having　made　a　Mulatto　of　myself　by　getting　the　dirt　of　the　slate
  into　the　pores　of　my　skin；　I　have　a　slice　of　bread　to　help　me　out
  with　the　cheeses；　and　am　considered　in　disgrace　for　the　rest　of　the
  evening。
  It　seems　to　me；　at　this　distance　of　time；　as　if　my　unfortunate
  studies　generally　took　this　course。　I　could　have　done　very　well　if　I
  had　been　without　the　Murdstones；　but　the　influence　of　the
  Murdstones　upon　me　was　like　the　fascination　of　two　snakes　on　a
  wretched　young　bird。　Even　when　I　did　get　through　the　morning
  with　tolerable　credit；　there　was　not　much　gained　but　dinner；　for
  Miss　Murdstone　never　could　endure　to　see　me　untasked；　and　if　I
  rashly　made　any　show　of　being　unemployed；　called　her　brother’s
  attention　to　me　by　saying；　‘Clara；　my　dear；　there’s　nothing　like
  work—give　your　boy　an　exercise’；　which　caused　me　to　be　clapped
  down　to　some　new　labour；　there　and　then。　As　to　any　recreation
  with　other　children　of　my　age；　I　had　very　little　of　that；　for　the
  gloomy　theology　of　the　Murdstones　made　all　children　out　to　be　a
  swarm　of　little　vipers　（though　there　was　a　child　once　set　in　the
  midst　of　the　Disciples）；　and　held　that　they　contaminated　one
  another。
  The　natural　result　of　this　treatment；　continued；　I　suppose；　for
  some　six　months　or　more；　was　to　make　me　sullen；　dull；　and
  dogged。　I　was　not　made　the　less　so　by　my　sense　of　being　daily
  more　and　more　shut　out　and　alienated　from　my　mother。　I　believe　I
  should　have　been　almost　stupefied　but　for　one　circumstance。
  It　was　this。　My　father　had　left　a　small　collection　of　books　in　a
  little　room　upstairs；　to　which　I　had　access　（for　it　adjoined　my　own）
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  David　Copperfield
  and　which　nobody　else　in　our　house　ever　troubled。　From　that
  blessed　little　room；　Roderick　Random；　Peregrine　Pickle；
  Humphrey　Clinker；　Tom　Jones；　the　Vicar　of　Wakefield；　Don
  Quixote；　Gil　Blas；　and　Robinson　Crusoe；　came　out；　a　glorious　host；
  to　keep　me　company。　They　kept　alive　my　fancy；　and　my　hope　of
  something　beyond　that　place　and　time；—they；　and　the　Arabian
  Nights；　and　the　Tales　of　the　Genii；—and　did　me　no　harm；　for
  whatever　harm　was　in　some　of　them　was　not　there　for　me；　I　knew
  nothing　of　it。　It　is　astonishing　to　me　now；　how　I　found　time；　in　the
  midst　of　my　porings　and　blunderings　over　heavier　themes；　to　read
  those　books　as　I　did。　It　is　curious　to　me　how　I　could　ever　have
  consoled　myself　under　my　small　troubles　（which　were　great
  troubles　to　me）；　by　impersonating　my　favourite　characters　in
  them—as　I　did—and　by　putting　Mr。　and　Miss　Murdstone　into　all
  the　bad　ones—which　I　did　too。　I　have　been　Tom　Jones　（a　child’s
  Tom　Jones；　a　harmless　creature）　for　a　week　together。　I　have
  sustained　my　own　idea　of　Roderick　Random　for　a　month　at　a
  stretch；　I　verily　believe。　I　had　a　greedy　relish　for　a　few　volumes　of
  Voyages　and　Travels—I　forget　what；　now—that　were　on　those
  shelves；　and　for　days　and　days　I　can　remember　to　have　gone　about
  my　region　of　our　house；　armed　with　the　centre…piece　out　of　an　old
  set　of　boot…trees—the　perfect　realization　of　Captain　Somebody；　of
  the　Royal　British　Navy；　in　danger　of　being　beset　by　savages；　and
  resolved　to　sell　his　life　at　a　great　price。　The　Captain　never　lost
  dignity；　from　having　his　ears　boxed　with　the　Latin　Grammar。　I　did；
  but　the　Captain　was　a　Captain　and　a　hero；　in　despite　of　all　the
  grammars　of　all　the　languages　in　the　world；　dead　or　alive。
  This　was　my　only　and　my　constant　comfort。　When　I　think　of　it；
  the　picture　always　rises　in　my　mind；　of　a　summer　evening；　the
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  David　Copperfield
  boys　at　play　in　the　churchyard；　and　I　sitting　on　my　bed；　reading　as
  if　for　life。　Every　barn　in　the　neighbourhood；　every　stone　in　the
  church；　and　every　foot　of　the　churchyard；　had　some　association　of
  its　own；　in　my　mind；　connected　with　these　books；　and　stood　for
  some　locality　made　famous　in　them。　I　have　seen　Tom　Pipes　go
  climbing　up　the　church…steeple；　I　have　watched　Strap；　with　the
  knapsack　on　his　back；　stopping　to　rest　himself　upon　the　wicket…
  gate；　and　I　know　that　Commodore　Trunnion　held　that　club　with
  Mr。　Pickle；　in　the　parlour　of　our　little　village　alehouse。
  The　reader　now　understands；　as　well　as　I　do；　what　I　was　when　I
  came　to　that　point　of　my　youthful　history　to　which　I　am　now
  coming　again。
  One　morning　when　I　went　into　the　parlour　with　my　books；　I
  found　my　mother　looking　anxious；　Miss　Murdstone　looking　firm；
  and　Mr。　Murdstone　binding　something　round　the　bottom　of　a
  cane—a　lithe　and　limber　cane；　which　he　left　off　binding　when　I
  came　in；　and　poised　and　switched　in　the　air。
  ‘I　tell　you；　Clara；’　said　Mr。　Murdstone；　‘I　have　been　often
  flogged　myself。’
  ‘To　be　sure；　of　course；’　said　Miss　Murdstone。
  ‘Certainly；　my　dear　Jane；’　faltered　my　mother；　meekly。　‘But—
  but　do　you　think　it　did　Edward　good？’
  ‘Do　you　think　it　did　Edward　harm；　Clara？’　asked　Mr。
  Murdstone；　gravely。
  ‘That’s　the　point；’　said　his　sister。
  To　this　my　mother　returned；　‘Certainly；　my　dear　Jane；’　and　said
  no　more。
  I　felt　apprehensive　that　I　was　personally　interested　in　this
  dialogue；　and　sought　Mr。　Murdstone’s　eye　as　it　lighted　on　mine。
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  ‘Now；　David；’　he　said—and　I　saw　that　cast　again　as　he　said　it—
  ‘you　must　be　far　more　careful　today　than　usual。’　He　gave　the　cane
  another　poise；　and　another　switch；　and　having　finished　his
  preparation　of　it；　laid　it　down　beside　him；　with　an　impressive　look；
  and　took　up　his　book。
  This　was　a　good　freshener　to　my　presence　of　mind；　as　a
  beginning。　I　felt　the　words　of　my　lessons　slipping　off；　not　one　by
  one；　or　line　by　line；　but　by　the　entire　page；　I　tried　to　lay　hold　of
  them；　but　they　seemed；　if　I　may　so　express　it；　to　have　put　skates
  on；　and　to　skim　away　from　me　with　a　smoothness　there　was　no
  checking。
  We　began　badly；　and　went　on　worse。　I　had　come　in　with　an　idea
  of　distinguishing　myself　rather；　conceiving　that　I　was　very　well
  prepared；　but　it　turned　out　to　be　quite　a　mistake。　Book　after　book
  was　added　to　the　heap　of　failures；　Miss　Murdstone　being　firmly
  watchful　of　us　all　the　time。　And　when　we　came　at　last　to　the　five
  thousand　cheeses　（canes　he　made　it　that　day；　I　remember）；　my
  mother　burst　out　crying。
  ‘Clara！’　said　Miss　Murdstone；　in　her　warning　voice。
  ‘I　am　not　quite　well；　my　dear　Jane；　I　think；’　said　my　mother。
  I　saw　him　wink；　solemnly；　at　his　sister；　as　he　rose　and　said；
  taking　up　the　cane：
  ‘Why；　Jane；　we　can　hardly　expect　Clara　to　bear；　with　perfect
  firmness；　the　worry　and　torment　that　David　has　occasioned　her
  today。　That　would　be　stoical。　Clara　is　greatly　strengthened　and
  improved；　but　we　can　hardly　expect　so　much　from　her。　David；　you
  and　I　will　go　upstairs；　boy。’
  As　he　took　me　out　at　the　door；　my　mother　ran　towards　us。　Miss
  Murdstone　said；　‘Clara！　are　you　a　perfect　fool？’　and　interfered。　I
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  David　Copperfield
  saw　my　mother　stop　her　ears　then；　and　I　heard　her　crying。
  He　walked　me　up　to　my　room　slowly　and　gravely—I　am　certain
  he　had　a　delight　in　that　formal　parade　of　executing　justice—and
  when　we　got　there；　suddenly　twisted　my　head　under　his　arm。
  ‘Mr。　Murdstone！　Sir！’　I　cried　to　him。　‘Don’t！　Pray　don’t　beat　me！
  I　have　tried　to　learn；　sir；　but　I　can’t　learn　while　you　and　Miss
  Murdstone　are　by。　I　can’t　indeed！’
  ‘Can’t　you；　indeed；　David？’　he　said。　‘We’ll　try　that。’
  He　had　my　head　as　in　a　vice；　but　I　twined　round　him　somehow；
  and　stopped　him　for　a　moment；　entreating　him　not　to　beat　me。　It
  was　only　a　moment　that　I　stopped　him；　for　he　cut　me　heavily　an
  instant　afterwards；　and　in　the　same　instant　I　caught　the　hand　with
  which　he　held　me　in　my　mouth；　between　my　teeth；　and　bit　it
  through。　It　sets　my　teeth　on　edge　to　think　of　it。
  He　beat　me　then；　as　if　he　would　have　beaten　me　to　death。　Above
  all　the　noise　we　made；　I　heard　them　running　up　the　stairs；　and
  crying　out—I　heard　my　mother　crying　out—and　Peggotty。　Then　he
  was　gone；　and　the　door　was　locked　outside；　and　I　was　lying；
  fevered　and　hot；　and　torn；　and　sore；　and　raging　in　my　puny　way；
  upon　the　floor。
  How　well　I　recollect；　when　I　became　quiet；　what　an　unnatural
  stillness　seemed　to　reign　through　the　whole　house！　How　well　I
  remember；　when　my　smart　and　passion　began　to　cool；　how　wicked
  I　began　to　feel！
  I　sat　listening　for　a　long　while；　but　there　was　not　a　sound。　I
  crawled　up　from　the　floor；　and　saw　my　face　in　the　glass；　so
  swollen；　red；　and　ugly　that　it　almost　frightened　me。　My　stripes
  were　sore　and　stiff；　and　made　me　cry　afresh；　when　I　moved；　but
  they　were　nothing　to　the　guilt　I　felt。　It　lay　heavier　on　my　breast
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  than　if　I　had　been　a　most　atrocious　criminal；　I　dare　say。
  It　had　begun　to　grow　dark；　and　I　had　shut　the　window　（I　had
  been　lying；　for　the　most　part；　with　my　head　upon　the　sill；　by　turns
  crying；　dozing；　and　looking　listlessly　out）；　when　the　key　was
  turned；　and　Miss　Murdstone　came　in　with　some　bread　and　meat；
  and　milk。　These　she　put　do