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.
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