f
education, an artist, and a student of anthropology and ethnology.
Engaged on a work of scientific research, he has not committed any of
his innumerable adventures, warlike or wandering, to print. The
following "yarn" he sent to me lately, in a letter on some points of
native customs. Of course the description of the Beach-comber, in the
book referred to, is purely fictitious. The yarn of "The Thumbless
Hand" is here cast in a dialogue, but the whole of the strange
experience described is given in the words of the narrator. It should
be added that, though my friend was present at some amateur seances,
in a remote isle of the sea, he is not a spiritualist, never was one,
and has no theory to account for what occurred, and no belief in
"spooks" of any description. His faith is plighted to the theories of
Mr. Darwin, and that is his only superstition. The name of the
principal character in the yarn is, of course, fictitious. The real
name is an old but not a noble one in England.]

"Have the natives the custom of walking through fire?" said my friend
the Beach-comber, in answer to a question of mine. "Not that I know
of. In fact the soles of their feet are so thick-skinned that they
would think nothing of it."

"Then have they any spiritualistic games, like the Burmans and
Maories? I have a lot of yarns about them."

"They are too jolly well frightened of bush spirits to invite them to
tea," said the Beach-comber. "I knew a fellow who got a bit of land
merely by whistling up and down in it at nightfall. {292} They think
spirits whistle. No, I don't fancy they go in for seances. But we
once had some, we white men, in one of the islands. Not the Oui-ouis"
(native name for the French), "real white men. And that led to
Bolter's row with me."

"What about?"

"Oh, about his young woman. I told her the story; it was thoughtless,
and yet I don't know that I was wrong. After all, Bolter could not
have been a comfortable fellow to marry."

In this opinion readers of the Beach-comber's narrative will probably
agree, I fancy.

"Bad moral character?"

"Not that I know of. Queer fish; kept queer company. Even if she was
ever so fond of dogs, I don't think a girl would have cared for
Bolter's kennel. Not in her bedroom anyway."

"But she could surely have got him to keep them outside, however doggy
he was?"

"He was not doggy a bit. I don't know that Bolter ever saw the black
dogs himself. He certa