sluggish, and the skin very dry and rough—signs denoting that it was nearly ready to shed—I placed the bath in the case at seven o'clock in the evening. The snake at once entered the water, and did not again leave it until between seven and eleven o'clock in the evening of Nov. 26th, when it shed its skin in the water and left the bath. The skin this time was shed in two pieces. On Jan. 6th the Python again commenced to steep preparatory to casting another skin, and this time remained continuously in the water until Jan. 13th, when it shed its skin (in several pieces) in the water. I was not fortunate enough to see the operation of casting in either of these cases, but on Aug. 10th the snake again entered its bath with a view to softening its skin for casting. This time I kept him under close observation during the whole time. After he had been in the water a day or two the scales over his eyes became white and opaque, and the reptile was evidently blind. In about five days after this occurred they cleared again, and he was able to see, and two days later—on Aug. 19th, at 11.30 p.m.—he left the water. At 11.40 p.m. he commenced rubbing the sides of his jaws on the felt at the bottom of the case, gradually loosening the skin round the edges of the lips. When he had got as far as the nostrils he gave two sudden and forcible expirations of breath—not an ordinary hiss, but more like a sneeze—apparently to clear the skin from the inside of the nostrils, and then continued rubbing off the moist loose skin. At 11.48 p.m. he had the skin completely free from the head, both above and below. At 11.52 p.m., as the snake appeared not to have sufficient room in which to move about, I opened the case and removed the bath. On being thus disturbed he ceased rubbing off the skin, which was now turned back for about six inches behind the head, and lay quiet until 12.10 a.m., when he again commenced. By 12.27 a.m. he had fully two feet of skin removed, and at 1 a.m. three feet. At 1.30 a.m. the tip of his tail came away free from the old skin, which was shed all in one piece, but with one or two small rents in it. During the last half-hour I assisted the process by allowing the Python to crawl through my partially closed hands, as he appeared to feel the need of something against which to rub himself.
As a pet, the Indian Python has many qualifications to recommend him. He is clean in his habits, has no objectionable smell, is easy to feed and keep in good health, and (if my specimen may be taken as a fair example) is easily tamed. Mine is an exceedingly gentle animal, appearing to thoroughly enjoy being handled and petted; and, although his intelligence is not of a very high order, he can readily distinguish between myself and a stranger, from whom he shrinks with evident suspicion, whilst coming to me without hesitation.—W.J. Clarke (44, Huntriss How, Scarborough).
