of it, for I have a theory that the young remember more by the eye
than by the ear. In this way a place-name conveyed to them a definite
idea, for they had seen half-a-dozen somewhat garishly coloured
presentments of it. The young love colour. Then my second method came
into play. "Evans, what did I tell you last time grew in Jamaica?"
"Sugar and coffee, sir," "Next boy, what else?" "Pepper, salt and
mustard, sir." "Young idiot! Next boy." "Cocoa, sir, and ginger."
"Very good, Oxley. Bring me that long parcel there. There is enough
preserved ginger for two pieces for each boy; Ellis, who gave a silly
answer, gets none." "Baker, what fruit did I tell you grew in the West
Indies?" "Pineapples, sir." "Very good, Baker. Bring me those two tins
of pineapple and the tin-opener. Plenty for you all." My lessons were
quite enormously popular with my pupils, though the matron complained
that the boys seemed liable to bilious attacks after them.

In the days of my childhood, some ingenious person had devised a game
known as "Educational Quartettes." These "quartettes" were merely
another form of the game of "Happy Families," which seems to make so
persistent an appeal to the young. Every one must be familiar with it.
The underlying principle is that any possessor of one card of any
family may ask another player for any missing card of the suit; in
this way the whereabouts of the cards can be gradually ascertained,
and "Mr. Bones the Butcher" finds himself eventually reunited,
doubtless to his great joy, to his worthy, if unprepossessing spouse,
Mrs. Bones, and to his curiously hideous offspring, Miss Bones and
Master Bones. The same holds good with regard to the other families,
those of Mr. Bun the Baker, Mr. Pots the Painter, and their friends,
and we can only hope that these families make up in moral worth for
their painful lack of physical attractions. "Educational Quartettes"
were played in exactly the same way. At the age of six, I played them