rotesque features.

Mrs. Squeers, wearing a beaver bonnet of some antiquity on the top of a
nightcap, stood at the desk, presiding over an immense basin of
brimstone and treacle. This compound she administered to each boy in
succession, using an enormous wooden spoon for the purpose.

"We purify the boys' blood now and then, Nickleby," said Squeers, when
the operation was over.

A meagre breakfast followed; and then Mr. Squeers made his way to his
desk, and called up the first class.

"This is the first class in English spelling and philosophy, Nickleby,"
said Squeers, beckoning Nicholas to stand beside him. "Now then, where's
the first boy?"

"Please, sir, he's cleaning the back parlour window."

"So he is, to be sure," replied 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. W-i-n, win; d-e-r, winder, a casement. When
the boy knows this out of a book, he goes and does it. Where's the
second boy?"

"Please, sir, he's weeding the garden."

"So he is," said Squeers. B-o-t, bot; t-i-n, bottin; n-e-y, ney,
bottiney, noun substantive, a knowledge of plants. When he has learned
that bottiney means a knowledge of plants, he goes and knows 'em. That's
our system, Nickleby. Third boy, what's a horse?"

"A beast, sir," replied the boy.

"So it is," said Squeers. "A horse is a quadruped, and quadruped's Latin
for beast, as everybody that's gone through the grammar knows. As you're
perfect in that, 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 to-morrow, and
they want the coppers filled."

The deficiencies of Mr. Squeers' scholastic methods were made up by
lavish punishments, and Nicholas was compelled to stand by every day and
see the unfortunate pupils of Dotheboys Hall beaten without mercy, and
know that he could do nothing to alleviate their misery.

In particular the plight of one poor boy, older than the rest, called
Smike, a drudge whom starvation and ill-treatment had rendered dull and
slow-witted, aroused all Nicholas's pity.

It was Smike who was the cause of Nicholas leaving Yorkshire.

Nicholas could endure the coarse and brutal language of Squeers, the
displeasure of Mrs. Squeers (who decided that the new usher was "a
proud, haughty, consequential, turned-up-nosed peacock," and that