368 The Naturalist in La Plata. 
to capture it, after which it disappeared from the 
plantation. Four years later I saw it once again not 
far from the same place. It was late in summer, 
and I was out walking on the level plain where the 
ground was carpeted with short grass, and nothing 
else grew there except a solitary stunted cardoon 
thistle-bush with one flower on its central stem 
above the grey-green artichoke-like leaves. The 
disc of the great thorny blossom was as broad as 
that of a sunflower, purple in colour, delicately 
frosted with white; on this flat disc several insects 
were feeding—flies, fireflies, and small wasps—and 
I paused for a few minutes in my walk to watch 
them. Suddenly a small misty object flew swiftly 
downwards past my face, and paused motionless in 
the air an inch or two above the rim of the flower. 
Once more my lost humming-bird, which I remem- 
bered so well! The exquisitely graceful form, half 
circled by the misty moth-like wings, the glittering 
green and velvet-black mantle, and snow-white tail 
spread open like a fan—there it hung like a beau- 
tiful bird-shaped gem suspended by an invisible gos- 
samer thread. One—two—three moments passed, 
while I gazed, trembling with rapturous excitement, 
and then, before I had time to collect my faculties 
and make a forlorn attempt to capture it with my 
hat, away it flew, gliding so swiftly on the air that 
form and colour were instantly lost, and in 
appearance it was only an obscure grey line traced 
rapidly along the low sky and fading quickly out of 
sight. And that was the last I ever saw of it. 
The case of this small ‘* winged gem,” still wan- 
dering nameless in the wilds, reminds me of yet 
