CHAPTER IV. 



MY HUMMING BIRDS. 



As a child, I always had a passion for the humming bird. 

 It ever caused a thrill of delight when one of these glittering 

 creatures, with its soft hum of flight, came out of repose all 

 suddenly hanging, a sapphire stilled upon the air for here 

 no wings are seen, as, like a quick, bright thought, it darts, 

 is still, and then away I 



The mystery of " whence it cometh, and whither it goeth," 

 was a lovely and exciting one to me. How and where could 

 a thing so delicate live in a rough, wintry world like this ? 

 How could the glory of its burnished plumes remain un- 

 dimmed, that it thus shot forth arrows of light into my eyes, 

 while all other things seemed slowly fading ? 



"Where could it renew its splendors ? In what far bath 

 of gems dissolved, dipping, come forth mailed in its varied 

 shine ? How could those tiny wings, whose soul-like motion 

 no mortal eye can follow, bear the frail sprite through beat- 

 ing tempests that are hurling the albatross, with mighty pin- 

 ions, prone upon the wave ; or that dash the sea-eagle, 

 shrieking, against its eyrie-cliff ? How speeds it straight and 

 safe the gem-arrow of the elfs ? 



Could it be that the tiny birds lived only on the nectar of 

 flowers ? It seemed, surely, the fitting food for beauty so 

 ethereal. But, then, it removed them so far from things of 

 the earth, earthy their home must surely be fairyland, and 

 they coursers of the wind for Ariel to " put a girdle round 



