its eyes gleamed with a baleful and hungry light. As it reared its ugly head four or five feet above the surface in search of the trembling youngsters his underside was seen to be of a bright blue color, and from this fact and his swift movements be received his apt and distinguishing name. Blue racers are as scarce as hens’ teeth now.     But the most deadly, the most grewsome and the most appalling snake known to boyhood was the fearful hoop snake, now happily extinct. This scourge of the forest was the bete noire of the urchin, who was continually in mortal terror of encountering it as he wandered through the pleasant woods or angled in the waters of his favorite stream. The hoop snake roamed the darksome shades of the forest like an avenging Nemesis, and, like the blue racer, was always on the lookout for boys. The hoop snake differed uniquely from all other ophidia. When in motion, it was the habit of this snake to insert the end of its tail in its month, and, bending its body into a perfect circle, it would roll silently and with incredible swiftness through the woods. The tail terminated in a horny spike, harder than steel, in which was concealed a sting of the most venomous description, and woe betide the object that came within striking distance of this fearful weapon. The virus in the tail was for more toxic than the venom of the rattlesnake or the tooth of the copperhead and was synonymous with instant death.     Fortunately no boy was ever stung by one of these snakes. His caution, his prudence and proverbial good luck always enabled him to circumvent the machinations of the enemy, but it required ceaseless vigilance on his part. Indeed, but few boys ever saw one of these reptiles, although we were well aware of their existence. But at rare intervals some

youth favored with exceptional eyesight and a vivid imagination would get a glimpse of a hoop snake rolling its way along a distant path.     Another curious snake that used to interest youthful students of herpetology was the glass snake. As far as its habits were known, the glass snake seemed to exist for the sole purpose of affording fun for the boys, who, when they encountered one of them, hit it across the back with a stick, whereupon his snakeship broke into a thousand pieces, more or less, according to the mathematical proficiency of the boy, and his brittle anatomy new in all directions. Yet this singular proceeding, while it interested the youthful experimenters greatly, never discommoded the snake, or only temporarily, for as soon as left to itself the parts all united and the snake was whole as before. This invariably happened, but although boys have watched for hours to see the mysterious process the reptile never “got together” until they had departed. Glass snakes are not nearly so common now, nor are they so brittle as they used to be.     One fact in serpent history, however, remains the same in spite of the dicta of scientists, as any boy of today can tell. The tail of a snake will wiggle after it is killed until the sun goes down. There isn’t a boy in the whole country but knows this to be a rock ribbed fact in natural history. Learned men tell us that this notion, as they please to call it, is a relic of a far distant time when our ancestors worshiped the sun, which at one time was depicted with serpent attributes.—Chicago Tribune. From— The North Platte Semi-Weekly Tribune. (North Platte, Neb.), 03 Aug. 1897. Chronicling America: Historic American Newspapers. Lib. of Congress.