In the fifth case, the Bourcieria offers a different
species of beauty, the snow-white throat
and tail feathers mingling with the deepest
brown and the most intense blue.  In the
eighth case, we have the Cynanthus and the
Cometes—the forked-tail species—the two tail-
feathers four or five times the length of their
minute bodies, and bright as the mysterious
visitor of "th' arctic sky." In the ninth case,
is the Oreotrochilus Chimboraza—the species
peculiar to the monarch of mountains—of a
bright blue and green, with grey breast, as
if, like the birds and foxes of the polar regions,
it caught a winter livery in the regions of
eternal snow. In the eleventh case, is the
Oxypogon Lindeni, the helmet-crested, grave
as a white-bearded rabbi, short-beaked, the
flower-hunter of the highest Andes. In the
thirteenth case are several species of the
charming little Ereopus, their tarsi clothed
with white down, or, as we heard more
significantly expressed by a fair visitor, with
cotton-bags at their feet. The fourteenth case
contains some larger species, of surpassing
brilliancy—radiant in their scaly armour—
"glittering in golden coats." Lastly, at the
end of the room, in the centre, is the marvellous
Docimastes ensifer, hanging beneath
the deep flower of Brugmahsia, into which it
thrusts a beak much longer than its whole
body, to suck out the honey from the hidden
nectary—hidden in vain from that unfailing
instinct.

The colour of the Humming Birds necessarily
attracts the first attention. But, to
understand the habits of this numerous
family, we must study their forms. Never
was such an opportunity for so doing presented
as in Mr. Gould's collection.

The question may be asked by some, "Why,
are they called Humming Birds?" The name
is derived from the noise produced by the
aerial movement of some of the species. Look
at the little collared group, Calothorax, with
very imperfect tails.These are not formed
for distant flights. But, as they hover over a
flower, the rapid vibration of their wings
produces the noise which has given a name
to the whole family. They remain apparently
motionless for hours. "The vibration of their
wings," says Buffon, "is so rapid, that the
bird poised in the air appears not only im-
moveable, but entirely without action." The
great characteristic of this family is the
power of the wing. Their muscular system
is almost wholly employed to give effect to
this power. They are essentially an ethereal
race. They find their food on the earth, but
their home is the air.

As the wings and the tail exhibit the peculiar
character of their flight, so do the beaks
determine the nature of their food. Within
the beak, whether short or long, is a tongue
which can be darted out with a spring-like
movement. It pierces the flowers for their
honied juices; it seizes upon minute insects.
It is composed of two blades, with spoon-like

terminations. The beak is also a weapon of
attack and defence. As the female Humming
Bird sits in her cup-shaped or pendulous nest,
the male watches over her duties.The
Indians say he assists her. If a bird invade
the solitude, especially one of their own
species, the little creature becomes a fury.
The needle-like bill is darted at the eyes of
the intruder, and, uttering the most piercing
shrieks, the tiny warrior will fight to the
death.

Various, almost, as the forms of nature, are
the tastes and pursuits of man. It is a remarkable
instance of this comprehensive law
beneficently made for our instruction, advancement,
and delight, that we have this quiet
collection sparkling in the Sun within a mile
or so of the Great Exhibition. Some men
pursue the object of their lives amid the
revolutions of noisy wheels and the rattling
of machinery; some, patiently and slowly
work it out with microscopic tools; some,
pursuing Nature, track it through her mighty
solitudes. Each man may well respect the
vocation of the other. All contribute to the
common Treasury. Study the useful and
ornamental inventions of the civilised world;
but study, too, the work of the Divine hand
in these little birds.

A REAL SISTER OF CHARITY.

JANE BALL was scarcely ever known to be
alone, from the earliest years of her life:
one might almost say from the early months
of her life, before she had any years to reckon;
for, as soon as her mother could leave her to
sit or sprawl on the floor or the threshold,
some kitten or little dog would come to her,
or the birds would hop about her, as if she
somehow belonged to them. Jane had no
sisters; and her only brother was many
years older than herself; so there were no
children at home for her to play with; and
her mother was too busy to do more than
see that the child came to no harm. Yet
little Jane always had companions, and
plenty to do. In the winter, she and the
cat kept each other warm by the fireside:
and she had the birds to take care of. She
watched for every crumb that fell from the
loaf, and put it outside the door for the
birds, which fed just the same, whether she
was by or in the house. Before she could
well walk on the ice, she used to go to the
slides, where there was sure to be some little
creature crying with cold, while the elder boys
and girls were sliding; and wherever there
was such a little creature crying with cold,
there was Jane putting its hands round her
neck, or covering up its feet with her frock,
and telling it they would soon be warm. On
the bitterest nights she was afraid dolly would
be cold even in her arms; and she tucked in
the sheet round the smart young lady's neck
before going to sleep herself.  In spring, there