I had not been in the district very long before I saw in the windows of nearly every kind of store a cheaply-printed placard announcing that the annual outing of the Michael J. Powers Association would take place on Tuesday, August 2d, at Wetzel’s Grove, College Point. The steamer _Cygnus_, leaving Pier 30, East River, would convey them. Games, luncheon and dinner were to be the entertainment. Tickets five dollars. Any one who has ever taken even a casual glance at the East Side would be struck by the exorbitance of such a charge as five dollars. No one would believe for an instant that these saving Germans, Jews and other types of hard-working nationalities would willingly invest anything over fifty cents in any such outing. Times are always hard here, the size of a dollar exceedingly large. Yet there was considerable stir over the prospective pleasure of the day in this district. “Toosday is a great day,” remarked my German barber banteringly, when I called on the Saturday previous to get shaved. “What about Tuesday?” “Mr. Powers holds his picnic. Der will be some beer drunk, you bet.” “What do you know about it? Do you belong to the association?” “Yes. I was now six years a member alretty. It is a fine association.” “What makes them charge five dollars? There can’t be very many around here who can afford to pay that much.” “Der will be t’ree t’ousand, anyway,” he answered, “maybe more. Efferybody goes. Mr. Powers say ‘Go,’ den dey go.” “Oh, Mr. Powers makes you go, does he?” “No,” he replied conservatively. “It is a nice picnic. We haf music, a cubble of bands. Der is racing, schwimming, all de beer you want for nodding, breakfast und dinner, a nice boat ride. Oh, we haf a good time.” “Do you belong to Tammany?” “No, sir.” “Hold any office under Mr. Powers?” “No, sir.” “Well, why do you go, then? There must be some reason.” “I haf de polling place in my back room,” he finally admitted. “How much do you get for that?” “Sixty-five dollars a year.” “And you give five of that back for a ticket?” He smiled, but made no reply. It was on Monday that the German grocer signified his intention of going. “Do all of you people have to attend?” I inquired. “No,” he replied, “we don’t have to. There will be somebody there from most of the stores around here, though.” “Why?” “Ask Mr. Powers. There’ll be somebody there from every saloon, barbershop, restaurant and grocery in the district.” “But why?” “Ho,” he returned, “it’s a good picnic. Mr. Powers looks mighty fine marching at the head. They say he is next after Croker now.” Among the petty dealers of the neighborhood generally could be found the same genial acceptance of the situation. “Dat is a great parade,” said a milk dealer to me. “You will see somet’ing doing if you are in de distric’ dat night. Senators walk around just de same as street cleaners; police captains, too.”