We stand before the cage of the interesting Hamadryad (_Ophiophagus elaps_). His name at once tells us that he is fond of trees as well as of snakes; but, alas! there is no tree in his cage, not even an old bough on which to exercise his climbing propensities. He is wonderfully restless to-day, crawling ceaselessly about as if in search of something. This, however, cannot be his object; for his head is not raised in observation, but is close to the shingle, as if too heavy to lift. He seems to be pushing it before him in a very strange manner, and is evidently suffering discomfort of some sort. All round his cage he goes, against the edge of the tank, still pushing and rubbing his head, now under his blanket, or against any projecting surface, under again, close to the floor, restlessly on and on in these untiring perambulations; what can be the cause? After a tedious while ‘Ophio’—as his admirers call him—varies his movements, but only to turn the chin upwards and push his head sideways over the shingle. Now the other side he pushes along: the action is like that of a cat rubbing her head against your chair. Now he turns his head completely over, so that the top of it may come in for its share of rubbing; and such for a considerable time are his persistent movements, while we watch him wonderingly, and at length point him out to the keeper inquiringly. ‘Going to change,’ said Holland. ‘That’s the way they always do.’ To you and me, dear reader, the sight is novel and interesting; so let us continue to watch, glad that nothing more serious is the matter with this rare and valuable snake than doffing an old coat.