accept gratefully a post in a private school where his tenure of office depends largely on the form he shows in bowling to the second eleven. Here in Oxford, though we still respect a ’First,’ and though perhaps the greater part of our available educational capacity is devoted to the conversion of passmen into honourmen, there are signs that examinations are no longer quite regarded as the highest good and the chief object of existence. It is an age of specialism, and yet it is hard to mould the whole University system to suit the particular studies of every specialist. Multiply Final Schools as you will, ’the genuine student’ with one engrossing interest will multiply far more quickly; and just as the athlete and non-reading man complains that the schools interrupt his amusements, the man who specialises on the pips of an orange, or who regards nothing in history worth reading except a period of two years and six months in the later Byzantine empire, will pathetically lament that examinations are interrupting his real work. Are men made for the Schools, or the Schools for men? It is a continual problem; perhaps examinations are only a _pis aller_, and we must be content to wait till science instructs us how to gauge mental faculty by experiment without subjecting the philosopher to the ordeal of Latin Prose, and the ’pure scholar’ to the test of a possibly useless acquaintance with the true inwardness of Hegelianism. After all it is the greatest happiness of the greatest number that has to be considered, and the majority as yet are not special students. Moreover, there are various kinds of specialists. If ’general knowledge’ (as has been said) is too often synonymous with ’particular ignorance,’ it is equally true that specialism in one branch is sometimes not wholly unconnected with failure in another. [Illustration: _A DANCE AT ST. JOHN’S. Drawn by T. Hamilton Crawford, R.W.S._]