at which I was at work. The hawk, with
his eyes fixed intently on his prey, did not, I
fancy, see the snake lying motionless in the
grass; or if he did see him he did not think
he was a snake, but something else—my
crowbar, perhaps. After a little while the
hawk pounced down, and was just about to
give the minar a blow and a grip, when the
snake suddenly lifted his head, raised his
hood, and hissed. The hawk gave a shriek,
fluttered, flapped his wings with all his might,
and tried very hard to fly away. But it
would not do. Strong as the eye of the
hawk was, the eye of the snake was stronger.
The hawk for a time seemed suspended in
the air; but at last he was obliged to come
down, and sit opposite to the old gentleman
(the snake) who commenced, with his forked
tongue, and keeping his eyes upon him all
the while, to slime his victim all over. This
occupied him for at least forty minutes, and
by the time the process was over the hawk
was perfectly motionless. I don't think he
was dead. But he was very soon, however,
for the old gentleman put him into a coil or
two, and crackled up every bone in the hawk's
body. He then gave him another sliming,
made a big mouth, distended his neck till it
was as big round as the thickest part of my
arm, and down went the hawk like a shin of
beef into a beggarman's bag."

"And what became of the rninar?"

"He was off like a shot, sir, the moment
his enemy was in trouble, and no blame to
him. What a funny thing nature is altogether,
sir! I very often think of that scene
when I am at work here."

"But this place must be infested with
snakes ?"

"I have never seen but that one, sir, and I
have been here for a long time. Would you
like to see the old gentleman, sir? As the
sun is up, and the morning rather warm,
perhaps he will come out, if I pretend to be
at work and give him a ditty. If he does
not, we will look in upon him."

"Come along," said I.

I accompanied the old man to a tomb, close
to the monument beneath which the snake
was said to have taken up his abode. I did
not go very near to the spot, but stood upon
a tomb with a thick stick in my hand, quite
prepared to slay the monster if he approached
me; for from childhood I have always had an
instinctive horror of reptiles of every species,
caste, and character.

The old man began to hammer away with
his mallet and chisel, and to sing a very
quaint old song which I had never heard
before, and have never heard since. It was a
dialogue or duet between the little finger
and the thumb, and began thus. The thumb
said:

"Dear Rose Mary Green!
When I am king, little finger, you shall be queen."

The little finger replied:

"Who told you so, Thummy, Thummy? Who told
you so?"

The thumb responded:

'' It was my own heart, little finger, who told me so!"

The thumb then drew a very flattering
picture of the life they would lead when
united in wedlock, and concluded, as nearly
as I can remember, thus:

THUMB:

"And when you are dead, little finger, as it may hap,
You shall be buried, little finger, under the tap."

LITTLE FINGER:

"Why, Thummy, Thummy? Why, Thummy,
Thummy? Why, Thummy, Thummy Why?"

THUMB:

"That you may drink, little finger, when you are dry."

But this ditty did not bring out the snake.
I remarked this to the old man, who replied:
"He hasn't made his toilet yet—hasn't rubbed
his scales up, sir; but he'll be here
presently. You will see. Keep your eye on
that hole, sir. I am now going to give him
a livelier tune, which is a great favourite of
his; and forthwith he struck up an old song,
beginning

"'Twas in the merry month of May,
"When bees from flower to flower did hum."

Out came the snake before the song was
half over! Before it was concluded he had
crawled slowly and (if I dare use such a
word) rather majestically, to within a few
paces of the spot where the old man was
standing.

"Good morning to you, sir," said the old
man to the snake. " I am happy to see you
in your new suit of clothes. I have picked up
your old suit, and I have got it in my pocket,
and a very nice pair of slippers my old wife will
make out of it. The last pair that she made
out of your rejected apparel were given as
a present to Colonel Cureton, who, like
myself, very much resembled the great
General Blücher in personal appearance.
Who will get the pair of which I have now
the makings, Heaven only knows. Perhaps
old Brigadier White, who has also a Blücher
cut about him. What song would you like
next? Kathleen Mavourneen? Yes, I know
that is a pet song of yours; and you shall
have it."

The old man sung the melody with a
tenderness and feeling which quite charmed
me as well as the snake, who coiled himself
up and remained perfectly still. Little
reason as I had to doubt the truth of any of
the old man's statements, I certainly should
have been sceptical as to the story of the
snake if I had not witnessed the scene I have
attempted to describe.

"Well, sir," said the old man, coming up
to me, after he had made a salaam to the
snake and left him, " it is almost breakfast-