thrust at the opposing flesh, the bulk of the
body serving as an anchor. As it moves, the
neck bends back, the mouth opens wide, the
fangs are unsheathed and held stiffly, and you
have a sharp pang as the points enter the skin.
Quick as thought the lower jaw shuts on the
part, deeper go the fangs, and, the same muscle
which closes the jaw compressing the glands,
the venom is injected among the tissues which
the fangs have pierced. Of late the doctors
have taken to administering medicines by a
very similar process, which has been found to
combine economy in the amount of medicine
needed with the utmost efficiency as to results.
This instrument is merely a hollow needle,
through which the medicine is forced by a
syringe. I wish I could say that the hint was
taken from the snake, so much of a plea might
have been put forward for his abused race.

It sometimes chances that, despite all this
exquisite machinery, some little failure occurs,
which may be taken as a desirable piece of
good luck for the person aimed at. For
instance, the teeth may strike at a disadvantage,
and be suddenly doubled backwards, whereupon
the venom occasionally goes down the snake's
throat, and, as we shall see, does him no such
harm as drugs usually do the apothecary; or
it chances that, the sequence of actions failing
as to their due order, the venom is ejected
before the fang enters, or escapes at the base of
the tooth on account of the duct not being
drawn neatly upon the aperture of the tooth.

Let these incidents occur, and at the same
time let the sharp and hooked teeth of the
lower jaw wound the skin, and we shall have all
the material for a case of rattlesnake bite, in
which we may administer an antidote with great
surety of success. A snake strikes you, the
skin is wounded, and the conclusion is naturally
drawn that you are also poisoned; whereas
both in man and animals, as we have seen many
times, the victim may drag the snake some
distance, hung to the tissues by the harmless little
hooked teeth of the lower jaw.

It is also a matter of moment whether, being
bitten, you have received two fang-wounds or
only one, because the two glands are as
independent of one another as two rival drug-shops;
and, if you get both fangs in you, the dose of
the venom is twice what it would be if only one
of them entered. Luckily, it often chances
that, in small members like the fingers, one
tooth goes aside of the mark, and so fails of
its purpose, thus lessening the risk exactly one
half.

These keenly tempered fangs are liable to be
lost by accidents, and also to fall by natural
decay. When the former occurs, the snake is
unarmed for the time; but in a few days a
reserve fang—which always lies behind or to one
side of the active tooth—becomes firmly set in
its socket, and comes into apposition with the
opening of the duct. It is therefore not enough
to pull out the active fang, since numerous
others lie ready for use in the gum behind it.
A young friend once showed me a small
rattlesnake, from which he had taken the active
fangs three months before, supposing the
reptile thus disarmed for life. He was accustomed
to handle it freely, and had never been bitten.
On opening the mouth, I pointed out to him
the new and efficient teeth which had taken the
place of those he had removed. How much
danger he thus ran it were hard to say, since
the snake may be handled with impunity, if
care be taken not to hurt it or to use abrupt
motions.

A very startling incident illustrative of this
occurred some years ago in Philadelphia. A
tavern-keeper had in a box two large
rattlesnakes, perfectly wild, and not long captives.
Coming into his bar-room early one morning,
he found his little daughter, about six years
old, seated beside the open snake-box, with both
serpents lying in her lap. He was wise enough,
seeing her unhurt, to ask how they got out, and
hearing, in reply, that she herself had lifted
them from the box, he ordered her to
replace them, which she did without harm,
finally closing upon them the lid of their cage.
Snakes long confined very often become so tame
that, as we have found, they will allow mice,
reed-birds, or pigeons in their cage without
attempting to injure them. If any still doubt
that the rattlesnake may be handled with
impunity, the experience of the naturalist Waterton
may end his doubt. His biographer
describes him as seizing and holding poisonous
serpents with an indifference which is only
credible to those who have studied their habits
with care. We are persuaded, however, that
certain snakes are more likely to strike than
others, some requiring the utmost provocation.
This is very apt to be the case after the serpent
has bitten a few times vainly upon a stick or
other hard body; so that it seems probable, not
only that the snake has memory, but that
individuality may exist in forms of life even as
low as this one. Where in the descending
scale does this cease? Are there clever earthworms
and stupid earthworms—no two things
anywhere precisely the same?

Let us now pursue our inquiry, see how we
may get the venom for study, and what physically
and chemically this marvellous liquid may
be.

Many ways of handling the serpent were
tried before one was found simple and safe
enough. While the complicated methods were
used some narrow escapes were made, until at
last we hit on a plan which answered every
purpose. A stick five feet long, cut square at the
end, was fitted with a thin leather strap two
inches wide, tacked on to one side of the end,
and then carried over it and through a staple
on the other side, where it was attached to a
stout cord. Pulling this leather out into a
loop, and leaning over the snake-cage, which is
five feet deep and now open above, we try to
noose one of the snakes. This has been done
so often as to be difficult. At first, when it
was slipped over their heads, they crawled
forward through it; now always they have learned