THE COURSER:

Engraved by DUNCAN, from a Painting by SHAYER.

The month of June is one that generally puzzles us considerably in the way of selecting appropriate embellishments, and this year we are worse off than usual in consequence of having already given two plates of fish, which, after racing, may be considered the most legitimate subjects; we therefore give one of a Courser going out with his dogs, being a branch of sporting that we have not lately illustrated.

FOX-HUNTING IN CANADA.

DEAR MR. EDITOR,

A VOICE from a far! and far-fetched, perhaps, it will be thought by most of your readers, when they find an attempt is made to give an account of hunting in such a Back-woods place as Canada is generally thought to be. A pack of fox-hounds, however, there is in Montreal, which, considering the very short season they can hunt, and the many difficulties and disadvantages they have to contend with in a new country, work wonders. With them are generally ten or twelve men, whose "Bits of Pink" and other etceteras, would not disgrace a Melton field, and who, in their gallant manner of charging the snake and cedar fences, might almost pose even a crack across the Quorn country, these fences, with yawners on each side, being ugly things to look at.

There had been a pack of hounds kept, and most excellent sport shown, in Lower Canada for several years, by a gentleman, whose high standing, extreme popularity, hospitality, and fondness of the noblest sport of his native land, calculated him, of all others, to be the founder of fox-hunting (in the English style) in this valuable part of our British possessions. It may be more convincing than the assertions of Mr. Roebuck, to show what evils the Demon of Agitation, which hates every thing English, is at present working (and encouraged by him to do so) with the peaceful and happy people of these provinces, when I state, that one of his tail assailed in the House of Assembly the character of the gentleman in question in the most violent manner, merely because he kept a pack of hounds. It was their thrilling notes and the heart-stirring view-holloa of their brave old English gentleman master, that caused fear and trembling in their souls.-But hark back! I am running political riot. These hounds I am sorry to say have been given up; the Montreal hunt got a valuable addition to their force at the time, but unfortunately lost a great part of them by a kind of Madness that got into the kennel. The Montreal hunt owe, I believe, their first start, to a sporting English butcher, who brought out with him two or three couple of hounds. This hero of the cleaver, with

some addition to the strength of these, was mounted, dressed, and became huntsman, supported by the present able master of the hunt, and a few thorough going ones like himself, and I am told, a more indefatigable fellow to find a fox, and keep his small numbers on him, never existed; and his voice with hounds and view-holloa will long be remembered by the select few that heard him. The year following a club was formed, and a very fair subscription raised, by which, with several couple of hounds got out from England, and other chance additions, a pack was established. Morris, their present huntsman, who had been a whip some where in England, succeeded " Marrow-Bones," and a better hand to get away with hounds and live with them never wore a cap. His nerve is astonishing, and he rides a horse well calculated to indulge his rasping propensities. Set Morris on York, and what will stop them? No man as yet was ever born perfect, and it would be better if Morris had some of his predecessor's old Smithfield qualities in cover, and in seeing more of his hounds, and keeping a keener eye to them when going from, and coming to home; and taking a little more pains in staying longer to get them out of large covers at the end of the day. But he has many redeeming virtues. They hunted, until the present season, the immediate neighbourhood of Montreal, and a country about eighteen miles from home, called "Point Clair." The former was heavy work, large covers, and large swamps; and "Jean Baptiste," harked on by Mons. Papineau, occasionally turned out with pitch-forks, and even guns, to stop" les sacrés chasseurs du roi," as they termed the lads in scarlet. And here a very good story of Morris will not be out of place. Wishing to go the nearest way from one cover to another, the field, early last season, took a road leading through the farm of "un Habitant," and passing close to his dwelling; but on approaching the maison, they were met by the whole force thereof,-"le pêre de famille" armed with a gun, his sons with pitch-forks, whilst the women screamed sacré on the red-coated riders. Not wishing to raise a whole village. by showing fight, they turned their horses' heads to the regular road. Morris, however, liking no such trouble, cleared a five railed fence, and was making his way at a canter, with the pack at his heels, when he was brought up by something or other, I believe, some late standing oats, and was surrounded by the owners of the soil. Sadly beset by three or four of the pitch-fork armed, he, either to give the field notice of his danger, or by chance, pulled out his horn, when to his astonishment, down on their marrow-bones dropt his formidable foes, crying out most lustily, "O mon Dieu, ne tirez pas."-Morris taking advantage of their, to him, glorious mistake, nearly frightened them to death, and then rode off to tell the field so good a joke.-The Point Clair country is the Oxfordshire of Lower Canada-nothing but stone walls, and very little cover, but plenty of foxes. Many were the bril

town.

liant runs they had in it, and long will be cherished its recollection, by those who have seen the flying performances of Dertueffel, the Doctor, Caraskeen, and Jinnums, and though last, not least, that straight goer of the neighbourhood on his roan son of old imported Bedford. The dinners too, the flow of soul and song, the ebullition of honest English feeling, true to church and state, the sporting toasts, and more sporting men who surrounded the mahogany, told that England's sons were there. The distance however to Point Clair was great, and the hunt had the pleasure of seeing a prohibitory threat in a newspaper advertisement, at the commencement of last season, signed by the influentials of the parish, warning them to hunt there no more.-Mons. Papineau again. A proposal was made to try the other side of the river, where large traverse-boats cross every half hour, nearly opposite the Their first day in this country proved its merit, for the one or two members who had gone to report, had a run of an hour and a kill in a complete open country, and the only fault was too many foxes, the country being for many miles a common intersected with only ditches, and with occasional knolls and stripes of low brushwood. It would have done the hearts good of those who have to complain of blank days, to have witnessed the first two or three times some of the small covers were drawn. Away they trotted out, black, silvery, and the old colour, and and as they had got on their winter jackets the white tag showed well, (the quantity of fur a fox carries in Canada makes his brush twice the size of English foxes'.) Here began a series of such brilliant work, that the two days a week they hunted this country told at the end of the season a heavy tale of blood; and desperate was the struggle, and long the run that Reynard made to rid himself of his deadly pursuers in most of these. In fact, they had some as clipping runs as any "Chasseur du Roi" needs wish for; and their last day for the season will give a pretty fair idea of how "the trick" can be done in this out of the way place. Strong was the muster at the traverse-boat in the morning, and ominously joyful looked the face of each man as he rode into the boat. "A southerly wind and a cloudy sky proclaim it a hunting morning," and many a joking prognostication was made as to what was to take place, until landed on the opposite shore. They begun by trying some small covers about four miles from the place of landing, which were drawn blank. They then headed towards "Laprairie," trying several likely bits of brush and fern on the way, and it was not long before was heard Morris' welcome sound of "Hark to music! Hark!" He had gone off in great haste, and it was some time before the pack got away to the leading hounds. Together however they got with a burning scent, and there they went, bursting from one small knoll of grass and weeds to another, with a crash of tongue that was maddening. His line was evidently to a large cover not a great distance off; this however he