seemed so curious, but a fly!!! Dear me!

Clayton is a good-lookin' drowsy sort of a place, and kinder mixed up
lookin' from the aft forecastle, where I stood; but at last the little
foot bridge that connected us with the shore wuz took up, the old boat
gin a loud yell to skair the children and young folks back from the
water's edge, and the boat riders from fallin' off the boat, and we
sot out agin and floated along.

And now pretty soon the islands grew closter and closter together,
and we wouldn't no more than go by one lovely one, than another more
perfect lookin' hove in sight, and then another and another, each one
seemin'ly more beautiful than the last.

Some times we would go clost up to the shore, by islands whose green
forests swep' clear down to the water's edge, makin' the water look
green and cool and shady, and the water would narrow itself down
between two houses seemin'ly jest to be accomodatin', and run along
between 'em like a little rivulet with water lilies and buttercups
dippin' down into it on each side and boys wadin' acrost. Jest think
on't, that big noble-sized river, dwindlin' itself down jest to
obleege somebody.

And sometimes big houses would loom up jest above the water's edge,
their daintily shaded winders lookin' down into the green waves and
reflected there, anon a stately mansion would set back a little with
towers and pinnacles risin' above the green trees, and cool shady
walks windin' by summer houses and bright posy beds, and gayly dressed
folks walkin' along the beautiful paths, and mebby a pretty girl
settin' in a boat, and a hull fleet of boats filled with gay pleasure
seekers would glide along like gayly plumed sea birds, and fur in the
distance and on every side white sails would sail on like bigger birds
of white plumage, all set out for the Isle of Happiness.

I pinted out the metafor to Josiah.

"Isle of Happiness?" he sez, sort o' dreamy like. "That's right.
Serenus sez its everywhere, all over the place."

"What place?" sez I, suspicion darkenin' my foretop.

"Why, Coney Island," sez he, "that's the only Isle of Happiness I ever
hearn tell on."

I gin him a look. "Would you compare Coney Island with the beautiful
Isle of Happiness that the poets sing on?" I sez, severe like.

"Where is it?" sez he.

"Why," sez I, "It ain't ennywheres. Its a metafor of the brain."

"Is it ketchin'?" sez he. "Seems to me I've hearn tell of that disease
before!" And then before