One morning I saw a Dahoman, arrayed in spotless white raiment, seated on a mat in an open space opposite the factory, and surrounded by a small crowd of enraptured lookers-on. My thirst for information is so insatiable that I never can see a crowd without wanting to ascertain what is the matter, so I put on my helmet and went out. I found the individual in white surrounded by small calabashes; one of which contained water, a second rum, a third kola-nuts, and a fourth a live fowl; and an old fetish lady sat opposite to him on the edge of the mat, swaying backwards and forwards, and singing some excruciating ditty in a low voice. Presently she dipped her fingers into the calabash full of water, and annointed the crown, forehead, chin, and neck of the patient with the fluid; then she sang another verse, and repeated the process with the rum. The man seemed decidedly refreshed after this, and I thought it was perhaps some native kind of shampooing. After a short interval the old woman selected a kola-nut, hurled it violently to the ground, examined all the broken pieces, and then, picking up one fragment that seemed to satisfy her, proceeded to chew it. When it was sufficiently masticated, she removed it from her mouth, and touched up the sufferer with it as before; then she decapitated the fowl, and, taking the bleeding head, went over the same ground, for the fourth time, with it. After that she, and as many of the bystanders as had a chance, fell violently upon the calabash of rum and drank it, and the meeting broke up. I was confident in my own mind that the man who had been operated on was sick, and that what I had seen was a fetish cure; but one of my French friends told me that it was a ceremony of common occurrence, and that the man was worshipping his head in order to obtain good fortune. I had noticed that he had seemed relieved when it was all over, as if he had been glad to be able to get out of his clean raiment, but his head did not appear to be any better than it was before.