t hand, the supreme moment for
which thousands of throats have been vibrating with whispered rehearsals
of trills and songs, and for which the dangers that threaten the
acquisition of bright colours and long, inconvenient plumes and ornaments
have been patiently undergone. Now, if all goes well and his song is
clear, if his crest and gorgeous splashes of tints and shades are fresh
and shining with the gloss of health, then the feathered lover may hope,
indeed, that the little brown mate may look with favour upon dance, song,
or antic--and the home is become a reality. In some instances this home is
for only one short season, when the two part, probably forever; but in
other cases the choice is for life.

But if his rival is stronger, handsomer, and--victorious, what then? Alas,
the song dies in his throat, plumes hang crestfallen, and the disconsolate
creature must creep about through tangles and brush, watching from a
distance the nest-building, the delights of home life which fate has
forbidden. But the poor bachelor need not by any means lose hope; for on
all sides dangers threaten his happy rival--cats, snakes, jays, hawks,
owls, and boys. Hundreds of birds must pay for their victory with their
lives, and then the once discarded suitors are quickly summoned by the
widows; and these step-fathers, no whit chagrined at playing second
fiddle, fill up the ranks, and work for the young birds as if they were
their own offspring.

There is an unsolved mystery about the tragedies and comedies that go on
every spring. Usually every female bird has several suitors, of which one
is accepted. When the death of this mate occurs, within a day or two
another is found; and this may be repeated a dozen times in succession.
Not only this, but when a female bird is killed, her mate is generally
able at once somewhere, somehow, to find another to take her place. Why
these unmated males and females remain single until they are needed is
something that has never been explained.

The theme of the courtship of birds is marvellously varied and
comparatively little understood. Who would think that when our bald eagle,
of national fame, seeks to win his mate, his ardour takes the form of an
undignified galloping dance, round and round her from branch to branch!
Hardly less ridiculous--to our eyes--is the elaborate performance of our
most common woodpecker, the flicker, or high-hole. Two or three male birds
scrape and bow and pose and chatter