ial for,
the structure. They flew low, the female in the lead, the male just
behind in line with her, timing his motions to hers, the two making a
brown, gently undulating line, very pretty to look upon, from my
neighbor's field where they obtained the material, to the tree that
held the nest. A gentle, gliding flight, hurried but hushed, as it
were, and expressive of privacy and loving preoccupation. The male
carried no material; apparently he was simply the escort of his mate;
but he had an air of keen and joyous interest. He never failed to
attend her each way, keeping about a yard behind her, and flying as if
her thought were his thought and her wish his wish. I have rarely seen
anything so pretty in bird life. The movements of all our thrushes
except the robin give one this same sense of harmony,--nothing sharp
or angular or abrupt. Their gestures are as pleasing as their notes.

One evening, while seated upon my porch, I had convincing proof that
musical or song contests do take place among the birds. Two wood
thrashes who had nests near by sat on the top of a dead tree and
pitted themselves against each other in song for over half an hour,
contending like champions in a game, and certainly affording the
rarest treat in wood thrush melody I had ever had. They sang and sang
with unwearied spirit and persistence, now and then changing position
or facing in another direction, but keeping within a few feet of each
other. The rivalry became so obvious and was so interesting that I
finally made it a point not to take my eyes from the singers. The
twilight deepened till their forms began to grow dim; then one of the
birds could stand the strain no longer, the limit of fair competition
had been reached, and seeming to say, "I will silence you, anyhow," it
made a spiteful dive at its rival, and in hot pursuit the two
disappeared in the bushes beneath the tree. Of course I would not say
that the birds were consciously striving to outdo each other in song;
it was the old feud between males in the love season, not a war of
words or of blows, but of song. Had the birds been birds of brilliant
plumage, the rivalry would probably have taken the form of strutting
and showing off their bright colors and ornaments.

An English writer on birds, Edmund Selous; describes a similar song
contest between two nightingales. "Jealousy," he says, "did not seem
to blind them to the merit of each other's performance. Though often
one, upon h