tail, and after the usual preliminary shake proceeded to swallow. But as, after much swallowing, the prospect in front of him only seemed to grow longer and longer, he arrived at the conclusion that he had got hold of the sea-serpent by mistake, and reluctantly abandoned the undertaking. I had it in my mind to remove the worm, which appeared to be as lively as ever, but just then the supper-bell rang, and I retired to my bedroom to wash my hands. It was then that Goethe-my Goethe of the lion heart, and appetite comfortable essayed that truly Herculean task which had baffled the efforts of his distinguished brother-in-arms. For on my return I found that he had fairly tackled the sea-serpent by the waist, and was shaking it right manfully. The feeding of the beasts being quite as popular a spectacle in our Pension as it is in the Zoological Gardens, I hurried into the supper-room. "Goethe has got hold of a worm as big as himself!" and on the cry out rushed sundry of the younger members of the party. It took Goethe a good ten minutes to swallow that worm, and we knew that our own suppers were growing cold as we watched him. But an American girl remarked afterwards that she would have rather gone without food for a week than have missed the sight. Discarding Schiller's methods, wise old Goethe managed to get the greater portion of the worm down by holding on to the middle and working his way up to both ends at once. Towards the finish, when the tail end had disappeared altogether, and about half an inch of the head was still protruding, he rested from his labors and took a short nap. Then he suddenly woke up again, with three powerful gulps finished the business. And then he climbed up into Satan's berth, as being the handiest, and fairly slept the clock round, while Satan, recognizing

was a steady demand for my empty matchboxes and tobacco-tins, and willing helpers-mostly of the fair sexranged the fields and woods in search of creatures which, under ordinary circumstances, a lady would be unwilling to touch with the business end of her umbrella. One dear old dame, eighty if she is a day, stopped me in the street one morning to tell me that she had got in a matchbox in her pocket one of the most wonderful beetles that the world had ever seen. It turned out on inspection to be a cockchafer, and as she had apparently been sitting upon it-matchbox and all -it was in a very interesting though flat state of preservation. I did not like to tell her that my salamanders will not prey upon carrion, and she firmly believes to this day that she rescued Schiller and Goethe from imminent starvation.

Of course there are beetles and beetles, but I had my doubts about the ordinary hard-winged species,-excellent provender, doubtless, for the bird that can peck or the mole that can gnaw, but for a creature that is in the habit of swallowing its food without chewing, about as digestible, I should imagine, as a crayfish in its shell, swallowed like an oyster, might be for myself. But that was a grand matchbox full of beetles which a fair American lady spent a long afternoon in collecting: beetles of all shapes, sizes, and colors; odoriferous, too, some of

them. I poured the collection into my aquarium, and then sat down and watched the result. The whole gang by common consent started off on a two hours' obstacle race, my salamanders being among the obstacles. Satan's attitude when a big green beetle, which was wearing cricket boots, walked along the whole length of his body, and then sat down on his head to perform an elaborate toilet, was a perfect study. He winked and blinked, shrugged his shoulders, hitched up his back like a donkey starting to kick, attempted to scratch his head-in short, showed by every means in his power that he wished the d-d beetle had never been born. When they got tired of racing, and had quite decided that glass walls were not porous, the beetles quieted down a bit, and presently three of them, under the ringleadership of a glorious purple giant, made a combined assault on one of my three little snails, which they ate. As the snails in their turn had played the mischief with Lucifer's "umbrellas," may it not be fairly said that retributive justice had once again asserted her claim? However, the action rather startled me, and I presently threw out of my window the other two snails and the purple beetle, having no further use for the former, and not being at all sure that the lat ter might not next commence operations on my salamanders' eyes. Even so, I was not quite satisfied, and I got out of bed three times in the course of the night to see that all was well in my aquarium. To the best of my belief, neither did the salamanders take any notice of the beetles, nor did the beetles resent the presence of the salamanders. Still, there is no doubt that the beetles have gradually disappeared, and though some of them have, doubtless, been thrown away when I have changed the water, it is on the cards that some of the softer

kind may have been eaten by the salamanders.

The difficulties which beset the path of the bug-hunter in Germany are of a character which should be seen in order to be properly appreciated, and I have my own reasons for preferring to do my share of bug-hunting by deputy. These dear Germans are so essentially protectionist on the one hand, and so outrageously inquisitive on the other, that the appearance in the park of a man armed with an empty tobacco-tin and an umbrella is quite sufficient to arouse, the suspicions of a park-keeper and to attract a small army of followers. It may be remembered how that prince of jokers, Mr. Frank Webber, managed to secure the wrecking of the pavement in a main street of Dublin by the simple process of standing still and staring hard at the ground. Here he might have met with an even more signal measure of success. My fly-net in past days interested passers-by not a little: to-day, if I turn over a few leaves with the point of an umbrella in search of insects, men, women and children rush in a body to view the result; and a park-keeper has dogged my footsteps for a whole hour when I have been in search of a harmless wood-louse. It is left to my imagination to decide whether these good folk write me down for a lunatic at large or a mighty naturalist; but I often wish that the devil would fly away with the whole pack of them. The failure for under the circumstances it was a failure-to procure a solitary specimen of an insect which, when alarmed, prefers to convert itself into a sort of blue pill rather than run away, and is more amenable than other insects to the slow methods of the salamander, annoyed me not a little; and the sole results of a two hours' search for edibles that day were three snails, one wire-worm, and a

sort of horny-headed maggot which looked, and probably was, both nasty and indigestible. The fate of the snails I have already described. They were a nuisance from start to finish. Had they confined their attention to the lettuce I could have forgiven them; but they apparently spent the night in wandering up and down the walls and leaving slimy trails behind them. However, as they were in the aquarium for a week and the salamanders had every opportunity of eating them, I shall take the liberty of disbelieving that salamanders, properly supplied with other food, will condescend to touch them. And the same holds good of some white slugs, most of which committed suicide by drowning. Black slugs I absolutely decline to have anything to do with. Ant eggs, purchasable and recommended by a small street urchin, seem to disappear, and are possibly eaten in the course of the night; but I have never seen a salamander even look at them in the daylight.

"The lions roaring after their prey do seek their meat by night."

So, too, according to one book, omitting the roaring, do salamanders in their natural state. If this does not happen to be the case with my salamanders-which seem to eat when they are hungry, to drink when they are thirsty, to sleep when they are gorged, and to take exercise when the spirit moves them,-I am quite prepared to believe that, as in my own case, their natural instincts and capacities have deteriorated under stress of education and confinement, and that, finding food ready to hand at any hour of day or night, they simply take advantage of adventitious circumstances. That in daylight, at all events, they hunt by sound rather than either by sight or by scent, I am absolutely certain. Satan, for instance, hears the rustle of a worm, and his at

titude of attention at once shows that he is on the qui vive. Presently he advances very cautiously in the direction of the sound, and gropes about― possibly then employing his powers of scent-till his nose touches the moving object. Then he raises his head, makes a momentary pause, and strikes sharply. If-and this will be the case, perhaps, once in six times-he happens to strike short and knocks the worm off the stone or the leaf on which he had heard it rustling, he looks surprised for a second, and then remains on the alert listening for new developments. That is a wise worm which then remains quiescent. For if he hears no fresh sound, Satan presently concludes that he has made a mistake and walks away. But the worm which moves prematurely is a gone coon: the hunt will be renewed, and Satan rarely makes a second bad shot. That there is in daylight something defective in the sight of those beautiful eyes, which sparkle like black beads, cannot but appeal even to the limited intelligence of their watcher. For were it otherwise, why should the salamander ever miss his strike?

None of my salamanders pays any attention to a dead worm, and it is apparently a breach of etiquette to touch a worm that is swimming in the water. Many a worm has saved its bacon by reason of the presence in the aquarium of a large round polished shell, which was sent as a present to Schiller by a lady who, I believe, has some poetical aspirations. It is a clear case of "Timeo Danaos, et dona ferentes." For that which is an ornament to many a cottage mantelpiece is a veritable stumbling-block to my salamanders, which can neither walk over it, nor obtain purchase for seizing a worm which is crawling on it, foot and nose alike slipping on the polished surface in the attempt. And the

worm which, having been knocked off the top of the shell, is cunning enough to take refuge inside, is as safe as the homicide in the City of Refuge. My own observation would incline me to suggest that the hours of sunset and sunrise are the periods of most marked activity with salamanders. It is so certainly in their artificial surroundings. Probably in natural surroundings also.

With Satan I am on the most easy terms. Hardly a day passes without my taking him out, and putting him on a piece of white blotting-paper while I examine his various points. That he is in excellent condition the glossiness of his skin, which shines like the surface of a well-polished boot, is a convincing proof. There is something singularly human about the hands, which are beautifully shaped, the joints and tips of the delicate fingers being clearly defined. The hand has three fingers and a thumb, but the foot is better equipped, there being a fifth though very small toe. Satan looks at his best when standing in an attitude of expectancy, with straightened elbows, and his attention fixed on some object below him. Then, as the prominent yellow eyebrows viewed from behind give the appearance of erect ears, he looks exactly like a cat uncertain whether or not to make a spring at a bird. The tail, generally straightened when the salamander is walking, but coiled round when the creature is at rest, is at once strong, elastic and prehensile. In his early attempts to escape from the aquarium Lucifer seemed to try to stand literally on the top of his tail, and came Blackwood's Magazine.

several egregious croppers in the attempt. But, judging from the strong grasp which he has more than once taken with the organ on my finger, I should be quite prepared to see him hanging like a monkey from the bough of a tree by the tail only, in the act of descent.

To the best of my belief, salamanders are absolutely mute. Perfectly gentle and tame with myself, in their relation to each other my salamanders are the most tolerant and easy-tempered of creatures. I have seen Lucifer, in one of his periodical fits of restlessness, walk over every other salamander in turn, squeezing a passage between Satan and the glass, planting an unceremonious foot on the end of Schiller's nose, and stopping to take a short nap with his head resting on Goethe's portly waist, and the tip of his tail almost in Schiller's eye. But none of the defendants in the action has entered the slightest protest. Not even food seems to suggest itself as a bone of contention, the distinction between "meum" and "tuum" being by tacit consent recognized.

In fine, the salamander is at once a very beautiful, a very cleanly, and a very interesting pet, easily fed, andso at least some naturalists say-a very useful as well as ornamental inmate of either fernery or greenhouse, The former seems to be more adapted to his habits, and if I ever have the good fortune to settle down again, and have a garden with a fernery, there my salamanders shall have a happy home and resting-place, and evil betide either gardener or stoat who attempts to meddle with them.