appointed on account of shabby politics, small understanding, and good family!...  It is impossible to contradict a gentleman who has been in the forests of Cayenne; but we are determined, as soon as a Campanero is brought to England, to make him toll in a public place, and have the distance measured.

“The Toucan has an enormous bill, makes a noise like a puppy dog, and lays his eggs in hollow trees.  How astonishing are the freaks and fancies of nature!  To what purpose, we say, is a bird placed in the woods of Cayenne with a bill a yard long, making a noise like a puppy dog, and laying eggs in hollow trees?  The Toucans, to be sure, might retort, to what purpose were gentlemen in Bond Street created?  To what purpose were certain foolish prating Members of Parliament created?—­pestering the House of Commons with their ignorance and folly, and impeding the business of the country?  There is no end of such questions.  So we will not enter into the metaphysics of the Toucan.

“The Sloth, in its wild state, spends its life in trees, and never leaves them but from force or accident.  The eagle to the sky, the mole to the ground, the sloth to the tree; but what is most extraordinary, he lives not upon the branches, but under them.  He moves suspended, rests suspended, sleeps suspended, and passes his life in suspense—­like a young clergyman distantly related to a bishop.

* * * * *

“Just before his third journey, Mr. Waterton takes leave of Sir Joseph Banks,[138] and speaks of him with affectionate regret.  ‘I saw’ (says Mr. W.) ’with sorrow, that death was going to rob us of him.  We talked of stuffing quadrupeds; I agreed that the lips and nose ought to be cut off, and stuffed with wax.’  This is the way great naturalists take an eternal farewell of each other!

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“Insects are the curse of tropical climates.  The bete rouge lays the foundation of a tremendous ulcer.  In a moment you are covered with ticks.  Chigoes bury themselves in your flesh, and hatch a large colony of young chigoes in a few hours.  They will not live together, but every chigoe sets up a separate ulcer, and has his own private portion of pus.  Flies get entry into your mouth, into your eyes, into your nose; you eat flies, drink flies, and breathe flies.  Lizards, cockroaches, and snakes, got into the bed; ants eat up the books; scorpions sting you on the foot.  Every thing bites, stings, or bruises; every second of your existence you are wounded by some piece of animal life that nobody has over seen before, except Swammerdam and Meriam.  An insect with eleven legs is swimming in your teacup, a nondescript with nine wings is struggling in the small beer, or a caterpillar with several dozen eyes in his belly is hastening over the bread and butter!  All nature is alive, and seems to be gathering all her entomological hosts to eat