On Wednesday afternoon of last week the sleighing was delicious, and the air just bracing enough to give the complexion of the ladies who faced it, a ruddy hue, rivaling the sunny side of a ripe peach. The opportunity for sleigh-rides was much improved, during the day by numberless parties, and for the evening a large load, some dozen couple, was got up for a ride into the country, a dance, &c.; music was called into requisition to enliven the occasion, and about five o’clock the party set forth, with mirth depicted on every countenance, and hilarity mantling every brow.—They had all thrown care to the winds, determined richly to enjoy the passing hour. There was the sedate Mr. A. D. H., and the laughter-loving Miss S. B.; the fair Cyntha, and her noble gallant, Mr. E. B.; the clear headed Mr. J. V. L. and the bright eyed Miss E. A.; the lovely Miss A. L., and her esteemed friend Mr. J. F.; also there was the stately Miss H. H. and her devoted attendant, Mr. A. L.—of course there could be no fun without Mr. C. B., and as a consequence, the talented Miss S. E. T. was there; there were also several more besides these above enumerated who made up this happy party. We believe that Miss S. B. was the bright particular star that shone most conspicuous during the ride, and whose hearty laugh oftenest rang shrill and clear upon the night air. The sleigh thus freighted with its precious burthen, proceeded on its destined route. The spires of our village fade from view—Adamsville is left in the [newspaper was apparently creased here prior to microfilming and subsequent digital scanning of microfilm] wit, repartee becomes the reigning goddess, coolness gives place to a lively interchange of sentiments, and cupid unstraps his bow and makes ready his arrow for the fatal mission. Heart beats to heart, responsive to the general enjoyment. The fair Miss S. B. arises in all the majesty of her youthful dignity, and gives utterance to thoughts that breathe, and words that burn—the whole load is convulsed with laughter. The widow Levens’es is passed, and now the valley of the Deepekill heaves in sight. The driver, with a steady hand, guides his impatient steeds down the steep declivity—a safe passed is found over the stream that flows at its base; and the hill in front presents itself to view, clothed in virgin whiteness. What causes the sleigh to slide off so to the right?—the postilions are seeing a better track. Unfortunately, in doing this, the brink of a gully upon the roadside was too closely pressed, and the load without precious notice, were deposited sans ceremonie, sans every thing save their disarranged apparel, in a snow bank, and the sleigh piled on top of them. Then was witnessed one of those scenes, where chivalry manifests itself—the gentlemen all striving to see would could render the most service in rescuing the sufferers from the wreck. Fortunately no one was injured, although the sleigh had to be removed, before several of the ladies could be released. The numberless gallant exploits performed on this occasion, would suffice to fill a quarto volume—of course we cannot enumerate them here. Nothing daunted, however, the party repaired damages, and proceeded on their destined route. Arrived at Kittle’s, in Pittstown, the dance succeeds, and in its mazy windings, the mishap is forgotten.
About 12 o’clock the tea-room is visited, and with appetites keenly sharpened by previous exercise, ample justice is done to a supper got up in mine hosts most inimitable style. Again the light fantastic is pressed, and the early hours of morn are creeping on.
Just as day-light commenced shining out from its lurking place behind old ‘diamond rock,’ a sleigh could have been seen approaching the village upon its northern extremity. Its occupants are all closely covered up with robes, and muffs, and veils, and old boreas tries in vain to cool the ardor of their feelings. One after another different dwellings are visited, and their occupants rung up. Presently the last door is opened and closed, and silence reigns in “the garden.” The postilions seek their couch, and both bells and beauxs retire to dream over their last adventure.
Lansingburgh Democrat. February 17, 1848: 2 col 3.