ervice.
On his reaching my bungalow, some of my servants stated, that in the
neighbourhood a fakir, or wandering mendicant, resided, who could
charm away the bites of snakes; and begged, if the doctor had no
objection, that they might be permitted to send for him. He answered:
'Yes, of course: if the poor people would feel any consolation by his
coming, they could bring him; but the woman is dead.'

After a considerable lapse of time, the magician arrived, and began
his magical incantations. I was not present at the scene, but it
occurred in my park, within a couple of hundred yards of my bungalow;
and I am quite confident that any attempt to use medicines would have
been quite useless, as the woman's powers were utterly exhausted,
though her body was still warm. The fakir sat down at her side, and
began to wave his arm over her body, at the same time muttering a
charm; and he continued this process until she awoke from her
insensibility, which was within a quarter of an hour.

The last instance we shall give occurred at Bombay. The writer says:
On visiting Bombay in 1822, I was greatly diverted by a circumstance
told to me by an old friend in the artillery there. He stated that he
had had a _kulashee_, or tent-pitcher, in his service for many years;
that he was a most faithful and active man; but that he had all of a
sudden, and without any visible cause, become very greatly emaciated,
feeble, and ghastly. His master had sent him to the hospital, to have
the benefit of the skill of the regimental surgeon; but after the
lapse of some time, he was sent back, with the intimation that the
surgeon could not discover any specific disease, and that he,
therefore, could make nothing of his case. On bringing back this
information, my friend began to cross-question his servant, who would
not at first acknowledge the cause of his disease; but at last, after
much persuasion, he candidly avowed to his master, in confidence, that
he was labouring under the effect of witchcraft. 'And do you know,'
said my friend, 'that the fellow actually believed it himself.' And we
both laughed most heartily. His master continued his examination,
until the kulashee confessed that a certain Brahmin, officiating at a
large tank close to the fortress of Bombay, had threatened him with
his revenge, and was now actually eating up his liver, by which
process he would shortly be destroyed. 'I will tell you what I did: I
no sooner got the Brahmin's name,