WALKS ABOUT TALLAHASSEE. 217 
Nearer the track were the omnipresent black- 
berry vines, some patches of which are es- 
pecially remembered for their bright rosy 
flowers. 
Out of the dense vegetation of a swamp 
came the cries of Florida gallinules, and 
then, of a sudden, I caught, or seemed to 
catch, the sweet kurwee whistle of a Caro- 
lina rail. Instinctively I turned my ear for 
its repetition, and by so doing admitted to 
myself that I was not certain of what I had 
heard, although the sora’s call is familiar, 
and the bird was reasonably near. I had 
been taken unawares, and every ornitholo- 
gist knows how hard it is to be sure of one’s 
self in such a case. He knows, too, how 
uncertain he feels of any brother observer 
who in a similar case seems troubled by no 
distrust of his own senses. The whistle, 
whatever it had been, was not repeated, and 
I lost my only opportunity of adding the 
sora’s name to my Florida catalogue —a 
loss, fortunately, of no consequence to any 
but myself, since the bird is well known as 
a winter visitor to the State. 
Further along, a great blue heron was 
stalking about the edge of a marshy pool, 
