“twine ye, twine ye.”—sir w. scott.
it was my good fortune once, at charing cross, to witness the feeding of the boa constrictor; rather a rare occurrence, and difficult of observation, the reptile not being remarkable for
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the regularity of its dinner-hour; and a very considerable interval intervenes, as the world knows, between gorge the first, and gorge the second, gorge the third, and gorge the fourth. i was not in time to see the serpent’s first dart at the prey; she had already twisted herself round her victim,—a living white rabbit—who with a large dark eye gazed piteously through one of the folds, and looked most eloquently that line in hamlet—
“o could i shuffle off this mortal coil!”
the boa after a meal.
the snake evidently only embraced him in a kill-him-when-i-want-him manner, just firmly enough to prevent an escape—but her lips were glued on his, in a close “judas’ kiss.” so long a time elapsed, in this position, both as marble-still as poor old laocoon with his leaches on, that i really began to doubt the tale of the boa’s ability in swallowing; and to associate the hoax before me, with that of the bottle conjuror. the head of the snake, in fact, might have gone without difficulty into a wine-glass, and the throat, down which the rabbit was to pro
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ceed whole, seemed not at all thicker than my thumb. in short, i thought the reported cram was nothing but stuff, and the only other visitor declared himself of my opinion: “if that ’ere little wiper swallows up the rabbit, i’ll bolt um both!” and he seemed capable of the feat. he looked like a personification of what political economists call the public consumer; or, geoffrey crayon’s stout gentleman, seen through carpenter’s solar microscope; a genuine edax rerum; one of your devourers of legs of mutton and trimmings, for wagers: the delight of eating-houses, and the dread of ordinaries. the contrast was whimsical, between his mountain of mummy, and the slim macaroni figure of the snake, the reputed glutton. however, the boa began at last to prepare for the meal, by lubricating the muzzle of the rabbit with her slimy tongue, and then commenced in earnest,
as far as in her lay to take him in,
a stranger dying with so fair a skin.
the process was tedious—“one swallow makes a summer”—but it gradually became apparent, from the fate of the head, that the whole body might eventually be “lost in the serpentine.” the reptile, indeed, made ready for the rest of the interment by an operation rather horrible. on a sudden, the living cable was observed, as a sailor would say, to haul in her slack, and with a squeeze evincing tremendous muscular power, she reduced the whole body into a compass that would follow the head with perfect ease. it was like a regular smash in business:—the poor rabbit was completely broken—and the wily winder-up of his affairs recommenced paying herself in full. it was a sorry sight and sickening. as for the stout gentleman, he could not control his agitation. his eyes rolled and watered; his jaws constantly yawned like a panther’s; and his hands with a convulsive movement were clasped every now and then on his stomach;—but when the whole rabbit was smothered in snake, he could
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restrain himself no longer, and rushed out of the menagerie as if he really expected to be called upon to fulfil his rash engagement. anxious to ascertain the true nature of the impulse, i hurried in pursuit of him, and after a short but sharp chase, i saw him dash into the british hotel, and overheard his familiar voice—the same that had promised to swallow both snake and snack—bellowing out, guttural with hunger—“here!—waiter!—quick!—rabbits in onions for two!”
