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288 woodcock shooting along the dry ridges intersecting marshy tracts.

This variety of snake appears to be very common in certain districts. I read, for instance, in the “Gazette,” published at Taunton, in the State of Massachusetts, that while Mr. Allen Burt, of that town, was examining an old well near his premises, in August, 1859, he came upon a den of serpents, from which he took fifty black snakes, measuring in aggregate length more than two hundred feet; also eight house snakes, and a few others of different varieties. Old, dry wells, deserted cellars, and such like places, appear to be favourite resorts for the serpent tribe in general when driven by the changing season to seek for winter quarters. A singular instance of this is related by another Massachusetts paper, which, in October, 1860, stated that fifteen snakes of various kinds had been killed within a few days near the site of a dry well, formerly belonging to Colonel Jaques, of Woburn. The well had been for many years partially covered with a large, flat stone; but, in the course of the foregoing summer, it had been filled up; and there can be little doubt that the snakes killed near the spot in October were old tenants of it, puzzling about in search of their former winter lodgings.

The house snake, of which mention has been made above, is the coluber eximius of naturalists, and resembles, in form and movements, its fellow constrictor, the black snake. Its colours are beautifully arranged, and have a brilliant effect, the upper part of the body being clouded with brown and white, while the belly is marked with black and white lozenges, like a chess-board. This serpent, called in some parts of the States and Canada the milk snake, and sometimes the chicken snake, is often found in cellars and out-houses. It grows, not unfrequently, to the length of six, and even seven feet, and, although generally sluggish in its movements, will sometimes dart away with great rapidity when surprised. A gentleman, long a resident of Canada, told me that one summer, while on a visit to a friend near Niagara, and engaged in conversation with the lady of the house, happening to be looking in the direction of the empty fire-place, he saw one of these snakes unwinding slowly out from the dilapidated masonry, and coiling itself to repose upon the hearth. Fearful that the lady, who was very nervous and delicate in health, might see the reptile, he induced her away on some pretext, and then despatched it. I do not think that these snakes climb trees, like the black snakes, but I have often seen them winding among the cucumber vines and tomato stalks in gardens. So far as being unprovided with poison apparatus, the house snake is a harmless reptile.

Innocuous, or otherwise, however, the members of the wily serpent tribe are anything but eligible bedfellows. It happened near Fredericksburg, in Virginia, some time in the year 1859, I think, that a Mr. John Elder employed a negro to fill with fresh straw a common mattress, which was afterwards placed under the featherbed slept on by a daughter of Mr. Elder’s. The young lady frequently remarked that she was disturbed in her sleep by a thumping sound, for which, however, she failed to discover any cause. About a fortnight after the new bed arrangement, as Miss Elder was seated in a room below, from which she could see the stairs leading to her chamber, she heard a singular noise, and, on looking up, saw a large moccasin snake descending the steps. This led to an examination of the freshly-filled mattress, in which a hole was discovered, and, upon ripping open the bed, the full-length skin of the venomous reptile was found, as just shed by it. It is well known that snakes, when getting rid of the old skin, assist the process by winding among straw or dried herbage, and the one killed upon this occasion was doubtless thus occupied when unconsciously packed in by the negro along with the bedding.

And, by an easy transition from the straw mattress to the feather bed, let me here give the following story, as related by a Louisiana paper two years ago:—

“About the year 1828, one, E. Baker, moved to Bayou Kisatchie, in the southern portion of Natchitoches parish. During his travel there had been a quantity of rain, which made it necessary that everything should be sunned. One of the feather-beds had, by accident, a hole torn in it about an inch square. This hole was patched while it lay on a brush-heap, sunning. Not long afterwards the sleepers on this bed were troubled with dreams of snakes, and often its occupants actually believed a snake was in bed with them, and would bounce out of bed in great alarm, but would return after a vigorous but unfruitful search. Two years after Baker came to Kisatchie the eldest daughter was married to J. W. Brown, and took the bed home with her; yet its sleepers continued to be troubled with visions of snakes, and an occasional search was instituted for the intruder. Four years after this marriage Baker visited his daughter, and was put upon this bed. About ten o’clock he was heard calling for his son-in-law, ‘John! John! come here quick, a snake is in my bed!’ Lights were had, and though every nook and corner was searched no snake was found. All retired again, but were soon startled by the old man’s cries for help and lights, as if he was holding something with all his strength. John went to him, thinking he had a nightmare, but to his surprise found him wide awake, and holding something under the covering with all his might. After searching under the cover, it was found to be a snake on the inside of the tick among the feathers. It was pulled out and found to be quite strong and active, and about seven feet in length. Now, the question is, how did this snake subsist among the feathers, as it must have been there for six years without food of any kind, or water? The ticking was new when the hole was torn, and there never had been but one hole in the bed until one was cut to pull the snake out.

“We give this as strictly true. John W. Brown and his wife are still living, and will assert the same, as above. Their post-office is Ouachita Chute, Louisiana.”

Six years is certainly a good while to live without food, even for a snake; but there does not appear to be any definite limit as to the length of