Il6 AN ISLAND GARDEN 



I wonder, as I muse over the charms of these 

 most minute of feathered creatures, how it is pos- 

 sible for their tiny wings to bear them over the 

 miles of restless and perilous brine, to find this 

 rock with its nest of flowers ! Do they surmise 

 the hospitality that awaits them at the end of 

 their long journey as they steer their dangerous 

 way across the wastes of the salt sea on those 

 small, weak, quivering pinions ? Have they some 

 subtle inkling of the tender welcome that awaits 

 them here ? Do they guess how they will be ad- 

 mired and adored? I have filled a small glass 

 mug with sugar and water thick as honey, and 

 fastened it in a crotch of the pea-sticks for them 

 to feed upon ; the bees throng to it, the ants 

 have found it, and I hope the humming-birds will 

 feast there too. One morning lately, as I was busy 

 in the garden, a little creature brushed by me so 

 close I thought it was a bee ; turning to look at 

 it, I was sure it was a humming-bird, but such an 

 atom ! Its like I had never imagined. I watched 

 it, fascinated, as it flew here, there, and everywhere, 

 whirring just like a humming-bird, crazy over the 

 annual Larkspurs. A greenish golden sheen was 

 reflected from the head and back, the very color 

 of the little bird, and it had a small, short tail, with 

 a band of white round its body, which seemed 

 feathered, as also its mottled breast. Its bright 

 black eyes were like the bird's, and it hummed 

 with its wings in precisely the same way. Its 

 beak was short, and as it went from flower to 

 flower, probing for honey, I was perfectly sure it 

 was a new variety of humming-bird, the most 



