“Know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,
Where oxslips and the nodding violet grows,
Quite over canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.”
But alas! however elfin-like and ethereal their forms appear, they share the fate of mortals. They are easily caught by nets thrown over them, or killed by very fine shot or sand. I have seen some very splendid collections. I remember one, comprising seventy-two species—from the king of the humming-birds, as he is called, with his topaz and emerald crown, to one so small that, when on the wing, it could scarcely be visible. When the glass case, in which they were arranged in too studied an order, was held in the sunshine, their myriad colors would gleam and flash with a brilliancy as perfect as that of the many gems, after which they are prettily named. An enumeration of some of their names will convey an idea of their appearance—sapphire-throated, ruby-throated, sapphire and emerald, amethystine, topaz-throated; then there are the purple, tri-colored, violet-tufted, violet-crowned, blue-fronted, the superb, the magnificent, the sabre-winged. And there is one which must have been bestowed by some ornithological phrenologist, who had great skill in interpreting “the natural language” of birds—the supercilious humming-bird. The largest species yet discovered is that which is called the gigantic, and the smallest, as I believe, is one that Sir William Jardine describes as Gould’s humming-bird.
The gigantic is in remarkable contrast to the rest of his tribe, both in size and in the color of his plumage. He is not only the largest but the homeliest, while the smallest is the most beautiful. The gigantic (the monster!) is nearly eight inches in length; the crown, the back, the under and lesser wing-coverts, brownish green, with reflections of green tint; the under parts, light reddish mingled with a deeper tint and shaded off with green; the feathers are generally darker at the base, and the paler tips give a slightly waved appearance to the breast. On the throat, the feathers, though without lustre, retain the scaly form and texture of the more brilliant species. The wings slightly exceed the tail in length, bend up at the tips, and exhibit the form of the most correctly framed organ of flight; they are of a uniform brownish violet. The tail is composed of ten feathers, of a brownish color, and with golden-green reflections; they gradually decrease in length. This is a very rare species.
Gould’s is the smallest species and of the most dazzling beauty. It is scarcely over two inches in length; its forehead, throat and upper part of its breast are of a most brilliant green—the feathers of a scaly form. From the crown springs a crest of bright, chestnut feathers, of a lengthened form and capable of being raised at pleasure. The back is a golden-green, crossed with a whitish band; the wings and tail are brownish purple, the latter having the centre feathers tinged with green; the lower parts are dark brownish green. The neck tufts are of the most splendid kind, and have a chaste but brilliant effect; they are composed of narrow feathers of a snowy whiteness—the tips of each having a round, serrated spot of bright emerald green, surrounded with a dark border; the largest are at the upper part of the tuft, and they decrease in length, assuming the shape of a butterfly’s wing; shorter feathers again spring from the base, and their green tips are relieved on the white of the longer ones behind them.
The most common species, and that which abounds in all parts of the West Indies, is the ruby-crested. Though seen every day about the gardens, near the honeysuckle and other flowering vines, it presents some of the most splendid coloring of the family. (Those which I have mentioned are of that sub-genus, which Linnæus calls trochilus.) The upper parts of the head and throat are clothed entirely with those scaly formed feathers, which always produce the parts producing the changeable hues. On the hind head, the feathers are elongated and form a short, rounded crest. In one position this part appears of a deep, sombre, reddish brown; when viewed transversely it assumes a bright, coppery lustre, and when looked upon directly with a side stream of light, it becomes of the richest and most brilliant ruby. The scaly part of the throat and breast again, when wanting the lustre, is of an equally sombre, greenish brown; and, when turned to diverse lights, changes from a clear golden-green to the most brilliant topaz. It is impossible to convey by words—especially as it is necessary to repeat the same again and again—an idea of these tints. The most that can be done is to name those substances, which they most nearly resemble, then rely upon the imagination of the reader.
The birds, thus attempted to be described, are a few of that multitudinous tribe which excites the liveliest wonder, and fills the mind with admiration of that creative power, which clothes the eagle with strength to resist the fury of the mountain storm, and so fashions the delicate plumage of the humming-bird that the softest air from heaven seems to visit it too roughly. The vine-clad forests and rose-covered gardens of Guiana literally swarm with these fairy-birds. The Indian word, by which they are distinguished, signifies beams or locks of the sun; that such a designation is not less appropriate than poetical, may be concluded by all who have seen them darting with the rapidity as well as the splendor of light from flower to flower. Compared to the humming-bird, the bee is a mere loiterer. He poises himself on wing, while he thrusts his long, slender tube into the flower-cups in search of food. But he subsists not simply on honey-dew and the nectar that dwells in the lips of roses. He may often be observed darting at the minute insects that float in the air.
Mr. Audubon thus beautifully describes the humming-bird in quest of food: “carefully visiting every opening flower-cup, and, like a curious florist, removing from each those injurious insects, that otherwise would ere long cause their beauteous petals to droop and decay. Poised in the air, it is observed peeping cautiously and with sparkling eye into their innermost recesses, whilst the ethereal motions of its pinions, so rapid and so light, appear to fan and cool the flower, without injuring its fragile texture, and produce a delightful, murmuring sound, well adapted for lulling the insects to repose. Then is the moment for the humming-bird to secure them. Its long delicate bill enters the cup of a flower, and the protruded, double-tubed tongue, delicately sensible, and imbued with a glutinous saliva, touches each insect in succession, and draws it from its lurking place to be instantly swallowed. All this is done in a moment, and the bird, as it leaves the flower, sips so small a portion of its liquid honey, that the theft, we may suppose, is looked upon with a grateful feeling by the flower which is thus kindly relieved from the attacks of her destroyers.”