three that usually sat and read, worked and sketched, in that
apartment, and we christened him "Hum, the son of Buz." He became an
individuality, a character, whose little doings formed a part of
every letter, and some extracts from these will show what some of his
little ways were:-

"Hum has learned to sit upon my finger, and eat his sugar and water
out of a teaspoon with most Christian-like decorum. He has but one
weakness--he will occasionally jump into the spoon and sit in his
sugar and water, and then appear to wonder where it goes to. His
plumage is in rather a drabbled state, owing to these performances.
I have sketched him as he sat to-day on a bit of Spiraea which I
brought in for him. When absorbed in reflection, he sits with his
bill straight up in the air, as I have drawn him. Mr. A- reads
Macaulay to us, and you should see the wise air with which, perched
on Jenny's thumb, he cocked his head now one side and then the other,
apparently listening with most critical attention. His confidence in
us seems unbounded: he lets us stroke his head, smooth his feathers,
without a flutter; and is never better pleased than when sitting, as
he has been doing all this while, on my hand, turning up his bill,
and watching my face with great edification.

"I have just been having a sort of maternal struggle to make him go
to bed in his box; but he evidently considers himself sufficiently
convalescent to make a stand for his rights as a bird, and so
scratched indignantly out of his wrappings, and set himself up to
roost on the edge of the box, with an air worthy of a turkey, at the
very least. Having brought in a lamp, he has opened his eyes round
and wide, and sits cocking his little head at me reflectively."