Samantha at Coney Island, and a Thousand Other IslandsHolley, Marietta
General
Samantha at Coney Island, and a Thousand Other Islands
Holley, Marietta
Coney Island (New York, N.Y.) -- Fiction
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.
Every mind can be suited at the Islands, the devotee of fashion can
swirl around in its vortex, and for them who don't care for it there
are beautiful quiet places where that vortex don't foam and geyser
round, and all crowned with the ineffable beauty of the St. Lawrence.
And we sailed by the Island of Summer Land (a good name), where a
beloved pastor and his children in the meetin' house settled down so
long ago that Fashion hadn't found out how beautiful the Thousand
Islands wuz. They come here for rest and recreation, and built their
cottages along the undulatin' shore in the shape of a great letter S.
It wuz a pretty spot.
When the boat wuz ready to go back at night I wuz, and wuz conveyed in
safety at about six p.m. to the bosom of my family. I say this
poetically, for the bosom wuzn't there when I got back; it hadn't come
in from fishin' yet, and when it did come it wuz cross and fraxious,
for the other deacon had caught two fish and he hadn't any. He said he
felt sick, and believed he wuz threatened with numony, but he wuzn't;
it wuz only madness and crossness, that kinder stuffs anybody up some
like tizik.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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