On quitting Leeds, our way led chiefly through the woods, the clearances being now the rare exception. At length we reached the district, or “township,” of New Ireland, which having been settled by immigrants from Maine and New Hampshire, more than forty years ago, is now reckoned one of the wealthiest and most prosperous parts of the country. To one of its well-to-do farmers we had introductions, and took up our quarters. His large and spacious house was built upon a high bank, overlooking one of the smaller lakes, from which our sport was to be derived, because it afforded one of the best fishing grounds in the neighbourhood. Shortly after breakfast (the buck-wheat cakes and pumpkin pie were beyond praise), we prepared for a day’s sport. Our tackle would appear rather odd to English sportsmen: our lines consisted of strong hempen cords, of which we provided ourselves with about a dozen. To each were attached two very large hooks, dressed upon thin whip-cord. We had likewise three axes, and as many chisels of the largest size, attached to handles about six feet long. In addition to these we had a shovel and a broad hoe. They were all stowed into a large hand sleigh, which was dragged to the fishing ground by a servant. The lake was about three miles long and half-a-mile wide. It lay in a beautiful valley, embossed in the deep and sombre pine woods, which covered the lower grounds. It was one of a series, some of which were smaller and others much larger than itself. For fully five months in the year the surface of each is frozen to the depth of several feet. We started off to skate to the upper end, which was two-and-a-half miles distant. My friend Blungle, not an accomplished skater, made so very false a start, that he was speedily noticed spinning round rapidly on the ice on a pivot, of which his heels and his head formed opposite angles—precisely like a rotatory letter V. Perroque, our French comforter and guide is a perfect Perrot in skates, and performed the most graceful evolutions around our prostrate friend, in a manner that produced a pretty and highly diverting tableau. At last, however, he managed to “feel his feet” better, and we all soon afterwards reached the fishing ground.