ALONG THE HILLSBOROUGH. 97 
pulled out and stuck, and could not be 
pushed in again. He is an odd genius. 
With plenty of notes, he wearies you al- 
most to distraction, harping on one string 
for half an hour together. He is the one 
Southern bird that I should perhaps be 
sorry to see common in Massachusetts; but 
that “perhaps” is a large word. Many 
yellow-throated warblers, silent as yet, were 
commonly in the live-oaks, and innumerable 
myrtle birds, also silent, with prairie war- 
blers, black-and-white creepers, solitary vir- 
eos, an occasional chickadee, and many more. 
It was a birdy spot; and just across the 
way, on the shrubby island, were red-winged 
blackbirds, who piqued my curiosity by 
adding to the familiar conkaree a final syl- 
lable, —the Florida termination, I called 
it, — which made me wonder whether, as 
has been the case with so many other Flor- 
ida birds, they might not turn out to be a 
distinct race, worthy of a name (Agelaius 
pheniceus something-or-other), as well as of 
a local habitation. I suggest the question 
to those whose business it is to be learned in 
such matters.1 
1 My suggestion, I now discover, — since this paper was 
