When I first knew St John's, there were six Classical men on the staff, of whom, in accordance with old tradition, three had come from Shrewsbury School. But reformers cut the tie that bound the School to the College, and some of the distinction that marked it passed away when Benjamin Hall Kennedy ceased to be its tremendous headmaster, a great personality and famous for his scholars as well. The training had been in what we more narrowly called scholarship, a precise grip of language, invaluable if learning is to be maintained, a necessary foundation for all real advance in Classical studies, but not in itself everything. It did not please Henry Jackson. A bust and a portrait of Kennedy are in St John's; the bust apparently more successful than the portrait—the painter, according to Graves, had shut Kennedy's mouth tighter than the living man had ever been able to keep it. It is two long generations since Kennedy's headmastership, and a modern day misses in his work what it looks for. What Kennedy would say about our modern scholarship, if he could come back, I dare not guess. ‘Boy!’ he would roar across the classroom, W. F. Smith told me; and he was very definite as to who was and who was not a scholar. ‘Where did you get that rendering?’ he demanded of a boy construing Horace. ‘From my father's edition’, said the young Macleane.