Are sounds of terror no more to me;
No longer I list with boding fear,
The sleigh-bells' merry peal to hear*.

[* This little poem by Mrs. Moodie has since been printed in a volume of
"Friendship's Offering," with some alterations by the editor that
deprive it a good deal of the simplicity of the original.]

As soon as a sufficient quantity of snow has fallen all vehicles of
every description, from the stage-coach to the wheelbarrow, are supplied
with wooden runners, shod with iron, after the manner of skates. The
usual equipages for travelling are the double sleigh, light waggon, and
cutter; the two former are drawn by two horses abreast, but the latter,
which is by far the most elegant-looking, has but one, and answers more
to our gig or chaise.

Wrapped up in buffalo robes you feel no inconvenience from the cold,
excepting to your face, which requires to be defended by a warm beaver
or fur bonnet; the latter, I am surprised to find, is seldom if ever
worn, from the nonsensical reason that it is not the fashion. The red,
grey, and black squirrels are abundant in our woods; the musk-rat
inhabits little houses that he builds in the rushy parts of the lakes:
these dwellings are formed of the roots of sedges, sticks, and other
materials of a similar nature, and plastered with mud, over which a
thick close thatch is raised to the height of a foot or more above the
water; they are of a round or dome-shape, and are distinctly visible
from the shore at some distance. The Indians set traps to ensnare these
creatures in their houses, and sell their skins, which are very thick
and glossy towards winter. The beaver, the bear, the black lynx, and
foxes are also killed, and brought to the stores by the hunters, where
the skins are exchanged for goods or money.

The Indians dress the deer-skins for making mocassins, which are greatly
sought after by the settlers in these parts; they are very comfortable
in snowy weather, and keep the feet very warm, but you require several
wrappings of cloth round the feet before you put them on. I wore a
beautiful pair all last winter, worked with porcupine-quills and bound
with scarlet ribbon; these elegant mocassins were the handicraft of an
old squaw, the wife of Peter the hunter: you have already heard of him
in my former letters. I was delighted with a curious specimen of Indian
orthography that accompanied the mocassins, in the form of a note, which
I shall transcribe for your edification