“N—no—but that need make no difference. We were just taking a little sleigh-ride. You don’t mind a ride of an hour before you go home?” “I am rather weary,” I replied. “I have been rattling along in the cars for two days and two nights. Have come all the way from Peoria, Illinois.” “Well, jump in. We will at least take a little drive down Darby Road. You must feel chilly. Here is something to warm you.” This was an article of glassware, containing a genial fluid, designed for the interior of mankind. Having availed myself of this blessing, I sprung into the sleigh; Feeny jumped in after me; and we dashed away in the blinding storm. “We were just at the depot to meet a friend we expected,” said he, “but he did not come.” Away we went out Market street, defying even the wintry wind to outstrip us. Instead of turning down the Darby Road, as proposed, we kept on out Market street. “We’ll take a little ride out this way first,” said Mr. Aaron, “then we will return, go down Darby Road, cross Gray’s Ferry Bridge, and go home.” “All right!” We had an extensive ride through West Philadelphia; and candor compels me to say that some of the proprietors of hotels in that vicinity lost nothing by it. At last, we found ourselves dashing down Darby Road: the noble steeds still fresh and vigorous, and we three “jolly boys” suffering nothing at all from the malady known as “depression of spirits.” Rest! I thought not of it now. I remembered not that I had slept none for two nights. Away we went in the snow-storm; the wide fields of snow my imaginary bed, the murky clouds my curtains, the wind and sleigh-bells singing a merry song in concert to lull me to—wakefulness and mirth. We approached a certain toll-gate. What hour it was, I can never know; but any one supposing it to be earlier than the beginning of another day, would subject himself to great ridicule among the “posted.” “Wonder if the toll-man’s up?” said Feeny. “Doubtful,” responded Aaron. “We’ll wake him, of course,” said I. “Certainly—if we can yell loud enough.” We dashed onward. So far from tiring, our horses seemed to gain new strength and energy just then. The toll-gate and the little house there situated, were very near. We did not slacken our speed. “Toll!” yelled Feeny, in a loud voice. “Toll! Toll!” shouted Aaron, as we reached the gate without stopping. “Toll! Toll! Toll!” I shrieked, in a jolly mood as we dashed by. Alas! the keeper of the gate never had the felicity to receive that “toll.” He did not get his _due_; but we got plenty of _snow_. “Get up! Get up!” screamed Aaron, addressing the horses. The animals “flew.” The snow-covered road rushed away behind us so fast that I fancied we were leaving the whole earth behind, and plunging away into space. “Hurrah! Hurrah!” shouted Feeny. “Hip-Hip-Hoowee!” We reached the road leading to Gray’s Ferry Bridge, and Mr. Aaron, who had the lines, drove recklessly “round the corner.”