We come to another steep pitch near the bottom of the hill; F---- is laughing to such a degree at me that he does not put down his breaks soon enough, and loses control of the sledge.

We appear to leap down the dip, and then the sledge turns first one way and then the other, its zinc prow being sometimes up-hill and some-times down.

It seems wonderful that we keep on the sledge, for we have no means of holding on except by pressing our feet against the battens; yet in the grand and final upset at the bottom of the hill, the sledge is there too, and we find we have never parted company from it.
Will any one believe that after such a perilous journey, I could actually be persuaded to try again?
But so it was.

At first the fright (for I was really terrified) used to make me very cross, and I declared that I was severely hurt, if not "kilt entirely;" but after I had shaken the snow out of my linsey skirt, and discovered that beyond the damage to my nerves I was uninjured, F---- was quite sure to try to persuade me to make another attempt, and I was equally sure to yield to the temptation.

As well as my memory serves me, we only made one really successful journey, and that was on an occasion when we kept the breaks down the whole way.