IN THE FLAT-WOODS. 23 
although I now remembered that chickadees 
were in or near the St. Augustine swamp ; 
and what was more to the purpose, I could 
now discern some relationship between the 
tee-koi, tee-koo (or, as I now wrote it, see-toi, 
see-too), and the familiar so-called phcebe 
whistle of the black-capped titmouse. The 
Southern bird, I am bound to acknowledge, 
is much the more accomplished singer of the 
two. Sometimes he repeats the second dis- 
syllable, making six notes in all. At other 
times he breaks out with a characteristic 
volley of fine chickadee notes, and runs with- 
out a break into the see-toi, see-too, with a 
highly pleasing effect. Then if, on the top 
of this, he doubles the see-too, we have a really 
prolonged and elaborate musical effort, quite 
putting into the shade our New England 
bird’s hear, hear me, sweet and welcome as 
that always is. 
The Southern chickadee, it should be said, 
is not to be distinguished from its Northern 
relative —in the bush, 1 mean — except by 
its notes. It is slightly smaller, like South- 
ern birds in general, but is practically iden- 
tical in plumage. Apart from its song, what 
most impressed me was its scarcity. It was 
