One Little Hummer and I 149 



holding my hand against the door, to steady it, while setting off the camera 

 with the other. I also photographed it on my hand, once in its favorite nest- 

 ling place (my palm), and once on the upturned side of my hand. 



The damp, chilly days of late summer and early autumn passed, "and then 

 followed that beautiful season called by the pious Acadian peasants ' the 

 summer of All Saints,' " "I must let my pet go," I said, "so it may rejoin 

 its friends and migrate with them." I took it out into the sunshine and put 

 it on the flowers. It sat, looking at me, looking at the flowers, for some time, 

 then whiz! it was gone toward the orchard. Sadly I returned to the house. 

 That afternoon, returning from an absence of a few hours, I was told, "Your 

 Hummer has been on the wire fence a long time. I think it is there now." 

 I went out and easily took in it my hand. After that, every morning, I put 

 it out among the flow^ers. As long as I stayed beside it, it was content, and 

 flew about trying the different blossoms; but as soon as I attempted to leave 

 it, its little seep, seep, called me back. Each day it grew more and more help- 

 less and weak, its flights grew shorter, and soon the inevitable end came. 

 But who shall say that this little life was lived in vain ? 



The Hermit Thrush 



By HENRY LEAR 



A disembodied voice in flight, 



A clear-toned bell, a haunting knell. 



What art thou? Merely bird, or sprite? 

 Deep coolness of a crystal well, 

 Dweller in shaded dell. 



Is it desire? or passion's fire? 



Or sweet content, by Heaven sent, 

 That sounds from thy elusive lyre? 



Of longing infinite, unpent. 



Is thy song redolent. 



From dark recess of dusky wood. 



At eve, thy mystic note is heard. 



Responsive to man's changing mood. 

 His joy, his grief, his hope deferred, 

 Sung by an unseen bird. 



