The frail, rude sledge, with its breaks made out of a couple of standards from a wire fence, connected by a strong iron chain; F----seated at the back of the precious contrivance, firmly grasping a standard in each hand; Mr.U---- clinging desperately to his Alpen-stock with one hand, whilst with the other he helps me on to the board; and Nettle, my dear little terrier, standing shivering on three legs, sniffing distrustfully at the sledge.

It is extremely difficult even to take one's place on a board a dozen inches wide.

My petticoats have to be firmly wrapped around me, and care taken that no fold projects beyond the sledge, or I should be soon dragged out of my frail seat.

I fix my feet firmly against the batten, and F---- cries, "Are you ready ?" "Oh, not yet!" I gasp, clinging to Mr.U----'s hand as if I never meant to let it go.
"Hold tight!" he shouts.

Now what a mockery this injunction was.