University of Virginia Library

SLEIGH-RIDING.

[ILLUSTRATION] [Description: 677EAF. Page 373. In-line Illustration. Image of a man looking out of a window while he writes. On the street outside a horse-drawn sleigh is going by.]

AS the last paving-stone hides
itself beneath the descending
snow, the jingle of the
bells informs us that sleighing
's come, and from that
minute riding on runners becomes a mania. Every young
head, and some pretty old heads, are full of expedients
for fun. Boys hunt up their sleds and dash out of doors,
to the terror of nervous mammas, who prophesy disaster
dire for their progeny. The old sleighs and new sleighs,
the big sleighs and little sleighs, are put in requisition,
and the streets are full of the “music of the bells, bells,
bells!” All the day long their silvery notes are sounding
in our ears, and late o' nights staid citizens who are
staying at home are disturbed by the frantic yells of
returning sleigh-parties, mingling with the noise of bells,
making the hour hideous; or the sound of voices in
cheerful song making melody with the tintinabulous
accompaniment. We like to hear this last; we gladly

listen to its approach as we snuggle beneath the blankets
in the watches of the night, and distinguish the chord of
male and female voices in some familiar strain, and are
almost sorry to hear it melt away upon the midnight air,
in distance, like voices heard in dreams.

There used to be great sport to us in sleighing,
though we never were sanguinary; but time has tempered
us by matters of graver import. We can indulge
now in little beside our daily omnibus rides, and can
hardly realize in these the buoyancy of old enthusiasm.
We watch for the appearance of our domicil, coming to
meet us, and pull the check-string at our door, careful
not to go a step beyond, so little do we feel now about
riding. But in the old time — Jehu! how our heart
leaped to the music of the bells! how quickly our pulse
throbbed to the maddening impulse of the moment as we
— quiet and sedate though we now are — flew over the
slippery road. Hi-yah! hi-yah! hi-yah! — how we
dashed on our course, leaving house and tree and milestone
behind us! We knew no greater speed than this,
for it was ante-railroad time, and the “iron-horse” —
we think some one has given it this name before — had
not then “annihilated space,” as we believe somebody
has said. We loved to feel the cool air revel upon our
cheek and whistle among our hair, and, as it came up
from over the smoothly frozen ponds, with stinging force,
we laughed at its violence in the glow of excitement.
The hoar-frost gleamed upon hair, and eyelash, and fur
collar, and our breath streamed away behind us on the
cold air, like steam. Hi-yah! hi-yah! hi-yah! we

cried. The old pine-woods echoed the eldritch scream,
and people in distant cottages caught the sound, and
listened to the unusual strain, and the wood-choppers
ceased from their labors to catch a glimpse of the fleeting
fiends that awakened such strange echoes. Then a stop
at “mine inn,” and the old-fashioned “suthin' hot” —
we took mulled cider, of course — made all right for the
return, and a ride by starlight closed the day's joy. It
was joy then. It was long before we knew Mrs. Partington
and Ike, and the perplexity of types.

Ghosts of big sleighs come up before us, brimfull of
happy people nestled beneath the buffaloes, and hats
and hoods occupy alternate positions throughout the
party. Pleasant voices come back to us, and the “old
familiar faces” renew themselves to us. Delightful!
But as memory recalls the happy scene, the thought of a
fair form and face, the brightest of the group, flits like a
spirit across our mind, leaving behind a shadow of sorrow
and gloom. Ah, Maria! The sweet eye and voice that
animated and blessed us are now blessing other spheres
— the music of that glad tongue is now attuned to the
music of celestial harmonies. There is no memory of
joy that we may recall, however bright, but has some
woe connected intimately with it, and twinned smiles and
tears make up the sum of the past.

“Hi-yah! hi-yah! hi-yah!” comes up to our domicil
and startles us as we write; and, dashing along the nearly
deserted street — alarming ponderous watchmen on their
walk — a sleigh comes furiously by, and another, and
another, and the music of the bells chimes gratefully

upon our ear. Here is a sleigh-ride song, that may
do to sing some time, if any one can find a tune to
fit it: —