detect sound waves in the air, as a general evidence of something unusual, with the delicate tip of the restless bifid tongue, is a subject that requires investigation; but that they can appreciate music in this or any other way is, as has been said above, absolutely untrue. How such an idea as that snakes are fond of music and milk ever gained credence among men calling themselves scientists only shows how few really scientific observers we have.
Men sometimes do strange things for the love of knowledge, and it was this love which caused me to live on such intimate terms with my scaly but graceful and gentle friends. I took them into my house to live with me. This was the best way to know them perfectly; and the more I knew them, the more I knew that they did not know me. I soon found out that neither cobras nor any other serpents can ever become capable of attachment, nor even distinguish one person from another, nor distinguish a man from any large animal, nor even distinguish a man from a tree stump until he gives evidence of his life by motion.
During my stay in South Africa I had many cobras, all of which I captured myself, except those born in my collection. Now, cobra-hunting is a very dangerous kind of sport, and had I known of its perils otherwise than by experience it is probable that I never would have attempted it. The first two or three I caught safely, and nothing particular occurred to show that there was a special danger in taking them which did not equally exist in the capture of other deadly snakes. But I found out that in three important particulars of defense and attack the cobra differs from all his fellow-poisoners: 1. He rarely opens his mouth when striking, but actually gives a deadly blow without biting. 3. He bites deliberately when he is in a state of apparent death from muscular contortion, and will then hang on like a bulldog, the venom flowing all the time into the wounds in which his fangs are buried, until he drops off at last from sheer exhaustion. 3. He can squirt the venom from his fangs into a person's eyes, and thus blind him for a time at least,
I had often heard of the "spuugh slang," or spitting snake, but, looking at the thing from a too human point of view—as we are all, unfortunately, overmuch inclined to do when considering animals—I could not understand how a snake, not having fleshy lips and a bulky tongue, could be said to spit as we understand the word; and hence could no more believe in spitting snakes than I would in unicorns or fiery dragons. However, the result proved that oftentimes a story which on the face of it seems impossible has, after all, a certain fund of truth lying concealed somewhere at bottom.
One day, being alone in the bush, I saw a cobra banded with black and white. He was in an open glade, gliding about through
