ON THE ST. AUGUSTINE ROAD. 169 
and a mocking-bird singing side by side; 
the mocker upon a telegraph pole, and the 
thrasher on the wire, halfway between the 
mocker and the next pole. They sang and 
sang, while I stood between them in the cut 
below and listened; and if my life had de- 
pended on my seeing how one song differed 
from the other, I could not have done it. 
With my eyes shut, the birds might have 
changed places, —if they could have done 
it quickly enough,— and I should have 
been none the wiser. 
As I have said, I followed the road over 
the nearly level plateau for what I guessed 
to be about three miles. Then I found my- 
self in a bit of hollow that seemed made 
for a stopping-place, with a plantation road 
running off to the right, and a hillside corn- 
field of many acres on the left. In the field 
were a few tall dead trees. At the tip of 
one sat a sparrow-hawk, and to the trunk 
of another clung a red-bellied woodpecker, 
who, with characteristic foolishness, sat be- 
side his hole calling persistently, and then, 
as if determined to publish what other birds 
so carefully conceal, went inside, thrust out 
his head, and resumed his clatter. Here, 
