ON THE ST. AUGUSTINE ROAD. 167 



numerous and equally at home, though they 

 sang more out of sight. Red-eyed chewinks, 

 still far from their native berry pastures, 

 hopped into a bush to cry, "Who's he?" 

 at the passing of a stranger, in whom, for 

 aught I know, they may have half recognized 

 an old acquaintance. A bunch of quails ran 

 across the road a little in front of me, and 

 in another place fifteen or twenty red-winged 

 blackbirds (not a red wing among them) sat 

 gossiping in a treetop. Elsewhere, even 

 later than this (it was now April 7), I saw 

 flocks, every bird of which wore shoulder- 

 straps, like the traditional militia com- 

 pany, all officers. They did not gossip, of 

 course (it is the male that sports the red), 

 but they made a lively noise. 



As for the mocking-birds, they were at 

 the front here, as they were everywhere. 

 During my fortnight in Tallahassee there 

 were never many consecutive five minutes of 

 daylight in which, if I stopped to listen, 

 I could not hear at least one mocker. 

 Oftener two or three were singing at once 

 in as many different directions. And, 

 speaking of them, I must speak also of their 

 more northern cousin. From the day I 



