62 



NOTES OF THE HUNT. 





Louis, Louis, dear boy, what a thousand pities that 

 no contribution from your own pen, in any of four 

 languages at your command, can be had to grace our 

 pages. Did you not recall, on your Atlantic voyage 

 homeward in November, that : 



J' ai, sous I'abri des bois, des paisibles asiles 

 Ou ne retentit pas le bruit des factions, 

 Ou je n' entends, au lieu des tempetes civiles 

 Que joie et benedictions. 



Doubtless you did ; joy and benediction go with you. 

 And we can iancy you, when you think of Camp Chand- 

 ler, singing, with Beranger : ^ 



Joyeux chasseurs d'lUe et Vilaine (Muskoka) 



De votre cor je prends le ton, 



Chassez, morbleu ! chassez encore. ' 



Riches, science, motto and attire were ours, like to 

 that of Roger Bontemps, whose possessions, in that hut 

 of his, were *' a table, a bed, des cartes, une flute (that 

 was a fiddle, or Billy's universal melody) un broc ! que 

 Dieu remplit." With joy and affection to fill his every 

 moment. Eh, gai ! this was the wisdom of Roger. Que 

 nous etions neuf Rois d'Yvetot, " faisant leur quatre 

 repas dans leur palais de chaume." Where, in the 

 environs of Brussels, Berlin, Paris itself, will you find 

 '• soleil si doux, au declin de I'Automne ; arbres jaunis, 

 ciel vaste et pur," as in our Canadian camp. And how 

 shall we replace you, when in other years the Club shall 

 meet and ask each other for Echos of Fontainebleau, the 

 romantic story of the Irish castle and its transcenden- 

 tal trans-Atlantic counterpart, the Chicago coterie ? 

 Adieu, adieu : 



" Echos des bois repetez mes adieux." 



