I.

THE blizzard was in full possession of Toronto, but the air was dry,

the sky blue and sunny. There was a brief interval for a snow-storm.

But it came in a bright, frosty fashion. The sidewalks were hard.

Sleighs dashed along the leading thoroughfares. Lake Ontario was a vast

plain, upon which disported skaters, walkers, riders, drivers, and that

most fairy-like of “white-wings,” the ice-boat. Did you ever fly across

the silvery ice on runners, with sails bending before the wind? It is

an experience. You may spin along at sixty miles an hour, or more. If

you are not wrapped to the eyes in fur you may also freeze to death.

The sensation of wild, unchecked motion is intensely exhilarating; but,

if you are a novice, want of care or lack of grip may send you flying

into space, or scudding over the ice on your own account. A secure

seat is only obtained by accommodating yourself all the time to the

motion of your most frail, but elegant, arrangement of timbers and

skating-irons.

The leading characteristic winter sport of Canada is Tobogganing.

The word “toboggan” is Indian for “sled.” The French call it _Traine

sauvage_. Two or three light boards deftly fastened together, a

mattress laid upon them, a sort of hollow prow in front, into which a

lady thrusts her feet,—that is a “toboggan.” It is like a toy canoe,

or boat, with a flat bottom and no sides. The lady passenger sits in

front; the gentleman behind. He trails his legs upon the ice-slide, and

thus guides the machine. It is not necessary, of course, that there

should be two passengers; nor, being two, that one of them should be a

lady. The contrivance was invented by the North American Indians. They

used it for the transportation of burdens. The squaws sometimes made

it available for hauling along their children. The pioneer troops of

Courcelles, Tracy, and Montcalm, made a kit carriage of it.

There is a famous Tobogganing Club at Toronto. It has a slide of half

a mile in length, down the side of a hill in a picturesque suburban

valley. The slide starts at an angle of about forty-five degrees; then

it runs along a short flat; then it drops, as if going over a frozen

Niagara, to shoot out along a great incline, that might be the frozen

rapids. To stand at the summit and watch the gay toboggans slip away,

and then disappear down the Niagara-like precipice, to shoot out as

a bolt from a gun along the remainder of the pass, is to realize the

possible terrors of a first trip.

Miss Terry watched the wild-looking business with amazement, and built

up her courage on the experiences of the ladies who took the flying

leap with delight. They were dressed in pretty flannel costumes, and

their faces glowed with healthful excitement. But they were practised

tobogganers. Some of them could not remember when they took their first

slide. A sturdy officer of the club explained the simplicity of the

sport to the famous actress, and offered to let her try half the slide,

beginning at the section below Niagara.

“I ought to have made my will first; but you can give my diamond ring

to your wife,” she exclaimed, waving her hand to me, as she drew her

cloak about her shoulders and stepped into the frail-looking sled.

As she and her stalwart cavalier, in his Canadian flannels, flew safely

along the slide, her young English friend and admirer followed. They

had not been upon the wintry scene ten minutes, in fact, before both of

them were to be seen skimming the mountain-slide at the speed of the

Flying Dutchman of the Midland Railway, and at one point, much faster,

I expect.

“Oh, it was awful—wonderful—magnificent!” Miss Terry exclaimed, when

she had mounted the hill again, ready for a second flight. “I have

never experienced anything so surprising,—it is like flying; for a

moment you cannot breathe!”

And away she went again, followed at respectful distances, to avoid

collision, by other excursionists, the slide fairly flashing with the

bright flannels and gay head-dresses of the merry tobogganers.

“Yes,” she said, on her return, “it is a splendid pastime. The

Canadians are quite right,—it beats skating, ice-boating, trotting,

everything in the way of locomotion; what matters the cold, with such

exercise as tobogganing?”[51]

“The Montreal Daily Star,” during this Toronto week, had a brief

description of tobogganing, _apropos_ of the winter carnival that was

being held in the neighboring city, during our too brief visit to

Canada. A proper slide is constructed on “scientific principles, and

blends a maximum of enjoyment with a minimum of danger.” “The Star”

has a picture of the enjoyment and the danger. It depicts an enormous

mountain slide by torchlight. Many sleds are coming down in fine,

picturesque style. There are wayside incidents of spills, however,

which suggest a good deal of possible discomfort. “Try your luck on one

of these sleds,” says the descriptive text. “Take two or three girls

with you. That is indispensable; and there is a shrewd suspicion that

much of the popularity of tobogganing comes from its almost essential

admission of ladies. Let them be well wrapped up. Take a firm seat

on the cushions, never stir an inch, and all will be right. They may

shut their eyes and utter their little shrieks; but, at their peril,

they must not move. You occupy your station at the rear. The position

is optional. The general mode is to lie on the left side, propped on

one arm, with right leg extended; but some sit, others kneel, and

on short, easy inclines some venture to stand. One invariable rule

is to hold on to your girl; an occasional squeeze may be allowed;

indeed, there are critical moments when it cannot be helped. All is

ready; the signal is given, and the descent begins. At first it is

gradual, and one might fancy that he could regulate it; but, like a

flash, the grand propulsion is given; like an arrow’s, the speed is

instantaneous and resistless. A film passes before your eyes; your

breath is caught. One moment you feel yourself thrown into space; the

next you hear the welcome crunch of the firm snow, and then comes the

final tumble, topsy-turvy, higgledy-piggledy, in the fleecy bank at

the foot. There is the crisis of the fun, and you must take particular

care of the girls just then. The weary ascent next begins, to be

followed by another vertiginous descent, and still another, till the

whole afternoon, or the whole of the starry evening, is spent in this

exquisite amusement.”

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