathsome den fromwhich I brought him.'

'Scandal again!' cried Squeers. 'Recollect, you an't worth powder andshot, but I'll be even with you one way or another.'

'Stop,' interposed Ralph, as Snawley was about to speak. 'Let uscut this matter short, and not bandy words here with hare-brainedprofligates. This is your son, as you can prove. And you, Mr Squeers,you know this boy to be the same that was with you for so many yearsunder the name of Smike. Do you?'

'Do I!' returned Squeers. 'Don't I?'

'Good,' said Ralph; 'a very few words will be sufficient here. You had ason by your first wife, Mr Snawley?'

'I had,' replied that person, 'and there he stands.'

'We'll show that presently,' said Ralph. 'You and your wife wereseparated, and she had the boy to live with her, when he was a year old.You received a communication from her, when you had lived apart a yearor two, that the boy was dead; and you believed it?'

'Of course I did!' returned Snawley. 'Oh the joy of--'

'Be rational, sir, pray,' said Ralph. 'This is business, andtransports interfere with it. This wife died a year and a half ago, orthereabouts--not more--in some obscure place, where she was housekeeperin a family. Is that the case?'

'That's the case,' replied Snawley.

'Having written on her death-bed a letter or confession to you, aboutthis very boy, which, as it was not directed otherwise than in yourname, only reached you, and that by a circuitous course, a few dayssince?'

'Just so,' said Snawley. 'Correct in every particular, sir.'

'And this confession,' resumed Ralph, 'is to the effect that hisdeath was an invention of hers to wound you--was a part of a systemof annoyance, in short, which you seem to have adopted towards eachother--that the boy lived, but was of weak and imperfect intellect--thatshe sent him by a trusty hand to a cheap school in Yorkshire--that shehad paid for his education for some years, and then, being poor, andgoing a long way off, gradually deserted him, for which she prayedforgiveness?'

Snawley nodded his head, and wiped his eyes; the first slightly, thelast violently.

'The school was Mr Squeers's,' continued Ralph; 'the boy was left therein the name of Smike; every description was fully given, dates tallyexactly with Mr Squeers's books, Mr Squeers is lodging with you at thistime; you have two other boys at his school: you communicated the wholediscovery to him, he brought you to me as the person who had recommendedto him the kidnapper of his child; and I brought you here. Is that so?'

'You talk like a good book, sir, that's got nothing in its inside butwhat's the truth,' replied Snawley.

'This is your pocket-book,' said Ralph, producing one from his coat;'the certificates of your first marriage and of the boy's birth, andyour wife's two letters, and every other paper that can support thesestatements directly or by implication, are here, are they?'

'Every one of 'em, sir.'

'And you don't object to their being looked at here, so that thesepeople may be convinced of your power to substantiate your claim at oncein law and reason, and you may resume your control over your own sonwithout more delay. Do I understand you?'

'I couldn't have understood myself better, sir.'

'There, then,' said Ralph, tossing the pocket-book upon the table. 'Letthem see them if they like; and as those are the original papers, Ishould recommend you to stand near while they are being examined, or youmay chance to lose some.'

With these words Ralph sat down unbidden, and compressing his lips,which were for the moment slightly parted by a smile, folded his arms,and looked for the first time at his nephew.

Nicholas, stung by the concluding taunt, darted an indignant glance athim; but commanding himself as well as he could, entered upon a closeexamination of the documents, at which John Browdie assisted. There wasnothing about them which could be called in question. The certificateswere regularly signed as extracts from the parish books, the firstletter had a genuine appearance of having been written and preservedfor some years, the handwriting of the second tallied with it exactly,(making proper allowance for its having been written by a person inextremity,) and there were several other corroboratory scraps of entriesand memoranda which it was equally difficult to question.

'Dear Nicholas,' whispered Kate, who had been looking anxiously over hisshoulder, 'can this be really the case? Is this statement true?'

'I fear it is,' answered Nicholas. 'What say you, John?'

John scratched his head and shook it, but said nothing at all.

'You will observe, ma'am,' said Ralph, addressing himself to MrsNickleby, 'that this boy being a minor and not of strong mind, we mighthave come here tonight, armed with the powers of the law, and backed bya troop of its myrmidons. I should have done so, ma'am, unquestionably,but for my regard for the feelings of yourself, and your daughter.'

'You have shown your regard for HER feelings well,' said Nicholas,drawing his sister towards him.

'Thank you,' replied Ralph. 'Your praise, sir, is commendation, indeed.'

'Well,' said Squeers, 'what's to be done? Them hackney-coach horses willcatch cold if we don't think of moving; there's one of 'em a sneezingnow, so that he blows the street door right open. What's the order ofthe day? Is Master Snawley to come along with us?'

'No, no, no,' replied Smike, drawing back, and clinging to Nicholas.

'No. Pray, no. I will not go from you with him. No, no.'

'This is a cruel thing,' said Snawley, looking to his friends forsupport. 'Do parents bring children into the world for this?'

'Do parents bring children into the world for THOT?' said John Browdiebluntly, pointing, as he spoke, to Squeers.

'Never you mind,' retorted that gentleman, tapping his nose derisively.

'Never I mind!' said John, 'no, nor never nobody mind, say'st thou,schoolmeasther. It's nobody's minding that keeps sike men as thouafloat. Noo then, where be'est thou coomin' to? Dang it, dinnot coomtreadin' ower me, mun.'

Suiting the action to the word, John Browdie just jerked his elbowinto the chest of Mr Squeers who was advancing upon Smike; with so muchdexterity that the schoolmaster reeled and staggered back upon RalphNickleby, and being unable to recover his balance, knocked thatgentleman off his chair, and stumbled heavily upon him.

This accidental circumstance was the signal for some very decisiveproceedings. In the midst of a great noise, occasioned by the prayersand entreaties of Smike, the cries and exclamations of the women, andthe vehemence of the men, demonstrations were made of carrying off thelost son by violence. Squeers had actually begun to haul him out, whenNicholas (who, until then, had been evidently undecided how to act)took him by the collar, and shaking him so that such teeth as he had,chattered in his head, politely escorted him to the room-door, andthrusting him into the passage, shut it upon him.

'Now,' said Nicholas to the other two, 'have the goodness to follow yourfriend.'

'I want my son,' said Snawley.

'Your son,' replied Nicholas, 'chooses for himself. He chooses to remainhere, and he shall.'

'You won't give him up?' said Snawley.

'I would not give him up against his will, to be the victim of suchbrutality as that to which you would consign him,' replied Nicholas, 'ifhe were a dog or a rat.'

'Knock that Nickleby down with a candlestick,' cried Mr Squeers, throughthe keyhole, 'and bring out my hat, somebody, will you, unless he wantsto steal it.'

'I am very sorry, indeed,' said Mrs Nickleby, who, with Mrs Browdie, hadstood crying and biting her fingers in a corner, while Kate (very pale,but perfectly quiet) had kept as near her brother as she could. 'I amvery sorry, indeed, for all this. I really don't know what would be bestto do, and that's the truth. Nicholas ought to be the best judge, and Ihope he is. Of course, it's a hard thing to have to keep other people'schildren, though young Mr Snawley is certainly as useful and willingas it's possible for anybody to be; but, if it could be settled in anyfriendly manner--if old Mr Snawley, for instance, would settle to paysomething certain for his board and lodging, and some fair arrangementwas come to, so that we undertook to have fish twice a week, and apudding twice, or a dumpling, or something of that sort--I do think thatit might be very satisfactory and pleasant for all parties.'

This compromise, which was proposed with abundance of tears and sighs,not exactly meeting the point at issue, nobody took any notice of it;and poor Mrs Nickleby accordingly proceeded to enlighten Mrs Browdieupon the advantages of such a scheme, and the unhappy results flowing,on all occasions, from her not being attended to when she proffered heradvice.

'You, sir,' said Snawley, addressing the terrified Smike, 'are anunnatural, ungrateful, unlovable boy. You won't let me love you when Iwant to. Won't you come home, won't you?'

'No, no, no,' cried Smike, shrinking back.

'He never loved nobody,' bawled Squeers, through the keyhole. 'Henever loved me; he never loved Wackford, who is next door but one toa cherubim. How can you expect that he'll love his father? He'll neverlove his father, he won't. He don't know what it is to have a father. Hedon't understand it. It an't in him.'

Mr Snawley looked steadfastly at his son for a full minute, and thencovering his eyes with his hand, and once more raising his hat in theair, appeared deeply occupied in deploring his black ingratitude. Thendrawing his arm across his eyes, he picked up Mr Squeers's hat, andtaking it under one arm, and his own under the other, walked slowly andsadly out.

'Your romance, sir,' said Ralph, lingering for a moment, 'is destroyed,I take it. No unknown; no persecuted descendant of a man of high degree;but the weak, imbecile son of a poor, petty tradesman. We shall see howyour sympathy melts before plain matter of fact.'

'You shall,' said Nicholas, motioning towards the door.

'And trust me, sir,' added Ralph, 'that I never supposed you would givehim up tonight. Pride, obstinacy, reputation for fine feeling, were allagainst it. These must be brought down, sir, lowered, crushed, as theyshall be soon. The protracted and wearing anxiety and expense of the lawin its most oppressive form, its torture from hour to hour, its wearydays and sleepless nights, with these I'll prove you, and break yourhaughty spirit, strong as you deem it now. And when you make this housea hell, and visit these trials upon yonder wretched object (as you will;I know you), and those who think you now a young-fledged hero, we'llgo into old accounts between us two, and see who stands the debtor, andcomes out best at last, even before the world.'

Ralph Nickleby withdrew. But Mr Squeers, who had heard a portion of thisclosing address, and was by this time wound up to a pitch of impotentmalignity almost unprecedented, could not refrain from returning to theparlour door, and actually cutting some dozen capers with various wryfaces and hideous grimaces, expressive of his triumphant confidence inthe downfall and defeat of Nicholas.

Having concluded this war-dance, in which his short trousers and largeboots had borne a very conspicuous figure, Mr Squeers followed hisfriends, and the family were left to meditate upon recent occurrences.