It need not be supposed that Mr. PUNCHINELLO intends to work himself to death this summer.

By no manner of means!

He guarantees that the paper shall come out regularly, and get riper and lovelier every week, but he will have his good little times, notwithstanding.

Every week during the season he expects to slip off somewhere, for a day or two, and hopes to have something worth telling when he comes back. Last week he ran down to Long Branch. It's early yet, but folks like Mr. P.; CHILDS, of the Philadelphia Ledger; THOMPSON, of the Pennsylvania Central; and other rich fellows always do go early. The big bugs always fly the soonest. Mr. P. went directly to the West End Hotel—the old Stetson House, you know. He went there because he always did like a hotel that had three men to keep it. What you can't get out of one of them is pretty certain to be screwed out of one of the others. "When Mr. P. drove up, Messrs. PRESBURY, SYKES, and GARDNER, were all sitting out on the front piazza, smoking seventy-five-cent cigars. They arose in chorus, and assured Mr. P. that the house was not yet quite ready for occupancy,

"But, sir—" said Mr. PRESBURY, "the Girard House, my hotel in Philadelphia, is always open. If you would like to go there—" And here SYKES struck in.

"But, sir," said he, "my hotel, WILLARD'S, in Washington, is always ready for guests, and if you could go there for a while—"

But forward sprang GARDNER, and says he:

"But, sir—if you would like to run down to Cape May, you will find my hotel—the Stockton House—" And here Mr. P. interrupted.

"Gentlemen," said he, "I would not have you quarrel, and you shan't split on my rocks. Good evening to you all," and he drove directly to General GRANT'S thirty-two thousand dollar cottage in the Park. GRANT was not there yet, but Mr. P. did not expect that he was. There being a butler and some cooks on hand, Mr. P. considered them sufficient, and had his baggage taken right up to the second story back room.

The butler looked a little astonished at first, but when Mr. P. explained about the hotel, and how he didn't want to go about any more—for from riding in the salt evening air he had already got a little hoarse—the man brightened up immediately.

"Oh, a little horse!" said he. "If that's what you come about you'll be welcome here. The General isn't here yet, but till he comes the rooms is yours."

And they were!

If any one feels inclined to follow Mr. P.'s example, he begs to recommend the President's "Old Yarns,"—the hind box on the top shelf of the library closet.

The next morning, Mr. P. wandered on the sands. Fond memories flocked around him, as he stood gazing on the corruscating waves.

But they were mostly memories of sheepsheads and flanneled bathers and 'tis not for these that the poet gazes into the emerald depths whence the pearly scum, like tears of mermaids—Ah! Mermaids! Mr. P. had never seen a mermaid. These were not among his memories He deeply woulded that he could—and lo! he did! The creature came gliding to his very feet, and he had barely time to bound back before she reached the shore. Shaking the water from her spectacles, she came up, and stood before him.

Twas SUSAN B. ANTHONY.

"How do, PUNCHY?" said she; "I've left the Revolution. Yes, left it now, and we've got a new editor, and she's beautiful and don't charge a cent."

"Why, that's like me!" said Mr. P.

"Oh, PUNCHY!" said the gentle SUSAN, wringing the water out of her flannel skirts, "none of your joking here. Come, take my arm."

Here Mr. P. drew back in apprehension.

"Why, what's the matter?" said SUSAN. "Are you afraid of a little water, and you a man, too? See me! I'm as wet as sop. Don't keep me waiting here, now, or I'll feel like saying "Damn" again, and that sort of thing won't do too often. I want you to come along with me up to LESTER WALLACE'S place—the 'Hut,' you know. I'm stopping with him. It's two or three hours yet before lunch-time, and we can have a good talk."

Just at this minute Mr. PUNCHINELLO saw a sea-gull skimming past, and he said he would like to catch it and give it to LESTER for his menagerie. So he hurried after it.

The next day, Mr. P. went out fishing. He hired a boat, and a man to sail it, and while the man was getting ready to put off, Mr. P. took his seat in the bow and began to fix his lines. He always likes to sit in the bow. The tiller don't knock him so often in the back, and the boom don't bother his head so much. What he particularly wanted was to catch a devil-fish! He thought to himself what a splendid thing it would be to catch one of the big, VICTOR HUGO kind, and to take it home with him to Nassau street! Wouldn't all his editors jump, when they saw him come into the office with that! And he would get STEPHENS to draw it for the paper.

STEPHENS has drawn nearly everything on earth, but Mr. P. did not believe that he ever drew a devil-fish. Not from life, anyway.

As they sailed out to sea, Mr. P.'s heart beat faster, and his brain throbbed with delight as he thought of his great possible triumph.

He fished for two hours and never got a bite. There was too much talking at the stern. Mr. P. looked around, and there were three men there, beside the sailor-man! "Confound it!" thought Mr. P.; "they must have got on while I was fixing my lines, before we started." After this wise reflection, he objurgated the sailor-man, but the latter wanted to know if he wasn't to make any profit out of his stern and his mid-ships, as well as his bow, and he objurgated back with such force that Mr. P. gave him no further attention, but, turning to the interlopers, he said:

"I'm not so much surprised to see you, Mr. DELANO, for if any man in the country pushes himself and his hirelings where neither he nor they are wanted, it's you; but why you, HORACE GREELEY, and you, JIMMY HAGGARTY, should be here, I'm sure I don't know."

"Oh, we're all in the same boat, PUNCHY, said DELANO, knocking off his ashes to the windward of the Philosopher.

"That's a lie," remarked HORACE, rubbing the ashes deeper into his eyes with his handkerchief.

J. HAGGARTY grunted at this emphatic denial of such a self-evident proposition, and DELANO went on to say, "Yes, we're all alike"—all 'going through' our fellow-men. I with my assessors and collectors; HORACE with his protection schemes, and JIMMY, there, with his nimble fingers."

"That's so," said the good JAMES, and he shifted his quid.

The sailor-man, who had been objurgating straight ahead all this time, now weighed anchor and put the boat in towards shore. Silence fell upon the company. They seemed very shy of each other, and did not amalgamate at all. Mr. P. went out to the extreme end of the bowsprit and gazed down into the deep blue sea, wondering whether its color was really due to excess of salt, or the presence of cuprate of ammonia. HORACE climbed to the top of the mast, where he sat sadly, observing the swindling waves, which came all the way from Europe, and didn't pay a cent of tax when they landed. Mr. HAGGARTY went to the stern, where he employed his time in cleaning out the sailor-man's pockets, while DELANO dived into the hold, to see if he couldn't find an old worm-box, or a rope's-end, which had no revenue stamp upon them.

That evening Mr. P. strolled up to the Pavilion, and Governor MORRIS told him all the news. When he heard that the Prince ERIE, of the Heavy Ninth, was coming down with his six-in-hand, (being only half his usual number of Temptations,) Mr. P. found that if he wished to shine at Long Branch, he had better keep away until he could come down with some of his pet seven-thirties in hand. So he picked up his $8.00 valise; put on his $9.00 hat; buttoned up his $35.00 coat; took his $12.00 umbrella under his arm; stuck his $00.00 free pass in his hatband, and went home to Nassau street.