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Snow Hill! What kind of place can the quiet townspeople who see thewords emblazoned, in all the legibility of gilt letters and darkshading, on the north-country coaches, take Snow Hill to be? Allpeople have some undefined and shadowy notion of a place whose name isfrequently before their eyes, or often in their ears. What a vast numberof random ideas there must be perpetually floating about, regarding thissame 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 associationof ideas, something stern and rugged! A bleak desolate tract of country,open to piercing blasts and fierce wintry storms--a dark, cold, gloomyheath, lonely by day, and scarcely to be thought of by honest folksat night--a place which solitary wayfarers shun, and where desperaterobbers congregate;--this, or something like this, should be theprevalent notion of Snow Hill, in those remote and rustic parts, throughwhich the Saracen's Head, like some grim apparition, rushes each day andnight with mysterious and ghost-like punctuality; holding its swift andheadlong course in all weathers, and seeming to bid defiance to the veryelements themselves.

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

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

When you walk up this yard, you will see the booking-office on yourleft, and the tower of St Sepulchre's church, darting abruptly up intothe sky, on your right, and a gallery of bedrooms on both sides. Justbefore you, you will observe a long window with the words 'coffee-room'legibly painted above it; and looking out of that window, you would haveseen in addition, if you had gone at the right time, Mr Wackford Squeerswith 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, wasunquestionably useful, but decidedly not ornamental: being of a greenishgrey, and in shape resembling the fan-light of a street door. The blankside of his face was much wrinkled and puckered up, which gave him avery sinister appearance, especially when he smiled, at which times hisexpression bordered closely on the villainous. His hair was very flatand shiny, save at the ends, where it was brushed stiffly up from a lowprotruding forehead, which assorted well with his harsh voice and coarsemanner. He was about two or three and fifty, and a trifle below themiddle size; he wore a white neckerchief with long ends, and a suit ofscholastic black; but his coat sleeves being a great deal too long,and his trousers a great deal too short, he appeared ill at ease inhis clothes, and as if he were in a perpetual state of astonishment atfinding 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 twoof extraordinary shapes and dimensions made to suit the angles of thepartition. In a corner of the seat, was a very small deal trunk, tiedround with a scanty piece of cord; and on the trunk was perched--hislace-up half-boots and corduroy trousers dangling in the air--adiminutive boy, with his shoulders drawn up to his ears, and his handsplanted on his knees, who glanced timidly at the schoolmaster, from timeto time, with evident dread and apprehension.

'Half-past three,' muttered Mr Squeers, turning from the window, andlooking sulkily at the coffee-room clock. 'There will be nobody heretoday.'

Much vexed by this reflection, Mr Squeers looked at the little boy tosee whether he was doing anything he could beat him for. As he happenednot to be doing anything at all, he merely boxed his ears, and told himnot to do it again.

'At Midsummer,' muttered Mr Squeers, resuming his complaint, 'I tookdown ten boys; ten twenties is two hundred pound. I go back at eighto'clock tomorrow morning, and have got only three--three oughts is anought--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 littletrunk 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 acouple of knuckles into each of his eyes and began to cry, wherefore MrSqueers 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 MrSqueers, '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 withthe 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, anduttered with a savage aspect, the little boy rubbed his face harder, asif 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 agentleman 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'llmurder 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 feignedto be intent upon mending a pen, and offering benevolent advice to hisyouthful pupil.

'My dear child,' said Mr Squeers, 'all people have their trials. Thisearly trial of yours that is fit to make your little heart burst, andyour 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 afather in me, my dear, and a mother in Mrs Squeers. At the delightfulvillage of Dotheboys, near Greta Bridge in Yorkshire, where youth areboarded, clothed, booked, washed, furnished with pocket-money, providedwith all necessaries--'

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

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

'The gentleman,' said the stranger, 'that advertised in the Timesnewspaper?'

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

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

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

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

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

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

'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 hadnever considered the proposition before. 'Let me see; four fives istwenty, double that, and deduct the--well, a pound either way shall notstand betwixt us. You must recommend me to your connection, sir, andmake it up that way.'

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

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

'Every wholesome luxury, sir, that Yorkshire can afford,' continuedSqueers; 'every beautiful moral that Mrs Squeers can instil; every--inshort, every comfort of a home that a boy could wish for, will betheirs, Mr Snawley.'

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

'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. 'Iasked 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 withyou in the next box?'

'By all means,' rejoined Squeers with a grin. 'My dears, will you speakto 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 urchinas if he were some extraordinary natural curiosity.

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

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

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

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

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

'Just as long as their friends make the quarterly payments to my agentin town, or until such time as they run away,' replied Squeers. 'Letus understand each other; I see we may safely do so. What are theseboys;--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 ofthem; that boy's one.'

'Him in the next box?' said Snawley.

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

'He is,' cried Squeers. 'But about these boys of yours; you wanted tospeak 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. Iwas wondering what the devil you were going to send them to Yorkshirefor. Ha! ha! Oh, I understand now.'

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

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

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

'The payments regular, and no questions asked,' said Squeers, noddinghis 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 meto ask you whether you consider me a highly virtuous, exemplary, andwell-conducted man in private life; and whether, as a person whosebusiness it is to take charge of youth, you place the strongestconfidence in my unimpeachable integrity, liberality, religiousprinciples, and ability?'

'Certainly I do,' replied the father-in-law, reciprocating theschoolmaster'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 doingbusiness, and that's what I like.'

Having entered Mr Snawley's address, the schoolmaster had next toperform the still more agreeable office of entering the receipt of thefirst 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, presentinghimself, closely followed by Nicholas. 'There was an advertisement ofyours in the papers this morning?'

'There was, sir. This way, if you please,' said Squeers, who had by thistime 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, MrNicholas Nickleby.'

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

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

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

'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 thesentence.

'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 andwarm tea offered him every night and morning when he couldn't swallowanything--a candle in his bedroom on the very night he died--the bestdictionary sent up for him to lay his head upon--I don't regret itthough. It is a pleasant thing to reflect that one did one's duty byhim.'

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

'These are only some pupils of mine,' said Wackford Squeers, pointingto 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 writhingtheir bodies into most remarkable contortions, according to the customof little boys when they first become acquainted. 'This gentleman,sir, is a parent who is kind enough to compliment me upon the courseof education adopted at Dotheboys Hall, which is situated, sir, at thedelightful village of Dotheboys, near Greta Bridge in Yorkshire,where youth are boarded, clothed, booked, washed, furnished withpocket-money--'

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

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

'And in the matter of fact besides,' interrupted Mr Snawley. 'I feelbound to assure you, sir, and I am proud to have this opportunity OFassuring 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 ofrecommendation; '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. MasterBelling, 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 accountby-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 hopeeasily 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 nothingfermenting in his pocket, is just the man you want.'

'I am afraid,' said Squeers, perplexed with such an application from ayouth 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; youwill be teaching all the young noblemen in Dotheboys Hall in less than aweek's time, unless this gentleman is more obstinate than I take him tobe.'

'I fear, sir,' said Nicholas, addressing Mr Squeers, 'that you object tomy 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 thecontrast between the simplicity of the nephew and the worldly manner ofthe uncle, than by the incomprehensible allusion to the young noblemenunder his tuition.

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

'That I see,' observed the schoolmaster.

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

'His father is dead, he is wholly ignorant of the world, has noresources whatever, and wants something to do,' said Ralph. 'I recommendhim to this splendid establishment of yours, as an opening which willlead him to fortune if he turns it to proper account. Do you see that?'

'Everybody must see that,' replied Squeers, half imitating the sneerwith 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, hardmanner. 'If any caprice of temper should induce him to cast aside thisgolden opportunity before he has brought it to perfection, I considermyself 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, hewon't serve your purpose better than twenty of the kind of peopleyou would get under ordinary circumstances. Isn't that a question forconsideration?'

'Yes, it is,' said Squeers, answering a nod of Ralph's head with a nodof 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 Squeersannounced that Mr Nicholas Nickleby was, from that moment, thoroughlynominated to, and installed in, the office of first assistant master atDotheboys Hall.

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

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

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

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

'Certainly, sir,' said Nicholas.

'And your fare down, I have paid,' growled Ralph. 'So, you'll havenothing to do but keep yourself warm.'

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

'I shall be here in the morning to see you fairly off,' said Ralph. 'Noskulking!'

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

'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 yourway to Golden Square first?'

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

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

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

He found Golden Square in due course; Mr Noggs, who had stepped outfor a minute or so to the public-house, was opening the door with alatch-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 thegoodness 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 intothe 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, straightdown by his sides, gazing fixedly upon him, as from a tower ofobservation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nicholas had not the least objection in the world, but on the contrarywas rather pleased to have an opportunity of talking on the subjectwhich occupied his thoughts; so, he sat down again, and (his sanguineimagination warming as he spoke) entered into a fervent and glowingdescription of all the honours and advantages to be derived from hisappointment at that seat of learning, Dotheboys Hall.

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

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

At first, Nicholas thought the mysterious man was in a fit, but, onfurther consideration, decided that he was in liquor, under whichcircumstances he deemed it prudent to make off at once. He looked backwhen he had got the street-door open. Newman Noggs was still indulgingin the same extraordinary gestures, and the cracking of his fingerssounded louder that ever.