I 9 8 THE TRIBES ON MY FRONTIER. 



matter. In my walks abroad I generally carry a strong, 

 supple, walking cane. This is the prime weapon for 

 encountering snakes. Armed with it, you may rout and 

 slaughter the hottest-tempered cobra in Hindustan. Let 

 it rear itself up and spread its spectacled head-gear and 

 bluster as it will, but one rap on the side of its head will 

 bring it to reason, and another about the middle of the 

 body will bring it to its end. Without a stick you can 

 do nothing. Twice have I fled before an angry cobra, 

 having unwisely attacked it with stones. The cobra, 

 though of a peaceable disposition in the main, is hasty 

 in his temper. 



Since alchemy was given up, and wise men relinquished 

 the search for the philosopher's stone, some of the energy 

 thus saved has been devoted to the discovery of a cure for 

 snake-bite. Sanguine doctors have from time to time 

 devoted themselves to pricking poor dogs with the fangs 

 of snakes, and then embittering their end with doses of 

 potash, injections of ammonia and other sorrows, and thus 

 many remedies have been discovered, in each of which its 

 own inventor profoundly believes. Native medicos, with- 

 out any of those distressing experiments, have attained 

 exactly the same result, though their remedies have 



