158 HOMING WITH THE BIRDS 



kissing her, delicately stroking her wing feathers, 

 finally consummating his mating. 



The other case when I was present at the finale 

 of the love affairs of a pair of birds occurred with a 

 pair of cardinal grosbeaks that were building a 

 nest in a wild rose bush climbing over the music- 

 room windows. The foundations of the nest were 

 laid and one day had been spent by the female in 

 industrious work. Toward evening she left the 

 location, flying east, probably on her way to the 

 river to hunt for food or to get a drink. During 

 her absence the male bird flew to a lower branch 

 of a big elm tree in a corner of the dooryard, not 

 far from where I was sitting in company with a 

 friend on the front steps. The western light struck 

 him fully, lighting his plumage to its most gorgeous 

 colouring, touching his black beard with lights of 

 silver. He called and chirped inquiringly. Get- 

 ting no answer from the rose bush he flew there to 

 investigate. Not finding his mate there he re- 

 turned to the perch on the elm tree. Almost as he 

 reached it the female came flying from the east, 

 and, in answer to his calls, joined him on the 

 elm branch. Immediately, he burst into his most 

 impassioned strain of song. He lifted his head, 

 swelling his throat, flaring his crest to the utmost, 

 half lifting his wings, rocking from side to side, 

 turning and twisting on the limb before her, dis- 

 playing his colouring and his grace to the utmost 

 advantage, while note for note he threw all the 



