20 East and West 
whether under the live oaks or on bare rocky 
desert places, they dart hither and thither. 
The whiptail scurries from under the feet 
with such lightning speed as to appear like a 
streak across the road; fence lizards raise and 
lower themselves in their strange automatic 
fashion upon boulders and tree trunks as they 
observe the intruder; the alligator lizard, 
which resembles a small alligator, hangs by 
his tail and feet in the lower branches of the 
live oaks, waiting for insects; the blue-tail 
gleams on the banks amidst the coffee ferns; 
or a horned toad crawls sluggishly out of 
the way over the rocks and sand. True, 
they are reptiles, but fortunately, with few 
exceptions, they rarely give one that uncanny 
sensation, that subconscious racial repulsion, 
which appears to be inseparable from the 
sight of a serpent. 
It is a beautiful estate that has descended 
to us—this continental garden bordering two 
oceans; a wild garden to cherish and enjoy— 
and to preserve. Our grandchildren will not 
thank us for cutting off the forests, drying up 
the streams, killing all the big game, and de- 
facing the charming pastoral landscapes of 
New England and New York with the evi- 
dences of a commercial depravity. They 
