About snakes other than the cobra the average native concerns himself so little that he does not know one from another by sight.  They are all classed together as janwar, a word which answers exactly to the “venomous beast” of Acts xxviii. 4; and though they are aware that some are deadly and some are not, any particular snake that a sahib has had the honour to kill is one of the deadliest as a matter of course.  I have never met a native who knew that a venomous snake could be distinguished by its fangs, except a few doctors and educated men who have imbibed western science.  In fact they do not think of the venom as a material substance situated in the mouth.  It is an effluence from the entire animal, which may be projected at a man in various ways, by biting him, or spitting at him, or giving him a flick with the tail.

The Government of India spends a large sum of money every year in rewards for the destruction of snakes.  This is one of those sacrifices to sentiment which every prudent government offers.  The sentiment to which respect is paid in this case is of course British, not Indian.  Indian sentiment is propitiated by not levying any tax on dogs, so the pariah cur, owned and disowned, in all stages of starvation, mange and disease, infests every town and village, lying in wait for the bacillus of rabies.  Against the one fatal case of snake-bite mentioned above, I have known of at least half a dozen deaths among Englishmen from the more horrible scourge of hydrophobia.  In the steamer which brought me home there were two private soldiers on their way to M. Pasteur, at the expense, of course, of the British Government.

X

THE INDIAN SNAKE-CHARMER

We must wait for another month or two before we can think of the winter in this country in the past tense, but in India the month of March is the beginning of the hot season, and the tourists who have been enjoying the pleasant side of Anglo-Indian life and assuring themselves that their exiled countrymen have not much to grumble at will now be making haste to flee.

During the month the various hotels of Bombay will be pretty familiar with the grey sun-hat, fortified with puggaree and pendent flap, which is the sign of the globe-trotter in the East.  And all the tribe of birds of prey who look upon him as their lawful spoil will recognise the sign from afar and gather about him as he sits in the balcony after breakfast, taking his last view of the gorgeous East, and perhaps (it is to be feared) seeking inspiration for a few matured reflections wherewith to bring the forthcoming book to an impressive close.  The vendor of Delhi jewellery will be there and the Sind-work-box-walla, with his small, compressed white turban and spotless robes, and the Cashmere shawl merchant and many more, pressing on the gentleman’s notice for the last time their most tempting wares and preparing for the long bout of fence which will decide at what point between “asking price” and “selling price” each article shall change ownership.  The distance between these two points is wide and variable, depending upon the indications of wealth about the purchaser’s person and the indications of innocence about his countenance.