ply downward after one leaves
Madison Avenue. We dipped into a region that has always been very
fascinating to me. Under the roaring L, past dingy saloons, animal
shops, tinsmiths, and painless dentists, past the old dismantled
Manhattan hospital. The taste of spring was in the air: one of the
dentists was having his sign regilded, a huge four-pronged grinder as
big as McTeague's in Frank Norris's story. Oysters going out, the new
brew of Bock beer coming in: so do the saloons mark the vernal equinox.

A huge green chalet built on stilts, with two tiers of trains rumbling
by, is the L station at 34th Street and Second Avenue. A cutting wind
blew from the East River, only two blocks away. I paid two nickels and
we got into the front car of the northbound train.

Until Titania and I attain the final glory of riding in an aeroplane,
or ascend Jacob's ladder, there never will be anything so thrilling as
soaring over the housetops in the Second Avenue L. Rocking, racketing,
roaring over those crazy trestles, now a glimpse of the leaden river to
the east, now a peep of church spires and skyscrapers on the west, and
the dingy imitation lace curtains of the third-story windows flashing by
like a recurring pattern--it is a voyage of romance! Did you ever stand
at the front door of an Elevated train, watching the track stretch far
ahead toward the Bronx, and the little green stations slipping nearer
and nearer? The Subway is a black, bellowing horror; the bus a swaying,
jolty start-and-stop, bruising your knees against the seat in front; but
the L swings you up and over the housetops, smooth and sheer and swift.

We descended at 86th Street and found ourselves in a new world. A broad,
dingy street, lined by shabby brown houses and pushbutton apartments,
led in a gentle descent toward the river. The neighbourhood was noisy,
quarrelsome, and dirty. After a long, bitter March the thaw had come at
last: the street was viscous with slime, the melting snow lay in grayish
piles along the curbs. Small boys on each side of the Street were
pelting sodden snowballs which spattered around us as we walked down the
pavement.

But after two blocks things changed suddenly. The trolley swung round
at a right angle (up Avenue A) and the last block of 86th Street showed
the benefit of this manoeuvre. The houses grew neat and respectable. A
little side street branching off to the left (not recorded by Mercator)
revealed some quaint cottages with