njury.

Gentlemen sometimes make a singular appearance coming in from a long
journey, that if it were not for pity's sake would draw from you a
smile;--hair, whiskers, eyebrows, eyelashes, beard, all incrusted with
hoar-frost. I have seen young ladies going to evening parties with
clustering ringlets, as jetty as your own, changed by the breath of
Father Frost to silvery whiteness; so that you could almost fancy the
fair damsels had been suddenly metamorphosed to their ancient grannies;
fortunately for youth and beauty such change is but transitory.

In the towns and populous parts of the province the approach of winter
is hailed with delight instead of dread; it is to all a season of
leisure and enjoyment. Travelling is then expeditiously and pleasantly
performed; even our vile bush-roads become positively very respectable;
and if you should happen to be overturned once or twice during a journey
of pleasure, very little danger attends such an event, and very little
compassion is bestowed on you for your tumble in the snow; so it is
wisest to shake off your light burden and enjoy the fun with a good
grace if you can.

Sleighing is certainly a very agreeable mode of travelling; the more
snow, the better the sleighing season is considered; and the harder it
becomes, the easier the motion of the vehicle. The horses are all
adorned with strings of little brass bells about their necks or middles.
The merry jingle of these bells is far from disagreeable, producing a
light, lively sound.

The following lines I copied from the New York Albion for you; I think
you will be pleased with them:--

SLEIGH BELLS.

'Tis merry to hear at evening time
By the blazing hearth the sleigh-bells chime;
To know each bound of the steed brings near
The form of him to our bosoms dear;
Lightly we spring the fire to raise,
Till the rafters glow with the ruddy blaze.

'Tis he--and blithely the gay bells sound,
As his steed skims over the frozen ground.
Hark! he has pass'd the gloomy wood;
He crosses now the ice-bound flood,
And sees the light from the open door,
To hail his toilsome journey o'er.

Our hut is small and rude our cheer,
But love has spread the banquet here;
And childhood springs to be caress'd
By our beloved and welcome guest;
With smiling brow his tale he tells,
They laughing ring the merry bells.

From the cedar swamp the wolf may howl,
From the blasted pine loud whoop the owl;
The sudden crash of the falling tree