If the extraordinary beauty of these birds, their mode of existence, their nature, then habits, excite our admiration, how must we also wonder at their structure!—the perfect adaptation of their forms to that life which it is theirs to enjoy, and to the variations of that glowing climate where they abound. “On presenting a humming-bird to a common observer,” says an eminent naturalist, “the first exclamation generally is, ‘what a beautiful little creature!’—the second, ‘but what large wings he has!’ Such, indeed, is the case, and, in most instances, the size of the wings and strength of the quills are entirely out of proportion to our ideas of symmetry in a creature clothed with feathers; but, upon comparing them with its necessities and the other parts of its frame, their utility and design become obvious.” The principal reason for their possessing organs of such power is, doubtless, to enable them to pass in safety through the migrations and the long flights which are necessary for their preservation, and, during which, they have to withstand passing gales and showers. The delicious climes which they inhabit are at seasons subject to tremendous rains, which drench and almost inundate their abodes, or to hurricanes that, in a few minutes, leave but a wreck of all that was before so splendid and luxuriant. By means of these organs, before the dangerous season comes, which the unerring instinct of nature warns them to avoid, they fly to districts of country where the reparation of some previous wreck is proceeding with all the rapidity of tropical vegetation. I cannot more pleasingly conclude these notices of the most wonderful tribe of birds, than by quoting the melodious verses of a poet, who is a native of that glowing clime which they so exquisitely adorn. “Still sparkles here the glory of the West, Shows his crowned head and bares his jewell’d breast, In whose bright plumes the richest colors live, whose dazzling lines no mimic art can give. The purple amethyst, the emerald’s green Contrasted, mingle with the ruby’s sheen, While over all a tissue is put on, Of golden gauze by fairy fingers spun. Small as a beetle, as an eagle brave, In purest ether he delights to lave; The sweetest flowers alone descends to woo, Rifles their sweets and lives on honey-dew, So light his kisses not a leaf is stirred By the bold, happy, amorous humming-bird. No disarray, no petal rudely moved, Betrays the flower the callibree has loved.”[3]