Those who live near commons and turfy heaths may in the spring-time espy the lizards peeping cautiously out from among the weeds to court the sunshine after their winter’s sleep; or, on a warm day, boldly flitting across the grass, but hiding again on the slightest alarm. Much may the amateur naturalist find to interest and amuse him in these tiny lizards; to admire also, for their colours are often very beautiful, their eyes bright and watchful, their form and actions anything but ungraceful. Among these native lizards, the Slow-worm (_Anguis fragilis_) is included—the ‘deaf adder’ or ‘blindworm,’ as it is commonly but wrongly called. As a pet, _Anguis fragilis_ has many recommendations. Small, clean, unobtrusive, inoffensive, and easily fed, are more than can be said of most pets: domestic qualifications which, indeed, may be extended to its little four-legged cousins, the British lizards, often found in the same habitat, and all of which can be caught and transferred to a large glass bowl with ease and satisfaction. One of the bell-shaped glasses with a perforated knob at the top answers capitally. Reversed and furnished with moss, turf, and sand, the hole serves for drainage, because water is indispensable for the lizards, and the moss and turf should be sprinkled occasionally. A stand into which the reversed glass fits can be purchased with it, and a large china plate completes the arrangement, which, with its pretty occupants, is an ornament for any window or conservatory. By an accident, I soon discovered that a slow-worm—my first and then only pet reptile—requires water. Knowing that it fed on slugs, I was hunting in the garden, and at length found some small ones under a flower-pot saucer, and conveyed them undisturbed to a place in the cage. The slow-worm soon discovered the addition, but instead of selecting a slug for supper, began to lick the cold, damp saucer, putting out its tongue repeatedly, as if refreshed; and forthwith the saucer was reversed and filled with the beverage, which the little reptile soon lapped eagerly, continuing to do so for some minutes. After this discovery, fresh water was supplied daily. That little creature became quickly tamed, a fact which her history will easily explain. ‘Do you want a live viper?’ a friend in the Reading Room of the British Museum asked me, one day. ‘A viper! Here?’ ‘Yes, a deaf viper. It was caught in Surrey last week. We had a field-day.’