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 ery, “ 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 
