CHAPTER VII. 
REPTILES IN CAPTIVITY. 
THERE is no class of animal that excites such general dislike 
as snakes. Rudyard Kipling has well expressed the universal 
abhorrence of these creatures in the story of Mogli in the 
subterranean vaults of the rattle-snake, when he wished to 
have nothing to do with the “poison people”. They are a 
friendless and isolated group; and in all parts of the world 
every man’s hand is turned against them. 
On one occasion—it was the summer of 1874—I well 
remember the commotion that ensued in my menagerie when 
a gigantic snake escaped from its cage. The reptile was a 
somewhat feeble specimen of python, which had recently 
arrived from Africa in poor condition. It had been ordered 
a warm bath, and for this purpose had been conveyed to a 
tub which stood in the carnivore house. The tub had a 
lid, over which was a cloth cover, so that when once the 
animal had been inserted there seemed little danger of its 
escaping. Butescapeit did. After I had seen it comfortably 
stowed away in the tub I went to my office to do some writ- 
ing. About a couple of hours later I was startled by the 
alarming news that the snake had escaped and was at that 
very moment crawling about among the cages of the apes and 
parrots, which in those early days found their abode in the 
carnivore house. I ran quickly to the spot, and the confusion 
which I found there would be difficult to describe. Every 
animal in the carnivore house without exception was in a state 
of abject terror. They could see nothing and think of nothing 
but the escaped reptile. The lions, panthers, and other great 
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