THE RUBY-THROATED HUMMING BIRD. 



Dear Young Folks : 



I fancy you think I cannot 

 stop long enough to tell you a 

 story, even about myself. It is 

 true, I am always busy with the 

 flowers, drinking their honey 

 with my long bill, as you must 

 be busy with youi* books, if you 

 would learn what they teach. 

 I always select for my food the 

 sweetest flowers that grow in 

 the garden." 



Do you think you would be 

 vain if you had my beautiful 

 colors to wear? Of course, you 

 would not, but so many of my 

 brothers and sisters have been 

 destroyed to adorn the bonnets 

 and headdresses of the thought- 

 less that the children cannot be 

 too eai'ly taught to love us too 

 well to do us harm. Have you 

 ever seen a ruby? It is one of 

 the most valued of gems. It is 

 the color of my throat, and from 

 its rare and brilliant beauty I 

 get a part of my name. The 

 ruby is worn by great ladies 

 and, with the emerald and topaz, 

 whose bright colors I also w^ar, 

 is much esteemed as an orna- 

 ment. 



If you will come into the 

 garden in the late afternoon, 

 between six and seven o'clock. 



when I am taking my supper, 

 and when the sun is beginning 

 to close his great eye, you will 

 see his rays shoot sidewise and 

 show all the splendor of my 

 plumage. You will see me, too, 

 if your eyes are sharp enough, 

 draw up my tiny claw^s, pause in 

 front of a rose, and remain 

 seemingly motionless. But 

 listen, and you will hear the 

 reason for my name — a tense 

 humming sound. Some call me 

 a Hummer indeed. 



I spend only half the year in 

 the garden, coming in May and 

 saying farewell in October. 

 After my mate and I are gone 

 you may find our nest. But 

 your eyes will be sharp indeed 

 if they detect it when the leaves 

 are on the trees, it is so small 

 and blends with the branches. 

 We use fern-w^ool and soft down 

 to build it, and shingle it w^ith 

 lichens to match the branch it 

 nests upon. Y^ou should see the 

 tiny eggs of pure white. But 

 we, our nest and our eggs, are 

 so dainty and delicate that they 

 should never be touched. AVe 

 are only to be looked at and 

 admired. 



Farewell. Look tor me when 

 you go a-Maying. Kuby. 



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