about a foot from the head, with one hand;
drew it out; seized it lower down with the
other hand, and was in the act of flourishing it
aloft, as he had flourished the other snake,
when, as he held it up in front of his face, the
cobra—suddenly expanding its hood—struck
him like lightning between the eyes, plunging
the poison-fangs into the skin of one side
of the bridge of the nose, and scratching the
opposite side with the teeth of the lower jaw.
The man was staggered by the blow; the
blood streamed down his face; he called for
help, and his companion fled; but "how long
he was away he could not tell, being in a maze."

When assistance arrived, Gurling was found
seated in a chair; having restored the cobra
to its cage and closed down the front glass.
This return to a sense of duty, and this
performance (perhaps instinctive) of the prudent
act which was his last on earth, are not the
least remarkable of the circumstances attending
the case. He was still sensible and
collected, when placed in the cab that conveyed
him to the hospital; and expressed, but in
already palsied speech, his conviction of
speedy death. When received into the hospital,
he "appeared," reports the house-surgeon,
"almost, if not quite, unconscious, and unable
to support his head. His face was livid, and
his respiration very imperfect, he moved
himself uneasily, pointed to his throat and moaned."
The power of utterance was the first lost, then
that of vision, lastly, that of hearing. The pulse
gradually sank, the extremities became cold
and torpid, and he died without a convulsion
or struggle, about one hour after receiving the
wound. The heart's action was renewed by
mechanical inflation of the lungs, and artificial
respiration, which at one time raised the
pulse to seventy-five beats in a minute, was
kept up, half-an hour after the natural breathing
had ceased and when the nervous system
was dead. Galvanism was tried but "had
no effect."

Strange reports of this very plain occurrence
have been circulated through some
channels of popular information. A purveyor
of marvels to THE MORNING ADVERTISER,
assuming that all the serpents in the
Zoological Gardens are kept, like the happy
family in Trafalgar Square, in one large case,
describes Gurling as, in the ordinary course
of his duty, entering bodily therein, "with a
view of stirring up some birds which had
been placed there for the food of the serpents,
the time having arrived when some of them
had recovered from their torpid state
consequent on a previous meal." The cobra is
made, by this intelligent and accurate
informant of the public, to dart at the
unfortunate keeper, as he was stooping to pick
up one of the birds. The screams of the
victim to the hazardous duty "attracted
the instant attention of William Cockeridge,
another keeper, who thereupon rushed to
the serpent-case and drew his companion out."

This ridiculous report has found its way,
uncontradicted, into other papers, including
a respectable medical journal.

Now, as regards the mode adopted for
preserving the live reptiles. The Inquest jury
proceeded to the Zoological Gardens to inspect
the arrangements. They found the poisonous
serpents kept in small cages, or compartments,
double-wired, and "fitted up in such a manner
as, with the most ordinary precautions, to
insure perfect safety from casualties of the
kind. By means of an iron rod, hooked at
the end, and inserted through the small
aperture at the top of each compartment, the
reptiles are easily removed into the compartment
next their own, and made secure there,
while the keepers place food in and clean out
the empty one. Visitors are enabled to see
the serpents in perfect security through the
thick glass fronts of the cages." So says the
Times report of the Inquest, and any one who
knows the reptile-house knows perfectly well
that these cages are, in appearance, like cases
in which stuffed birds are kept—or like the
larger sort of glass-cases at any great jeweller's
establishment.

The Secretary of the Zoological Society
deposed, on oath, that "the keepers in
charge of the snakes were instructed on no
account, at any time, to do anything to
the different cages when the snakes were in
them," and that on one occasion he had
severely rebuked Gurling "for lifting the
glass and putting in food for the snake inside
without removing it."

The report aforesaid states "The reptile
had immediately after its bite relinquished
its hold, but the effect was such, that it
instantly swelled up the face of the poor
fellow Garlin." The house-surgeon at the
inquest states that "the right eyelid was
swollen, but the left not at all," and
the jury on inspecting the body found
that it "presented no very unusual
appearance, not being swollen or otherwise
disfigured." According to the same
preposterous account, Gurling "was fortunately
unmarried." His widow gives evidence before
the Coroner. And, true to his hypothesis of
the accident, the reporter expresses his
conviction, that "the jury will order the
immediate destruction of the venomous reptile."
Their verdict was (of course) to the effect,
"That the deceased had lost his life by the
bite of a serpent, known as the cobra de
capello, when in a state of intoxication,
and in consequence of his own rashness and
indiscretion."

CHIPS.

THE CRIMES OF COTTON.

Now that scarcely a civilised individual exists
in any part of the world who does not wear
cotton in some form or other, we may well
wonder when we are told of the inveterate
opposition with which its first introduction