Of course, as it is now June, no one will visit Cape May. The White Mountains, having received a new coat of paint, are ready for summer visitors. A few stock quotations, such as, "cloud-capped towers," "peak of Teneriffe," &c., are very useful here. Also a large supply of breath. Lake Mahopac may be packed, of course, but any one of a romantic turn of mind, who loves to float with fair women idly upon a summer sea, (in a boat, of course,) 'mid crocuses and lilies, while the air is filled with the melodious sounds from a bass-drum and that sort of thing, and is redolent with the perfume of a thousand flowers, will find solace here. (I flatter myself that period is well turned.)
All over the land you may find choice little spots, farm-houses, over which the woodbine and the honeysuckle clamber, while the surrounding wheat fields—(I have lost my volume of WHITMAN, and forget what the wheat fields do, poetically.) Perhaps it is my duty to here introduce some remarks about farming, but, as the Self-made Man is struggling with that subject, and as a certain innocent, who has been abroad, proposes to handle it, I refrain.
I very nearly forgot Coney Island. This is the favorite resort of clams and little jokers. Here you may daily fill your bread-basket with bivalves, and then observe the mysteries of that mystic game, now you see it, now you don't.
Of course I don't propose to state which of these places is the Earthly Paradise. You pays your money and you takes your choice. What hurts my feelings is, that any one should have supposed that I intended to write a criticism of Mr. MORRIS'S poem. Do people imagine that my time is entirely valueless, and that I can afford to waste it in criticising poetry?
LOT.
PLUCKILY PATRIOTIC, STILL.
A few years since the City of Portland, upon a certain Fourth of July, was nearly consumed by fire, the origin of which was the well-known Cracker. But Portland is undaunted, and proposes this year to have a finer Independence Day than ever. If Mr. PUNCHINELLO might advise, he would recommend to the Portlanders, festivities of a decidedly aquatic character—swimming-matches, going down in diving bells, the playing of fountains, battles between little boys with squirt-guns, regattas, and floating batteries. Mr. P. himself intends to celebrate the coming Fourth upon water—with something in it, of course, to kill the insects. The Maine Liquor Law being in full force in Portland, there will be no difficulty in obtaining ardent spirits on the Fourth; and Mr. PUNCHINELLO therefore the more confidently recommends a full aqueous infusion of the Down East toddies.