SEVENTH ANNUAL REPORT. 157 
magnificent showing off of pheasants and ducks, the screams of 
parrots and all the songs vibrant with sentiment, in which birds 
strive to outdo each other in the eyes of the female, show how 
greatly the spirit of emulation and recognition of their respective 
accomplishments inspire the suitors. We should also realize how 
pronounced must be the discriminative power and esthetic ap- 
preciation of the females. The display of the peacock combines 
the classes of movement, color, and noise; for the beauty of its 
argus-eyed feathers is made more effective by their being raised 
in a halo above the bird, the shivering of its wing-quills forming 
* a castanet accompaniment. 
A genuine delight is taken in these various displays. So far 
from being intuitive or mechanical exercises they are conscien- 
tiously practiced for weeks beforehand, and are kept up long 
after the period of courtship and nesting is over. For instance, 
in the Zoological Park, when a peacock in early spring timidly 
erects his plumes before an unappreciative crow it is for practice 
in anticipation of its later use in competition with his rivals. 
After the period of courtship, when he struts back and forth 
before a line of admiring people, the exercise is from pure de- 
light and appreciation of his own beauties. The Germans, in 
their finely discriminating language, express the delicate shade 
of meaning in these acts by voriibung and ausiibung. Even in 
birds, which pair for life, I have noticed a coquetry and pretended 
courtship, spring after spring. 
One more interesting fact about courtship among birds—an- 
other indication, perhaps, of their individuality—is that it is not 
always the most highly decorated suitor, nor the one victorious 
in combat, who wins the female for whom he is putting forth 
his utmost efforts. I have seen a peahen show a very decided 
preference for, and ultimately pair off with, a young bird who 
had but small display, and was almost spurless. An amusing 
instance also noticed in the Park was that of some mallard ducks. 
Three drakes vied with each other for the favor of a little brown 
duck. One of the drakes seemed to put but faint hope in his 
splutterings and bowings, and little wonder, for his tail feathers 
and the snowy curl, one of the decorations of his sex, had been 
shot away, and shot-scars had spoiled the symmetry of other 
parts of his plumage. The other two were large and beautiful 
birds, bred in the Park. The iridescent emerald of their heads 
and necks, and their immaculate shining collars made them in- 
comparably more conspicuous than the smaller wild bird. Never- 
theless, all their efforts were in vain, while the occasional pitiful 
