the rays of the sun, by expanding his spectacled
hood over the head of the great teacher. To
show how little one thinks of snakes out here,
I may mention, that while overlooking these
coolies, from a little eminence, I saw a small,
but apparently a venomous snake, which had
been disturbed, making away. Thinking the
men would object to killing it, and being too
lazy to go down myself, I called out to my little
boy, who was amusing himself below with his
little mattock, to kill the snake; on which he
walked up to it very leisurely— much more so
than I approved of— chopped it into three
pieces, and resumed his play as if nothing had
happened. Indeed, children out here become
almost so familiar with reptiles, that they have
to be cautioned not to handle them too freely.
Whenever a snake is discovered, their curiosity
leads them to run up to it, and often they attempt
to take a part in its destruction, by hitting at it
with the first thing they can handle. I have
sometimes to use all my authority to keep my
children back. One little girl has a knack of
seizing a lizard by the tail. The other day
I heard shouts of laughing on the verandah.
"What is it?"  "Oh, Fanny caught a lizard
by the tail; his tail came off, and he ran up her
arm."

When a snake pursues its prey it seems
indifferent to surrounding circumstances. One
day, while sitting near the open door of my
dressing-room, with a lady of my family, to
catch the last faint puffs of the dying
sea-breezes, a lizard ran into the room under our
chairs, closely pursued by a snake which took
the same course. My dog sprang up and
pursued both into my bath-room, where I killed
them close by a frog; so we compiled for our
amusement the Munchausen-like, but not
entirely incorrect tale, that the lizard pursued the
frog, the snake pursued the lizard, the dog
pursued the snake, and the man pursued them all.
The Tamul people are very fond of this kind of
retributive justice. I once literally delivered a
poor owl from the jaws of death. I found a
rat-snake in the act of swallowing the aforesaid owl,
but it had not broken any bones. I killed the
snake, and the owl got out of his mouth and flew
away. I remember reading in some book on Ceylon,
a good many years ago, of a frog swallowing
a duck. Now, a duck may very easily swallow a
frog, but the other appeared so absurdly
improbable that I could not help doubting it. On
mentioning my scepticism to a gentleman, whose
veracity was unquestionable, he assured me that
he had himself seen something of the same kind:
A very large frog had seized hold of a young
teal which he ambitiously attempted to swallow,
but, in the endeavour to do so, he got choked, and
perished miserably— he was found with the teal
half way down his gullet.

During the reaping season in the Jaffna
Peninsula, many accidents occur from the bites
of snakes. In most cases, timely precaution
would prevent fatal consequences; but,
unfortunately, the friends of the wounded man are
apt to resort to charms—such as waving
margosa-leaves over the bite, and repeating incantations
while the precious moments pass— and when
they do resort to a doctor, it is too late.
Some time ago, while I was standing by the
Jaffna Hospital, at about sunset, a man was
carried in in a basket: a common and
convenient mode of transport in such cases. He
had been bitten in the foot that morning; but
the friends had, as usual, delayed until this late
hour to seek proper attendance. There was not
much swelling near the bite, but the blood was
oozing from his gums and mouth; his breathing
was heavy, and a stupor had come over him.
Within an hour he was dead.

Sir Emerson Tennent, in his work on Ceylon,
mentions, in a foot-note, a communication he
received from a gentleman well known in
Ceylon, regarding the cobra: "Did you ever
hear of tame cobras being kept and domesticated
about a house, going in and out at
pleasure, and in common with the rest of
the inmates? In one family, near Negombo,
cobras are kept as protectors in the place of
dogs, by a wealthy man who has always large
sums of money in his house. But this is not a
solitary case of the kind. I heard it only
the other day, but from undoubtedly good
authority. The snakes glide about the house, a
terror to thieves, but never attempting to hurt
the inmates."

The correctness of this story was recently
questioned by one of the public journals in
Ceylon, whereupon a correspondent maintained
that it was true, and offered to point out the
house and the snakes to any one who desired to
satisfy himself of the fact by ocular demonstration.
I had the opportunity afforded me of
conversing with a most intelligent and highly
respected Singhalese missionary, resident at
Negombo. He told me, that while lodging in the
house of one Marco Fernando, of Kattane, six
miles from Negombo, he heard some commotion
on the top of the bed in his room, and
found that a large cobra was endeavouring to
withdraw some eggs from under a hen which
was sitting on the mat that formed the top or
tent of the bed. Alarmed at the sight of this
intruder, he ran out, and called for a stick,
intending to kill it; but the inmates of the house
earnestly implored him not to do so, and
assured him that the snake would do him no
harm. He then ascertained that it was in
the habit of going in and out of the house
at pleasure, and that no one molested it. It
was not seen daily, but whenever there was any
commotion in the house, or unusual noise, the
snake would come out, and testify its displeasure
at the disturbance; for instance, if a child were
beaten and cried, the snake would appear and
hiss, and show anger. There is nothing whatever
incredible or improbable in this story.
Cobras will, if unmolested, frequent houses; they
like eggs; they are slow to use their fangs,
unless provoked; and they are keenly alive to the
influence of sound. For this last reason, doubtless,
snake-charmers exhibit them in preference
to all other snakes.