JOSIAH’S IMAGINATION ABOUT HIS FISHIN’ EXPLOITS CARRIES HIM TO A PINT WHERE I HAVE TO REBUKE HIM, WHICH MAKES HIM DRETFUL HUFFY
The next morning we went over to Alexandria Bay on a tower. We walked up to the immense hotels past the gay flower beds that seemed to be growing right out of the massive gray boulders, and great willer trees wuz droppin’ their delicate green branches where gayly dressed ladies and good-lookin’ men wuz settin’. And in front wuz fleets of little boats surroundin’ the big white steamboats, jest as contented as big white geese surrounded by a drove of little goslins.
I’d hearn that the great hotel that wuz nighest to us looked by night jest like one of the fairy palaces we read about in Arabian Nights, and one night we see it. From the ground clear up to the high ruff it wuz all ablaze with lines of flashin’ light, and I sez instinctively to myself, “Jerusalem the golden!” 76 and “Pan American Electric Tower!” And I d’no which metafor satisfied me best. ’Tennyrate this had the deep broad river flowin’ on in front, reflectin’ every glowin’ light and buildin’ another gleamin’ castle down there more beautiful than the one on land. Josiah’s only remark wuz “Coney Island!” Everything seems to make him think on’t, from a tooth pick to a tower. Ten thousand electric lights wuz the number that lit up that one house, so I hearn.
The big engine and chimney they use to turn the water into glorious light, towers up behind the hotel, and made such a noise and shook the buildin’ so that folks couldn’t stand it, and they jest collared that noise as Josiah would take a dog he couldn’t stop barkin’ by the scruff of the neck and lock it up in the stable, jest so they took that noise and rumblin’ and snaked it way offen into the river in a pipe or sunthin’, so it keeps jest as still now up there as if it wuzn’t doin’ a mite of work. Queer, hain’t it? But to resoom.
It wuz indeed a fair seen to turn round when you wuz about half way up the flower strewn declivity and look afar off over the wharf with its gay crowd, over the boats gaily ridin’ at 77 anchor, and behold the fairy islands risin’ from the blue waves crested with castles, and mansions and cottage ruffs, chimblys and towers all set in the green of the surroundin’ trees.
And, off fur as the eye could see, way through between and around, wuz other beautiful islands and trees covered with spires and ruffs peepin’ out of the green. And way off, way off like white specks growin’ bigger every minute, wuz great ships floatin’ in, and nearer still would be anon or oftener majestic ships and steamers ploughin’ along through the blue waves, sailin’ on and goin’ right by and mindin’ their own bizness.
Well, when at last we did tear ourselves away from the environin’ seen and walk acrost the broad piazzas and into the two immense hotels, as we looked around on the beauty of our surroundin’s, nothin’ but the inward sense of religious duty seemed strong enough to draw us back to Thousand Island Park, though that is good-lookin’ too.
But the old meetin’ house with its resistless cords, and the cast-iron devotion of a pardner wound their strong links round me and I wuz more than willin’ to go back at night. Josiah 78 didn’t come with us, he’d gone fishin’ with another deacon he’d discovered at the Park.
Well, we santered through the bizness and residence streets and went into the free library, a quaint pretty building full of good books with a memorial to Holland meetin’ you the first thing, put up there by the hands of Gratitude. And we went into the old stun church, which the dead master of Bonnie Castle thought so much on and did so much for, and is full of memories of him. Whitfield thinks a sight of his writings; he sez “they dignify the commonplace, and make common things seem oncommon.” Katrina, Arthur Bonniecastle, Miss Gilbert, Timothy Titcomb the philosopher, all seemed to walk up and down with Whitfield there.
And while there we took a short trip to the Lake of the Isles, a lovely place, where instead of boats full of gigglin’ girls with parasols, and college boys with yells and oars, the water lilies float their white perfumed sails, and Serenity and Loneliness seem to kinder drift the boat onwards, and the fashion-tired beholder loves to hasten there, away from the crowd, and rest.