The Viper.
At a recent monthly meeting of the Kendal Natural History Society, a letter was read from Mr. W. Pearson, on the natural history of Crossthwaite, from which we give the following extract:—“On the afternoon of 23d July last,” says Mr. Pearson, “the servant girl called me into the pantry in a great flurry. She said a hagworm was trying to get in at the window. And there it was, sure enough, raising itself straight up from the window-sill; first trying one pane, and then another; strangely puzzled, no doubt, that what seemed so clear an opening should offer any obstruction. The glass manufacture was evidently a mystery to it. The window being low, it had crawled over a heap of sand lying before it. It had probably smelt something tempting in the pantry, with which it wished to make nearer acquaintance. It was a beautiful creature. Its small head, prominent dark eyes, and pretty mottled skin, might have pleaded strongly for mercy; but, notwithstanding my general habit of sparing these reptiles when I meet with them in my walks, it was approaching too much in the guise of a housebreaker to be pardoned, so I gave orders for its instant execution. Moreover, there is little doubt that it was the same individual who had, in times past, come rather too near us to be pleasant. The year before, I had noticed a viper within a yard or two of our kitchen-door, with his head and about half a foot of his body thrust out from a hole in the wall right behind the kitchen grate. The genial climate had most likely attracted him. Be this as it may, before I could procure a switch to chastise him for his impudence, he very prudently withdrew into his hole, only protruding a part of his head and eyes, with which to make observations. For some days after this, I never entered the house by the back-door without thinking of our new neighbor; and once or twice I had a glimpse of him in his old quarters, but he very warily never exposed more of his precious person than his head and eyes, so that, if it had not been for his unfortunate expedition to the pantry, he might still have been a living hagworm. You are aware that this species of snake has at least three names in England—the viper, adder, and hagworm. The last is our own local term. Some authors class it with the amphibia. An extraordinary narrative appeared lately in the ‘Kendal Mercury,’ of a snake crossing Connistone Lake, which is at least half a mile wide. It was not the sea-serpent, but our poor little hagworm, that was engaged in this bold navigation. It was, however, unfortunately fallen in with by a piratical boatman, and put to death. Without disputing the truth of the narration, or settling the question how far the viper is amphibious, the remark is obvious, that the poor snake was taken at a disadvantage; for, if it had been equally at home on the water as on land, why did it not save itself by diving as an eel or a frog would have done under like circumstances? Again, why is not the name of the boatman given? Why should he be defrauded of his fair fame? It is to be wished that newspaper editors, in general, were more careful to authenticate their many marvelous tales in natural history. It would be a great satisfaction to the skeptical naturalist. One may easily credit that a viper will occasionally take the water, without going the length of a full belief in the Connistone voyage.
“One day last spring, when angling, I met with one of these snakes, coiled up, within a few feet of the Winster stream, and when disturbed he fled toward the water, though I did not see him enter it. It is curious the variety of situations in which they are to be met with; in the lowest parts of the valleys, and on the tops of our highest hills; sometimes close to our houses, as I have mentioned; in the plain field, and in the roughest wood—hence their name, hagworm; on the roadside, or on the ling moor, where they sometimes bite the sportsman's dog, though I never heard of any fatal consequences. In crossing a turnpike road on a sunny day, they are often tempted to linger, such is their love of warmth, and bask on the heated stones and dust, where they are sure to be killed by the first passenger. They are never spared. Their sinuous tracks across the dusty roads in dry weather may be often observed. On riding out one day this summer, a hagworm crossed the road just before me. It exhibited a beautiful specimen of serpentine motion, and wriggled along with surprising celerity. It was a warm day; and the movements of all these reptiles are wonderfully quickened by a genial atmosphere.
“The ringed, or harmless common snake, if found at all in our district, is, I think, very scarce, for I have never seen one. It is said by Latreille and other naturalists to be fond of milk, and that it will sometimes enter farmers' dairies to enjoy its favorite beverage. Does our viper, or hagworm, also possess this refined propensity? It seems probable enough, if one may judge from our pantry adventure. I am here reminded of a pretty little story which I heard in my youth, and which is well known to our rural population.
“A cottage child had been in the habit for some time of taking its porridge every morning into the orchard, to eat there, instead of in the house. Its mother was curious to know why it did this. At length it was watched, and found seated under [pg 520] an apple-tree in company with a huge serpent, its head dipt in the porringer sharing the child's breakfast. But taking up a greater part of the dish than was consistent with fair play, or quite agreeable to good manners, the child was beating its head with the spoon, saying—‘Take at thy own side, Grayface; take at thy own side, Grayface’—the snake submitting to this rather uncourteous treatment with the most praiseworthy patience. Indeed, this reverence for innocence, felt by savage beast or venomous reptile, is a beautiful feature of many of those old romantic tales, from the most simple to be found in rustic life, to the grand allegorical fiction of Spenser's ‘Fairy Queen,’ of
“Heavenly Una with her milk-white lamb,
And the brave Lion slain in her defense.”
“But may there not be some truth, after all, in this tale of the serpent and child? Remember the fact—that serpents have a strange propensity to come near our houses, and are not unfrequently found there, as was exemplified this last summer in our own locality by two instances: the one, that of the pantry burglar; the other, by a large hagworm being caught lying in wait, and killed close to the farm-house below. Then their acknowledged predilection for a milk diet: it is said that, when tamed, they eat it greedily. Giving due weight, therefore, to these two circumstances, is it not probable enough that there is a substratum of truth in this story, and that it is not a mere invention trumped up to please the nursery?”