accustomed to believe invariable rules. White, in his _History of Selborne_, mentions the capture of a viper in which he found fifteen young, the shortest being seven inches. They were active, spiteful, and menacing, and yet ‘had no manner of fangs that we could find, even with the help of our glasses.’ Mr. Frank Buckland tells of a man who cut open a string of snake’s eggs, and the young, thus prematurely introduced into the world, ‘showed fight.’ Of historical ophidians which have figured in many pages, first comes chronologically the Paris python, that in 1841 laid fifteen eggs and incubated them. She has already been alluded to in chap. iv., but claims further mention presently. A python in the Amsterdam collection next hatched twenty-two eggs. In 1862 a python at the London Gardens laid above a hundred eggs,—‘more than a bushel,’ according to the keeper,—and settled herself to hatch them. Much interest attaches itself to this lady’s history; but first to complete our list chronologically, the following harmless species in the London collection have within the last ten years produced live young, being examples of that ‘diversity of generation’ of which Schlegel speaks. August 1872, the ‘seven-banded snake’ (_Trop. leberis_) had five young and some eggs at the same time. June 1873, a _Coluber natrix_ had seven young ones. (I cannot affirm positively that these were born alive; I think not, from an especial entry in my notebook concerning them; but the records of the Zoological Society in which I have sought for confirmation do not announce them as ‘hatched.’) August 1873, a yellow Jamaica boa (_Chilobothrus inornatus_) gave birth to fourteen young ones, ten of which survived. They crawled up to the top of their cage as soon as they saw daylight, and showed signs of fight. One little aggressor struck at me when I held it, and tried to bite me through my glove,—an impertinence which was permitted in order to test its powers. It constricted my fingers as tightly as if a strong cord were wound round them, and when not thus occupied it wriggled and twisted itself about in such energetic contortions that I could scarcely hold it. The activity and daring of the whole fry proved their perfect development. On another occasion the same species produced eight, and on a third occasion thirty-three young ones, but of these dates I am not quite sure. In some cases a few eggs were produced at the same time, but they were hard and bad and of the consistency of soap. The manners and actions of the three equally well-developed families were similar. They were always on the defensive, and able to fight their own battles. When the keeper put his hand into the cage, they seized upon it and held on with their teeth so tightly that on raising it they hung wriggling and undulating like a living, waving tassel.