52 



in Louisiana the bars or rings have suggested the name of 

 "raccoon perch." So, take your choice between Perca 

 pluviatilis, P. Americana, or other names, we know just 

 what fish we are talking about. 



This is the first fish that I hatched, and it came about 

 this way. In 1807, just twenty-four years ago, after a 

 period of some six years' hunting and trapping in w hat was 

 then the north-western frontier, and some three years ser- 

 vice with the Union army, I met my old tutor in Biology, 

 Professor Porter Tyler, on our old stamping ground the 

 Popskinny Creek, some few miles below Albany, N. Y. I 

 call him "Professor" Tyler ; he was an illiterate man, who 

 by turns was a hunter, trapper, and railroad brakeman, 

 just as the season required his services, and the irreverent 

 spoke of him as " Old Port. Tyler," and called him a shift- 

 less old vagabond who was too lazy to work. Now "Port." 

 was a bachelor of i)erhaj)s forty when I first met him in a 

 swamp where he was shooting woodcock without a dog, and 

 had over a dozen, while I, a boy of fifteen, with two dogs, 

 had only one bird. 



But we had many a hunt together aiter that, and I 

 learned to love the old man, and from him the knowledge 

 of how fish-eggs were impregnated was first brought to my 

 notice. "Freddy,'' said he, "when a fish lays her eggs, 

 there aint nothin' in 'em, and the old he-fellow goes over 

 'em and fills 'em up. I've seen these perch spawn in the 

 nets and on bushes, on moonlight nights, and have seen 

 the he-ones go over 'em and fix 'em." This was too late 

 to look up the perch-spawning that year, but the words 

 opened up a new field. 



Next sjoring, 1868, I gathered some strings of perch-eggs 

 from the nets and bushes and tried to fertilize some taken 

 by hand. On application. Professor James Hall, New York 

 State Geologist, gave me the privilege of aquaria with run- 

 ning water, in the State Geological Rooms on State Street, 



