156 FLORIDA 



and have sung literally in chorus. I have seen 

 many yellow-throated warblers also, and many 

 myrtles, with a fair sprinkling of prairies and 

 black-and-white creepers. But the birds that 

 have sung best — after the mocker and the 

 thrasher, perhaps — are not spring comers, but 

 our faithful winter friends, the cardinal grosbeak 

 and the Carolina wren. Indeed, of all Southern 

 songsters I believe that the cardinal stands first 

 in my affections. Sweetness, tenderness, affec- 

 tionateness, and variety, these are his gifts, and 

 they are good ones, even if they are not the 

 highest. 



Out in the flatwoods, a few days ago, we sud- 

 denly heard, coming from a thicket of dwarf pal- 

 metto on the edge of water, a quite unexpected 

 strain, a loud, short triU. "What was that?" 

 asked my companions, as we looked at one an- 

 other ; for there were three pairs of field-glasses 

 in the carriage. " It sounded like a swamp spar- 

 row," said I, with doubt in my voice. At that 

 moment the measure was given out again, pre- 

 faced this time by a peculiar indrawn whistle. 

 Then the truth flashed upon me. It was the song 

 of a pine-wood sparrow. I had not heard it for 

 many years. In the same place meadow larks 

 were in tune, bluebirds warbled, and pine war- 

 blers and brown-headed nuthatches were in voice 



