Like many other of the zoological myths not yet extinct, this ‘stinging tongue’ has its origin in mystery. Long before a deadly serpent was examined by an intelligent reasoner, and the nature of its fatal stroke comprehended, the mysterious ‘dart’ was seen to play; this, to the ignorant, being the only visible and possible instrument of such fatality. But that the fable should still obtain is amazing. Even some learned men of the present century, if they do not happen to have included natural history in their studies, assist in disseminating the error. Can they, however, be acquainted with classical writers? Pliny, to whom many of the old-time errors in natural history have been traced, must be acquitted as regards the poisonous tongue; for though he speaks of the ‘sting’ of a serpent, I do not recall that he once attributed the injury to the tongue. Aristotle, whose reputation as a naturalist ranks far higher, distinctly and frequently speaks of the _bite_, and the degrees of injury inflicted by the various kinds of serpent bites. It is possible that some classical writers may have supposed the tongue to be an instrument of death, as it is certain that some of the sacred writers did. But our inherited faith in Bible history has, until recently, checked all doubt and even inquiry. Now, however, that a new version of Holy Writ has been deemed essential, it is to be hoped that an efficient naturalist is included in the Council. In justification of the above criticism I may be permitted to quote just one of the many unquestioning writers. The author of the _History of Egypt_, W. Holt Yates, M.R.C.P. of London, President of the Royal Medical Society of Edinburgh, Physician to the General Dispensary, etc., says in a footnote (vol. i. p. 322), ‘It is a mistake to suppose that snakes hurt only with their teeth. Some have no teeth, but only hard gums. Others only attack with their tongue—the same end is attained in either case by the insertion of the poison.’ Now were you to ask that writer, as I have several times asked persons who were under the same impression, ‘What reason have you to suppose that the snake’s tongue is poisonous?’ he would very likely reply, ‘Oh! well—it _is_ venomous. I always thought so.’ Then, reflectively, he might add, ‘Poisonous-tongued?—“whose tongue outvenoms”—“with deadlier tongue than thine, thou serpent”’—or some such familiar words, proving that his idea was poetical, imaginative, and acquired he can scarcely explain how.