up the hill. Then half a dozen of us would
get on, and slide down in advance of the wind, it seemed to me--for it was
so swift that I scarcely could breathe--until we came up all standing in a
huge snow bank.

Sometimes, when we were half way down, and our locomotive was under a full
pressure of steam, a boy would fall off, and, not being able to check the
force he received from the sled, would go down to the bottom of the hill in
a manner calculated to raise a very stormy concert of laughter from the
rest of the boys. And the poor John Gilpin enjoyed the fun, too, or tried
to enjoy it, as much as any of them, though he did not laugh quite so
heartily; and he could well be pardoned for not doing that, certainly,
until he had got to the end of his ludicrous race.

I can recollect a great many funny adventures connected with sliding down
hill. I don't know that I ever laughed more in my life at any one time,
than I did once at a feat of Jack Mason's. Jack was a courageous
fellow--one of the most daring boys in the whole school. Some thirty or
forty of us were one bright Saturday afternoon sliding down a fine hill,
with a good level valley at its foot, when Jack challenged the boys to go
down the other side, which was a great deal steeper, and which had an
immense drift of snow at the bottom. No one dared to do it. We all thought
it would be rather too serious business. Jack surveyed the ground for a few
minutes, and screwed his courage up to the highest point. "I am going
down," said he. We tried to dissuade him, but it was of no use. When Jack
had made up his mind, you might as well attempt to turn the course of the
north wind as to turn him. The words were no sooner out of his mouth, than
down he went, like an arrow. We trembled for him, and held our breath
almost, as we watched his sled; for it used to be a proverb with us, that
Jack would break his neck one of these days, and we were not without our
fears that the day had come.

Down went Jack on his sled, and in a few moments he was plunged in the snow
bank out of sight. We all ran down to dig him out, scarcely daring to hope
we should find him alive. We worked like beavers for a considerable time,
and found nothing of the poor adventurer. At last, more than a rod from
where he entered the bank, up popped Jack, as white with snow as if he had
been into a flour barrel, tugging his sled after him, and grinning like a
right merry fellow, as he was. Take it all in all,