‘There is not much danger in roving amongst snakes,’ says Waterton, who, from spending many a month in tropical wilds, may justly be called an excellent authority, ‘provided only that you have self-command. You must never approach them abruptly; if so, you are sure to pay for your rashness; because the idea of self-defence is predominant in every animal, and thus the snake, to defend himself from what he considers an attack upon him, makes the intruder feel the deadly effect of his envenomed fangs. The labarri snake is very poisonous, yet I have often approached within two yards of him without fear. I took care to advance very softly and gently, without moving my arms, and he always allowed me to have a fine view of him, without showing the least inclination to make a spring at me. He would appear to keep his eye fixed on me, as though suspicious, but that was all. Sometimes I have taken a stick ten feet long and placed it on the labarri’s back; he would then glide away without offering resistance. However, when I put the end of the stick abruptly to his head, he immediately opened his mouth, flew at it, and bit it.’ But although accidents from venomous snakes are comparatively rare, yet the consequences are dreadful when they do take place, and the sight of a cobra or a trigonocephalus preparing for its fatal spring may well appal the stoutest heart. Prince Maximilian of Neu Wied, having wounded a tapir, was following the traces of his game along with his Indian hunter, when suddenly his companion uttered a loud scream. He had come too near a labarri snake, and the dense thicket prevented his escape. Fortunately the first glance of the distinguished naturalist fell upon the reptile, which with extended jaws and projecting fangs was ready to dart upon the Indian, but at the same moment, struck by a ball from the prince’s rifle, lay writhing on the ground. The Indian, though otherwise a strong-nerved man, was so paralysed by fear, that it was some time before he could recover his self-possession--a proof, among others, that it is superfluous to attribute a fascinating power to the venomous snakes, as the effects of terror are quite sufficient to explain why smaller animals, unable to flee the impending danger, become their unresisting victims, and even seem, as it were, wantonly to rush upon destruction. Thus Pöppig saw on the banks of the Huallaga an unfortunate frog, which, after being for some time unable to move, at length made a desperate leap towards a large snake that was all the time fixing its eye upon it, and thus paid for the confusion of its senses with the loss of its life.