The lance-headed Viper or Trigonocephalus (_Bothrops lanceolatus_), is most common in the West Indian Islands, where it is justly dreaded. It has been computed that, at Martinique, fifty persons out of a population of 125,000 souls die annually from the bite of these odious reptiles. Their fecundity is frightful. Every female bears sixty young, which on their very advent into the world are completely formed and able to wound. This viper, moreover, carries no warning rattle; nothing indicates its presence; and in the countries which it inhabits, the wayfarer, if prudent, will beat the herbs and bushes as he advances with a switch. Then the Trigonocephalus, if there be one in the way, will take flight and reveal itself, for it is too large to glide away unseen. Therefore, the negroes of Martinique, who, of necessity, are assiduous reptile hunters, state as an incontrovertible axiom, confirmed by immemorial experience, that "a serpent seen is a serpent dead." In truth, the serpent is only formidable to man when not perceived, and when one treads upon it accidentally. In the open field its defeat and death are inevitable, however little coolness or skill its assailant may possess. And to warn us of the presence of the Trigonocephalus, Nature has supplied us with numerous watchful sentinels in the small birds, whose not unreasonable hate against this serpent is a remarkable proof of their intelligence. If ever your destiny conduct you to the Antilles, says a naturalist, cold-blooded sportsman as you may be, do not slay the little bird which the grateful negroes, though he sings but little, have wished to name the nightingale; for if you do so, they will regard you with suspicion and dislike. He is their protector, and he watches also over you. No sooner does he see, from his aërial station, the scales of the reptile gliding into the herbage or glittering among the large leaves, than he can no longer control himself. He flies to and fro, he leaps from branch to branch, summoning with a lamentable cry all the feathered tribe from the neighbouring trees. From far and near the cry widens and is repeated; from all directions flock nightingales, and thrushes, grosbeaks, and humming-birds, and hovering above the assassin, furiously denounce it, and indicate its lurking-place to man. Irritated by such a concert of maledictions, the serpent elevates its crest, but, lo! they are far beyond its reach! And the cries, the murmurs, the insults are redoubled! It seeks to conceal itself, but these cries persistently accompany it. Wherever it drags its slimy shining bulk, they follow, they harass, and they denounce it. Either night comes on, or it succeeds in completely hiding itself from their watchful gaze, before they reluctantly leave it to its own devices. Great the consternation if their enemy escape them! But what joy, what triumphal sounds, if man appears upon the scene and slays it! * * * * *