MEMORIES OF MY LIFE 



+* 



whole of the twenty miles. The stumps had healed 

 when I saw them. I asked how they staunched the 

 blood. They explained by gesture that it was by 

 stumping the bleeding ends into the sand, and they 

 grinned with satisfaction while they explained. 



I may yet travel onwards many more years to 

 another illustrative anecdote. I happened to be 

 President of the Anthropological Institute, when a 

 very interesting memoir was read on the subject now 

 in question. Numerous instances were given of a 

 very startling character, but the one that seemed the 

 most so was a story told there by the late Sir James 

 Paget, as communicated to him by a trustworthy 

 friend ; he added that he felt compelled to believe it. 

 It referred to a native New Zealander. It appeared 

 that at the time in question it was the height of 

 fashion for the Maoris to wear boots on great occa- 

 sions, and not to appear barefooted. A youth had 

 saved money and went to a store a long way off, 

 where he purchased a pair of these precious articles. 

 On returning home he tried to put them on, but one 

 of his feet had a long projecting toe which prevented 

 it from being thrust home. He went quite as a 

 matter of course to fetch a bill-hook which was at 

 hand, and, putting his foot on a log of wood, chopped 

 off the end of his long toe and drew on the boot. 



There was another occurrence in those pre- 

 Pasteur days on which my mind dwelt often. It was 

 a story corroborated by many analogous but much 

 less striking instances that came under my own ob- 

 servation, of a man who had stumbled into a cauldron 

 of scalding pitch. He was quickly pulled out, but 

 the pitch had so enclosed and adhered to one of his 



