A YEAR OF SNAKES 



IN the dusty road there is a seven-inch streak like a 

 piece of brown whipcord. But it coils on itself and 

 rebounds, like a spring made of spirally twisted wire. 

 We pick it up with difficulty, for it is a tiny snake, 

 its ruling passion strong, though it is scarcely a 

 day out of the egg. If it had been a young viper 

 it would even have bitten us as poisonously as the 

 bee stings. But this little thing is the young of 

 the grass-snake. It has the same golden ring at 

 the back of the head, set off with a stroke of black, 

 and the plates on its head can be counted for 

 anatomical verification as easily as in an adult 

 specimen. We are loth to allow any beauty in the 

 snake. The eye, for example, must somehow express 

 cruelty and cunning. It should be small or fiercely 

 red, or frowning. There are, however, in spite of 

 popular prejudice, many beautiful snakes'-eyes at the 

 Zoo, and our harmless grass-snake has an eye that 

 when attention is drawn to it is well worth admiration. 

 But the eyes of this baby snake compel admiration. 

 They are much larger in proportion to the rest of 

 its body than in the adult. The body, too, is 

 slimmer, and even more graceful in its folds, and 

 there are few things more beautiful than this seven- 

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