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 May, 1916 THE SHADOW-BOXING OF PIPILO 95 fall head over heels from a palm tree to the ground in their trial for mastery. Our interest in these encounters is partly the natural human zest for any .well matched test of strength; partly it is because they accompany, in the case 'of beast and bid, the annual climax of their horn development and habit-inter- est, and of their plumage and song. But for the nature student there is a (leeper significance in all this, since it is the foundation of that basic law of selecti'on, which probably influences the development of a race more than any other one thing, if we except the food problem and untoward climatic condi- tion. The fundamental quality of this instinct is my only excuse for calling at- traction to its freakish and amusing manifestation in the shadow-boxing of the Anthony Towhee (Pipilo crissalis seicula). The males of this species will eone, in the breeding season, to a window pane where a good reflection of themselves is to be had, and fight with their mirrored and supposititious rival for hour upon hour. I have seen this with such frequence as to preclude the hypothesis of isolated ind, vidual vagary, and while, as I say, it is a small mat- ter in itself, it nevertheless shows, as well as the mortal combat of the moose, the length to which this pugnacious instinet can carry a creature. For dogged persistence and violence I have no case to compare in interest with the following experience of General Penney, of N'ordhoff, California. He is one of those fortunate men who campaigned in the early days with Dr. Coues, so his observations have added interest and assurance of accuracy. In the late winter of 1913-1914, when the mating season had as yet hardly begun, one of these Anthony Towhees began coming every morning at nine or ten o'clock to a certain window of the living room of the General's Ojai Valley home. At this hour the interior of the room was comparatively dark, and, in contrast to the bright light outside, created a very fair mirrored backing for the window pane. Perching on the sill, the bird would eye his reflection, and then set sys- tematically to work to kill that supposed rival, with all the ire and intolerance of a rutting moose. The tactics varied somewhat, but on the whole, the bird firmly believed that victory lay in the frequence of his attacks, rather than in their violence, so that the blows of his beak rained on the pane with all the persistence of water dripping on a tin porch roof after an Eastern thaw. Each blow was, of course, met squarely by the shadowed beak of his opponent; each retreat was mimicked by the shadow; each unusually furious onslaught was countered in equal force. Sometimes they rested as though by mutual consent --the bird and his sparring partner---but presently some turn of the bird's head would find an answering challenge in the glass, and he would fly at it again. Hour after hour this continued, until the bird was completely ex- hausted, or until the light changed and the reflection vanished. This continued day after day and week after week with scarcely an inter- ruption, and became a positive nuisance. As time went on and his attacks netted him nothing, Piilo worked himself into greater and greater frenzy until blood specks from his beak often covered the lower part of the pane. The smaller head feathers, loosened in the fracas, would s%ick to these blood spots and necessitate frequent window washing, in addition to the "damnable i'teration" of his tap, tap, tapping at the pane. Nothing was done about it, however, and it continued as an almost daily performance until early summer. Then, with the close of the breeding season, the bird stopped of his own accord. One can imagine a bird fightiug its reflection for a moment on first dis-