The days were days of constant, unintermitted labour; the nights were jaded and spiritless.

After spelling a great deal in the course of the day, and making up an indefinite number of sums in addition and multiplication, Winthrop found his stomach was gone for Latin and Virgil.

Ears and eyes and mind were sick of the din of repetitions, wearied with confusions of thought not his own; he was fain to let his own rest.

The children "got on," the parents said, "first-rate;" but the poor teacher was standing still.

Week passed after week, and each Saturday night found him where he was the last.