DRIVING.

Everybody drives.  The roads are of unsurpassing loveliness.  They drive every day.  If the waiters would drive a few flies out of the dining-room, we wouldn’t sit down quite so many at table.

WHO ARE HERE.

Sandy Point, with all its native attractions, would be nothing were it not for the beauty and fashion that throng its halls.  There are men here who can draw their note for any amount.  Here is an ex-member of Congress; there a double X brewer, both immensely wealthy.  Diamonds abound.  There is a hop in the parlor every evening and preaching on Sundays.

I should not forget a paralytic washwoman in my section of the house, who has a prevailing idea, when she brings home my clothes, that eleven pieces make a dozen.

Reader, if you seek

THE FLUSH OF HEALTH,

come down here!  I wasn’t very flush when I got here, but I don’t intend to go away till I’ve put myself into thorough repair.

Yours, SARSFIELD YOUNG.

[Footnote 1:  SOAPINGTON, of the hotel here, and I, have been skirmishing over a board bill for a couple of weeks, and he has finally outflanked me to the amount of about $40.  I think if you will insert this correspondence it will be all right.  S. will succumb.]

* * * * *

A War Conundrum.

When are soldiers like writers for the press?  When they charge by the column.

* * * * *

A well-tilled Soil.

The article on DICKENS, in the August number of the Atlantic Monthly, is certainly suggestive of fresh Fields, if not of pastures new.

* * * * *

THE WATERING PLACES.

Punchinello’s Vacations.

Sometimes Mr. PUNCHINELLO is very busy.  Not only has he upon his shoulders the ordinary labors of conductor of a great journal, but he has much to do for other people.  His editors, his printers, his binders, his artists, his engravers, his corps of clerks, his office and errand boys, and all connected with his extensive establishment, come to him from time to time for advice in regard to the investment of their surplus earnings, and between assisting in the purchase of a farm for this one, a house for the other, and all sorts of stocks and bonds for the rest, he is often terribly pressed for time.

No one who is not looked up to by a crowd of grateful dependents, all fattening in the shadow of his prosperity, as it were, can understand Mr. P’s. feelings of responsibility at such times.

Such an unusual demand upon his time occurred last week, and Mr. P. found that he would not be able to spend a few days as usual at some fashionable watering place.  But be must have some recreation, so he determined to have a day’s fishing among the celebrated Thousand Islands of the St. Lawrence.  He put some luncheon in a basket, and set off quite early in the morning.  Finding that some twenty hours were consumed in the transit, Mr. P. thought that, considering his hurry, he had better, perhaps, have gone to Newark for a day’s fishing off the piers.  But he was at the St. Lawrence now, and it would not do to complain.  He hired a boat, lines, bait and two navigators, and set out bravely.