WHEN quite a youth I paid a visit to a pro- 
fessor to have ''my bumps read/' He 
put his hands on different parts of my head, felt 
here and there, measured it with a tape, and I know 
not what else, and at last wrote down his conclu- 
sions in a book, which I brought away with me. 
In it he said many things. Amongst others — that 
I was inquisitive, or full of curiosity. It was quite 
true, and I hope is so still. If you turn to your 
dictionary you will find there is really nothing to 
be ashamed about in being curious, for it only 
means you are anxious to learn. Judging by my 
experience, it does not require a professor to dis- 
cover that the African is as full of curiosity as 
''^an egg is full of meat.'' And it stands to the 
negro's credit that he is so anxious to know things. 
I want to tell you some amusing instances of his 
inquisitiveness and some — not amusing. When I 
lived at Jamestown, quite a number of mis- 
sion boys dwelt in the mission gro'unds. 
They were there for special training. On 
Saturdays it fell to their lot during the morning 
to wash their own clothes, and in the afternoon 
they left them in the sun to dry whilst they went 
for a walk, or paid a visit to some of their friends. 
As Mrs. Ward and I took a stroll at the same time 
they had each to take turn in remaining behind to 
mind the house. One Saturday we returned from 
