I suppose our scientific botanists in Britain would consider me very impertinent in bestowing names on the plants and flowers I meet with in these wild woods; I can only say, I am glad to discover the Canadian or even the Indian names if I can, and where they fail I consider myself free to become their floral godmother, and give them names of my own choosing. I was tempted one fine frosty afternoon to take a walk with my husband on the ice, which I was assured was perfectly safe. I must confess for the first half-mile I felt very timid, especially when the ice is so transparent that you may see every little weed or pebble at the bottom of the water. Sometimes the ice was thick and white, and quite opaque. As we kept within a little distance of the shore, I was struck by the appearance of some splendid red berries on the leafless bushes that hung over the margin of the lake, and soon recognised them to be the high-bush cranberries. My husband soon stripped the boughs of their tempting treasure, and I, delighted with my prize, hastened home, and boiled the fruit with some sugar, to eat at tea with our cakes. I never ate anything more delicious than they proved; the more so, perhaps, from having been so long without tasting fruit of any kind, with the exception of preserves during our journey, and at Peterborough. Soon after this I made another excursion on the ice, but it was not in quite so sound a state. We nevertheless walked on for about three-quarters of a mile. We were overtaken on our return by S——, with a hand-sleigh, which is a sort of wheelbarrow, such as porters use, without sides, and, instead of a wheel, is fixed on wooden runners, which you can drag over the snow and ice with the greatest ease if ever so heavily laden. S—— insisted that he would draw me home over the ice like a Lapland lady on a sledge. I was soon seated in state, and in another minute felt myself impelled forward with a velocity that nearly took away my breath. By the time we reached the shore I was in a glow from head to foot. You would be pleased with the situation of our house. The spot chosen is the summit of a fine sloping bank above the lake, distant from the water’s edge some hundred or two yards: the lake is not quite a mile from shore to shore. To the south, again, we command a different view, which will be extremely pretty when fully opened—a fine smooth basin of water, diversified with beautiful islands, that rise like verdant groves from its bosom. Below these there is a fall of some feet, where the waters of the lakes, confined within a narrow channel between beds of limestone, rush along with great impetuosity, foaming and dashing up the spray in mimic clouds. * * * * * *