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THE EARTHLY PARADISE.

I wish the Editor would put a little note in large letters right here,
requesting readers not to run off and read Mr. MORRIS'S poem, after
gazing on the above title. My very respectable reader, you're smart,
very smart indeed, but let me assure you that you haven't discovered
from the float which I have placed on the surface, which way my string
is drifting, so, if you get on a string don't complain.

As, at this season of the year, everybody who is anybody either goes
into the country or else shuts up his front windows and lives in the
back area, in order to create the impression that he is to be found in
the rural districts, PUNCHINELLO must of course follow the universal
example. His front windows, however, must never be shut, so he must fall
to packing his trunks at once. But where shall he go? List! oh, list! I
will give a list of spots present.

They say the seas-on has commenced at Long Branch. This place is peopled
by the foolish men of whom we have heard, who built their houses on the
sand. The chief amusement of visitors is thus: you put on some old
clothes, which have evidently just retired from the coal-heaving
business, stand in the water up to your ankles, and grasp manfully, with
both hands, a rope; then a watery creature, named Surf, climbs upon you
and gets down on the other side; you rush to a neighboring shanty, put
on your store clothes, and feel twice as warm as you would have felt if
you hadn't wrestled with Surf. The reports from Boston are that the
Pilgrim Fathers have ceased to enjoy their coffins and shrouds, since
Jubilee JIM has commenced to carry pleasure-seekers to the seaside on