[6] And after all this talk about the plant I must in candor add that it turned out to be by no means rare along the bay shore. I think I am not wrong in remembering to have heard it called the calabash tree.
[7] One of the most striking peculiarities of Southern speech among the illiterate classes (I have observed it in other states besides Florida) is the almost total absence of the word “saw.”
[8] We often fed the birds afterward, and one or two, at least, were never shy about coming into our laps.
[9] Vachellia Farnesiana, sparingly naturalized in Florida, where it goes by the name of Opopanax.
[10] Since this letter was first printed I have been warned more than once that walking upon railroad tracks, in the Southwestern country, at least, is an unsafe proceeding, for a man alone and unarmed; and I think it right to pass along the caution.
[11] I could hardly believe it anything but an accidental omission when I noticed the total absence of jays, crows, and ravens from Mr. Attwater’s list of the birds of San Antonio and vicinity. See The Auk, vol. ix, p. 229.
[12] True as a general statement; but once, at Tucson, I saw a bird standing on the top of a telegraph pole facing a pretty stiff breeze, which blew the feathers of the throat apart till they showed a snow-white spot as large as a silver dollar.
[13] Botanically, if I am correctly informed, the plant is Fouquiera splendens, otherwise known as candlewood, Jacob’s staff, and coach-whip. Like the giant cactus it seems to be restricted to the foothills.
[14] Alas, it never does.
[15] There is another raven in Arizona, rarer and larger,—a real raven, so to speak,—but I saw it only a few times, always high in air, as if it were passing from one mountain range to another.