308 THE HIVE OF THE BEE-HUNTER. - 
The reply of the driver was exceedingly apt and 
characteristic. 
“There is no difficulty,” said he, “in getting down 
the hill, but you well know there are a variety of ways 
of doing the same thing; the drag-chain would be of little 
use, a8 the wheel-tire would make a runner of it. I think 
you had better all take your places inside, say your 
prayers, and let me put off—and if yonder grinning moon 
has a wish to see a race between a stage and four horses 
down ‘ Ball Mountain,’ she’ll be gratified, and see sights 
that would make a locomotive blush.” 
The prospect was rather a doleful one; we had 
about ninety chances in a hundred that we would make 
a “smash of it,” and we had the same number of chances 
of being frozen to death if we did not take the risk of 
being “ smashed,” for the first tavern we could get to 
was at the foot of the mountain. The driver was a 
smart fellow, and had some hostage in the world worth 
living for, because he was but three days wedded—had 
he been married six months we would not have trusted 
him. 
The vote was taken; and it was decided to “go 
ahead.” | 
If I were to describe an unpleasant situation, I 
should say that it was to be in a stage, the door closed | 
on you, with great probabilities that it will be opened by 
your head thrusting itself through the oak panels, with 
the axle of the wheel at the same time falling across 
