“Talking of Pic-nics,” said Mr. Timmis, “reminds me of one that was held the other day in a meadow, on the banks of the Lea. The party, consisting of ladies only, and a little boy, had just spread out their prog on a clean table-cloth, when they were alarmed by the approach of a cow. They were presently on their pins, (cow'd, of course,) and sheered off to a respectful distance, while the cow walked leisurely over the table-cloth, smelling the materials of the feast, and popp'd her cloven foot plump into a currant and raspberry pie! and they had a precious deal of trouble to draw her off; for, as Tom Davis said, there were some veal-patties there, which were, no doubt, made out of one of her calves; and in her maternal solicitude, she completely demolished the plates and dishes, leaving the affrighted party nothing more than the broken victuals.” “What a lark!” exclaimed Mr. Crobble; “I would have given a guinea to have witnessed the fun. That cow was a trojan!” “A star in the milky way,” cried Mr. Wallis. We now approached the 'Plough;' and Mr. Crobble having 'satisfied' the boatman, Mr. Wallis gave me half-a-crown, and bade me make the best of my way home. I pocketed the money, and resolved to 'go on the highway,' and trudge on foot. “Andrew,” said my worthy patron, “now don't go and make a beast of yourself, but walk straight home.” “Andrew,” said Mr. Wallis, imitating his friend's tone of admonition; “if any body asks you to treat 'em, bolt; if any body offers to treat you, retreat!” “Andrew,” said Mr. Crobble, who was determined to put in his oar, and row in the same boat as his friends; “Andrew,”--“Yes, Sir;” and I touched my hat with due respect, while his two friends bent forward to catch his words. “Andrew,” repeated he, for the third time, “avoid evil communication, and get thee gone from Blackwall, as fast as your legs can carry you--for, there's villainous bad company just landed here--wicked enough to spoil even the immaculate Mr. Cornelius Crobble!” CHAPTER XI.--The Journey Home. “Starboard, Tom, starboard!”--“Aye, aye-starboard it is!” I found myself quite in a strange land upon parting with my master and his friends. It was war-time, and the place was literally swarming with jack-tars. Taking to the road, for the footway was quite crowded, I soon reached Poplar. Here a large mob impeded my progress. They appeared all moved with extraordinary merriment. I soon distinguished the objects of their mirth. Two sailors, mounted back to back on a cart-horse, were steering for Blackwall. A large horse-cloth served them as a substitute for a saddle, and the merry fellow behind held the reins; he was smoking a short pipe, while his mate was making an observation with his spy-glass. “Starboard, Tom, starboard!” cried the one in front. “Aye, aye-starboard it is!” replied his companion, tugging at the rein. “Holloo, messmate! where are you bound?” bawled a sailor in the crowd.