river, as in the creek, we were continually exploring bays and
inlets, each with its promising patch of bonnets. Nearly every such
place contained at least one Florida gallinule; but where were the
"purples," about which we kept talking,--the "royal purples," concerning
whose beauty my boy was so eloquent?

"They are not common yet," he would say. "By and by they will be as
thick as Floridas are now."

"But don't they stay here all winter?"

"No, sir; not the purples."

"Are you certain about that?"

"Oh yes, sir. I have hunted this river too much. They couldn't be here
in the winter without my knowing it."

I wondered whether he could be right, or partly right, notwithstanding
the book statements to the contrary. I notice that Mr. Chapman, writing
of his experiences with this bird at Gainesville, says, "None were seen
until May 25, when, in a part of the lake before unvisited,--a mass of
floating islands and 'bonnets,'--I found them not uncommon." The boy's
assertions may be worth recording, at any rate.

In one place he fired suddenly, and as he put down the gun he exclaimed,
"There! I'll bet I've shot a bird you never saw before. It had a bill as
long as that," with one finger laid crosswise upon another. He hauled
the prize into the boat, and sure enough, it was a novelty,--a king
rail, new to both of us. We had gone a little farther, and were passing
a prairie, on which were pools of water where the boy said he had often
seen large flocks of white ibises feeding (there were none there now,
alas, though we crept up with all cautiousness to peep over the bank),
when all at once I descried some sharp-winged, strange-looking bird over
our heads. It showed sidewise at the moment, but an instant later it
turned, and I saw its long forked tail, and almost in the same breath
its white head. A fork-tailed kite! and purple gallinules were for the
time forgotten. It was performing the most graceful evolutions, swooping
half-way to the earth from a great height, and then sweeping upward
again. Another minute, and I saw a second bird, farther away. I watched
the nearer one till it faded from sight, soaring and swooping by
turns,--its long, scissors-shaped tail all the while fully spread,--but
never coming down, as its habit is said to be, to skim over the surface
of the water. There is nothing more beautiful on wings, I believe: a
large hawk, with a swallow's grace of form, color, and motion. I saw it
once more (four b