The movement, which the writer denounces as bearing "too obvious an analogy to the killing of the golden goose," is not however confined to London University. From the great seats of learning all over the country the same complaint is heard. We learn, for instance, that Mr. Angus McToddie, until recently Professor of Physics at the John Walker University, N.B., has vacated that post on his appointment as Experimental Adviser to the British Constitutional Whisky Manufacturers' Association. Past and present _alumni_ of Tonypandy will learn with regret that the University is to lose the services of its Professor of Live Languages, Mr. O. Evans, who is about to assume the responsible and highly-remunerated position of Director of Research to the Billingsgate Fishporters' Self-Help Society. The Egregius Professor of Ancient History at Giggleswick University will shortly take up his duties as Editor of _Chestnuts_, the new comic weekly. Professor Ernest Grubb, who for many years has adorned the Chair of Entomology at Durdleham, is about to enter the dramatic sphere as stage-manager to a well-known troupe of performing insects. Another recruit to Stage enterprise is Professor Seymour Legge, who has been appointed Chief Investigator to the Beauty Chorus Providers' Corporation. Mr. Legge was formerly Professor of Comparative Anatomy at Ballycorp. * * * * * SATURDAYS. Now has the soljer handed in his pack, And "Peace on earth, goodwill to all" been sung; I've got a pension and my ole job back-- Me, with my right leg gawn and half a lung; But, Lord! I'd give my bit o' buckshee pay And my gratuity in honest Brads To go down to the field nex' Saturday And have a game o' football with the lads. It's Saturdays as does it. In the week It's not too bad; there's cinemas and things; But I gets up against it, so to speak, When half-day-off comes round again and brings The smell o' mud an' grass an' sweating men Back to my mind--there's no denying it; There ain't much comfort tellin' myself then, "Thank Gawd, I went _toot sweet_ an' did my bit!" Oh, yes, I knows I'm lucky, more or less; There's some pore blokes back there who played the game Until they heard the whistle go, I guess, For Time an' Time eternal. All the same It makes me proper down at heart and sick To see the lads go laughing off to play; I'd sell my bloomin' soul to have a kick-- But what's the good of talkin', anyway? * * * * * "If we were suddenly to be deprived of the fast underground train, and presented with a sparse service of steam trains in sulphurous tunnels, the result on our tempers and the rate of our travelling would be-- well, electric!"--_Pall Mall Gazette._ We have tried to think of a less appropriate word than "electric," but have failed miserably. * * * * * THE RIDING LESSON.