of the beauties of nature who will not recall to memory with delight
the time when a live humming-bird first met his gaze. The suddenness
of the apparition, even when expected, and its brief duration,
are alone enough to fix the fluttering vision on the mind’s eye. The
wings of the bird, if flying, are only visible as a thin grey film,
bounded above and below by fine black threads, in form of a St
Andrew’s cross,—the effect on the observer’s retina of the instantaneous
reversal of the motion of the wing at each beat—the strokes being
so rapid as to leave no more distinct image. Consequently an adequate
representation of the bird on the wing cannot be produced by
the draughtsman. Humming-birds show to the greatest advantage
when engaged in contest with another, for rival cocks fight fiercely,
and, as may be expected, it is then that their plumage flashes with
the most glowing tints. But these are quite invisible to the ordinary
spectator except when very near at hand, though doubtless efficient
enough for their object, whether that be to inflame their mate or to
irritate or daunt their opponent, or something that we cannot compass.
Humming-birds, however, will also often sit still for a while,
chiefly in an exposed position, on a dead twig, occasionally darting
into the air, either to catch a passing insect or to encounter an
adversary; and so pugnacious are they that they will frequently
attack birds many times bigger than themselves, without, as would
seem, any provocation.
The food of humming-birds consists mainly of insects, mostly gathered in the manner already described from the flowers they visit; but, according to Wallace, there are many species which he has never seen so occupied, and the “hermits” especially seem to live almost entirely upon the insects which are found on the lower surface of leaves, over which they will closely pass their bill, balancing themselves the while vertically in the air. The same excellent observer also remarks that even among the common flower-frequenting species he has found the alimentary canal entirely filled with insects, and very rarely a trace of honey. It is this fact doubtless that has hindered almost all attempts at keeping them in confinement for any length of time—nearly every one making the experiment having fed his captives only with syrup, which, without the addition of some animal food, is insufficient as sustenance, and seeing therefore the wretched creatures gradually sink into inanition and die of hunger. With better management, however, several species have been brought on different occasions to Europe, some of them to England.
The beautiful nests of humming-birds, than which the work of fairies could not be conceived more delicate, are to be seen in most museums, and will be found on examination to be very solidly and tenaciously built, though the materials are generally of the slightest—cotton-wool or some vegetable down and spiders’ webs. They vary greatly in form and ornamentation—for it would seem that the portions of lichen which frequently bestud them are affixed to their exterior with that object, though probably concealment was the original intention. They are mostly cup-shaped, and the singular fact is on record (Zool. Journal, v. p. 1) that in one instance as the young grew in size the walls were heightened by the parents, until at last the nest was more than twice as big as when the eggs were laid and hatched. Some species, however, suspend their nests from the stem or tendril of a climbing plant, and more than one case has been known in which it has been attached to a hanging rope. These pensile nests are said to have been found loaded on one side with a small stone or bits of earth to ensure their safe balance, though how the compensatory process is applied no one can say. Other species, and especially those belonging to the “hermit” group, weave a frail structure round the side of a drooping palm-leaf. The eggs are never more than two in number, quite white, and having both ends nearly equal. The solicitude for her offspring displayed by the mother is not exceeded by that of any other birds, but it seems doubtful whether the male takes any interest in the brood. (A. N.)
HUMMOCK (of uncertain derivation; cf. hump or hillock), a boss or rounded knoll of ice rising above the general level of an ice-field, making sledge travelling in the Arctic and Antarctic region extremely difficult and unpleasant. Hummocky ice is caused by slow and unequal pressure in the main body of the packed ice, and by unequal structure and temperature at a later period.
HUMOUR (Latin humor), a word of many meanings and of
strange fortune in their evolution. It began by meaning simply
“liquid.” It passed through the stage of being a term of art
used by the old physicians—whom we should now call physiologists—and
by degrees has come to be generally understood
to signify a certain “habit of the mind,” shown in speech,
in literature and in action, or a quality in things and events
observed by the human intelligence. The word reached its
full development by slow degrees. When Dr Johnson compiled
his dictionary, he gave nine definitions of, or equivalents for,
“humour.” They may be conveniently quoted: “(1) Moisture.
(2) The different kinds of moisture in man’s body, reckoned by
the old physicians to be phlegm, blood, choler and melancholy,
which as they predominate are supposed to determine the
temper of mind. (3) General turn or temper of mind. (4)
Present disposition. (5) Grotesque imagery, jocularity, merriment.
(6) Tendency to disease, morbid disposition. (7) Petulance,
peevishness. (8) A trick, a practice. (9) Caprice, whim,
predominant inclination.” The list was not quite complete,
even in Dr Johnson’s own time. Humour was then, as it is
now, the name of the semi-fluid parts of the eye. Yet no dictionary-maker
has been more successful than Johnson in giving
the literary and conversational meaning of an English word,
or the main lines of its history. It is therefore instructive to
note that in no one of his nine clauses does humour bear the
meaning it has for Thackeray or for George Meredith. “General
turn or temper of mind” is at the best too vague, and has moreover
another application. His list of equivalents only carries
the history of the word up to the beginning of the last stage
of its growth.
The limited original sense of liquid, moisture, mere wet, in which “humour” is used in Wycliffe’s translation of the Bible, continued to attach to it until the 17th century. Thus Shakespeare, in the first scene of the second act of Julius Caesar, makes Portia say to her husband:—
“Is Brutus sick? and is it physical |
In the same scene Decius employs the word in the wide metaphorical sense in which it was used, and abused, then and afterwards. “Let me work,” he says, referring to Caesar—
“For I can give his humour the true bent, |
Here we have “the general turn or temper of mind,” which can be flattered, or otherwise directed to “present disposition.” We have travelled far from mere fluid, and have been led on the road by the old physiologists. We are not concerned with their science, but it is necessary to see what they mean by “primary humours,” and “second or third concoctions,” if we are to understand how it was that a name for liquid could come to mean “general turn” or “present disposition,” or “whim” or “jocularity.” Part I., Section 1, Member 2, Subsection 2, of Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy will supply all that is necessary for literary purposes. “A humour is a liquid or fluent part of the body comprehended in it, and is either born with us, or is adventitious and acquisite.” The first four primary humours are—“Blood, a hot, sweet, tempered, red humour, prepared in the meseraic veins, and made of the most temperate parts of the chylus (chyle) in the liver, whose office it is to nourish the whole body, to give it strength and colour, being dispersed through every part of it. And from it spirits are first begotten in the heart, which afterwards in the arteries are communicated to the other parts. Pituita or phlegm is a cold and moist humour, begotten of the colder parts of the chylus (or white juice coming out of the meat digested in the stomach) in the liver. His office is to nourish and moisten the members of the body,” &c. “Choler is hot and dry, begotten of the hotter parts of the chylus, and gathered to the gall. It helps the natural heat and senses. Melancholy, cold and dry, thick, black and sour, begotten of the more feculent part of nourishment, and purged from the spleen, is a bridle to the other two hot humours, blood and choler, preserving them in the blood, and nourishing the bones.” Mention must also be made of serum, and of “those excrementitious humours of the third concoction, sweat and tears.” An exact balance of the four primary humours makes the justly constituted man, and allows for the undisturbed production of the “concoctions”—or processes of digestion and assimilation. Literature seized upon these terms and definitions. Sometimes it applied them gravely in the moral and intellectual sphere. Thus the Jesuit Bouhours, a French critic of the 17th century, in his Entretiens d’Ariste et d’Eugène, says that in the formation of a bel esprit, “La bile donne le brillant et la pénétration, la mélancolie donne le bon sens et la solidité; le sang donne l’agrément et
