MY HUMMING BIRDS. 113 



they began to exhibit the usual restlessness of migratory 

 birds, the sad question of parting had to be met. What we 

 had already seen of them, convinced me conclusively that 

 there must have been something of romance in the story that 

 had so enchanted me in the respectable pages of the sage 

 Port-folio, during my fanciful childhood, and which sc 

 roundly asserted that the birds had been kept through two 

 winters ! Now it is barely possible said conservatory may 

 have had a due supply of spiders, for of one thing I am very 

 sure that no Humming Bird could have been kept alive 

 without them any more than gold-fish could be kept alive in 

 distilled water, in which all the animalcule, which consti- 

 tute their natural food, had been destroyed. We came, at 

 last, to the conclusion that it would be selfish and abomina- 

 bly cruel of us to keep the delicate things with us in the 

 blustering north, to die of pining for the scented bowers of 

 their far sunny home. We let them out, and with many 

 tears saw them dart away at once towards the south, as if 

 they felt they had already tarried too long. 



We saw them but for an instant on the air, and our sweet 

 pets were gone ! 



It took us a long time to reconcile ourselves to the loneli- 

 ness in which they left us, but our consolation was, that next 

 spring I should find another nest, and they should be scarlet 

 throats this time, and we should know better how to take 

 care of them now, as we knew better how to find them from 

 experience. Such a lovely family as we were going to have ! 

 We made a new and elegant house during the winter leisure, 

 in anticipation of the new tenants that were to be ! In the 

 meantime, as I always had some half dozen different kinds 

 of pets on hand, we found occupation and amusement in 

 taking care of them and occasionally adding to the stock. 



This, together with the winter hunting, trapping, and 

 books, gave swift wings to the hours for me. Winter broke 

 up spring came with its tender wild flowers and fickle 

 smiles. Spring is the time for poetry when one is yet in 



