s all the while beating
so fast that they are almost invisible. Sometimes one will stop like
this just in front of some beautiful flower, and you may see it hang
suspended in the air, while it thrusts in its long bill and drinks the
sweet honey that forms its food."

"And can you shoot such little things, sir?" I asked.

"Oh, yes, my boy; it is easy enough to shoot them," he replied. "The
difficulty is to bring them down without hurting their plumage, which is
extremely delicate. The Indians shoot them with a blow-pipe and pellets
and get very good specimens; but then one is not always with the
Indians; and in those hot climates a bird must be skinned directly, so I
generally trust to myself and get my own specimens."

"With a blow-pipe, sir?"

"No, Nat; I have tried, but I never got to be very clever with it. One
wants to begin young to manage a blow-pipe well. I always shot my
humming-birds with a gun."

"And shot, sir?"

"Not always, Nat. I have brought them down with the disturbance of the
air or the wad of the gun. At other times I have used sand, or in
places where I had no sand I have used water."

"Water!" I exclaimed.

"Yes, and very good it is for the purpose, Nat. A little poured into
the barrel of the gun after the powder is made safe with a couple of
wads, is driven out in a fine cutting spray, which has secured me many a
lovely specimen with its plumage unhurt."

"But don't it seem rather cruel to shoot such lovely creatures, Dick?"
said Uncle Joe in an apologetic tone.

"Well, yes, it has struck me in that light before now," said our
visitor; "but as I am working entirely with scientific views, and for
the spread of the knowledge of the beautiful occupants of this world, I
do not see the harm. Besides, I never wantonly destroy life. And then,
look here, my clear Joe, if you come to think out these things you will
find that almost invariably the bird or animal you kill has passed its
life in killing other things upon which it lives."

"Ye-es," said Uncle Joe, "I suppose it has."

"You wouldn't like to shoot a blackbird, perhaps?"

"Well, I don't know," said Uncle Joe. "They are the wickedest thieves
that ever entered a garden; aren't they, Nat?"

"Yes, uncle, they are a nuisance," I said.

"Well, suppose you killed a blackbird, Joe," continued our visitor; "he
has spent half his time in killing slugs and snails, and lugging poor
unfortunate worms out of their holes; and it s