dizzy turns in a small space, sometimes
bending down, then leaning to one side, then skating upright or crouching
like india-rubber figures moved by a secret spring.

The first day that the canals and small docks are covered with ice
strong enough to bear the skaters is a day of rejoicing in the Dutch
towns. Skaters who have made the experiment at break of day spread the
news abroad; the papers announce it; groups of boys about the streets
burst into shouts of delight; men and women-servants ask permission to
go out with the determined air of people who have decided to rebel if
refused; old ladies forget their age and ailments and hurry off to the
canal to emulate their friends and daughters. At the Hague the basin,
which is in the middle of the city, near to the Binnenhof, is invaded
by a mingling crowd of people, who interlace, knock against each
other, and form a confused giddy mass. The flower of the aristocracy
skates on a pond in the middle of the wood, and there in the snow may
be seen a winding and whirling maze of officers, ladies, deputies,
students, old men, and boys, among whom the crown prince is sometimes
to be seen. Thousands of spectators crowd around the scene, music
enlivens the festival, and the enormous disk of the Dutch sun at
sunset sends its dazzling salutation through the gigantic beech trees.

When the snow is packed hard the turn of the sleigh comes. Every
family has a sleigh, and at the hour the world goes out walking they
appear by hundreds. They fly past in long rows two or three abreast.
Some are shaped like shells, others like swans, dragons, boats, or
chariots. All are gilded and painted in various colors; the horses
which draw them are covered with handsome furs and magnificent
trappings, their heads ornamented with plumes and tassels, and their
harness studded with glittering buttons. In the sleighs sit ladies
clothed in sable, beaver, and blue fox. The horses toss their heads,
enveloped in a cloud of steam which rises from them, while their manes
are covered with ice-drops. The sleighs dart along, the snow flying
about them like silver foam. The splendid uncurbed procession passes
and disappears like a silent whirlwind over a field of lilies and
jessamine. At night, when the torches are lit, thousands of small
flames follow each other and flit about the silent town, casting lurid
flashes of light on the ice and snow, the whole scene appearing to the
imagination like a great diabolical