FASCINATION. 103 



1 certainly incline to the theory of fascination, thinking that the power exists, and is 

 occasionally employed, but under peculiar conditions. That any creature may be suddenly 

 paralysed by fear at the sight of a deadly foe is too well known to require argument, and 

 it is therefore highly probable that a bird or squirrel, which could easily escape from the 

 Serpent's jaws by its superior agility, might be so struck with sudden dread on seeing its 

 worst enemy that it would be unable to move until the reptile had seized it. 



Birds, especially, are most sensitive in their nature, and can be fascinated in a manner 

 by any one who chooses to try the experiment. Let any bird be taken, laid on its back, 

 and the finger pointed at its eyes. The whole frame of the creature will begin to stiffen, the 

 legs will be drawn up, and if the hand be gently removed, the bird will lie motionless on 

 its back for any length of time. I always employ this method of managing my canaries 

 when I give them their periodical dressing of insect-destroying powder. I shake the 

 powder well into their feathers, pour a small heap of it on a sheet of paper, lay the bird in 

 the powder, hold my finger over its eyes for a moment, and leave it lying there while I 

 catch and prepare another bird for the same process. There is another way of fascinating 

 the bird, equally simple. Put it on a slate or dark board, draw a white chalk line on the 

 board, set the bird longitudinally upon the line, put its beak on the white mark, and you 

 may go away for hours, and when you return the bird will be found fixed in the same 

 position, there held by some subtle and mysterious influence which is as yet unexplained. 



Thus far there is no difficulty in accepting the theory of fascination, but the idea of a 

 moral compulsion on the part of the Snake, and a perforced obedience on the part of its 

 victim, is so strange that it has met with very great incredulity. Still, although strange, 

 it is not quite incredible. We all know how the immediate presence of danger causes a 

 reckless desire to see and do the worst, regardless of the consequences, and heeding only 

 the overpowering impulse that seems to move the body without the volition of the mind. 

 There are many persons who cannot stand on any elevated spot without feeling so 

 irresistible a desire of flinging themselves into the depths below, that they dare not even 

 stand near an open window or walk near the edge of a cliff. It may be that the squirrel 

 or bird, seeing its deadly enemy below, is so mentally overbalanced that it is forced to 

 approach the foe against its own will, and is drawn nearer to those deadly fangs by the 

 very same impulse that would urge a human being to jump over the edge of a precipice 

 or from the top of a lofty building. 



Every squirrel or every bird may not succumb to the same influence, just as every 

 human being does not yield to the insane desire of jumping from heights, and it is probable 

 that a Eattlesnake may coil itself under a tree and look all day at the squirrels sporting 

 upon the branches, or the birds flitting among the boughs, without inducing one of them 

 to become an involuntary victim. Yet it is possible that out of the many hundreds that 

 could see the Serpent, one would be weak-minded enough to yield to the subtle influence, 

 and, instead of running away, find itself forced to approach nearer and nearer the fearful 

 reptile. 



Some persons acknowledge the fact that the bird approaches the Snake, and is then 

 snapped up, but explain it in a different manner. They say that the bird is engaged in 

 mobbing or threatening the Snake, just as it might follow and buffet a hawk, an owl, or a 

 raven, and in its eagerness approaches so closely that the Snake is able to secure it by a 

 sudden dart. Such is very likely to be the case in many instances, as the little birds will 

 often hover about a poisonous Snake, and, by their fluttering wings and shrieking cries, 

 call attention to the venomous reptile. But the many descriptions of the fascinating 

 process are too precise to allow of such a supposition in the particular instances which 

 are mentioned. 



Even the common Snake of England can exercise a similar power. I have seen one 

 of these Snakes in chase of a frog, and the intended victim, although a large and 

 powerful specimen of its race, fully able to escape by a succession of leaps such as it 

 would employ if chased by a human being, was only crawling slowly and painfully like 

 a toad, its actions reminding one of those horrid visions of the night when the dreamer 

 finds himself running or fighting for his life, and cannot move faster than a walk, or 



