88 
AN ABJECT REPTILE. 
HE most abject of reptiles and torpid of beings dis- 
tinguishes the hand that feeds it, and is touched 
with the feelings of gratitude.” Thus says Gilbert 
White of the land tortoise of which he wrote, and of 
which he mentions that it knew the old woman who gave it 
food, and “hobbled towards her with awkward alacrity.” But 
it is not on the whole an encouraging character for a pet. 
Mine was the chosen of three laid out on the counter, 
because a small one which put out its head and waved its legs, 
at IS., seemed a better investment than an ample but inert 
mass of shell at is. 6d. His shell, too, was very clean and shiny 
and quite perfect. Placed in a brown paper bag he was handed 
over with the assurance that he w'ould survive a twenty minutes' 
walk unsuffocated ; but the day being warm the bag was kept 
open to be sure that the creature kept right side up, and did not 
scrape himself a way to destruction. 
During the first fortnight in his new home the weather 
became colder and his behaviour was not exhilarating ; still he 
looked nice and harmless, and there was no danger (to him) in 
his being fallen over whilst he lay wrapt in thought for hours 
on one spot on the floor. At night, the room being warm and 
lamp-lit, he was more active, and he would be heard suddenly 
clattering over the parquet, or trying to skim up the old- 
fashioned steel fender, unappalled by the intense heat of the 
metal : he soon knew his way about and was ver)^ much at 
home. Many people had ideas about his diet. At the shop 
they had told me to put him in the garden (a London back- 
garden !) and he would feed himself ; but the garden is so 
overshadowed by trees that nothing but a few spring bulbs, 
some ferns and scraggy shrubs can live in it, so the reptile’s 
earliest spring meal was bread-and-milk in a doll’s dish, which 
was at just the right level. He walked across the dish after a 
few mouthfuls, with his peculiarly high and disastrous action, 
distributing sop on the surrounding carpet, so most of his future 
meals were spread in the garden. One friend said “Give him 
slugs, or even worms ” — so the latter, of the most tempting 
proportions and colouring, were dug out and laid before him, 
but in vain. He took a mild observance of their wriggling and 
let them escape. Woodlice he followed with his nose, but their 
activity was bewildering, and when they came out unexpectedly 
from beneath his shell or between his feet he was clearly sur- 
prised at their temerity and unequal to revenge. Slugs, although 
carefully selected, were a failure. He was carried to the so-called 
fernery, and a large paving-stone being overturned, he was set 
down in the midst of a varied animal population. Slugs lay 
bulky and shiny like stranded whales, woodlice skurried aim- 
lessly, w'orms writhed to cover, and great centipedes made for 
the shelter of our bootsoles, routing us on to the path below. 
