'I told you there was a small lake at some distance from Woodbourne,
where the gentlemen sometimes go to shoot wild-fowl. I happened at
breakfast to say I should like to see this place in its present frozen
state, occupied by skaters and curlers, as they call those who play a
particular sort of game upon the ice. There is snow on the ground, but
frozen so hard that I thought Lucy and I might venture to that
distance, as the footpath leading there was well beaten by the repair
of those who frequented it for pastime. Hazlewood instantly offered to
attend us, and we stipulated that he should take his fowling-piece. He
laughed a good deal at the idea of going a-shooting in the snow; but,
to relieve our tremors, desired that a groom, who acts as gamekeeper
occasionally, should follow us with his gun. As for Colonel Mannering,
he does not like crowds or sights of any kind where human figures make
up the show, unless indeed it were a military review, so he declined
the party.
'We set out unusually early, on a fine, frosty, exhilarating morning,
and we felt our minds, as well as our nerves, braced by the elasticity
of the pure air. Our walk to the lake was delightful, or at least the
difficulties were only such as diverted us,--a slippery descent, for
instance, or a frozen ditch to cross, which made Hazlewood's assistance
absolutely necessary. I don't think Lucy liked her walk the less for
these occasional embarrassments.
'The scene upon the lake was beautiful. One side of it is bordered by a
steep crag, from which hung a thousand enormous icicles all glittering
in the sun; on the other side was a little wood, now exhibiting that
fantastic appearance which the pine trees present when their branches
are loaded with snow. On the frozen bosom of the lake itself were a
multitude of moving figures, some flitting along with the velocity of
swallows, some sweeping in the most graceful circles, and others deeply
interested in a less active pastime, crowding round the spot where the
inhabitants of two rival parishes contended for the prize at
curling,--an honour of no small importance, if we were to judge from
the anxiety expressed both by the players and bystanders. We walked
round the little lake, supported by Hazlewood, who lent us each an arm.
He spoke, poor fellow, with great kindness to old and young, and seemed
deservedly popular among the assembled crowd. At length we thought of
retiring.
'Why do I mention these trivial occurrences? Not, Heaven knows, from
the interest I can now attach to them; but because, like a drowning man
who catches at a brittle twig, I seize every apology for delaying the
subsequent and dreadful part of my narrative. But it must be
communicated: I must have the sympathy of at least one friend under
this heart-rending calamity.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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