Beautiful are the Birds of the Tropics. Bright, clear, sparkling, brilliant is their plumage. It is steeped in “all the hues that gild the rainbow.” I seek in vain for epithets by which to convey a thought of their surpassing beauty. Had I, dear reader, the pencil of Audubon, I might show you what they are in repose; but repose does not display their loveliness in its perfection. They are most charming to behold when in motion—when their many vivid colors contrast with the deep green of the forests, in which they live and hold their jocund revels. Not many years ago, I passed a winter—or, I might better say, the first months of the year—in the Northern part of South America, where these birds abound. There, was I often delighted by these “exquisite, gay creatures of the element.” They seemed to me like so many winged jewels, as they glanced about in the rays of a dazzling sun. But let me not indulge too much in fanciful allusions, lest I should reluctantly enter upon the real purpose I have in view in preparing this article: which is to offer some account of Tropical Birds, so that the reader may be attracted to the study of their Natural History. It appears to me that our American periodicals have too much of the _dulce_ and too little of the _utile_. It is well, sometimes, to mingle the useful with the agreeable even in works of taste: I may fail in my attempt to do so in this place, but I shall at least deserve the credit of having made the attempt. Doubtless many of my readers have in their possession certain glass cases in which specimens of birds with variegated plumage, having undergone the art of the taxidermist, are arranged on artificial trees or bushes as ornaments for the drawing room. There are many persons in Guiana, who make it their business to kill and prepare these birds, so that they may adorn the halls of Natural History Societies or private cabinets. Some birds, which fly about the houses or plantations, are easily obtained; but those, upon which most value is set, live in distant wilds and woods, and are procured with great difficulty and only by individuals long practised in the art. Great caution must be observed in approaching, and greater skill in shooting them; for they must be slain so skilfully that their feathers shall not be torn nor their color spoiled by an effusion of blood from the wound. When one, who is unskilful, tears or disfigures his birds, he makes up one specimen out of two or more individuals of the same species. Thus, upon a close examination, you may often detect the wings of one bird joined to the body of another, or, perhaps, an old head upon young shoulders. But the worst piece of trickery, and one which renders the specimen wholly valueless to an ornithologist, is the altering of the natural color of the bird by fire. I have seen many a brilliant specimen exceedingly admired, which obtained a false lustre in this manner.