He was
visiting a missionary station among the Shawnees, in the Wyoming valley.
Recent quarrels with the whites had unusually irritated this unruly
folk, and they resolved to make him their first victim. After he had
retired to his secluded hut, several of their braves crept upon him, and
cautiously lifting the corner of the lodge, peered in. The venerable man
was seated before a little fire, a volume of the Scriptures on his
knees, lost in the perusal of the sacred words. While they gazed, a huge
rattlesnake, unnoticed by him, trailed across his feet, and rolled
itself into a coil in the comfortable warmth of the fire. Immediately
the would-be murderers forsook their purpose and noiselessly retired,
convinced that this was indeed a man of God.
A more unique trait than any of these is its habit of casting its skin
every spring, thus as it were renewing its life. In temperate latitudes
the rattlesnake, like the leaves and flowers, retires from sight during
the cold season, and at the return of kindly warmth puts on a new and
brilliant coat.
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