There is, in this part of Turkestan, a disease which bears a strong resemblance to the so-called Delhi boil--or, more correctly, Delhi ulcer. It was exceedingly prevalent while I was in Turkestan, and after trying various remedies ineffectually I hit upon one which had a marked beneficial effect. Formerly, the ulcers--which appear on the exposed parts of the body, the hands, feet, and face--were very intractable and rarely healed in less than a year. Under the popular native treatment they sometimes attained enormous proportions, and became covered with most exuberant granulations--great mounds of proud flesh: now they healed rapidly in a month, or less, according to the size, so that I gained a sort of reputation in this line. One day the British Agent, Colonel Attaullah Khan, sent his Secretary to ask me to visit him, as he was suffering from one of these sores upon his heel, and his own Hindustani medical attendant had been unsuccessful in giving him relief. I said, certainly, I would come, and was pulling on my boots, when the Armenian said:-- “Sir, please you kind, a little you wait.” “What for?” said I, with a boot half on. “First, I write to Amîr Sahib and ask; then you go or you not go, as he says. You Amîr Sahib’s servant.” “Well, but----” However, I thought there was no harm in his writing at any rate, and I waited. His Highness’s answer arrived. [Sidenote: The Amîr’s Answer.] He acknowledged the receipt of my letter of such a date, in which I asked--Had I the Royal permission to visit--and so on. He was deeply grieved on account of the illness of the Sirdar, for whom he had the greatest affection and respect, but there were weighty matters to consider. I, though an Englishman, was his servant. If, through an unforeseen calamity God should strike the Sirdar, while under my medical care, with an illness more severe than the present one, or, God forbid, even with death, then the honourable Government of England might consider in their wisdom that I, his servant, instigated by evil men, had worked harm upon the Sirdar. The gist of it was, that whatever His Highness’s reason might be, he did not wish me to attend the Agent. I therefore sent my apologies. At the next Durbar His Highness appeared pleased that I had asked his permission before visiting the Agent, and he entered more fully, though on the same lines, into his reasons for refusing permission. That afternoon a Brigadier named Hadji Gul Khan, with his Staff, called upon me at my house. They all came in, about a dozen of them, and the Brigadier, in a hearty sort of way, shook hands and asked how I was. I was surprised, as he was quite a stranger to me, though it is possible I was not so to him. He was a relative of the Amîr’s, a Barukzai Durani: he had called to ask if I would attend to one of his soldiers who had a disease of the leg. I said, “With pleasure, which is he?” “This is the man.”