SLEDGING OVER THE SNOW. SLEDGING OVER THE SNOW. THE carriages you see in the picture are called sledges, and riding in them is called sledging, which means sliding; and it must be a very nice and easy way of riding over the snow. As you may see they have no wheels, which might sink into the snow when they turned fast round; but the carriage rests on two broad pieces of wood which are bent upward a little at each end to keep clear of the snow. In this way they glide along so smoothly that there is no shaking or fear of breaking down. Even if one of the horses should fall and the sledge be upset, those who were in it would not be likely to break their bones, for they would only be rolled among the soft snow, which would afford them more fun than harm. The people in the northern parts of America and in Canada are very fond of this easy way of winter riding; but Russia, with its long snow-time, is the most famous for its sledges, which are mostly covered over all round except the front. In such a carriage a lady and gentleman, muffled up in warm furs and bear-skins, will be sheltered from the fierce winds OUR PARROT. and biting cold. Some of the Russian sledges will have three horses abreast, with a man to drive them, who tries to keep himself warm by beating first one and then another with a heavy whip, calling them by their names, sometimes scolding them, and then coaxing them. But the horses are always glad to have a gallop among the snow. As we seldom have much snow in England now, we as seldom see such a thing as a sledge. Well: never mind. We have many other good things, like good houses, and warm firesides, and snug beds, for which we shall do well to be thankful. I think so; and I hope you do. OUR PARROT. WE have a Parrot in our house, A noisy saucy fellow, Who screams and whistles, but his voice As for myself, I'm sure I could Do quite as well without him; Some little tales about him. OUR PARROT. We keep him in a large wire cage, Had never such a grand one. Above the perch, up at the top, To which he climbs if he would like We have to lock him up inside His feathers almost all are grey, His beak is bent just like a hook, His four long claws upon each foot Seem made to use when feeding; With them he holds his food as you Would hold your book when reading. But set him down upon the floor, And see how now he waddles OUR PARROT. Just like a duck, whose feet were made To be a pair of paddles. These Parrots always are called Poll; I dont know why that should be, For some are he and some are she, And nothing else they could be. A strange thing in these birds is this, I've heard a blackbird sing a song A starling said, "I can't get out;" Our Parrot can say many words, But of one thing I feel quite sure, She is a selfish elf, For very often all her talk |