better word--a ruffle of velvet black feathers in front, and of light chestnut feathers with velvet black stripes--like a tiger--on each side. As for his tail, it spreads out into a dear little fan, and the fan is chestnut and black too, broad stripes of chestnut and narrow stripes of black, with a broad patch of black where it begins, which looks like the handle of the fan. What a pretty, pretty bird! Fancy a little birdie that is only about two inches long, and has a crest like a swallow-tail on his head, a gorget--or lappet--on his throat, a tippet--or ruffle--just underneath the gorget, and a little spray of feather-threads on each side of his head, just underneath the crest! Fancy killing such a little fairy-bird as that! Fancy _wanting_ to kill him! But it is all the little demon. It is he who has blown about his nasty powders and frozen the hearts of the _poor_ women, who are _really_ so kind--at any rate they _would_ be if only he would let them. Did I say, "Such a little fairy-bird"? I think I did, and I was quite right, for it is just this very little Humming-bird that the fairies are so fond of riding on. They go two at a time, sometimes. One sits on his back, and another lies on the broad fan of his tail, and the one on the back uses the little feather-threads as reins. It is so grand! The Humming-bird dashes up at the fairy's own flower-door, and hovers there till she is ready to come out, and then dashes away with her to another flower, where another fairy lives. And that is how the fairies call upon each other in countries where there are Humming-birds. Perhaps you will think that a Humming-bird--even quite a little Humming-bird (and they are none of them big)--is _rather_ a large gee-gee for a _fairy_ to ride on. But you must remember that in tropical countries fairies grow to quite a remarkable size. Well, that is eight Humming-birds that I have tried to describe to you (though it is very like trying to describe a sunset to some one who has never seen one), and perhaps you think I have chosen all the most beautiful ones first, and that there are no more left which are _quite_ so pretty. But I think I can find just one more that is not such a _very_ plain bird, not a bird you would call ugly if you were to see it hovering about over a bed of geraniums or under a cluster of honeysuckle, some bright spring or summer morning when you happened to go out into your garden. So we will take that one, and, if he is not pretty enough, you must just try to put up with him.