199 THE BOOK OF A NATURALIST 
preliminary work, and after two or three years, 
finding that so far as material went I had got 
almost more than I could manage, I thought I 
would begin to try my hand at writing a few 
chapters, each dealing with some special aspect of 
or question relating to the serpent, and about a 
dozen were written, but left in the rough, unfinished, 
as all would eventually have to go back into the 
melting-pot once more. By and by I took up and 
finished three or four of these tentative chapters 
just to see how they would look in print; these 
appeared in three or four monthly reviews and are 
all that is left of my ambitious book. 
It could not be done, because, as I tried to 
make myself believe, it was too long a task for 
one who had to make a living by writing, but a 
still small voice told me that I was deceiving 
myself, that if I had just gone on, slowly, slowly, 
like the released fer-de-lance, until I had got out 
into the open air and sunshine—until I had a full 
mind and full command of my subject—I too 
might have gone on to a triumphant end. No, it 
was not because the task was too long; the secret 
and real reason was a discouraging thought which 
need not be given here, since it is stated in the 
paper to follow. There’s nothing more to say 
about it except that I now make a present of the 
title—“ The Book of the Serpent ”—to any person 
who would like to use it, and I only ask that it 
be not given to a handbook on snakes, nor to a 
monograph—God deliver us! as Huxley said. Or 
