A WEAKNESS FOR SKULLS. 
191 
meditate over a quiet pipe in my floating sanctum, 
each bone and skull that hangs around me recalls 
certain little incidents which I am unwilling to 
keep entirely to myself. That little cramped foot 
reminds me of the bombardment of Canton, and 
was taken from an unfortunate woman who ^vas 
killed by one of our shells. That baby-skeleton 
points to the prevalence of *infanticide in China, 
for its owner was drowned in the Pearl River by its 
unnatural parent. That mummified foetal deer 
brings before my mincfs eye the shaven-pated 
doctors of Japan, who find in such as that a valu- 
able remedy. * 
I confess to a weakness for skulls : from the 
simple cartilaginous rudiment of the cuttle-fish to 
the ample dome where intellect once sat supreme, 
they have all great attractions in my eyes. When, 
therefore, I pitch my foot ” against a skull, like 
Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, I take it up, and 
regard it with speculative interest. I touch lightly, 
however, on the bleached human skulls I obtained 
by the banks of the Pearl River. Suffice it to say 
