

IN 1856, Abby Brown and I (the former well known as an old 

 Montreal lacrosse player and snowshoer) left Caughnawaga by 

 stage for Huntingdon, thence by private vehicle to a small vil- 

 lage called St. Michaels, for a three or four days hunt. We made 

 our headquarters with an old settler named John Hicks, of the 

 township of Hinchinbrook. The weather was anything but favor- 

 able for hunting, rain falling three days in succession. However, 

 early in the morning we started for the bush accompanied by a 

 very valuable thoroughbred deerhound named Lass. There were 

 about three feet of snow on the level and heavy at that, sticking 

 to our snowshoes and making tramping very fatiguing. After 

 roaming about for four or five hours we agreed to separate and 

 meet at a certain point. I took a path which led into a piece of 

 burnt bush and can assure you I was glad when I got through it. 

 I placed my old fashioned rifle against a large elm tree and took 

 a draw at my clay pipe. Abby, as usual, having taken charge of 

 the " Pain Killer." Just as I looked from behind the tree I saw 

 a fawn approaching. I took aim rapidly, the cap missed fire, 

 having got wet I suppose in my scramble through the woods. 

 So as quick as thought I drew my iron ram rod and had no 

 sooner done so when the fawn came almost directly opposite me. 

 I let him have it across the nose and brought him to his knees. 

 I then gave him another blow, bending the ram rod double, after 

 which he fell on his back. When I saw his beautiful, pleading 

 eyes I felt such a pang of remorse that I almost wished I had 

 received the blow myself. When Abby appeared he quickly bled 

 the fawn and its sufferings were over. 



It was now getting late, so we cut a pole and fastening the 

 deer to it we each took an end on his shoulder and trudged 

 homeward. At last, reaching the cabin, a bright fire and a 



