Bose, Ben and Beppo. 
Burns tells us of “The Twa Dogs,” called 
Caesar and Luath, but I shall go one better, and 
tell of three dogs, named as above. 
The first was presented to me when a boy, 
after mv recovery from typhoid fever, when for 
days I was out of my head, nor did I fully re¬ 
cover for months afterward. This dog was a 
beagle, and his picture now hangs on the wall 
in my sanctum. 
A hunter does n&t like to loan his dog in¬ 
discriminately to Tom, Dick and Harry, any 
more than he likes to loan his gun. Usually, 
upon the return of either, something will be 
found to have happened. Such has 'been my 
experience at any rate. 
Now, a friend of mine wanted me to let him 
have Bose for a day’s hunting over at the lakes, 
where there was an abundance of game, hares, 
rabbits, quail and partridges. I accommodated 
him; and with a party of friends he went over 
to Lakeville. Arriving there before sunrise, 
the party, having put up their horse, started 
for the upper end of Elder’s Pond, where they 
expected to have good shooting. 
Arriving at the swamp, they were not long 
in starting something that took a direct course 
through the swamp and across the fields to 
Loon Pond; and Bose followed on the track in 
hot pursuit. Lewis, one of the party who 
chanced to be near the dog at the start, heard 
the noise made by the quarry as it fled through 
the bushes, but got no sight at it. Lewis re¬ 
mained at his post the whole day, while the 
other hunters all made off in the direction taken 
by the dog and game. 
The chase led beyond Loon Pond to Lake 
Assawampsett, by Pocsha and Long ponds, and 
thence swerved again toward Elder’s, the point 
of starting. Lewis determined he would not 
leave his stand under any circumstances until 
the dog came in. As the sun was setting be¬ 
hind the distant hills and the shadows of night 
were falling, he heard in the distance the voice 
of Bose, as he was approaching in the same 
course that was taken by the fleeing quarry in 
the morning. Lewis cocked his gun and waited, 
on the alert for a view of the fast nearing 
quarry, fearing, however, that it would be too 
dark to see it, even if it came up as he expected. 
Suddenly he heard a crackling in the bushes, 
and saw a form approaching; and leveling his 
gun, he fired both barrels at once. The object 
fell, and, rushing in, he saw a splendid dog fox 
that had given Bose a chase for the entire day. 
Joyfully Lewis gazed upon his game, and 
waited for Bose to come up, which he did not 
do for some little time after, and when Bose 
did come, he fell beside the fox utterly ex¬ 
hausted. Lewis had to take Bose up in his 
arms and carry him all the way to the wagon 
at the farmer’s barn, and there he placed him 
in the bottom of the wagon and covered him 
with the horse blanket. 
The other hunters putting in an appearance 
soon after, the party pursued their way home, 
where they arrived late in the evening, having 
secured no other game, but satisfied, neverthe¬ 
less, with the result attained. 
Bose never recovered from the effects of this 
chase, being lame ever afterward, for he had 
been previously hurt in one fore leg, and this 
last adventure was too much for him, as he 
was well along in years. 
This short account is but one of several oc¬ 
casions where Bose distinguished himself, and 
deserves the fame that should come to a faith¬ 
ful dog as well as to an honest man. 
“Ben” was a liver-colored pointer, sent to 
me by Charles J. Foster, then editor of Wilkes’ 
Spirit of the Times. The first day I took him 
out, I did not want to miss a shot, because I 
feared the dog might think I was no good, and 
would go wild and not obey me. So, when I 
got up to the alder swamp, wherein I expected 
to find some woodcock, I kept my eyes about 
me and was ready to fire if anything sprang up. 
Sure enough, across the wood road a few rods 
away went an old cock, but I brought him down 
with a snapshot; and on my return, going into 
the meadows, two snipe got up before the dog, 
and I brought them down. Going on a little 
further, I found the meadows, or rather bog, 
very treacherous, and one was liable to go in 
up to his waist in some places. Presently an¬ 
other snipe got up—they would not lie before 
the dog—and made off straight away toward a 
group of walnuts growing on the border of the 
bog on high ground. Just as I was about to 
pull I saw a boy’s head right in range, and did 
not dare to shoot, for fear the shot might 
strike him as well as the bird. The latter flew 
away unharmed, and I went home well satisfied 
with my first trial of Ben. 
Some time after that I let Colonel Babbitt 
and a friend of his from the West take Ben 
to go hunting somewhere beyond Boston. I 
do not know what success they had after birds, 
but upon their return to Boston they lost the 
dog. He had been walking at their heels in 
the streets, but mysteriously disappeared. They 
went back and up and down various streets in 
search of him, but without avail. Finally they 
went to the police station, notified the officer 
there, and then went to a daily paper and put 
in an advertisement, offering a handsome re¬ 
ward for the dog, which they described with 
his name and collar, and stating that they could 
be found at the Parker House. 
Nothing was heard of the dog throughout the 
whole day; and after dinner the Colonel and 
his friend went to a theatre. On their return 
to the hotel, the clerk told them that Ben had 
got there before them and was now in their 
room. One of the servants had seen him lying 
down outside the door, and, opening it, let him 
in. When the Colonel went up and opened the 
door, he found Ben asleep in the middle of the 
bed, and great was the rejoicing thereat, I pre¬ 
sume, on the part of all three. Certainly I had 
my share when I heard their recital. 
Beppo is now asleep on my coat. He signal¬ 
ized himself by starting a dozen rabbits in one 
day and not losing one of them. An adventure 
of his I must relate. A rabbit was started to¬ 
ward night in a triangular piece of woods, very 
thick with thousands of briers, and extending 
along the country road for a good mile. 
I happened to be close to a wood road which 
runs from the country road for a long distance 
PACK TRAIN RETURNING FROM A HUNT IN THE CANADIAN ROCKIES. 
Photograph by Rutherford Page. 
