Three hours having gone by since we came to anchor, the healthful toil of fishing in the salt sea produced its natural result,—­a ravenous appetite for food and drink; and a common consent to partake of refreshments now began to develop itself.  The wives had much to do with this, as they detailed themselves along the railings, influencing their husbands with hints about the hamper and flask.  For most of the family-people had brought their provisions with them; and, in many cases, the basket was flanked by a stone jar which looked as if it might contain lager-beer,—­as, in several instances, it did.  Where there were many small children in a party, however, I noticed that the beverage obtained from the jar was milk,—­real Orange County cow-produce, let us hope, and none of that sickly town-abomination, the vending of which ought to be made by our legislators a felony, at least.  Ham-sandwiches, greatly enhanced in flavor by the circumstance of their outer surfaces being impressed with a reverse of yesterday’s news, from the contact of the pieces of newspaper in which they were wrapped up, formed the staple of the feast.  Large bowls of the various, seasonable berries were also in request; and all the shady places of the ship were soon occupied by families, who distributed themselves in independent groups, as people do in the sylvan localities dedicated to picnics.  All were hungry and happy, all better in mind and body,—­illustrating the wise providence of the instinct that whispers to the over-wrought artisan and bids him go sometimes forth on a summer’s day to the woods and waters,—­a move which the marine character of the subject impels me to speak of nautically, but reverently, as taking himself and family into the graving-dock of Nature, for the necessary repairs.

Some of the girls now stole slyly about among the lines, and popped the baits timidly into the blue water.  The pale seamstress, who has quite a rose-flush on her cheek now, has hooked a good-sized porgy, and her screams in this terrible predicament have brought several smart young men to her rescue.  Another girl, pretty and well-dressed,—­in the glove-making line, as I guess from the family she is with, all of whom, from paterfamilias to baby, are begloved in a manner entirely irrespective of expense,—­is kneeling pensively on the stern-benches of the upper deck, paying out the line with confidence in herself, but evidently hoping for masculine assistance in the process of hauling it in.

And where were our dear friends, the roughs, all this time? and how came it that they were so quiet?  They have been asleep,—­snoring off the effects of last night’s diversions, and fortifying their constitutions against the influences to come.  Ever since the music ceased playing, these fellows have been rolled away, singly or in heaps, in crooked corners, into which they seem to fit naturally.  But now they began to rally, waking up and stretching themselves and yawning,—­the last two actions