offering to leave her husband, made me a proposal of marriage, to the delight of Dr. Good and Mr. Kerr. Shortly after this she went crazy. We came in contact with a belief regarding the white man’s origin which is widely prevalent, namely, that their dead ancestors have gone over the sea and have become white men. We, therefore, are their ancestors. Dr. Good and I once entered a town where the white man had never been seen. While the people were still standing back, afraid of us, a woman looking intently in my face uttered a cry of recognition, mistaking me for her dead grandfather, or grand-uncle, or something of that sort. “Are you not so-and-so, of my family?” she asked. Not being eager to claim relationship, I hastily assured her that I was not. “Are you a spirit, or are you flesh?” she asked. I told her I was no spirit, but flesh and bones and as solid as herself; and I invited her to come and put her hand on me. “Will my hand not go through?” she asked; and I assured her that it would not. Then coming towards me gradually, taking a short step, then a fearful breath, then another step, she at last put her hand upon my arm and then not knowing what would happen to her she turned and ran down the street. But soon recovering herself she cried out: “He is solid just like us. My hand didn’t go through.” Then they all came, men, women and children, to investigate for themselves. Some pinched me, some pushed, and some pulled my hair, to the infinite amusement of Dr. Good. I made no protest against the more delicate experiments of the women and children; but the sense of touch on the part of the men was so obtuse that I turned on one of them and by the vigorous use of my fists undertook to convince him that my quality was more substantial than spirit, while the town shrieked with laughter. The rest were willing to take that man’s word that I was solid. “You’re flesh and bones,” they cried in a chorus. “Yes,” said I, “I am flesh and bones and fists.”