As we entered a village one afternoon, not a man was to be seen; but some women were drinking beer under a tree.

In a few moments the native doctor, one of the innocents, "nobody's enemy but his own," staggered out of a hut, with his cupping-horn dangling from his neck, and began to scold us for a breach of etiquette.

"Is this the way to come into a man's village, without sending him word that you are coming ?" Our men soon pacified the fuddled but good-humoured medico, who, entering his beer-cellar, called on two of them to help him to carry out a huge pot of beer, which he generously presented to us.

While the "medical practitioner" was thus hospitably employed, the chief awoke in a fright, and shouted to the women to run away, or they would all be killed.

The ladies laughed at the idea of their being able to run away, and remained beside the beer-pots.