Snakes are, it is true, supplied very abundantly with a mucous saliva. Describing the mode of swallowing, Dr. Günther says: ‘But for the quantity of saliva discharged over the body of the prey, deglutition would be slow.’ Slow in comparison with the feeding of other animals it is, under any circumstances, and it would be painfully tedious, almost impossible, for the unfortunate reptile to feed at all, were its difficulties not relieved by this ‘abundant supply’ of saliva. But this is not saying that the tongue performs any office in systematic lubrication. It simply means that the mouth of the hungry snake ‘waters’ over its food, and waters far more freely than is the usual case with other animals. We ourselves know something of this stimulation of the salivary glands at the sight or smell of food when we are hungry; but snakes are beneficently provided with the salivary apparatus (described in the first chapter), and the mouth waters over its prey, as much when the tongue is in its sheath as when the tongue is engaged in its own peculiar and distinct functions. What the spectator does see is this tongue fulfilling its office of feeling, examining, exploring, investigating, ascertaining whether the prey is thoroughly dead, and the best way of setting to work on the great task of swallowing the huge, rough mass. All this work the tongue does for its owner; and we shall, as I hope, see before we have done with it, that so far from exciting our hatred and disgust, there is perhaps no other feature or organ belonging to the helpless snake so important to it, so worthy of our own observation and admiration, as this much-abused tongue. We have an admirable opportunity for study in our visits to the Zoological Gardens, and there the lover of nature can decide for himself. Hours and hours has one watched, and I admit (in the early days of my studies) _waited_, to see this lubrication which, as the books told me, was performed by the tongue. Often and often one has heard visitors say to each other when they have seen the prey about to be devoured, ‘Now we shall see, or you will see’ (as the case might be) ‘the snake lick it all over before he swallows it.’ An observation to this effect was once made in our hearing while I was on the point of asking the keeper if he had ever observed anything of the kind, and was telling him how often it had been so stated in print. ‘Snakes never did, and never _will_, lick their prey, ma’am,’ returned Holland emphatically; ‘but I have seen the saliva flow, it is so plentiful.’ And so have I, and so may you, patient reader, if you are sufficiently interested in the subject. You will soon become convinced that such a process as ‘licking’ is impossible, and you will soon decide that if the reptile did this instinctively, its tongue would have developed into something more like that of a cat, strong and rough with tiny spines, or some organ better adapted to the performance than a thin pencil or fork of tender flesh.