When at last mathematics were introduced, Mr. Stephen Hawtrey, a cousin of the Doctor’s, who had been a high wrangler at Cambridge, was appointed master. In order to parcel out the boys into divisions under his several assistants he had to hold an examination. Naturally the object of every one of us was to make as bad a show as possible in order to be put into an easy place. When my form came up for _vivâ voce_, question after question did the unhappy man put. No answer. At last in despair he cried: “Is there no boy here who can tell me what twice two makes?” After a pause, “Yes, sir! Please, sir, I can!” said a very cunning little chap called K——. “Well, what is it?” “Five, sir, please, sir!” There were many applauding grins, but for that day Stephanos, as he was called, gave up our form in despair. What troublous days the poor assistant mathematical masters suffered! How they were teased and worried! Very foolishly, the authorities would not give them the same status that the classical masters enjoyed; they were not allowed to wear cap and gown, and might not complain to the Head Master direct. Of course this encouraged the boys to be as rebellious and wicked as they pleased; and being boys, they took royal advantage of it. Talking of extras, I do not think that many boys in my time learned French; still fewer German. Old Mr. Tarver, of dictionary fame, the French master, was a very charming person, liked by all of us who knew him. His story was curious. He was an Englishman born at Dieppe in 1790. His parents were imprisoned in France in 1793, while he was staying at the house of a friend, M. Féval, who was chief engineer in the Ponts et Chaussées of the Seine Inférieure. When his parents escaped to England he was left behind, and it was not until 1814, after holding various appointments, amongst others that of Secretary to the Admiral of the French fleet at Toulon and in other places, that he was able to seek them out. His father was dead, but his mother was still alive. After holding different educational posts, amongst others that of tutor to the Duke of Cambridge, he became French master, and held the place for twenty-five years. He died in 1851, and was succeeded by his sons, Henry and Frank. He had a pupil-room in the Christopher Inn Yard, and I used often to go and pay him a little visit, quite apart from lessons, and listen to the stories of his old adventures. One of his sons, Charles, was classical tutor to King Edward when Prince of Wales. To Herr Schönerstedt and his beloved flute I have already alluded. He was a tall, handsome, very courtly gentleman. If a boy met him in the street he would treat him as ceremoniously as if he were a Russian Grand Duke, never forgetting, even if he were meditating revenge for some crime, to make a sweeping bow and take leave with a grandiloquent “gehorsamer Diener.” With Signor Sinibaldi I had little more than a forefinger-to-hat acquaintance.