AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 217 



HUMMINGBIRDS, 



By J. L. Nichols. 



One pleasant day about the middle of August while sitting on a 

 steep side hill watching a family of Indigo Buntings my attention was 

 attracted some distance away to what seemed to be a large wasp or 

 beetle. Immediately it lighted on a small tree. I then raised my 

 glass and saw that it was a hummingbird. While I was watching it 

 another came to the same tree. They soon left the tree, but returned 

 in a few minutes; and after resting a short time left as before. I then 

 concluded the tree was a favorite one in which they rested, and quietly 

 made my way down the bank to within twenty-five feet of it and await- 

 ed their return. Soon one of them returned; but it had been on the 

 tree but a short time before it became aware of my presence. After 

 eyeing me carefully for some time, it flew straight toward me. It 

 seemed as if it intended to strike me fair in the face, for it kept its 

 course direct. until within two or three feet, when suddenly it stopped, 

 and, remaining suspended in the air by the rapid vibrations of its wings, 

 viewed me over, evidently wondering who I was and what I wanted. 

 It then fiew over my head determined to examine me from every point 

 of vantage possible. After satisfying itself that I meant it no harm it 

 flew down to some wild flowers near my feet where it took a sip from 

 a number and then lighted on a branch of another tree near me. I then 

 took my glass and examined it more closely without even disturbing it; 

 for it had completely lost all fear of me. At last I approached their 

 favorite tree to within ten feet and watched them as they came to rest. 

 There must have been four or more in all, and they were perhaps young 

 ones, as I saw no ruby throats. 



In the meantime the buntings had left, so I came away very much 

 pleased with my walk that day. , 



A UNLUCKY NESTING SITE 



By Milo Lynch. 



One morning last spring while crossing a bridge on my way to school 

 a Quail limped out of the weeds and down the road ahead of me. Af- 

 ter she had gone several rods, she took wing and flew into a small 

 grove of scrub oaks. The next morning she did the same thing again 

 and I began to think that she was lame, but when I told Uncle Jerry 

 Rogers,''an old gentleman, who had spent the best part of his life on 

 the plains and in the forests of the west, he laughed at me and told me 

 that was the Quail's way of getting a dangerous enemy away from her 

 nest. 



