From the study of Nature may be deduced a most valuable lesson:  namely, to think nothing that exists on the face of the globe unworthy of our attention and notice:  and were we to confine ourselves to the practice of this excellent maxim, we should not rest satisfied, until we had obtained a complete insight into the economy and habits of such curious objects.

A labouring man residing near the White Cross, (about a mile westward of the city of Hereford,) and occupying a cottage belonging to Thomas Webb, Esq. of that place, in the month of May last, repeatedly observed one of his children (a little girl not eighteen months old,) reserving at meal-time a part of her allowance of food, and carrying it invariably to one particular corner of the house.  Curiosity induced the father to watch more minutely the proceedings of the child, and great was his astonishment, when on the girl as usual repairing to the spot, and making a noise something similar to the chirping of a bird, a snake appeared out of a hole in the wall, and fearlessly partook of the repast provided for it by its infantine attendant.

Such a circumstance is very uncommon, though not unprecedented; for that indefatigable naturalist, Gilbert White, mentions a tame snake in his meritorious Natural History of Selborne.  The greater degree of surprise must be attributed to the case itself, that a child so young should have the courage to approach an animal of the reptile order; but it serves only to corroborate the statement previously made:—­children are destitute of fear, and consequently have no dread of danger.

In a former number (549) of The Mirror, appeared a paper headed “The Habits of the Common Snake,” purported to be extracted from the Magazine of Natural History.  The doctrine enforced by the writer of this article, as regards the impracticability of domesticating a snake, has been proved entirely erroneous by the fact recited; and were there no positive instance adduced to the contrary, it does not follow that, because his effort, were ineffectual, such a thing is utterly impossible; indeed, I think, the failure of his project may be dated from the means to which he resorted for its accomplishment.  The snake we know is naturally very timid, and shuns even the society of its fellow-creatures; and consequently, must have a great dread of the presence of human beings.  Then why, in the name of sense, did he suffer it to be handled by children; and what vessel could he have found worse adapted to his purpose than one composed of glass, in which the movements of its inmate were subjected to the continual gaze of bystanders?  He may, perhaps, consider his plan a good one, and bring the case I have mentioned to support his argument, as the snake was tamed by the same means he himself had partially adopted; but it is totally different.  Much more may be effected by the agency of one little child, than by the assistance of a number of older