Lake Ontario abounds with herring, of much the same flavour as the sea species, but not so strong and oily, nor so large.  Sturgeon, pike, pickerel, black bass, sheep-heads, mullets, suckers, eels, and a variety of other fish, are plentiful in these waters:  the spring-creeks and mill-ponds yield plenty of spotted trout, from four ounces to a pound weight:  they are easily caught either with the worm or fly.

The best creek I ever fished in was the Speed, a branch of the Grand River, or Ouse, which runs through the township of Guelph.  In winter you can catch them by fishing through a hole in the ice.  The best way is to dig and store by in a box filled with earth, a quantity of worms, which must be kept in the cellar for use.  A small piece of fat pork is commonly employed as bait, but is not nearly so good as the other.

A friend of mine, living near Colborne, told me rather an amusing story of a Yankee, who was fishing through the ice with the usual bait, a piece of pork.  He had been very unsuccessful, and tired of the sport, he walked over to where my friend was throwing out the trout as fast as possible, when the following colloquy took place: 

“Wal, how, under Heaven, did you get all them ’ere fish?”

“Caught them.”

“Wal, I s’pose you did; but what kinder bait do you use?”

“Worms.”

“Varms!  Why, under Heaven, where do you get varms at this time of the year?”

“I got these out of my cellar.”

“Get out! how you do talk!”

“You may believe me or not, as you like; but I can assure you I did.”

“Wal, do tell.  I guess I never thought of diggin’ in the cellar; I will go to hum and try.”

My friend met him a few days afterwards, when the Yankee said—­“I calculate, Mister, you told me a tarnation lie, the other day, about them ’ere varms.  I went and dug up every bit of my cellar, and, I do declare, I never got a single varm.”

My friend laughed very heartily at this “Yankee diggin,” but at the same time kindly informed his neighbour of the method he pursued, to provide worms for winter-fishing.

Before the winter fairly sets in, we generally have ten days or a fortnight of the Indian summer; indeed, it is the sure harbinger of winter.  The air is mild and temperate; a haze, resembling smoke, pervades the atmosphere, that at times obscures the sun, which, when visible, is of a blood-red colour.  Various causes have been assigned for this appearance, but none very satisfactory.

Towards the end of November this year, the ice was strong enough to bear the weight of a man, and the ground was soon whitened with snow, but not in sufficient depth to make good sleighing.  Just a week before Christmas, we had a fall of eight or ten inches, which made pretty good going:  the sleighs were, of course, in immediate requisition.