I was once gathering grasses in a compound in Bangalore. The feathery heads were useful for decorating the drawing-room. They grew luxuriantly, and were of every shade of delicate brown and green. I was near a masonry culvert which conducted surface-water away from the carriage drive. As I was about to put my hand down to gather another stalk, I saw a cobra only a yard away with its hood spread. It had raised itself and was gently swaying backwards and forwards, making ready to strike as soon as the hand was lowered to its own height. I stepped back, and it dropped to the ground and slipped into the dense grass. Its colour harmonised with the brown tint of its surroundings. The polished surface of the scales gleaned with reflected light, and the black markings of the spectacles on the hood stood out clearly, a fortunate circumstance for me, as it was that which first attracted my attention. In its healthy vigorous life it was a beautiful creature. In all probability it had its eggs laid somewhere inside the masonry, where the warm stones retained their heat sufficiently to hatch them. The egg is white and blunt at both ends. The shell is not so hard as that of a bird's egg. I was presented with one at Trichinopoly by a gentleman who had pitched his tent over a large clutch of cobra's eggs. They were buried in the sand and were not far off hatching. I made no attempt, like Jerdon with his crocodile's egg, to hatch my gift, but broke it open and found the young cobra like a young bird considerably developed. Its head and eyes were large out of all proportion to the rest of the body.
Natives believe that snakes have feet, and are able to use them when they have any real necessity. A proverb says that, 'The snake knows its own feet.' The belief in the existence of feet has probably arisen from the wonderful agility which it shows when it is frightened and attempts to escape. It no longer glides along the ground, but
