May, 1889.] 



AKD OOLOGIST. 



71 



menced to look under one of the trees, and 

 soon had a dozen large castanas full of nuts 

 (Brazil nuts). Well, we ate and ate, and I tell 

 you a dinner of Brazil nuts is a great deal 

 better than no dinner at all. The other tree 

 was the "Ta-be-da-bar," an immense lofty 

 forest tree, having a small yellow plum-like 

 fruit which is edible. But what interested me 

 mostly was the root, which grows right on the 

 surface of the ground. Taking his "teacada" 

 hiuiting knife, my companion commenced to 

 cut off a root about six feet long and three or 

 four inches in diameter, while I looked on, 

 wondering what he was going to do with it. 

 As soon as it was cut off I was told to open 

 my mouth and drink, and I did drink about a 

 pint of the purest water from out of that tree- 

 root that I ever had the pleasure of drinking. 

 That recalls to memory the expression of an 

 old friend at home, "'Tis a great country 

 where water runs out of a stick." An hour's 

 walk farther on brings us to the pond, so-called, 

 the terminus of the path. The pond was a 

 small mud-hole in the dry season, about twenty- 

 five feet across and three to twelve inches 

 deep, and all covered with wild hog wallow. 

 I came here mainly to shoot a bird called by 

 the natives the "Mountain Rooster," which 

 from their description I think to be the cock 

 of the Rock, but as they are very rare indeed, 

 I was unfortunate in being unable to shoot 

 one. During our walk to the pond we did not 

 see a thing to shoot, not the least sign of ani- 

 mal life except mosquitoes, but going back we 

 had little better luck. A good many days of 

 hard tramping through the forest without 

 firing a shot or seeing a thing to shoot has 

 demonstrated to me pretty clearly that collect- 

 ing in the forest is not the thing, but on this 

 day we were more fortunate, on our return 

 shot a monkey and a small young armadillo, 

 which we ate. Monkey meat is very good 

 indeed, but armadillo is fine. I should have 

 made a skin of the armadillo, but it was too 

 young to be of any value. We arrived home 

 at Just dark, after a hard day's tramp of nearly 

 thirteen hours. JFwi. Smith. 



•Santarem, Brazil, March 24, 1889. 



More from Frogmore. 



A WHITE BLACKBIRD. 



Early one morning last November I came in 

 sight of my home. That is not an unusual 

 thing, but it was imusual for me then for I 

 had not seen it since August. I was tired, 



wet, and hungry, and that is even a less un- 

 usual occurrence. But among a flock of Boat- 

 tailed Grackles that fluttered about the deserted 

 yard was one that was p?tre white. I could 

 scarcely believe my eyes, I unlocked the door, 

 deposited my luggage, and after getting the 

 big. spy glass clear of cobwebs, had a good, 

 steady look. There could be no mistake. The 

 bird was a "Jackdaw" sure enough, and the 

 glass showed only faint traces of cream color 

 overlaying the white. It was plainly a female 

 from the size and proportions, and the rest of 

 the flock did not seem to notice that they had 

 such a rara avis among them. I put on the 

 hominy pot and took a peep out of the window; 

 stirred it and peeped again, looked over my 

 shoulder while I ground the coffee and so spilt 

 half of it on the floor but I would have given 

 pounds of coffee and gone a month without 

 that cheering beverage to have had that "white 

 blackbird" in my hands. 



But what was the use of all my yearning? 

 My gun was away down in Palatka in quaran- 

 tine, under suspicion of having the yellow 

 fever. By right I should have been with it 

 and not it with me. My little collecting pistol 

 could not possibly expect to reach such a wary 

 bird as a Jackdaw and the only other piece of 

 artillery I had within reach was a big Sharpe's 

 rifle that threw a 56-100 ball. For weeks I just 

 watched that bird with longing eyes. I learned 

 his — her, I should say — whole history from 

 the neighbors. It was hatched in an oak tree 

 about twenty rods from my door, and was 

 whiter "when it was first born." Be that as 

 it may, it did seem to me as I watched it from 

 day to day as if the shades were getting darker 

 about its neck, and before my gun arrived I 

 began to wonder if the beautiful bird wasn't 

 going to slowly fade away into black before 

 my disconsolate eyes. 



Well, to cut a long story short, my gun came 

 at last and in a few days I was joined by an or- 

 nitliological friend from Boston. The "white 

 blackbird" was still at large, and as I expati- 

 ated to him upon its beauties the first night of 

 his arrival I thought I detected a slightly in- 

 credulous look ; also, I was mean enough to tell 

 him I had been saving it for him. I hereby 

 confess all. It was bullets as big as small 

 potatoes that really saved that Jackdaw so long. 



Next day we had a glorious tramp. I showed 

 my friend lots of my favorite little nooks and 

 corners and gave him a round of Snipe shoot- 

 ing, such as he had never even dreamed of 

 before; and we got lots of other nice birds, 

 too. And it made me think of long bygone 



