ON GOLOURS IN NATURE. 105 
perly speaking, only two colours, bright apple green with 
some yellow spots on the side of the body, and a dusky olive 
tint approaching to black; the former when enjoying open 
air and sunlight, and the latter when shut up in a box or when 
poked and teased, on which occasion it puffs out its cheeks 
and hisses by way of manifesting its displeasure. The effect 
of feeding the Lacerta viridis (Jersey green lizard), also of a 
bright green when in a state of nature, entirely with milk,— 
which is not its natural food,—renders its skin likewise very 
dull in captivity. 
How shall I tell of the Leucojwm roseum, the tiny snow- 
drop of Corsica, with flower no larger and stalk no longer 
than that of a violet, with just such a suspicion of pink as may 
be beheld within the lip of a delicate shell, which I gathered 
on a November’s morning on the short turf above the sea 
beach at Ajaccio, and which, I have since been told, is to 
be gathered nowhere else; or how describe flowers beautiful 
in themselves, rendered more lovely still in consequence of 
their local surroundings, as the furze thickets of Guernsey, 
aptly termed “The Field of the Cloth of Gold,” that cover 
the cliffs above and present a lively contrast to the bright 
blue waters of Moulin Houet Bay; or the sulphur anemone 
and blue’ gentian surrounded by perpetual snow as they 
flourish on the borders of a little blue tarn just beneath 
the summit of the Great St. Bernard; or the snowy tressed 
acacia in the suburbs of Constantinople, or those of 
Smyrna, prettier even than its wont when viewed against 
the medium of a deep-blue eastern sky or the masses of 
mauve blossom of the Paulownia imperialis,—each flower as 
large as that of a foxglove, and forming part of a spike and 
growing on a tree ‘of the dimensions of an English horse- 
chestnut,—which crown the steep slopes that skirt the Bos- 
phorus; or that gem of beauty, a crimson primula, flowering 
on the very verge of the Mer de Glace. 
Where shall I behold 
“‘Heaven’s deathless blue and Earth’s eternal green,” 
as where the snow-streaked summits of:the mighty range of 
the Lebanon, standing out against the western sky, have 
their bases carpeted with miles upon miles of young and 
verdant wheat, waving in the springtide hour, and alternating, 
like some textile fabric, with the deep red soil? 
How can I adequately picture the inimitable blue and green 
of the ice as seen twenty and thirty feet within the narrow 
depths of an Alpine crevasse, and all the bluer and all the 
