TRUMPET-CREEPERS AND THE RUBY-THROATS. 143 



tained, there is no tradition even as to when it last pro- 

 duced any fruit. I am sure, for twenty years it has 

 never had a blossom. The tree has one great merit, 

 however. It is held in good repute by the sparrows, 

 and is the stage whereon are performed their choicest 

 concerts. At sunset, and often later, these birds perch 

 upon the outermost limbs of the tree, where they pro- 

 ject upward for some distance from the bushes, and sing 

 as only an old, experienced sparrow can. 



Following this gooseberry hedge a distance of some 

 fifty paces, we come to another corner of the weed- 

 grown garden, which is even more attractive. What is 

 here wanting in bird music is made up in wealth of 

 color, and, with no lack of proper appreciation of the old 

 quince and the sparrows, I often pass them by, in mid- 

 summer, and seek this gaudy corner, where, reclining on 

 an oval mat of ribbon-grass, I gaze by the hour at the 

 rank growth of an aged trumpet-creeper that monopo- 

 lizes every vestige of the ancient fence and all other 

 available supports. The rank growth of tangled vine, 

 however bloom-laden, is not of itself the attraction. It 

 is the humming-birds' paradise. Given a warm day in 

 August, with a clear sky, and the vine in full bloom, 

 and the fourth feature that completes the picture will 

 not be wanting. 



By the time these old-fashioned flowering vines are in 

 full bloom the nests of the ruby-throats are deserted, 

 their young are strong upon the wing, and during the 

 few remaining weeks of summer no one spot is so much 

 frequented by these birds as where the trumpet-creepers 

 grow. I have often seen a dozen, at one time, hovering 



