BIRDS OF MINNESOTA. 841 
and before I could turn around six of this species were almost 
within my reach directly before me, one of which was a female, 
that perched upon the top-most branch of a bush a little further 
removed, and the males all singing, poised on their wings and 
at the same time pecking, biting, tearing each other until the 
blood was dripping from one of them—never sweeter nor half 
so varied melody from the throats of these birds, each ap- 
parently at his very best endeavor, while maintaining the 
bloodiest bird battle I ever witnessed. The mystery was, 
where the notes found a vent through bills occupied with the 
gore and feathers of such conflict, or where such savagery 
could reach its foe through beaks so exquisitely freighted 
with melody! Although, unavoidably cognizant of my proxi- 
mity they entirely ignored my presence, and continued the 
battle in a heterogeneous melee, surging, backward, forward, 
upward, downward, once directly through a leafless oak bush 
of considerable size down onto the ground, and up again, 
never for a single moiety of a moment relaxing or diminish- 
ing their mellifluous torrent of melody, until two dropped to 
the ground absolutely exhausted, with their wings extended, 
their mouths open, and panting as if life was ebbing away at 
the very moment. The other three sought the nearest perch 
upon some brush and a wood-pile, one of which alone con- 
tinued his perfectly maintained song. During this Balaklavian 
charge of the feathered cavaliers, I glanced at the familiar 
female, who, without seeming to entertain the least concern 
about the ambitious singing, or the grand result, was pruning 
her feathers, in the calm, composed deliberation of an ex- 
emplary grandmother getting ready for church or prayer- 
meeting. 
In a few minutes, perhaps I should say moments (for one 
does not measure time very accurately under such circumstan- 
ces), the exhausted pair gathered themselves up and slipped 
“away out of sight amongst the bushes, while the two perchers 
in silence flew nervously away in another direction. 
All this time the victor held his solitary strain at its wildest 
pitch, but instantly when the others had gone he ceased, and 
bounded into the air, and away, over the tops of the bushes, 
and the hitherto unconcerned coquette immediataly followed 
him as if she had always been his devoted wife. 
Lovelier blood, or bloodier love, I never witnessed, from 
Which I turned with some reflections which domestic prudence 
suggests ‘‘are better left unsung.” 
