Since then I have seen one other snake do it, 

 and I think I have heard the sound three or 

 four times. It is almost indescribable. The 

 jaws were closed as it was made, not even the 

 throat moving, that I could see. The air seemed 

 to be blown violently through the nostrils, 

 though sounding as if driven through the teeth— 

 a shrilling hiss, fine and piercing, which one not 

 so much hears as feels, crisping cold along his 

 nerves. 



It may seem strange, but I believe this 

 whistle is a mating-call. Even the forked 

 tongue (or maybe the nose) of a snake grows 

 vocal with love. If only the Sphinx had not pos- 

 sessed a heart of stone ! No matter about its 

 lips ; with a heart to know the "spring running" 

 we should have heard its story long ago. Per- 

 haps, after all, the college sophomore was not 

 mixing his observations and Sunday-school mem- 

 ories when he wrote, describing the dawn of a 

 spring morning (I quote from his essay) : "Be- 

 neath in the water the little fishes darted about 

 the boat ; above the little birds twittered in the 

 branches ; while off on a sunny log in the pond 

 the soft, sibilant croak of the mud-turtle was 

 [155] 



