We have been asking, WHY? like Mr. Ward Fowler’s Wagtail, for a long time. We asked, Why? about linen underclothing, and behold it is discarded. We asked Why? about numberless petticoats, and they are going. We are asking Why? about carpets and easy chairs, and all manner of luxurious living; and probably the year 1900 will see of these things only the survivals. It is well we should go about with this practical Why? rather than with the “Why does a wagtail wag its tail?” manner of problem. The latter issues in vain guesses, and the pseudo-knowledge which puffeth up. But if, Why? leads us to--“Because we should not; then, let us do the thing we should.”--This manner of Why? is like a poker to a dying fire. Why is Tom Jones sent to school? That he may be educated, of course, say his parents. And Tom is dismissed with the fervent hope that he may take a good place. But never a word about the delights of learning, or of the glorious worlds of nature and of thought to which his school studies will presumably prove an open sesame. “Mind you be a good boy and get a good place in your class,” is Tom’s valediction; and his little soul quickens with purpose. He won’t disappoint father, and mother shall be proud of him. He’ll be the top boy in his class. Why, he’ll be the top boy in the whole school, and get prizes and things, and won’t that be jolly! Tommy says nothing of this, but his mother sees it in his eyes and blesses the manly little fellow. So Tommy goes to school, happy boy, freighted with his father’s hopes and his mother’s blessings. By-and-by comes a report, the main delight of which is, that Tommy has gained six places; more places gained, prizes, removes--by-and-by scholarships. Before he is twelve, Tommy is able to earn the whole of his future schooling by his skill in that industry of the young popularly known as _Exams_. Now he aims at larger game; “exams” still, but “exams” big with possibilities, “exams” which will carry him through his University career. His success is pretty certain, because you get into the trick of “exams” as of other crafts. His parents are congratulated, Tom is more or less of a hero in his own eyes and in those of his compeers. Examinations for ever! Hip, hip! Never was a more facile way for a youth to distinguish himself, that is, if his parents have sent him into the world blessed with any inheritance of brains. For the boy not so blessed--why, he may go to the Colonies and that will make a man of him. The girls come in a close second. The “Junior,” the “Senior,” the “Higher,” the “Intermediate,” the “B.A.,” and what else you will, mark the epochs in most girls’ lives. Better, say you, than having no epochs at all. Unquestionably, yes. But the fact that a successful examination of one sort or another is the goal towards which most of our young people are labouring, with feverish haste and with undue anxiety, is one which possibly calls for the scrutiny of the investigating Why?