him; and there are dozens of such practices, all founded on the
theory of sympathy. Like affects like. What harms the effigy hurts
the person whose effigy is burned or pricked. All this is perfectly
intelligible. But, when we find savage 'birraarks' in Australia,
fakirs in India, saints in mediaeval Europe, a gentleman's butler in
Ireland, boys in Somerset and Midlothian, a young warrior in
Zululand, Miss Nancy Wesley at Epworth in 1716, and Mr. Daniel Home
in London in 1856-70, all triumphing over the law of gravitation,
all floating in the air, how are we to explain the uniformity of
stories palpably ridiculous?

The evidence, it must be observed, is not merely that of savages, or
of persons as uneducated and as superstitious as savages. The
Australian birraark, who flies away up the tree, we may leave out of
account. The saints, St. Francis and St. Theresa, are more
puzzling, but miracles were expected from saints. {100a} The
levitated boy was attested to in a court of justice, and is designed
by Faithorne in an illustration of Glanvill's book. He flew over a
garden! But witnesses in such trials were fanciful people. Lord
Orrery and Mr. Greatrakes may have seen the butler float in the air--
after dinner. The exploits of the Indian fakirs almost, or quite,
overcome the scepticism of Mr. Max Muller, in his Gifford Lectures
on Psychological Religion. Living and honourable white men aver
that they have seen the feat, examined the performers, and found no
explanation; no wires, no trace of imposture. (The writer is
acquainted with a well vouched for case, the witness an English
officer.) Mr. Kellar, an American professional conjurer, and
exposer of spiritualistic pretensions, bears witness, in the North
American Review, to a Zulu case of 'levitation,' which actually
surpasses the tale of the gentleman's butler in strangeness. Cieza