CHAP. XXXVIII.] HUMMING-BIRDS. 247 



ing the note of the bull-frog, in these swamps, reminded me much 

 of the twanging of a large Jew s harp. 



From Acquia Creek, I went, by steamer, to Washington, and 

 thence by railway through Philadelphia to the town of Burling 

 ton, in New Jersey, beautifully situated on the banks of the 

 Delaware. Here I paid a short visit to my friend, Mr. William 

 M llvaine, and crossed the Delaware with him to Bristol, to 

 renew my acquaintance with Mr. Vanuxem, a geologist of no 

 ordinary merit. His death, which happened soon afterward, 

 was a loss to the public as well as to many personal friends. 



In Wilson s &quot; Ornithology&quot; it is stated, that the humming 

 bird migrates from the south to Pennsylvania the latter part of 

 April, and builds its nest there about the middle of May. For 

 the last thirty years, Mr. M llvaine had never been disappointed 

 in seeing it reach Burlington the first week of that month, gen 

 erally about the middle of the week, its northward progress being 

 apparently hastened or retarded by the mildness or inclemency 

 of the season. They seem always to wait for the flowering of a 

 species of horse-chestnut, called here the buck-eye, from a fancied 

 likeness of its fruit to the eye of a deer. The bright-red blos 

 soms of this tree supply the nourishment most attractive to these 

 birds, whose arrival had been looked for the very day after I 

 came. Strange to say, one of them, the avant-courier of the 

 feathered host, actually appeared, and next morning, May 7th, 

 hundreds were seen and heard flitting and humming over the 

 trees. A lady sent us word that a straggler from the camp was 

 imprisoned in her greenhouse, and, going there, I saw it poised 

 in the air, sucking honey from the blossom of an orange-tree. 

 The flower was evidently bent down slightly, as if the bird rested 

 its bill upon it to aid its wings in supporting its body in the air, 

 or to steady it. When it wished to go out, it went straight to 

 the window at which it had entered, and, finding it closed, flew 

 rapidly round the large conservatory, examining all parts of it, 

 without once striking the glass or beating its wings against the 

 wall, as the more timid of the feathered tribe are apt to do. No 

 sooner, however, was a small casement opened, than it darted 

 through it like an arrow. 



