t
of a snake-charmer. If, however, you are minded to cultivate an
acquaintance with them, it is not difficult to find opportunities of
doing so, but I must warn you that it will be with jeopardy to your
faith, for the very first thing that will strike you about them will
probably be their cleanness. What has become of the classical slime I
cannot tell, but it is a fact that the skin of a modern snake is always
delightfully dry and clean, and as smooth to the touch as velvet.

The next thing that attracts attention is their beauty, not so much the
beauty of their colours as of their forms. With few exceptions, snakes
are the most graceful of living things. Every position into which they
put themselves, and every motion of their perfectly proportioned forms,
is artistic. The effect of this is enhanced by their gentleness and the
softness of their movements.

But if you want to see them properly, you must be careful not to
frighten them, for there is no creature more timid at heart than a
snake. One will sometimes let you get quite near to it and watch it,
simply because it does not notice you, being rather deaf and very
shortsighted, but when it does discover your presence, its one thought
is to slip away quietly and hide itself. It is on account of this
extreme timidity that we see them so seldom.

Of the two hundred and thirty-seven kinds that I have referred to, some
are, of course, very rare, or only found in particular parts of the
country, but at least forty or fifty of them occur everywhere, and some
are as plentiful as crows. Yet they keep themselves out of our way so
successfully that it is quite a rare event to meet with one.
Occasionally one finds its way into a house in quest of frogs, lizards,
musk-rats, or some other of the numerous malefactors that use our
dwellings as cities of refuge from the avenger, and it is discovered by
the Hamal behind a cupboard, or under a carpet. He does the one thing
which it occurs to a native to do in any emergency--viz. raises an
alarm. Then there is a general hubbub, servants rush together with the
longest sticks they can find, the children are hurried away to a place
of safety, the master appears on the scene, armed with his gun, and the

Wee, sleekit, cowrin', tim'rous beastie,

trying to slip away from the fuss which it dislikes so much, is headed,
and blown, or battered, to pieces. Then its head is pounded to a jelly,
for the servants are agreed that, if this prec