ng
should have the courage to approach an animal of the reptile order;
but it serves only to corroborate the statement previously
made:--children are destitute of fear, and consequently have no dread
of danger.

In a former number (549) of _The Mirror_, appeared a paper headed "The
Habits of the Common Snake," purported to be extracted from the
_Magazine of Natural History_. The doctrine enforced by the writer of
this article, as regards the impracticability of domesticating a
snake, has been proved entirely erroneous by the fact recited; and
were there no positive instance adduced to the contrary, it does not
follow that, because his effort, were ineffectual, such a thing is
utterly impossible; indeed, I think, the failure of his project may be
dated from the means to which he resorted for its accomplishment. The
snake we know is naturally very timid, and shuns even the society of
its fellow-creatures; and consequently, must have a great dread of the
presence of human beings. Then why, in the name of sense, did he
suffer it to be handled by children; and what vessel could he have
found worse adapted to his purpose than one composed of glass, in
which the movements of its inmate were subjected to the continual gaze
of bystanders? He may, perhaps, consider his plan a good one, and
bring the case I have mentioned to support his argument, as the snake
was tamed by the same means he himself had partially adopted; but it
is totally different. Much more may be effected by the agency of one
little child, than by the assistance of a number of older and
consequently more unmanageable beings. One would suppose, by his
attempting to "charm it" with music, that he put unlimited belief in
the fables of old; but, alas! the poor creature had heard enough of
nursery strains to render it deaf to the beauties of softer melody.
The language with which he concludes his remarks is as unjust as it is
uncalled for, and such as none but an illiberal and narrow-minded
observer would, choose to apply to so beautiful a creature.[4] Even
the cat[5] (the most ravenous domestic animal we have,) has been
known, when confined, to permit mice to pass unmolested through the
cage in which it was imprisoned; then why should he expect that an
animal which (as he asserts) can live upwards of thirty days without
food, would put itself so far out of its way as to gratify an idle
spectator, by devouring in his presence, frogs, mice, and other such
"delicacie