WALKS ABOUT TALLAHASSEE. 213 
had its contrast; for a marsh hawk was 
skimming over the field, while up in the 
sky soared a pair of hen-hawks. 
In the wood, composed of large trees, both 
hard wood and pine, I had found a group of 
three summer tanagers, two males and one 
female, —the usual proportion with birds 
generally, one may almost say, in the pair- 
ing season. The female was the first of her 
sex that I had seen, and I remarked with 
pleasure the comparative brightness of her 
dress. Among tanagers, as among negroes, 
red and yellow are esteemed a pretty good 
match. At this point, too, in a cluster of 
pines, I caught a new song — faint and list- 
less, like the indigo-bird’s, I thought; and 
at the word I started forward eagerly. 
Here, doubtless, was the indigo-bird’s south- 
ern congener, the nonpareil, or painted bunt- 
ing, a beauty which I had begun to fear I 
was to miss. I had recognized my first 
tanager from afar, ten days before, his voice 
and theme were so like his Northern rela- 
tive’s; but this time I was too hasty. My 
listless singer was not the nonpareil, nor 
even a finch of any kind, but a yellow- 
throated warbler. For a month I had seen 
