The BLACK-CAPPED HUMMING BIRD (_Aithurus polytmus_) has a short, slightly-forked tail, the two outer feathers of which are prolonged six inches beyond the rest. The male has a long tuft over each ear, and is velvety black on the crown of the head; the mantle is green; the under side glossy emerald-green, shading into blueish black on the belly and tail-covers; the quills are purplish black; the tail-feathers deep black, with a greenish shade towards the roots; the eye is deep brown, the beak bright red, tipped with black, and the foot brown; the male is ten inches long, and six broad; his wing measures two inches and three-quarters, and his tail seven inches and a quarter. The female, whose length does not exceed four inches and a half, with wings two inches and a quarter, and the tail one inch and seven-eighths long, is of a copper-green on the mantle, and white beneath; her sides are spotted with green. [Illustration: THE CRIMSON TOPAZ HUMMING BIRD (_Topaza pella_).] "This Humming Bird," says Mr. Gosse, "is the gem of Jamaican ornithology. Its slender form, velvet crest, emerald bosom, and lengthened tail-plumes render it one of the most elegant members of its truly brilliant family. It is a permanent resident in Jamaica, and is not uncommonly seen at all seasons and in all situations. It loves to frequent the margins of roadsides, where it sucks the blossoms of the trees, occasionally descending, however, to the lower shrubs; and is abundant on the summits of the range of mountains known as the Bluefield Ridge. Behind these peaks, which are visible from the sea, at an elevation of half a mile, there runs through the dense woods a narrow path, just passable for a horse, overrun with beautiful ferns of many graceful forms, and always damp and cool. No habitation occurs within several miles, and no cultivation, save the isolated provision grounds of the negroes, which teem with enormous arums, and are hidden from view in the thick woods. The refreshing coolness of the roads, the unbroken solitude, combined with the peculiarity and luxuriance of the vegetation, made it one of my favourite resorts. Not a tree, from the thickness of one's wrist to the gigantic magnitude of the hoary fig and cotton tree, but is clothed with gigantic parasites. Begonias with waxen leaves and ferns with hirsute stems climb up the trunks of enormous bromelias; various orchids, with matted roots and grotesque blossoms, spring from every bough; and long lianas, like the cordage of a ship, depend from the loftiest branches or stretch from tree to tree. Elegant tree-ferns and towering palms are numerous. Here and there the wild plantain waves its long flag-like leaves from amidst the humbler bushes; and in the most obscure corners, over some decaying log, nods the noble spike of a magnificent limed arum. Nothing is flaunting or showy; all is solemn and subdued, but all is exquisitely beautiful. The underwood consists largely of the plant called glass-eye berry, the