As nearly all the lumber and shingles manufactured at Peterborough and the neighbouring townships intended for exportation to the United States, must be either landed here or at Bewdley, at the head of the lake, whence it is conveyed across in waggons to Port Hope or Cobourg, this village bids fair to become a stirring little place. One of my objects in writing this work is to point out what the country was twenty-seven years ago, and what it is now, showing clearly that what appeared to the pioneer of those days insurmountable difficulties, have by persevering industry been overcome, “and the howling wilderness made to blossom as the rose.” The desolating torrent has been utilised and restrained; mills and factories have been erected; bridges span our broadest rivers, and magnificent steamers plough our inland seas. Nor is this all: the first sod of a railway has been turned, which is ultimately intended to connect Lake Huron with Halifax and Boston, bringing the riches of the Far West through its natural channel to the sea. Nothing, indeed, but industry and enterprise is needed to change the waste and solitary places of Upper Canada into a garden of Eden, which it is designed by the Supreme Architect to become. CHAPTER VI. WOOD-DUCK SHOOTING.—ADVENTURE ON RICE LAKE.—IRISH HOWL.—ARRIVAL AT GORE’S LANDING.—GENERAL HOWLING FOR THE DEFUNCT.—DANGERS OF OUR JOURNEY.—SAFE ARRIVAL AT COBOURG.—SALMON-FISHING.—CANOE-BUILDING AFTER A BAD FASHION.—SALMON SPEARING.—CANADIAN FISH AND FISHERIES.—INDIAN SUMMER.—SLEIGHS AND SLEIGHING.—DOMESTIC LOVE. After committing the care of my horse to our landlord, I ordered dinner to be got ready immediately, as we had thirteen miles to row, and I wished to reach Mr. W——’s before dark. Our hostess exerted herself, and we soon sat down to a sumptuous feast, consisting of a brace of fine fat wood-ducks and fried black bass, two dishes I am particularly fond of, and which at this time of the year can always be obtained from the lake.