During the two years that witnessed the MS. of _Aunt Jenny’s Adventures_ lying in first one and then another publishing house, an especial occurrence acted as a great stimulant, and induced an almost obstinate persistence in my apparently hopeless studies. This was the sensation caused by the daily papers in reporting the case of ‘Cockburn _versus_ Mann;’ and the ‘SNAKES IN CHANCERY.’ To the horror and dismay of the ‘general public,’ Mr. Mann, of Chelsea, was represented as ‘keeping for his amusement _all manner of venomous serpents_;’ or, as another paper put it, ‘Mr. Mann had a peculiar penchant for keeping as domestic pets a large number of venomous snakes.’ (I copy verbatim from the papers of that date.) That these ‘water vipers and puff adders’ were ‘apt to stray in search of freedom;’ or, ‘being accustomed to take their walks abroad,’ had strayed into the neighbours’ gardens, to the terror of maid-servants and children;’ and were ‘now roaming up and down Cheyne Walk,’ and ‘turning the College groves into a garden of Eden.’ So an action was brought against Mr. Mann: for the neighbours decided that ‘there was no better remedy for a stray cobra than a suit in Chancery.’ ‘Everybody’ during July 1872 was reading those delightfully sensational articles, and asking, ‘_Have_ you heard about Mr. Mann’s cobras?’ Mr. Frank Buckland was brave enough to venture into the dangerous precincts of Cheyne Walk, and even into the house of Mr. Mann, to test the virtues and vices of both the ‘pets’ and their possessors. He finally tranquillized the public mind by publishing accounts of his visit, affirming that not _one_ of the snakes was venomous, but, on the contrary, were charmingly interesting and as tame as kittens. The testimony of so popular an authority served not only to allay local terrors, but to modify the sentence that might otherwise have been passed on the ophiophilist, who was merely cautioned by the honourable judge to keep his pets within due bounds.