One feature with which a stranger cannot fail to be struck on his arrival in the island, and which is essentially tropical, is the abundance of the lizards that everywhere meet his eye. As soon as ever he sets foot on the beach, the rustlings among the dry leaves, and the dartings hither and thither among the spiny bushes that fringe the shore, arrest his attention; and he sees on every hand the beautifully coloured and meek-faced ground-lizard (Ameiva dorsalis), scratching like a bird among the sand, or peering at him from beneath the shadow of a great leaf, or creeping stealthily along with its chin and belly upon the earth, or shooting over the turf with such a rapidity that it seems to fly rather than run. By the road-sides, and in the open pastures, and in the provision-grounds of the negroes, still he sees this elegant and agile lizard; and his prejudices against the reptile races must be inveterate indeed if he can behold its gentle countenance, and timid but bright eyes, its chaste but beautiful hues, its graceful form and action, and its bird-like motions, with any other feeling than admiration.
As he walks along the roads and lanes that divide the properties, he will perceive at every turn the smooth and trim little figure of the wood-slaves (Mabouya agilis) basking on the loose stones of the dry walls; their glossy, fish-like scales glistening in the sun with metallic brilliancy. They lie as still as if asleep; but on the intruder's approach, they are ready in a moment to dart into the crevices of the stones and disappear until the danger is past.
If he looks into the outbuildings of the estates, the mill-house, or the boiling-house, or the cattle-sheds, a singular croaking sound above his head causes him to look up; and then he sees clinging to the rafters, or crawling sluggishly along with the back downward, three or four lizards, of form, colour, and action very diverse from those he has seen before. It is the gecko or croaking lizard (Thecodactylus loevis), a nocturnal animal in its chief activity, but always to be seen in these places or in hollow trees even by day. Its appearance is repulsive, I allow, but its reputation for venom is libellous and groundless.
The stranger walks into the dwelling-house: lizards, lizards, still meet his eye. The little anoles (A. iodurus, A. opalinus, &c.) are chasing each other in and out between the jalousies, now stopping to protrude from the throat a broad disk of brilliant colour, crimson or orange, like the petal of a flower, then withdrawing it, and again displaying it in coquettish play. Then one leaps a yard or two through the air, and alights on the back of his playfellow; and both struggle and twist about in unimaginable contortions. Another is running up and down on the plastered wall, catching the ants as they roam in black lines over its whited surface; and another leaps from the top of some piece of furniture upon the back of the visitor's chair, and scampers nimbly along the collar of his coat. It jumps on the table—can it be the same? An instant ago it was of the most beautiful golden green, except the base of the tail, which was of a soft, light, purple hue; now, as if changed by an enchanter's wand, it is of a sordid, sooty brown all over, and becomes momentarily darker and darker, or mottled with dark and pale patches of a most unpleasing aspect. Presently, however, the mental emotion, what, ever it was—anger, or fear, or dislike—has passed away, and the lovely green hue sparkles in the glancing sunlight as before.
He lifts the window-sash; and instantly there run out on the sill two or three minute lizards of a new kind, allied to the gecko, the common palette-tip (Sphoeriodactylus argus.) It is scarcely more than two inches long, more nimble than fleet in its movement, and not very attractive.
In the woods he would meet with other kinds. On the trunks of the trees he might frequently see the Venus (Dactyloa Edwardsii), as it is provincially called; a lizard much like the anoles of the houses, of a rich grass-green colour, with orange throat-disk, but much larger and fiercer; or, in the eastern parts of the island, the great iguana (Cyclura lophoma), with it dorsal crest like the teeth of a saw running down all its back, might be seen lying out on the branches of the trees, or playing bo-peep from a hole in the trunk; or, in the swamps and morasses of Westmoreland, the yellow galliwasp (Celestus occiduus), so much dreaded and abhorred, yet without reason, might be observed sitting idly in the mouth of its burrow, or feeding on the wild fruits and marshy plants that constitute its food.—Gosse's Naturalist's Sojourn.
[ A SCENE IN NEW ENGLAND. ]
I leave Boston sometimes in the evening by rail, get thirty miles off, then strike away into byways, ramble for an hour or two, and get back to the rail. I was out yesterday, and nothing can equal the colour of the foliage: if it was painted, it would look like fancy. In the course of my stroll, I came upon a lake entirely surrounded with forest, and containing, as I was informed, about four square miles of water, studded with islands varying in size from one to twenty acres. I would describe a point of view which enchanted me. I was on one side of the lake, where it is about half a mile in width: about half-way across, for the foreground of my picture, is a small island, about two acres, covered with trees, looking as if they grew out of the lake, with a central one of at least eighty feet high, and of the purest orange colour. The opposite shore is of a crescent shape, with the forest rising like an amphitheatre behind, glowing with every imaginable colour, from the intense crimson to the pale pink, and looking exactly like an enormous flower-garden stretching away to the distance, and the colour so strongly reflected in the water, that it is difficult to tell the reality from the reflection. At home in England, I would have gone far to see such scenes; but they are here at every turn. I enclose you some leaves, but the purity of the colour is gone after a few hours. I am sure many valuable additions might be made to the European stock of flowers: there are thousands of species—some extremely beautiful; but how they are propagated, or whether they could be transplanted, I cannot tell, being no horticulturist. Among the millions here, one plant would be much admired with you. It grows wild about three feet high, with long, curiously-formed leaves, and surmounted by bunches of bright scarlet blossoms, exactly like the geranium. In the course of my stroll, I came upon a genuine shanty of a new settler, full of fine children. The husband away at work—a little patch cleared for Indian corn and a few vegetables, the sturdy trees enclosing all. Truly the pair have their work before them, but they have likewise hope and comfort. I chatted a little while with the wife, a genuine specimen of the Anglo-Saxon race—clean, industrious, and hopeful: left home to avoid being starved, and sat down here, in rude comfort, with her ruddy children growing up about her—to be a joy and a support, instead of the drag and vexation they would have proved at home.—Private Letter from an English Artist settled at Boston.