gartered in some incomprehensible fashion round the waist.  But mark! this is only the foundation.  Now comes the thickly-wadded winter pelisse of silk or merino, with bands or ligatures, which instantly bury themselves in the depths of the surrounding hillocks, till within the case of clothes before you, which stands like a roll-pudding tied up ready for the boiler, no one would suspect the slender skipping sprite that your little finger can lift.  Lastly, all this is enveloped in the little jaunty silk cloak, which fastens readily enough round the neck on ordinary occasions, but now refuses to meet by the breadth of a hand, and is made secure by a worsted boa of every bright color.  Is this all?  No,—­wait,—­I have forgotten the pretty clustering locked head and rosy dimpled face; and, in truth, they were so lost in the mountains of wool and wadding around as to be fairly overlooked.  Here a handkerchief is bound round the forehead, and another down each cheek, just skirting the nose, and allowing a small triangular space for sight and respiration; talking had better not be attempted; while the head is roofed in by a wadded hat, a misshapen machine with soft crown and bangled peak, which cannot be hurt, and never looks in order, over which is suspended as many veils, green, white, and black, as mamma’s cast-off stores can furnish, through which the brightest little pair of eyes in the world faintly twinkle like stars through a mist.  And now one touch upsets the whole mass, and a man servant coolly lifts it up in his arms like a bale of goods, and carries it off to the sledge.

“’These are the preparations.  Now for the journey.—­It was a lovely morning as we started with our little monstrosities; ourselves in a commodious covered sledge, various satellites of the family in a second, followed up by rougher vehicles covered with bright worsted rugs, and driven by the different grades of servants, wherein sat the muffled and closely-draped lady’s maids and housemaids of the establishment; not to forget the seigneur himself, who, wrapped to the ears, sat in solitude, driving a high-mettled animal upon a sledge so small as to be entirely concealed by his person, so that, to all appearance, he seemed to be gliding away only attached to the horse by the reins in his well-guarded hands.  The way led through noble woods of Scotch and Spruce fir, sometimes catching sight of a lofty mansion of stone, or passing a low thatched building of wood with numberless little sash windows, where some of the nobles still reside, and which are the remnants of more simple times.  And now “the sun rose clear o’er trackless fields of snow,” and our solitary procession jingled merrily on, while, yielding to the lulling sounds of the bells, our little breathing bundles sank motionless and warm into our laps and retrieved in happy slumbers the early escapades of the day.  There is no such a warming-pan on a cold winter’s journey as a lovely soft child.