WALKS ABOUT TALLAHASSEE. 217 



Nearer the track were the omnipresent black- 

 berry vines, some patches of which are es- 

 pecially remembered for their bright rosy 

 flowers. 



Out of the dense vegetation of a swamp 

 came the cries of Florida gallinules, and 

 then, of a sudden, I caught, or seemed to 

 catch, the sweet kurwee whistle of a Caro- 

 lina rail. Instinctively I turned my ear for 

 its repetition, and by so doing admitted to 

 myself that I was not certain of what I had 

 heard, although the sora's call is familiar, 

 and the bird was reasonably near. I had 

 been taken unawares, and every ornitholo- 

 gist knows how hard it is to be sure of one's 

 self in such a case. He knows, too, how 

 uncertain he feels of any brother observer 

 who in a similar case seems troubled by no 

 distrust of his own senses. The whistle, 

 whatever it had been, was not repeated, and 

 I lost my only opportunity of adding the 

 sora's name to my Florida catalogue a 

 loss, fortunately, of no consequence to any 

 but myself, since the bird is well known as 

 a winter visitor to the State. 



Further along, a great blue heron was 

 stalking about the edge of a marshy pool, 



