an scarcely
be distinguished from the ground or stump on which he is coiled up; he
grows to the length of about eight feet, and his bite often proves fatal
in a few minutes.

Unrivalled in his display of every lovely colour of the rainbow, and
unmatched in the effects of his deadly poison, the counacouchi glides
undaunted on, sole monarch of these forests; he is commonly known by the
name of the bush-master. Both man and beast fly before him, and allow
him to pursue an undisputed path. He sometimes grows to the length of
fourteen feet.

A few small caymans, from two to twelve feet long, may be observed now
and then in passing up and down the river: they just keep their heads
above the water, and a stranger would not know them from a rotten stump.

Lizards of the finest green, brown, and copper colour, from two inches to
two feet and a half long, are ever and anon rustling among the fallen
leaves, and crossing the path before you; whilst the chameleon is busily
employed in chasing insects round the trunks of the neighbouring trees.

The fish are of many different sorts, and well-tasted, but not, generally
speaking, very plentiful. It is probable that their numbers are
considerably thinned by the otters, which are much larger than those of
Europe. In going through the overflowed savannas which have all a
communication with the river, you may often see a dozen or two of them
sporting among the sedges before you.

This warm and humid climate seems particularly adapted to the producing
of insects; it gives birth to myriads, beautiful past description in
their variety of tints, astonishing in their form and size, and many of
them noxious in their qualities.

He whose eye can distinguish the various beauties of uncultivated nature,
and whose ear is not shut to the wild sounds in the woods, will be
delighted in passing up the river Demerara. Every now and then, the maam
or tinamou sends forth one long and plaintive whistle from the depths of
the forest, and then stops; whilst the yelping of the toucan, and the
shrill voice of the bird called pi-pi-yo, is heard during the interval.
The campanero never fails to attract the attention of the passenger: at a
distance of nearly three miles you may hear this snow-white bird tolling
every four or five minutes, like the distant convent bell. From six to
nine in the morning the forests resound with the mingled cries and
strains of the feathered race; after this they gradually