1889.] 



THE YOUNG NATURALIST. 



5 



fright, and even ordinary people with no nerves to speak of will turn a 

 little pale. And yet it was only a poor snake, one of the most harmless 

 of created beings. He was quietly gliding about the hedgerow on the 

 look-out maybe for a dinner, and now, being disturbed by our approach, 

 has betaken himself to his hole at the root of a bush or stump of a 

 tree. Presently, when his alarm is over, he will re- appear, and go 

 hunting around for stray frogs, or, perhaps, stretch out his long, lithe 

 body in sleep in the warm rays of the summer sun. 



Old walls, coppices, and such-like places also give shelter to the 

 snake. But its favourite haunts are wet ditches and water meadows, 

 and here in some districts you need never look for one in vain, except, 

 of course, during the winter season. Indeed, the partiality of the 

 reptile for the neighbourhood of water is so great that is often called 

 the " water snake " by the rustics. In this district (North Berks) 

 people profess to distinguish a great difference between the wood- 

 dwelling and the water-hunting snakes ; in fact, they consider them to 

 be two distinct species. They say the water snake is dark brown or 

 almost black in colour, and point out other distinctions. I need 

 hardly say that there are not two species. 



The snake is common in nearly every part of England, both North 

 and South. In Scotland it is much less abundant, and in Ireland it is 

 not found at all. 



The young naturalist may look for his first snake directly the 

 March sun begins to warm the banks and hedgerows. Its favourite 

 haunts in early spring are warm sheltered banks on the borders of 

 woods and copses. 



.The snake is a great lover of the sun. We remember on one 

 occasion watching the movements of a snake in a small coppice. This 

 individual seemed to be living all by himself in a small hole at the 

 roots of a spreading spruce fir. He made his way into this hole, head 

 first, and after a time peered out again, finally drawing himself out of 

 the hole, and gliding to a sunny spot, where he lay at full length, and 

 took a quiet nap. So soundly did he sleep that we had to give him a 

 most decided poke with a stick before we could rouse him. 



We have already spoken of the snake's attachment to watery 

 situations. When strolling on the banks of streams we have on 

 several occasions came upon snakes fast asleep close to the edge of 

 the water, and on our approaching them they have slid down the 

 bank and plunged into the water without the slightest hesitation, 

 swimming easily and gracefully in an eel-like fashion. Again, one 

 afternoon (June 26tb, 1886) when fishing by the river Thames, a small 



