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 rather the wrong way.