overlooking Geneva and the silvery lake beyond. It was a sight not
to be forgotten by the American traveller, for this country has
few towns so happily situated as the village of Geneva,--a cluster
of houses against a wooded slope with the lake like a mirror
below.
The little hotel was almost new and very good; the rooms were
large and comfortable. There was but one objection, and that the
location at the very corner of the busiest and noisiest streets.
But Geneva goes to bed early,--even on Saturday nights,--and by
ten or eleven o'clock the streets were quiet, while on Sunday
mornings there is nothing to disturb one before the bells ring for
church.
We were quite content to rest this first Sunday out.
It was so delightfully quiet all the morning that we lounged about
and read until dinner-time. In the afternoon a walk, and in the
evening friends came to supper with us. In a moment of ambitious
emulation of metropolitan customs the small hotel had established
a roof garden, with music two or three evenings a week, but the
innovation had not proven profitable; the roof remained with some
iron framework that once supported awnings, several disconsolate
tables, and some lonesome iron chairs; we visited this scene of
departed glory and obtained a view of the lake at evening.
The irregular outlines of the long shadows of the hills stretched
far out over the still water; beyond these broken lines the
slanting rays of the setting sun fell upon the surface of the
lake, making it to shine like a mass of burnished silver.
Some white sails glimmered in the light far across; near by we
caught the sound of church-bells; the twilight deepened, the
shadows lengthened, the luminous stretch of water grew narrower
and narrower until it disappeared entirely and all was dark upon
the lake, save here and there the twinkle of lights from moving
boats,--shifting stars in the void of night.
The morning was bright as we left Geneva, but the roads, until we
struck the State road, were rough and still muddy from the recent
rains.
It was but a short run to Auburn, and from there into Syracuse the
road is a fine gravel.
The machine had developed a slight pounding and the rear-axle
showed signs of again parting at the differential.
After luncheon the machine was run into a machine shop, and three
hours were spent in taking up the lost motion in the eccentric
strap, at the crank-pin, and in a loose bushing.
Here's a piece of wisdom on driving or cute car quote to study:
I'm not sure... about automobiles.... With all their speed forward they may be a step backward in civilization - that is, in spiritual civilization. It may be that they will not add to the beauty of the world, nor to the life of men's souls. I am not sure. But automobiles have come, and they bring a greater change in our life than most of us suspect. They are here, and almost all outward things are going to be different because of what they bring. They are going to alter war, and they are going to alter peace. I think men's minds are going to be changed in subtle ways because of automobiles; just how, though, I could hardly guess. But you can't have the immense outward changes that they will cause without some inward ones, and it may be that... the spiritual alteration will be bad for us. Perhaps, ten or twenty years from now, if we can see the inward change in men by that time, I shouldn't be able to defend the gasoline engine, but would have to agree... that automobiles 'had no business to be invented.' ~Eugene, from Booth Tarkington's The Magnificent Ambersons, 1918
|
