270 BESIDE THE GREAT SALT LAKE. 



mere pinch of feathers, conduct herself after the 

 fashion of a big bird ; to see her wipe that needle- 

 like beak, and dress those infinitesimal feathers, 

 combing oat her head plumage with her minute 

 black claws, running the same useful append- 

 ages through her long, gauzy-looking wings, and 

 carefully removing the yellow pollen of the 

 honeysuckle blooms which stuck to her face 

 and throat. Her favorite perch was a tiny dead 

 twig on the lowest branch of a poplar-tree, near 

 the honeysuckle. There she spent a long time 

 each day, sitting usually, though sometimes she 

 stood on her little wiry legs. 



But though my humming friend might sit 

 down, there was no repose about her ; she was 

 continually in motion. Her head turned from 

 side to side, as regularly, and apparently as me- 

 chanically, as an elephant weaves his great head 

 and trunk. Sometimes she turned her attention 

 to me, and leaned far over, with her large, dark 

 eyes fixed upon me with interest or curiosity. 

 But never was there the least fear in her bear- 

 ing ; she evidently considered herself mistress of 

 the place, and reproved me if I made the slight- 

 est movement, or spoke too much to a neighbor. 

 If she happened to be engaged among her honey- 

 pots when a movement was made, she instantly 

 jerked herself back a foot or more from the vine, 

 and stood upon nothing, as it were, motionless, 



