A Terrible Boa. Not many years ago, says a writer in "Chums," a boa escaped from a menagerie at Grenoble, and disappeared without leaving a trace. A few days afterwards a certain Monsieur Flisson went on a visit to Beauregard along with a friend, who accompanied him on an excursion among the romantic hills and rocks in that part of the country. At a particularly interesting spot he tarried behind his friend, and, in order to enjoy the glorious prospect, sat down on what appeared to be a stone covered with soft moss. It was eight o'clock in the evening, and M. Flisson, though shortsighted, was a man of prodigious strength. This was lucky for him, for the stone now began to move under him, stretched itself out with the elasticity of a spring, and lifted him several feet from the ground. M. Flisson had sat down on the boa. Before he had time to recover his presence of mind, he felt himself rolling downwards. The serpent had curled his tail round a tree-trunk, and Flisson held its head firmly grasped between his hands. A strange and terrible struggle ensued. The boa, securely fastened to the tree, pulled upwards, and Flisson, still clinging with herculean strength to the head of the creature, found himself at last swinging over a precipice or about seventy feet in depth, as though suspended by a rope. In this terrible situation he remained ten minutes, until his friend, with the assistance of a few countrymen, came to his relief.
A Narrow Escape. Mr. Byam's book contains many interesting anecdotes of the experiences of travellers, of which the following snake story is one.
"Two travellers passed a hillock in a marsh, and heard some groans proceeding from a man on the top of it. Earnestly beckoned to approach, they at first hesitated, thinking it might be a contrivance to entice them into danger. They, however, went near, and the man told them that, while asleep, a snake had crept up his loose drawers, and was then lying on his stomach, and from what he had seen of it, he believed it to be a Coral-snake, one of the deadliest of the western serpents. He had nothing on but his drawers and a short cloak. The travellers saw the form of the snake under the drawers; they dismounted, put on thick gloves, took a pair of scissors, cut very carefully through the drawers till they came to the head of the animal, still fast asleep, and then one of them seized it by the neck, and so released the poor man. It was nearly three feet long, as thick as a walking-stick, coral-red in colour, with yellow rings. The poor man said he had passed two or three hours in that dangerous situation, which appeared as long as weeks, and had called to two or three passers-by, who had all avoided him, from the supposition that it was the decoy of a marauding Indian. He was completely unmanned, and his strength was prostrated by his apprehensions."
CLASS IV—BATRACHIA.
The Batrachia. Class IV of the Vertebrata comprises the Batrachia. Batrachia, which are divided into three orders: I Pseudophidia, II Urodela, III Anura. The first order comprises the limbless worm-like reptiles of the genus Cæcilia of Africa and South America; the second includes the Newts, the Salamanders, etc., etc.; the third the Frogs and the Toads. Leaving the first two orders, we devote a few lines to the third, dealing with the Toad, the Common Frog and the Tree Frog. The members of this order are singular for the extraordinary changes through which they pass between birth and maturity. As Tadpoles, in which form they first reach life, they have thick black legless bodies ending in tapering tails, and are provided with the fishlike anatomy necessary to an aquatic existence. In the process of development they completely change both in internal arrangement and external appearance. The gills are exchanged for lungs, the legs supersede the tail and the internal system undergoes corresponding change. In the end the animal becomes semi-aquatic, capable of living under water for some time, but compelled to come to the surface for air at intervals; and also of living out of the water altogether in such places as afford sufficient moisture, damp being as necessary to their comfort as food and air. They hybernate in the winter and propagate in the spring; and in times of drought burrow into the earth and remain lethargic until rain falls. They feed on insects and slugs for which they have a voracious appetite. Their tongues, which like those of the chameleon and other insect eaters, are furnished with a sticky mucus to which insects adhere,—when in repose, turn inwards towards the throat, and the act of catching flies and other insects is simply that of flapping the tongue out and in again, an act performed with such rapidity as to almost escape observation.
The Common Toad. The toad is found in all temperate and torrid climes. It hides in damp secluded places during the day emerging in search of food at night, or after the fall of rain. Though voracious in its appetite, it can accommodate itself to circumstances, and can subsist with little food, if its abode be damp. Failing food and damp, it has yet another resource, namely that of sleep, or torpor, in which condition it can lay by and wait for better times. Under such circumstances, the toad naturally lives a long life, and survives conditions usually fatal. The voracity of the toad is attested by the following incident, furnished by Captain Brown. "A gentleman who resides at Keswick, Cumberland, one evening in the latter end of July, observed a rustling among the strawberries in his garden, and on examining what it was, found that a toad had just seized a field-mouse, which had got on the toad's back, scratching and biting to get released, but in vain. The toad kept his hold, and as the strength of the mouse failed, he gradually drew the unfortunate little animal into his mouth, and gorged him."
Tame Toads. The toad may be easily tamed. Mr. Wood tells of one which lived with a family for years and was in the habit of supping on a piece of sugar. The story of the Duke of Wellington and the tame toad deserves telling in this connection. The Duke of Wellington was one day taking his usual country walk, when he heard a cry of distress. He walked to the spot, and found a chubby, rosyfaced boy lying on the ground, and bending his head over a tame toad, and crying as if his little heart would break. Enquiry elicited the fact that the boy was about to be sent to boarding school and that he was afraid the toad, lacking his attention, would die in his absence. The duke promised to look after the toad, and apprise the boy, from time to time, of its condition. During the time the boy was at school he received five letters couched in the following terms:—Strathfieldsaye, July 27, 1837. "Field Marshal the Duke of Wellington is happy to inform William Harries that his toad is alive and well." When the boy returned for his Christmas holidays, the toad was, as the duke said, "Alive and well," but, in accordance with the usual habits of these animals, he was in his winter's sleep, in which he remained until spring and genial weather brought him from his well-guarded hole in the ground.