May II, ipbt.j 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
S68 
The Linnaean Society of New Yoi^. 
Regular meetings of the Society will be held in the 
American Museum of Natural History, Seventy-sev- 
enth street and Eightl: avenue, on Tuesday evenings. 
May 14 and 28, at S o'clock. 
May 14, — J, D. Figgins. "Some Food Birds of the 
bskimos oi Eastern Greenland." 
W S. Wallace — "Notes on the Snakes of Rockland 
County, N. Y." 
Alay 28.- — Frank M. Chapman. "Methods in Bird Pho- 
graphy, with an Exhibition of Apparatus and Lantern 
iirle>^." Walter W. Granger, 
Secretary American Museum of Natural History. 
Supposed Wild Pigfeons. 
Brooklyn, N. Y., May 2. — Editor Forest and Stream: 
Saw this afternoon on Cropsey avenue a flock of about 
jirty that had the appearance to me of being wild 
i'geons. As I have seen them in former years, I do not 
think 1 am mistaken, as I had a good view of them 
twice, and they were 'not more than 200 feet from me. I 
thought when I saw them they were starlings, but they 
were too large and were not spotted as starlings are. I 
know you are interested in what has become of the wild 
j3igeon.s and so write you. John Bateman. 
— ^ — 
proprietor.'; of shooting resorts will find it profitable to advertise 
pm ill Fob EST and Stream. 
lome Dogs That I Have Owned. 
My interest in wing shooting began in 1883 in a some- 
what singular way. I was out hunting for gray squirr-els 
feje afternoon with a squirrel dog, when I almost stepped 
W5on a partridge in an oak thicket. I snapped my gun to 
my shoulder, or, at least, attempted to do so, but did not 
.succeed, for when it was w"aist high, in my excitement I 
pulled^ the trigger and the gun went oi¥. Imagine my 
astonishment when I heard a partridge fluttering in the 
hrusli not over five rods awaj^ The dog heard the noise, 
too, for he pounced upon the bird and would have torn 
her to pieces if I had not released his hold. In my pride 
at shooting a partridge on the wing I imagined that the 
art of wing shooting was not such a very difficult one 
after all, and at once made up my mind that my way to 
becoming a proficient wang shot was easy: In the years of 
apprenticeship that I served afterward I learned diifer- 
ently. I brought my bird home in triumph, had it stuffed 
and roasted, and never before nor since has a partridge 
tasted half so sweet. The only partridge I had ever before 
killed was in the Dunlap woods while still-hunting. The 
bird had been pruning and was shaking the dust from 
herself when I fired. She fell, and although she was ap- 
parently mortally wounded, she fluttered so hard that I 
felt sure she would get away, so I gave her the second 
barrel at a distance of not over six rods. 
Max. 
But to return to the subject of wing shooting. My first 
bird dog was Max. He was seven or eight years old 
when I got' him. He came from Springfield, Mass., and 
was a descendant of Ethan Allen's famous strain of blue 
beltons. He was a medium sized black and white setter, 
well ticked, with a good feathered tail and fairly large 
silky ears, much like those of a spaniel. Indeed, his pedi- 
gree showed away back a spaniel cross. He had rather a 
pointed head and a sharp nose, yet in the quality of scent 
his nose was as good as anybody's dog's. He was sturdily 
built and in his prime could hunt from daylight to dark- 
ness and repeat day after day. He was a tireless worker, 
extremely ambitious, and as staunch as a rock on a point. 
Partridges were his favorite game. He worked well on 
woodcock and quail, but was happiest when on the trail 
of an old partridge. So fond was he of trailing one of 
these birds that I frequently had to call him off, especially 
in the season of woodcock, as he was liable to pass by 
birds in his desire to work out a trail. 
I never knew him to flush a bird intentionally. He 
had one fault that I practically broke him of, yet I always 
had to keep close watch to see that he did not commit it. 
When I first got him he would "break at shot" and chase. 
After various reprimands he got over this mean notion, 
though, as I have before said, it was not safe to always 
let him haye his Own way, for he was a very headstrong 
dog and sometimes a trifle willful. Another habit he had 
that he would indulge in in spite of all I could do was 
at of squeezing his birds in retrieving them. He had 
hard mouth, and though he received many corrections 
ar using it, I could not wholly cure him of the habit, but 
'pt around it by compelling him for the most part to 
bint dead birds. After one full season's hunting I had 
xned his ways and he mine, and we got along first rate 
ether. He was a good bird finder, and as I was lucky 
lUgh to be one of a party that included some first-class 
tSj a lot of birds were killed over Max. 
\t his best, after w^e had hunted together a few years, 
IX was a good enough dog for anybody. He found 
is well, pointed them staunchly, and was true and 
idy on a trail. He never quit whether those behind 
I shot poorly or well. He always did his part, generally 
i icr than I did, for he was my first bird dog, and his 
rvperience and knowledge of the game was vastly su- 
pf rior to mine. I allowed him to teach me at the begin- 
Ining, and I tried to profit by my early lessons. I have 
[seen Max pick a live woodcock off from a sunken log in 
k dried-up brook and again lift a live partridge from a 
!iion near the tnmk of a tree where he had pointed her 
close that she was afraid to fly. He was naturally a 
; dog, and kept the man working him and the man" on 
- J outside busy when birds were plenty. At this writing, 
December. 1899, when I am on the lookout for a bird dog 
I next season's shooting, I am free to say that I would 
satisfied with a dog as good and serviceable as was 
X in his prime, 
his old age Max became quite cross toward strangers. 
and had to be carefully guarded. He was naturally a 
sharp watch dog, and for a setter of his potmds could put 
up a good stiff scrap. He always managed to take care 
of himself whether in the city or country. If he was 
possessed of much affection he seldom showed it, and for 
this reason was rather an unsociable companion, except 
when engaged in hunting. In this respect he was not 
unlike many hounds. 
In the fall of 1887 I thoiight Max was going back on 
rne, and I took steps toward securing a new dog. Ira 
Moore and I went out Sept. i, and about the middle of 
the afternoon Max showed such unmistakable signs of 
playing out that although we were in a good woodcock 
cover where there were birds left, Ira and I decided that 
it was good judgment to let up on the dog, so we stopped 
hunting with eight birds in our basket, with the prospect 
of increasing the string to an even dozen if the dog had 
been able to go on. I felt a good deal disappointed as 
I drove home, for I had believed that Max would Cer- 
tainly last another season. Ira said he might come 
around all right when the weather got cooler, but I felt 
that having hunted birds for three (?) years I knew 
more than did Ira, who had been following them for 
twenty-five (?) years. 
Burke. 
The upshot of the whole matter was that I got a new 
dog, once more through the recommendation of my former 
teacher, William W. Colburn, of Springfield, Mass. This 
time Mr. Colburn took somebody's "say so," and while he 
sent me a beautiful individual, I got a dog that knew 
scarcely more than a pup about partridges, and nothing 
at all about woodcock. Burke, for that was the dog's 
name, was a dark, rich, handsome red Irish setter, a son of 
Dr. Jarvis' noted show dog and field trial winner, Elcho, 
Jr. He was a dog of marked intelligence, perfect man- 
ners, and had I desired a canine companion only I could 
scarcely have found a more lovable, or congenial one than 
Burke. But I wanted a hunting dog that I could kill 
game over, and as Burke was not that kind of a dog I 
sold him the following year. 
Sept. 21 Gil Moore and I left by wagon for the north. 
At first I intended to take the new dog only, but after 
talking with Gil we both thought it good judgment to 
put Max in the wagon, too, and we did, most happily for 
us as it turned out. On the first day out we started in 
with Max, and he worked as slick as a whistle. After 
lunch I felt that I wanted to see the new dog work, so 
Max was tied in the barn and the aristocratic Burke was 
cut loose. And he did cut loose with a vengeance. He 
smashed into a flock of partridges like a line bucker on a 
football eleven the first crack out of the box, sending 
the birds belter skelter in all directions, and not until he 
had chased them out of the county did he come back to me. 
"What kind of a dog have you got there?" exclaimed 
Gil. 
"A treer, 1 guess," I replied. Well, after a little more 
experimenting with the "red cuss" he was exchanged for 
Max, and we began doing business at the old stand again. 
We killed that day twelve birds — ten partridges and two 
woodcock — and during the three days we were away we 
shot thirty-two birds — twenty-two partridges and ten 
woodcock — all over old reliable Max, that, after getting 
seasoned up, worked as fine as silk and all day long. 
After returning home I gave Burke a few more trials, 
on which I killed some birds, but he was erratic and un- 
reliable, and made hunting very unsatisfactory. The first 
woodcock I shot with him I flushed, and he did not know 
what kind of a bird it was Avhen I brought him to it; I 
don't think he had ever seen a woodcock before. Cer- 
tainly he never would point one for me. Burke had a 
defective nose, and I might add that I never hunted with a 
red Irish setter bird dog that had a true nose. 
Belle. 
It was apparent when September of 1888 came in that 
Max would not be able to do my hunting. He had become 
very deaf and was fast going by, so I began looking for 
a younger dog to take his place.- I inspected several, and 
finally on Sept. 12 bought of Nathaniel Wentworth, of 
Hudson Center, N. H., the liver and white pointer bitch 
Belle, then four years old. No sweeter piece of canine 
flesh ever lived than Belle, and we had manv a good day 
together, until her untimely death on Feb. 15,' 1890. 
Belle was small in body and light in limb, and her style 
was the embodiment of beauty and grace. When she 
walked, trotted or ran it was as if her little legs were 
treading upon cushions. She had the most expressive and 
human-like pleading eyes that I ever saw set in a dog's 
head. She was timid almost to a fatdt, and one had to be 
extremely careful in correcting her foi; a wrong. Wher- 
ever I went with her she attracted the attention of every 
lover of a dog by reason of her marked beauty and 
grace. 
Belle was not of a bench show type. Her nose was 
rather too pointed for that; otherwise she would have 
stood criticism. She had a fine, slim, straight tail and a 
sleek coat. Indeed her coat was too fine for rough hunt- 
ing, and she herself was almost too fine in her make-up to 
stand some kinds of hunting late in the fall, when the 
weather was very bleak. And to add to her other qualities 
of fineness, her nose was fine, "almost too fine," as her 
former owrter often expressed himself to me. She did not 
exactly "potter" on scent, but she was so afraid of making 
a mistake that she frequently halted on old trails. Her 
nose was by no means poor, yet it was not always as true 
a nose as that Max had. She was a fair retriever, yet she 
was sometimes guilty of pinching her birds, especially a 
wing-tipped partridge. Belle was the easiest dog to work 
I ever hunted with. She kept in close, obeyed a call or a 
low whistle instantly, and made as delightful a companion 
in the brush as any man would wish for. 
A lot of birds were killed over her in the two seasons I 
was permitted to hunt her. She was a member of a party 
that bagged nineteen partridges out from Maiichester, Oct. 
25, 1888, and on several other occasions she did her part 
in securing some big strings of birds. On account of her 
small size she was very handy to carry in a wagon. She 
was a perfect house dog, and was loved by every member 
of the family. Her sex did not give rne the" slightest 
trouble, yet it was her sex that ultimately was the cause of 
her death. It was my intention to breed her to Sime 
Young's pointer Prince, but I never got the chance. The 
cross would have produced some first-class stock. 
Sweet little Belle lies Jburied at the farm beneath an 
overhanging apple tree whose white blossoms fall softly 
upon her grave every springtime Beside her sleeps dear 
Mattie, the sweetest and loveliest piece of horseflesh that 
it has ever been my lot to see. Strangely enough, each 
met a sudden death at a time when her true value was 
being so much enjoyed and appreciated. 
Prince. 
I now approach with some misgivings concerning aiy 
ability to properly describe what in my opinion was the 
greatest bird dog I ever saw. Of course my friends know 
I refer to Prince, "the noblest Roman of them all." In 
rny mind he was a monarch among dogs. What other 
bird dogs could do he accomplished, only, as a rule, bet 
ter. If there ever lived a perfect partridge, quail and 
woodcock dog, that dog was Prince. Such old and experi- 
enced bird hunters as Gil Moore, Sime Young and Walter 
Leach have said that he would find more birds than any 
dog they ever saw. His ability as a bird finder was won- 
derful. He was a very fast dog when I got him — too fast 
for comfortable hunting — yet with his great speed he rarely 
flushed a bird, and never with the intention of doing so. 
On account of his speed and marvelous nose we were 
enabled to cover an immense amount of ground in a day's 
hunting. When he struck a cover containing no birds he 
was not long finding it out and telling us so. This made 
it possible for us to hunt many covers in a day. When 
he found birds he worked slowly and carefully. So ab- 
solutely true was he when he came to a rigid point thai 
I can truthfully say that I never knew him to make a 
sirigle mistake, nor did I ever see him make a false point. 
This, 1 know, is a strong statement to make, and one that 
some, sportsmen might be inclined to doubt, but none of 
the men who have hunted with Prince and who knew him 
thoroughly will doubt the truth of it one moment. 
Prince had a habit, when he got a strong whiff of 
scent, of stopping, chiefly, I think, as a warning to the 
man behind him to be on the lookout, and for the purpose 
of waiting until his handler had got within easy distance 
of him. At .such times there was a slight wiggle of the 
tail, indicating that he was suspicious of game ahead. 
When he went op if he stopped again and that wiggle of 
the tail had ceased, it was a dollar to a cent piece that he 
had a bird nailed. When he "froze up" it meant business. 
So implicit was my confidence in Prince that had he come 
to a point in the paved streets of Manchester I should 
have expected a bird to rise. He never deceived me, and 
after I had hunted him one season I knew just what to 
expect from liis every action. 
His style on the three kinds of game birds found in our 
Northern covers was entirely different — so different that I 
always knew what kind of game he was following or 
pointing. Prince #as the only dog I ever hunted with ex- 
cept Dick Lynch' s setter Dash, that put up his own birds 
at the command, "Go on." As a rule he did all of the 
bouncing, which, of course, was a big advantage to me in 
my shooting. When he had a stiff point on a bird it was 
my practice to select the best possible opening and then 
send him on. He worked entirely for the man behind 
him, with no thought of any outsider. So tactful was 
he that I have seen him repeatedly, when in a bad place 
for me to shoot, back away from his point and approach 
the bird on the opposite side so that he might drive her 
my way. 
I hunted with Prince a lot alone, and whenever he 
pointed a bird near the outside of a cover I always circled 
around and got on to the outside so as to get a lietter 
shot. At such times I either clucked to him (meaning 
for him to go on) or tossed a small object (generally an 
apple or a stone, or when hard pressed a cartridge) 
directly in front of him. The latter method never failed 
to start^him, while when very close to a bird the words 
"Go on'' sometimes failed to make him move. Any birds 
that Prince bounced came out of the cover; they never 
had a chance to "skin" back over his head. He did this 
kmd of work as he did everything, in a practical and 
business-like fashion. He would hold a point as long as 
any dog I ever knew. In fact he would hold one as 
long as a bird would lie for him. 
I remember before I bought him having Sime call 
Gill and me up from a run to a side hill to surround an 
old partridge that he had pointed under' a thick, heavy 
hemlock with big overhanging branches. It was at least 
fifteen minutes before Gil and I reached the spot, for we 
had to thread our way through a pile oi thick slash where 
there had been a cut off. When we got to Sime we 
found him sitting on a rock smoking his pipe, while the 
end of Prince's tail could just be seen under a hemlock 
branch. Sime positioned us around the tree, and then told 
the old dog to go on. And he did go on, and out boiled 
the partridge to Gil, who killed her. Sime from his 
position never saw her at all, but I did, and should have 
fired had not Gil dropped the bird. 
Instances without number of Prince's cunning and 
woodcraft might be related. I think I am justified in 
saying that on the whole he could outwit and outgeneral 
more birds than were clble to deceive him. He delighted 
in following up a wild old partridge that would not lie 
for him. Then he was in his element, and so sure was 
he of eventually making such a bird stay for a point that 
It was a sure thing in the end if the bird kept out of a 
tree. When we got on to one of these "wild devils" I 
used frequently to send a charge of shot after the bird 
often out of gun range, for the purpose of making the 
bird he, and the experiment generally worked success- 
fully. When Prince got his mouth on to one of these 
birds he was immensely pleased. Ordinarily he mani- 
fested no especial pleasure in bringing in a dead bird He 
retrieved, as he did other things, in a matter of fact 
way, but when he secured one of his old favorites he 
would circle around me two or three times as proud as a 
peacock, and if I reached for the bird he would turn hin 
head the other way and avoid my hand. After about the 
third strut he would yield the bird up and start hunting 
again. He knew well enough that he had done his part 
toward capturing an old "skinner," for on no other occa- 
sion did he hesitate about giving up a dead bird 
After Prince had hunted a cover a few times he knew 
exactly where birds in it were usually to be found and 
his generalship m working them to the best advantage 
for good shots was remarkable. If he was sent into an 
edge while I was following along on the outside, he in- 
variably entered the cover at the further side so ^ \q 
