The editors of the Illustrated Magazine evidently expect a very quick sale for their June number, otherwise they would not give the place of honor to a forecast of the intercollegiate meet, which took place twenty-four hours after the appearance of the magazine. The old-timer will take more pleasure in philosophizing over the past records which follow. It is a pity that the dates are not given in the table of collegiate records. How many Harvard men of today know that Wendell Baker's quarter-mile, though run straightaway, was merely one of a series of extraordinary performances on his part. His records appear on a special board in the meeting room of the Gymnasium, but what reader of the Illustrated would go near the Gymnasium! Kilpatrick's half-mile should scarcely be called a collegiate record. It was made in the international meet of 1895 when he ran for the New York A. C. And what bright has struck the high jump in these latter days? William Bird Page made his record of six feet, four inches more than a score of years ago. The Harvard record of six feet, two and one quarter inches was made by Fearing '93 in February, 1891, in the Irvington Street Armory. We believe that he jumped in sneakers. We must not leave the article on intercollegiate athletics without mentioning the admirable illustrations.

In "Work and the Man" Mr. Fagan has written an article which does not leave an entirely clear total impress on, but which contains ideas which are suggestive, nay, startling. It is known that the Pennsylvania Railroad prefers college bred men as apprentices in the Altoona shops, but Mr. Fagan tells us that the time is fast coming when the technically trained man who starts at the bottom in such an organization as a great railroad system, need not expect promotion any faster than his less fortunate fellows. What effect will this have on the future of education? Mr. Fagan has a singularly trenchant style. He writes as one that "knews, and knows, that he knows."

"1909 on College Courses" affords racy reading. We can imagine the reader sitting with the elective pamphlet in one hand saying, "Who is it that gives Abyzsinian 29 which is conducted in an insipid way, although the lecturer has great ability?" We wish that we could hope that instructors might profit by the exceeding multitude of conflicting counsels: "When he cried, 'Steer to starbord, but keep her head to larbord,' What on earth was the helmsman to do?"

Dean Ames's recollections of early baseball days have the charm which we have a right to expect. The other articles do not require comment.