The Scottish schoolmaster of the old type is probably as extinct as the parish school system under which he flourished. What with revised codes, inspectors, examinations, grants in aid, Board of Education and other machinery, the educational arrangements of Scotland have during the last half-century been transformed to a remarkable degree. There can be no doubt that on the whole, and especially in recent years, the changes have been in the right direction. Nevertheless, we may regret the disappearance of some of the characteristic features of the old régime. The parish schools served to commingle the different classes of the community, and there was a freedom left to the teachers which gave them scope in their methods and range of subjects, and enabled them to send up to the university numbers of clever and well-trained scholars. Untrammelled by the fear of any school-board or Education Department, the ‘dominie’ was left to develop his own individuality, which, though it sometimes took the form of eccentricity, was in most cases the natural outgrowth of a cultivated mind, and was a distinct benefit to his pupils. In the delightful _Memories Grave and Gay_ of Dr. Kerr, who has spent his active life in practically furthering the cause of education in the country, an interesting account is given of the process of transformation, together with many anecdotes of his experience of country schools and country schoolmasters. To his ample stores those interested in the subject should turn. In the early days of examinations an inspector came to a school, and in the course of the reading stopped to ask the class the meaning of the word curfew in Gray’s line: The curfew tolls the knell of parting day. There was complete silence in the room. He tried to coax the boys on to an answer, but without effect; until the teacher, losing patience with them, exclaimed in vexation, ‘Stupit fules! d’ye no ken what’s a _whaup_?’ whaup being _Scottice_ for _curlew_. A clerical friend of mine was, many years ago, visiting a parish school in Argyleshire where Gaelic was taught as well as English. He spoke to them in Gaelic, and asked them to spell one of the words he had used. They looked in blank amazement at him, and gave no reply. At last the master, turning round deprecatingly to the clergyman, said, ‘Oich, sir, there’s surely no spellin’ in Gaelic.’ A story is told in the north of Scotland of a certain school in which a boy was reading in presence of an examiner, and on pronouncing the word _bull_ as it is ordinarily sounded, was abruptly corrected by the schoolmaster. [Sidenote: A DOMINIE’S PRONUNCIATION] ‘John, I’ve told you before, that word is called _bull_’ (pronouncing it like _skull_). ‘Excuse me, sir,’ said the examiner, ‘I think you will find that the boy has pronounced it correctly.’ ‘O no, sir, we always call it _bull_ in this parish.’