giving directions to our driver, Grace began to exclaim, "I cannot go! I shall fall out!" The hotel clerk, the porter, Tom, and two or three waiters stood there, trying to reassure her; and the horse, impatient to start, kept giving little jumps, at each repetition of which she renewed her outcries.
The seat was very narrow: I was not without certain misgivings myself. At last our fears were somewhat calmed; and, with many injunctions from us to the porter, and from him to the driver, to go slowly and be careful of the corners, we started, having learned the Russian for "Go home."
It seemed a perilous situation when we reached the Nevsky Prospect, where sledges were flying past us in all directions. Grace hung tightly to the driver's belt, calling out at intervals, "Prenez garde!" which, as the fellow understood no language but his own, caused him to grin, shake his head, and continue. He was very careful, and did not remonstrate with Grace, though I thought she would end by stopping his breath altogether, she clutched his belt so wildly.
We turned into the Quay, which is the street where Alice lives. It was bitterly cold; the corners were icy, and we slipped about uncomfortably. Our sledge was so low that the horses' mouths behind us were unpleasantly near our ears; but, fortunately, the Russian animals are kind, and the horses seldom bite.
I should not have been surprised to have been struck in the back with a pole, at any time. I saw that most of the people who were riding in sledges exercised their
