* * * * *
"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!
* * * * *
"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 you up, as you are standing, out of
your coat, waistcoat, and breeches.
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