And do you know that when two gentlemen Humming-birds are both trying to please the same lady--but that, of course, is before she has married either of them--they very often fight, and it is then that they gleam and flash and sparkle, more brilliantly than at any other time. Ah, what a wonderful sight that must be to see--those fights between little fiery, winged meteors, those jewel-combats in the air--diamond and ruby and sapphire and topaz and emerald and amethyst, all angry with each other, shooting out sparks at each other, trying to blind each other, to flash each other down! Ah, those are fiery battles indeed, and yet when they are over--you will think it wonderful--not one Humming-bird has been burnt up by another one. No, Humming-birds do not kill each other, they do not even hurt each other very much, they are only angry, and even that does not last very long. _We_ are not very angry with the poor Humming-birds, I even think we must be fond of them, for there is really hardly one that we have not called by some pretty name, though not nearly so pretty as itself. And yet we kill them, we take away those bright little gem-like lives that are so lovely and so happy. The people who live in those countries make very fine nets--as fine and delicate as those that ladies use for their hair--and put them over the flowers or the shrubs that the Humming-birds come to, so that they get entangled in them and cannot fly away. Then, when they come and find them, they kill them (could _you_ kill a living sunbeam?), and send their skins over here to be put into the hats of women whose hearts the wicked little demon has frozen.