Perhaps you will be in Cloisterham at some not far distant time; if so, wander out at night in the old graveyard, when the moon is up, and in among the cathedral crypts, if you can gain access to them; and see if from some shadowy corner of lane or building does not start out before you the wraith of the hideous small boy, Deputy, eluding your touch, and chanting as he dances in front of you the old song which was the badge of his office as the keeper of Durdles,——­

Widdy widdy wen!  I—­ket—­ches—­’im—­out—­ar—­ter—­ten, Widdy widdy wy!  Then—­’E—­don’t—­go—­then—­I—­shy, Widdy widdy Wakecock Warning!

DOTHEBOYS HALL

[Illustration:  DOTHEBOYS HALL.]

“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 L5.  A Master of Arts would be preferred.”

When this advertisement in the “London Herald” came to the notice of Mr. Nicholas Nickleby, then in search of a position as teacher, it seemed to be the opening for which he was looking, and the next day he hastened to the Saracen’s Head, Snow Hill, to have an interview with Mr. Wackford Squeers.

Mr. Squeers’s appearance was not prepossessing.  He had but one eye, and the popular prejudice runs in favour of two.  The blank side of his face was much wrinkled and puckered up, which gave him a very sinister appearance, especially when he smiled.  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 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.

In the corner of the room with Mr. Squeers 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, and at last gave a violent sneeze.

“Halloa, sir!” growled the schoolmaster, turning round.  “What’s that, sir?”