IN summer, all the world--of Leipsic--goes out of town, to Baden or Ems. Those who can afford it run over the Alps, to sunny Italy; but in winter--ah! then it is very different!
One is glad enough, then, to remain at home by the warm stove; or if one goes out, one must be well wrapped up in furs and cloaks.
The little boys slide and skate on the frozen river; the poorer folks go about in sledges, and the rich in splendid sleighs, with white fur robes and capering horses, which have little bells tied to their manes and tails.
Just such a sleigh as this stood, one bright moonlight night, before the door of the Burgomaster Von Geirstein, in the good town of Leipsic. The whole family were going in a body out of town, and now the hall door opened, and forth came the fat and stupid Burgomaster himself, with his fat and silly wife on his arm, followed by their pretty, blue-eyed daughter, Matilda, and her lover, Walther Von Blumenwald, a thriving young merchant. Her brother, Max, came last, a merry, good-natured young fellow, but who, certainly, was not very wise.
Max took the driver's place; the others seated themselves within the large sleigh, and tucked the warm fur robes around them, and then, with a crack of the whip, and a loud huzzah from the young men, the sleigh glided swiftly away.
About five miles from the town, in the midst of the forest, was a large inn of the better sort, which had lately become a favorite resort of the wealthy who went sleighing in the winter. Balls, even, were given there, and there one got the most delicious mulled wine and Westphalia hams, and all sorts of ale, "Bremen," "Prysing," "Emser ale," even "Brunswick Mumme." To this hotel, then, our party were bound.
Merrily rang the bells, swiftly flew the sleigh over the frozen snow, and as they passed out at the city gates, the whole party broke into a joyous glee:
"Listen, listen, listen to the merry sleigh bells! How they jingle, jingle, ever blithe and ever clear, With a tintinnabulation that so musically wells As it thrills, and it thrills upon the ear! Every dancing little note Seems to gurgle from the throat Of a bird, that in its happy song so eloquently tells The joy it is to bound O'er the cold and frozen ground, To the ringing and the clinging of the bells!