afael coast, for the scene of our picnic is always
supposed to be uncertain. The next moment I am back at my giddy badinage
with the young ladies, wakening laughter as I go, and leaving in my wake
applausive comments of "Isn't Mr. Dodd a funny gentleman?" and "O, I
think he's just too nice!"

An hour having passed in this airy manner, I start upon my rounds
afresh, with a bag full of coloured tickets, all with pins attached, and
all with legible inscriptions: "Old Germany," "California," "True Love,"
"Old Fogies," "La Belle France," "Green Erin," "The Land of Cakes,"
"Washington," "Blue Jay," "Robin Red-Breast,"--twenty of each
denomination; for when it comes to the luncheon, we sit down by
twenties. These are distributed with anxious tact--for, indeed, this
is the most delicate part of my functions--but outwardly with reckless
unconcern, amidst the gayest flutter and confusion; and are immediately
after sported upon hats and bonnets, to the extreme diffusion of
cordiality, total strangers hailing each other by "the number of their
mess"--so we humorously name it--and the deck ringing with cries of,
"Here, all Blue Jays to the rescue!" or, "I say, am I alone in this
blame' ship? Ain't there no more Californians?"

By this time we are drawing near to the appointed spot. I mount upon the
bridge, the observed of all observers.

"Captain," I say, in clear, emphatic tones, heard far and wide, "the
majority of the company appear to be in favour of the little cove beyond
One Tree Point."

"All right, Mr. Dodd," responds the captain, heartily; "all one to me.
I am not exactly sure of the place you mean; but just you stay here and
pilot me."

I do, pointing with my wand. I do pilot him, to the inexpressible
entertainment of the picnic; for I am (why should I deny it?) the
popular man. We slow down off the mouth of a grassy valley, watered by
a brook, and set in pines and redwoods. The anchor is let go; the
boats are lowered, two of them already packed with the materials of
an impromptu bar; and the Pioneer Band, accompanied by the resplendent
asses, fill the other, and move shoreward to the inviting strains of
Buffalo Gals, won't you come out to-night? It is a part of our programme
that one of the asses shall, from sheer clumsiness, in the course of
this embarkation, drop a dummy axe into the water, whereupon the mirth
of the picnic can hardly be assuaged. Upon one occasion, the dummy axe
floated, and the laugh turned rath