First, we observe that most of the cages are furnished with a tank or a pan of water, and this not for the watersnakes only. Many of the others, also, are lying in their bath, coiled up in apparent enjoyment. Questioning the intelligent keeper, he tells us that when fresh ophidian inmates arrive, they almost invariably go to the water, and though for a time they refuse food, they _always drink_. On several occasions some have drunk so eagerly that the water has visibly sunk in the tank. These were the larger snakes, of course. He does ‘not believe they would live without water.’ He then tells us the story of the _Amphisbæna_ over again, the snake that lived for six months on milk only, and which was chronicled in the zoological magazines of the day, and has figured in books ever since. Mr. Mann confirmed all these facts in his own ophidian pets, and going to see these interesting individuals, we felt no doubt about it when a saucer of water was in the way. But I do feel inclined to doubt whether the use of the tongue in ‘lapping,’ as it has been called, is not rather to moisten that organ than to quench the thirst. We shall see in the following chapter what it does for its owner, and we shall see the necessity for this delicate organ to be well lubricated. Both it and its sheath require to be constantly moistened; how else could it glide in and out with that wonderful activity? how in a dry and parched condition could it retain its exceeding flexibility and delicacy of perception?