There are but few positions in the academic world which the Vagabond would be fitted to undertake. It is impossible to confine the soul of a rover within the cloisters and the hearths of an institution symbolized by Tuesday, Thursday, and (at the pleasure of the instructor) Saturday classes. For a roving genius cannot be bound by engagements collegiate or marital. One appointment, however, that the Vagabond will not fail to meet, is with Professor C.K. Webster this morning at 9 o'clock in the New Lecture Hall. This is rather a large place for a tete-a-tete, but a regiment of students will be there to watch the Professor and the Vagabond discuss the Origins of the World War.

It is not so much overpowering interest in the last--may it be the last--conflict. The overpowering desire which will lead the Vagabond to Oxford Street is the will to meet one of those rare people who hold an academic position which would be acceptable to his roving genius. For a Professor who can spend four months of the year in Wales and four in Cambridge, and use the remaining weeks for attending Pacific conferences and international conclaves has somewhere in him the wee small voice that tells a wanderer. Not enough for him to know the secret workings of diplomacy so intimately that crowned heads fear, learned heads respect, and student heads headache at the mention of his name, but he must also put into practise, a step anomalous for a professor, the facts that he has garnered. While in his all-too-short sojourn at Harvard history in the making lives as a naked muse before his classes. And so the Vagabond doffs an imaginary hat to Professor Webster and wishes him all social and diplomatic success at emperors garden parties.