the day of a diplomatic dinner at the English Minister's.
The Countess del V e has just sent me a beautiful bird with the most gorgeous plumage of the brightest scarlet and blue. It is called a huacamaya, and is of the parrot species, but three times as large, being about two feet from the beak to the tip of the tail. It is a superb creature, but very wicked, gnawing not only its own pole, but all the doors, and committing great havoc amongst the plants, besides trying to bite every one who approaches it. It pronounces a few words very hoarsely and indistinctly, and has a most harsh, disagreeable cry. In fact it presumes upon its beauty to be as unamiable as possible.
I prefer some beautiful little humming birds, (chupamirtos as they are called here,) which have been sent me, and which I am trying to preserve alive, but I fear the cold will kill them, for though we see them occasionally here, hanging by their beaks upon the branches of the flowers, like large butterflies, and shaking their brilliant little wings so rapidly that they seem to emit sparkles of colored light, still this is not their home, properly speaking—they belong to the tierra caliente. These little birds are of a golden green and purple, and are so tame, that whilst I am writing, I have two on my shoulder, and one perched on the edge of a glass, diving out its long tongue for sugar and water. Our live stock is considerable; we have Guinea fowls, who always remind me of old maiden ladies in half-mourning, and whose screaming notes match those of the huacamaya, various lit-
