The hatteria, or tuatera, now lives in only one place in the world, and that place is a small rocky islet called Karenha, in the Bay of Plenty, in New Zealand. Formerly, the creature was abundant all along the rocky coasts of New Zealand, living in crevices of the rock, or in little burrows dug by itself. The settlers in New Zealand took a fancy to the hatteria as an article of food, and the hogs which the settlers brought with them, shared the taste of their masters, so that between men and swine, the poor creatures have nearly become extinct. Their sole chance of maintaining existence is to confine themselves strictly to Karenha, where not a shrub, nor blade of grass, nor lichen grows, and where not a fresh-water spring is known. On this desolate island the hatterias lie, clinging to the bare rock, absolutely quiet, apparently unconscious, and alike indifferent to the whipping of sharp, cold spray driven by a strong wind, and to the fierce beating of the sun. The hatteria is from eight to twenty inches long, is of a bronze or olive-green color, spotted with yellow above, and fading into greyish white below. Down the back and along the tail, are sharp spines or bristles in a ridge or crest, which the creature can erect at will. Its eyes are golden, and instead of the vivid quickness of the jewel-like eyes of many lizards, these organs in the hatteria have the dull stare of glass eyes. Also, instead of the flash-like motions of many lizards, the hatteria is the slowest of living things. Hour after hour, day after day, it will lie like an animal fashioned of wax, desiring neither food nor drink, and seeming to need almost no air. Often people stand for a long time before the glass case of the hatterias in the London Zoological Gardens, and from the absolute quiet of the creatures, conclude that they are stuffed. But finally they see the head turning, or the body sliding forward, with an almost imperceptible motion, slow as that of the minute hand of a clock. Or, looking a little closer, the motion of the heart may be recognized by the slow palpitating of the loose skin near the forearm. The hatteria seems as contented when kept in a glass case, as when extended on its native rocks. One wonders how a creature can possess so few of the evidences and the needs of life. It makes no noise, shows neither fear, hope, affection, nor anxiety; one might think that the accumulated age of all its long race had invaded its cold veins, and that it was verging on petrifaction. The hatteria in one single small specimen is the sole living representative of the genus, family, and order to which it belongs. Its fossil relatives partook of characteristics now scattered among members of different classes. One of them approached the birds, in having no teeth and a beak-like projection of the jaws; others were like fish, in having teeth set not only in their jaws, but also, as some fish do, “in the velvet,”[51] namely, all down the sides of the throat.