Feeding a Baby Hummingbird 



I WONDER if any of the readers of The Warbler ever enjoyed the 

 privilege of giving a baby Hummingbird his breakfast? 



As I walked down the shrnb-bordered path, one July morning, my eye 

 lighted on a gray speck on a branch of the bridal wreath, which, upon closer 

 inspection, proved to be a baby Hummingbird. I touched it gently, but, for 

 a moment, was undecided if it were alive, although its feet were tightly 

 clinched on the twig. It neither moved nor opened its eyes, although I vis- 

 ited it several times in the following hour and a half, until I began to feel 

 anxious for the baby sitting there in the rain. 



At last he opened his bill, with a little squeak, and I decided that the 

 rain had chilled him and that he was too weak to go in search of a breakfast. 

 Thinking this a fine opportunity to play fairy godmother, I made some strong 

 sweetened water, and again visited the shrubbery. He allowed me to handle 

 him, examining the bronze -green of his back, and the gray-green of his vest, 

 and then I dropped a little of the water on his bill, which he swallowed, 

 opening his eyes and his bill at the same time. Then I held the spoon up, 

 and he ran his bill up into the bowl, and then shot out a slender tongue 

 fully half an inch beyond his bill, and drank eagerly. 



He was so hungry I was almost afraid he would eat too much, but he 

 opened his eyes and brightened all over, and after I left him, flew away, and 

 went searching for honey in the scarlet blossoms of the tree cypress. The 

 next day I saw him sitting on the same spot, but he would not allow me to 

 appioach near enough to touch him. 



On the first day of September we had a light shower, the first for twelve 

 days, and the birds went nearly mad with joy. I sat by the window during 

 the morning and watched a Hummingbird taking his bath. As a prelimi- 

 nary he alighted on a morning-glory vine and held up his bill to catch the 

 drops. Then he fluttered his wings, and lightened up his feathers so that 

 the water could reach his body. There he sat for fully ten minutes enjoying 

 his bath and unconscious of observers, and finally, lifting his wings, flew 

 toward the flower screen and plunged his bill into the scarlet blossoms 

 awaiting him. 



Ina Lord McDaviti, N.J, 



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