IN THE FLAT-WOODS. 1 
sort along the railroad, in the direction of 
Palatka. There, on a Sunday morning, I 
heard my first pine-wood sparrow. Time 
and tune could hardly have been in truer 
accord. The hour was of the quietest, the 
strain was of the simplest, and the bird sang 
as if he were dreaming. For a long time I 
let him go on without attempting to make 
certain who he was. He seemed to be rather 
far off: if I waited his pleasure, he would 
perhaps move toward me; if I disturbed him, 
he would probably become silent. So I sat 
on the end of a sleeper and listened. It was 
-not great music. It made me think of the 
swamp sparrow ; and the swamp sparrow is 
far from being a great singer. A single pro- 
longed, drawling note (in that respect un- 
like the swamp sparrow, of course ), followed 
by a succession of softer and sweeter ones, — 
that was all, when I came to analyze it; but 
that is no fair description of what I heard. 
The quality of the song is not there; and it 
was the quality, the feeling, the soul of it, 
if I may say what I mean, that made it, in 
the true sense of a much-abused word, 
charming. 
There could be little doubt that the bird was 
