22 THE BOOK OF A NATURALIST 



advantages of not killing. The following account 

 of killing an adder — the last time I did such a 

 thing — may serve to throw a little light on the 

 question. Adders were common at a place where 

 I was staying at a farm in the New Forest, but I 

 had never seen one near the house until one sultry 

 afternoon in July, when coming into a path which 

 led from the farm-yard into and through a hazel 

 copse, I came upon one lying in the middle of the 

 path. It was a large adder, so sluggish that it 

 made no attempt to escape, but turned and struck 

 at me when I approached it, I thought of the 

 little children, for this was the very spot where 

 they came to play and hunt for fowls' eggs every 

 afternoon ; the adder, if left there, might be a 

 danger to them ; it was necessary either to kill 

 or remove it. Then it occurred to me that to 

 remove it would be useless, since if the creature's 

 place was there, it would infallibly return to it 

 from any distance. The homing instinct is strong 

 in the adder and in most serpents. And so to 

 end the matter I killed and buried it, and went 

 on my way. My way was through the copse and 

 over a fence and ditch on the other side, and I 

 was no sooner over the ditch than I beheld a 

 second adder, bigger than the last and just as 

 sluggish. It was, however, not strange, as in July 

 the female adder is often like that, especially in 

 sultry thunderous weather. I teased it to make it 

 move away, then picked it up to examine it, after 

 which I released it and watched it gliding slowly 



