Yes, every trap that ever caught a dime Is ready set and baited, all the time! Here nigh the shore a strange machine I found, To see how hard, with beetles, men could pound; And several fellows tried it, o'er and o'er, Who never handled labor so before, And would have shown capacity to shirk, If they had known how much it looked like work. Here round and round I saw a big wheel go, Like an old-fashioned horse-power--larger, though, And worked by steam; and on the sweeps one finds Big wooden animals of different kinds: Elephants, horses, birds of various hues, Lions and leopards, roosters, kangaroos-- All staring with great, stupid, wondering eyes, And all about the very self-same size! And on these beasts, sixteen times round or more, Rode children of from fifty down to four, While some big-sized hand-organ filled the air With crack-voiced music, plenty and to spare. Here a big premium cow--quite dead, alas! Gave milkman's milk-and-water by the glass; Here were some great "museums," which consisted Of wondrous things that never have existed; There omnibuses hover on your track, Ready to draw you somewhere else--and back; Here "marine railroads," as you onward plod, Will take you riding at five cents a rod; This "elevator" lifts you pretty high, And shows you men must look small from the sky; Yon gambling den will send you from its door, Poorer and not much wiser than before; That fellow there will, in an ocean view, Your picture take, and swear that it is you. Yes, every trap that ever caught a dime, Is ready set and baited, all the time! And sometimes everything seems blurred, indeed, With man's surprising wickedness and greed, Till you most feel there's nothing genuine there, Excepting ocean waves and open air! But still they can't put all God's plans to death To let the people have an honest breath; And so, while thinking it all up, to-day, I finally felt called upon to say, Thank the good Lord, from whom all blessings fall, For making Coney Island, after all! My cousin, Abdiel Stebbins, large and slow, Arrived at Ocean Grove some days ago; He stopped off in this city on the way, And stayed here with us two weeks and one day (For we keep up our airy home in town Whether the mercury goes up or down-- Not liking to exchange it very well For a small sweat-box in a large hotel). He promised that the first hour he could spare He'd write us how he liked it over there; The letter, like himself, is rather queer; Perhaps I'd better paste it right in here: [FARMER STEBBINS AT OCEAN GROVE.] OCEAN GROVE, _June_ 30, 18--. DEAR COUSIN JOHN: