He sailed among a crowd of islands where either the bowsprit or the boom was continually getting caught in the shrubbery and rocks, until he came to island No. 18.  Here was a picnic party.

For reasons which the accompanying view may render obvious, Mr. P. and his men declined the invitation of the picnickers to stop and join them.  The boat continued on until it reached the channel between islands No. 87 and No. 88, and there Mr. P. got out his lines and commenced to fish, trolling his bait behind as the boat slowly sailed, under the hot sun, among those lovely isles, where, to be sure, burning’s half o’ the sport, but where “burning SAPPHO” would have lost herself utterly, and probably have tumbled into some of the watery intricacies and have put herself out.

Mr. P. did not have much luck at first.  He caught one muskallonge, after a period of patient waiting which he feels he also must call long, and once, when he thought he was hauling in a fine bass, he turned very red when the boatmen laughed at seeing him “cotch an eel.”  But after a while he got a royal bite.  He hauled in manfully, and although, owing to the intricacies of the channel, he could not see what he had caught, he knew it was a fine fellow from its weight.  At last, after tremendous tugging, he got it in over the stem.

It was one of the thousand islands!

What could be done now?

The steersman, who had slipped under a seat when he saw the great mass above him, and the man who managed the sails, were both Canadians, and after a great deal of excited talk, they agreed if Mr. P. would make it worth their while, they would endeavor to put the island back in its place and make no remarks in public which would tend to produce a misunderstanding between the governments of Great Britain and the United States, on the ground of undue acquisition of territory.  By the payment of a sum, which it will require a club of thirty subscribers to make good to him, Mr. P. concluded the arrangement, and they sailed back to replace the island.  But what was the horror of the party, when they perceived on the unfortunate bit of British territory, a plate, which had stuck fast by reason of a covering of the juice of plum-pie, and a fork which was rammed firmly into the earth!

It needed but few collateral evidences to convince Mr. P. and his men that this was the island where they had seen the picnic.

And where were the picnickers?

If any of Mr. P’s. subscribers in Prince EDWARD Island, Costa Rica, the Gallipagoes, or other outstanding places, receive their paper rather late this week, they are informed that, in consequence of his having spent three entire days exploring the labyrinth of these islands in order to find the bodies of the unfortunate party of pleasure, (which bodies he did not find,) Mr. P. was very much delayed in his office business.  His near patrons received their papers in due time, but those at a distance will excuse him, he feels sure, when they consider what his feelings must have been, while grappling for an entire picnic.