These thaumata, or wonders, last till when, Mr.Squills ?--last till the boy goes to school; and then, somehow or other, the thaumata vanish into thin air, like ghosts at the cockcrow.

A year after the prodigy has been at the academy, father and mother, uncle and aunt, plague you no more with his doings and sayings: the extraordinary infant has become a very ordinary little boy.

Is it not so, Mr.Squills ?" "Indeed you are right, sir.

How did you come to be so observant?
You never seem to--" "Hush!" interrupted my father; and then, looking fondly at my mother's anxious face, he said soothingly: "Be comforted; this is wisely ordained, and it is for the best." "It must be the fault of the school," said my mother, shaking her head.
"It is the necessity of the school, and its virtue, my Kate.

Let any one of these wonderful children--wonderful as you thought Sisty himself--stay at home, and you will see its head grow bigger and bigger, and its body thinner and thinner--eh, Mr.Squills ?--till the mind take all nourishment from the frame, and the frame, in turn, stint or make sickly the mind.