s
so rapid that when pausing in the air, the bird seems quite motionless.
One sees him stop before a blossom, then dart like a flash to another,
visiting all, plunging his tongue into their hearts, flattening them
with his wings, never settling anywhere, but neglecting none. He hastens
his inconstancies only to pursue his loves more eagerly and to multiply
his innocent joys. For this light lover of flowers lives at their
expense without ever blighting them. He only pumps their honey, and
for this alone his tongue seems designed.
The vivacity of these small birds is only equaled by their courage, or
rather their audacity. Sometimes they may be seen furiously chasing
birds twenty times their size, fastening upon their bodies, letting
themselves be carried along in their flight, while they peck fiercely
until their tiny rage is satisfied. Sometimes they fight each other
vigorously. Impatience seems their very essence. If they approach a
blossom and find it faded, they mark their spite by a hasty rending of
the petals. Their only voice is a weak cry of _Screp, screp_, frequent
and repeated, which they utter in the woods from dawn until at the first
rays of the sun they all take flight and scatter over the country.
The Ruby-throat is the only native Humming bird of eastern North
America, where it is a common summer resident from May to October,
breeding from Florida to Labrador. The nest is a circle an inch and a
half in diameter, made of fern wood, plant down, and so forth, shingled
with lichens to match the color of the branch on which it rests. Its
only note is a shrill, mouse-like squeak.
THE HOUSE WREN.
All the children, it seems to me, are familiar with the habits of Johnny
and Jenny Wren; and many of them, especially such as have had some
experience with country life, could themselves tell a story of these
mites of birds. Mr. F. Saunders tells one: "Perhaps you may think the
Wren is so small a bird he cannot sing much of a song, but he can. The
way we first began to notice him was by seeing our pet cat jumping about
the yard, dodging first one way and then another, then darting up a
tree; looking surprised, and disappointingly jumping down again.
"Pussy had found a new play-mate, for the little Wren evidently thought
it great fun to fly down just in front of her and dart away before she
could reach him, leading her from one spot to another, hovering above
her head, chattering to her all the time, and
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