48 CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. 



buzzing wings in vain efforts to escape the clutches 

 of that tenacious gum. 



The humming-birds brought me alive, I would place 

 in a large gauze-covered box ; but they seldom sur- 

 vived many days, notwithstanding great care. If 

 exposed to the light, they kept up a constant flutter- 

 ing until the muscles of their wings became so stiff 

 they could not close them, and they expired with 

 wings wide outstretched. Some would take their cap- 

 tivity quietly, and though flitting now and then to the 

 front of the box when light was admitted, would sit 

 upright upon the perch, giving an occasional chirp, 

 and dressing their feathers as serenely as if in the 

 open air. They would seem happy and cheerful ; 

 but the fact is, they are creatures of light and sun- 

 shine, and cannot exist without it. You may give 

 them their favorite food of honey and insects, fresh 

 flowers every day, with the morning dew yet drip- 

 ping from them, and yet, despite your tenderest care, 

 they will droop and die. 



It is touching to witness the death of one of these 

 innocent beings. Though I have caused more than 

 one to lose its life, I never did it without a pang, as 

 though I were committing a great wrong. To shoot 

 a bird at a distance, and have him fall at a distance 

 without a struggle, is not the same as to see him die 

 in your hand. To watch the feeble fluttering of the 

 stiffening wings, the expiring glance of the fast-dim- 

 ming eye, the painful pulsations of the gentle heart, 

 the last quiver when all is over, ah! how often 

 has my conscience reproached me when looking upon 

 such a scene. Again and again I have almost re- 

 solved never to kill another bird, and only the thought 



