“Oh no, I couldn’t stop to listen to such wicked talk.”
That wuz jest like deacon Gansy; he thought he wuz awful religious but I always felt dubersome about it.
But on we went through the matchless beauty of the drive. And anon we ketched a view of the blue tostin’ waves of the Atlantic, the air jest as fresh and invigoratin’ as when it blowed unto Columbuses weary foretop when he discovered us. And like his dantless cry to his fearful pilot, so my soul echoed the same cry to my deprestin’ fears:
“Sail on, and on, and on,” to the goal of our own desires. Our two quests wuz some different, he wuz seekin’ a new continent and I an old Josiah. But I knowed the Atlantic breezes never blowed on two more determined and noble linements than hisen and mine. And I felt that we would have been real congenial if he hadn’t died too soon, or I been born too late.