From that time to the end of May, I obtained about twenty-five more, nearly all males, and with one or two exceptions captured on the Bluefields ridge. Some were taken with the net, others with bird-lime; but though transferred to a basket or to a cage immediately on capture, not a few were found dead on arrival at home. This sudden death I could not at all account for: they did not beat themselves against the sides, though they frequently clung to them: from the wild look of several that were alive when arrived, sitting on the bottom of the cage, looking upwards, I suspect terror, at their capture and novel position, had no small influence. Many of those which were found alive, were in a dying state, and of those which were turned out into the room, several more died in the first twenty-four hours; generally, because, not observing the lines which the domesticated ones used as perches, they would fly against the perpendicular walls, where, after fluttering awhile suspended, they would at length sink, exhausted, perpendicularly downwards, the wings still vibrating, and alight on the object that intercepted their downward course. If this was the floor, they would presently rise on the wing, only again to flutter against the wall as before; but often it would happen that they would sink behind some of the many boxes with which the shelves were lumbered; in which case the space being too narrow for the use of their wings, they soon died unobserved, and were found dead only upon searching. This was the fate of many; so that out of the twenty-five, only seven were domesticated. These, however, became quite at home; and I may here observe that there was much difference in the tempers of individuals; some being moody and sulky, others very timid, and others gentle and confiding from the first. I have noticed this in other birds also; Doves, for instance, which manifest individuality of character, perhaps as much as men, if we were competent to appreciate it. My ordinary plan of accustoming them to the room, and teaching them to feed, was very simple. On opening the basket in which one or more newly-caught Humming-birds were brought home, they would fly out, and commonly soar to the ceiling, rarely seeking the window; there for awhile, or against the walls, as above mentioned, they would flutter, not beating themselves, but hanging on rapidly vibrating wings, lightly touching the plaster with the beak or breast, every second, and thus slightly rebounding. By keeping a strict watch on them while so occupied, we could observe when they became exhausted, and sunk rapidly down to alight; commonly, they would then suffer themselves to be raised, by passing the finger under the breast, to which they would apply their little feet. Having thus raised one on my finger, and taken a little sugar into my mouth, I inserted its beak between my lips. Sometimes it would at once begin to suck eagerly; but at other times it was needful to invite it thus