The well-known "Parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus" is thus Anglicised by Walker, "Great boast, little roast; Great cry and little wool, as the fellow said when he shore his hogs"; and the equally familiar "Ad Græcas calendas" is given as, "At Nevermass, when two Sundays come together." The striking "Leporis vitam vivit" loses much when we are invited to accept as an equivalent, "He is afraid of the wagging of a straw." The absurdity of teaching a fish to swim, "Piscem natare doces," is scarcely adequately rendered by, "Tell me it snows." How pleasant a glimpse of ancient customs we get in the "Stylum invertere." The waxen tablet--the stile at one end sharpened for writing, at the other flattened for erasing--rise before us. But all this is entirely lost when we are invited to accept, in place of the classic allusion, "To turn the cat in the pan," "To sing another tune"; and certainly the pith and rhythm of "A minimo ad maximum" suffers woful deterioration in such renderings of it as "Every mother's son of them, tag and rag, all that can lick a dish." The refining influences that are associated with a study of good classic writers seem to have rather failed when this ancient schoolmaster came beneath their sway. Such expressions as, "Your brains are addle," "As subtle as a dead pig," "Chip of the old block," "Lean as a rake," "A cankered fellow," "A scurvy crack," scarcely rise to the dignity of his subject. We cannot help wondering how the school prospered in his hands, and what sort of boys he turned out after a year or two under his tuition.