lists under the absurd name of arrowroot?  When you ask for sago do you really see that you get it? and how many entirely different objects described as sago are known to commerce?  Define the uses of partridge canes and cohune oil.  What objects are generally manufactured from tucum?  Would it surprise you to learn that English door-handles are commonly made out of coquilla nuts? that your wife’s buttons are turned from the indurated fruit of the Tagua palm? and that the knobs of umbrellas grew originally in the remote depths of Guatemalan forests?  Are you aware that a plant called manioc supplies the starchy food of about one-half the population of tropical America?  These are the sort of inquiries with which a new edition of ‘Mangnall’s Questions’ would have to be filled; and as to answering them—­why, even the pupil-teachers in a London Board School (who represent, I suppose, the highest attainable level of human knowledge) would often find themselves completely nonplussed.  The fact is, tropical trade has opened out so rapidly and so wonderfully that nobody knows much about the chief articles of tropical growth; we go on using them in an uninquiring spirit of childlike faith, much as the Jamaica negroes go on using articles of European manufacture about whose origin they are so ridiculously ignorant that one young woman once asked me whether it was really true that cotton handkerchiefs were dug up out of the ground over in England.  Some dim confusion between coal or iron and Manchester piece-goods seemed to have taken firm possession of her infantile imagination.

That is why I have thought that a treatise De Banana might not, perhaps, be wholly without its usefulness to the modern English reading world.  After all, a food-stuff which supports hundreds of millions among our beloved tropical fellow-creatures ought to be very dear to the heart of a nation which governs (and annually kills) more black people, taken in the mass, than all the other European powers put together.  We have introduced the blessings of British rule—­the good and well-paid missionary, the Remington rifle, the red-cotton pocket-handkerchief, and the use of ’the liquor called rum’—­into so many remote corners of the tropical world that it is high time we should begin in return to learn somewhat about fetiches and fustic, Jamaica and jaggery, bananas and Buddhism.  We know too little still about our colonies and dependencies.  ‘Cape Breton an island!’ cried King George’s Minister, the Duke of Newcastle, in the well-known story, ’Cape Breton an island!  Why, so it is!  God bless my soul!  I must go and tell the King that Cape Breton’s an island.’  That was a hundred years ago; but only the other day the Board of Trade placarded all our towns and villages with a flaming notice to the effect that the Colorado beetle had made its appearance at ‘a town in Canada called Ontario,’ and might soon be expected to arrive at Liverpool by Cunard steamer.  The right honourables and other high mightinesses who put forth the notice in question were evidently unaware that Ontario is a province as big as England, including in its borders Toronto, Ottawa, Kingston, London, Hamilton, and other large and flourishing towns.  Apparently, in spite of competitive examinations, the schoolmaster is still abroad in the Government offices.