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PUBLISHERS’ PREFACE

For thirty-one years, this book has met popular favor, and a sale of one hundred and sixty thousand copies. Its sale now is steadily increasing, notwithstanding the worn condition of the plates.

This 35th edition, now printed from new plates, is offered, believing it will outlive its fifty-six years of copyright.

But few works of fiction are accredited with such favor, or with such extensive circulation.

CHAPTER I

“SPEAK it out, captain; I know by your looks you have something to say, and I am full of curiosity to hear it.”

“Very true, my dear fellow; I have at last hit on a scheme which I think will prove very profitable, and will be glad to take you in as an equal partner.”

“Glad to hear it; I am ready for anything to make an honest living.”

“I have chartered the best boat on the river, and mean to put her to work on the line between here and New Orleans, and shall of course be her commander, and would be glad to have you take charge of the office, and we will divide profits.”

“I am truly grateful, captain, for the manifestation of confidence contained in your offer, and will gladly undertake the business.”

“Very good; then we may consider it settled so far. The next thing to be done is to get up a handsome advertisement, and meantime the boat must be re-painted, re-furnished and overhauled generally.”

“Give the necessary instructions as to these things, captain, and draw on me for my share of the expenses. By the by, what boat have you chartered?”

“The ‘Star of the West;’ but I will have her name changed, as I do not like that one. What shall her new name be?”

“I leave that to you, and trust you will select a pretty name; there is nothing like having a pretty name for a pretty boat. Shakespeare was decidedly mistaken when he thought that there was nothing in a name.”

“I agree with you there, Sam, and insist that you shall select the name.”

“No, no; but I’ll tell you what we will do: you write down three names, and I’ll write three; we’ll put them in a hat, and the first one drawn shall be her name.”

“All right.”

The names were written, placed in the captain’s hat, and Sam was requested to draw out one.

“What have you got, Sam?” said the captain.

“The prettiest name that ever was seen on a wheel-house. You might have given me a month to think about it, and I never should have thought of such a sweet-sounding name.”

“Well, what is it?”

“THE WHITE ROSE OF MEMPHIS.”

“I am truly glad to know that you think it a pretty name, and we will have the letters made in gold.”

“When can we be ready to start, captain?”

“It will take six weeks to get everything ready. We must manage to make a grand display when we start on our first trip.”

“You had better prepare the advertisement, then, and let it appear at once. Suppose we give a grand masquerade ball on board just before we start.”

“Capital idea, Sam; we’ll make the first trip one of pleasure, so as to attract the attention of the public. I’ll prepare the advertisement at once.”

The foregoing conversation was carried on between Captain Oliver Quitman and Samuel Brazzleman, two well-known and very popular steam-boat men of Memphis, whose experience in that business had won for them an established reputation for reliability and integrity.

The following advertisement appeared in one of the morning papers a few days after the conversation above related:

The new and splendid passenger boat, “White Rose of Memphis,” has been purchased by Captain Oliver Quitman, and will be put on the line between Memphis and New Orleans. She will start on her first trip at 9 A. M., on May 1st, for the Crescent City, under the immediate command of her owner. Samuel Brazzleman will officiate at the clerk’s desk, and Dave Halliman, at the wheel. The old reliable river man, Thomas Henderson, has agreed to take charge of the engine. Professor Frazzlebrains’s splendid string band has been employed to make music for the amusement of the passengers. A grand masquerade ball will be given on board the “White Rose” on the evening of the 30th inst., and arrangements will be made to continue the amusement every night during the round trip. The grand saloon is eminently suited for dancing parties, and has been gorgeously furnished with everything necessary to make the passengers comfortable. It is the intention of the captain to make the first trip one of pleasure and amusement. Reduced rates will be given to excursion parties who may apply for them for the round trip.

This advertisement (as might be expected) created quite a sensation among the fair sex of Memphis, and added very greatly to the cash receipts of silk merchants and milliner shops; while it caused a corresponding shrinkage in the money bags of doting parents of marriageable daughters. Memphis was then, and is now, famous for the beauty of her women, and the muddiness of her streets. Cotton bales and pretty women seem to be a spontaneous production in and about Memphis, and, in spite of bad government and yellow fever epidemics, she is handsome and lively still.

“Well, Sam, old fellow, what do you think of the prospect?”

“Splendid! we have made a ten strike this time – every room has been engaged, and still they come.”

“Is she not a beauty, Sam?”

“Never saw her match in my life. What’s the time, captain?”

“Eight thirty, and time for the maskers to begin to arrive; by the by, here they come now. Has the music arrived?”

“Long, long ago, captain; everything is ready.”

“Good, Sam; we must put our best foot foremost to-night; much depends on first impressions. Have you got plenty of wines and ice?”

“Oceans, oceans of all kinds.”

This conversation occurred on board of the “White Rose,” between Captain Quitman and Samuel Brazzleman, who were both rejoicing at the prospect of a remunerative trip, which was to begin on the next morning. Before nine o’clock the dazzling lights in the long saloon were streaming down on the vast crowd of maskers as they glided along through the mazes of the dance; while soft, sweet sounds floated out on the night air. Fantastic costumes, sparkling jewels, white, blue and red plumes, rustling silk, shining satin, soft velvet, sparkling diamonds, high-heeled boots, splendid music, the popping of champagne bottles, the hum of many voices, the merry laughter, the brisk and graceful movement of charming women, were all contributing to the dazzling show. All kinds of costumes were to be seen, old-fashioned and new, gaudy and plain. Mary, Queen of Scots, with her rich, royal costume of Scotland, all bedecked with sparkling diamonds, was dancing with Ingomar, the Barbarian Chief, with his savage beard reaching to his waist, and his top-boots all shaded with gold. The knight of Ivanhoe, with his glittering armor on, was dancing with the first maid of honor, who wore blue silk, and yellow mask. Don Quixote, the Knight of Salamanca, dressed in shabby but quaint armor, was jumping high and awkwardly, as he danced with the second maid of honor, who was a graceful dancer, dressed in orange-colored silk with pink mask. Henry of Navarre, with his black plume waving high above the throng, was marching up and down the saloon with the queen of Sheba leaning on his arm. Sancho Panza, with his clownish costume, was playing the clown to perfection, to the great amusement of the children. The Duke of Wellington and Napoleon were taking a mint julep at the bar, while George III. was quarreling with Sam Brazzleman because he wouldn’t tell him the name of the lady who represented the Queen of Scots.

“Positively against our rules to divulge the names of parties in mask, without their consent,” says Sam.

“Well, does she reside in Memphis?”

“Can’t answer; I tell you it is contrary to orders.”

“Is she going to New Orleans on this boat?”

“Yes.”

“Good! I’ll find out who she is, if I follow her to the other side of the world!” and the imitator of the defunct tyrant made his way to where the mysterious queen stood conversing with her Barbarian Chief.

“Who is that lady dancing with Ingomar?” inquired George III. of Ivanhoe.

“Do not know; wish I did.”

“I’ll give a hundred dollars to know who she is.”

“I’ll go you halves,” says Ivanhoe.

George III. and Ivanhoe were not the only ones who wanted to know who was personating the Scottish queen. It seemed to be a general desire among the male maskers to know who she was. It is hard to say what caused this general wish to know who she was. It might have been caused by a combination of circumstances. There appeared to be a desire on the part of the gentlemen to get near her. Was it the soft, sweet melody of her voice, or was it the queen-like grace of her movements? Perhaps it was the profusion of golden hair that fell, unconfined, beneath the quaint crown of sparkling jewels that graced her brow; or it may have been the little provoking, pretty foot that now and then made its appearance as she floated like a fairy over the floor. When she took her seat at the piano, and began to sing, while the rich, sweet voice rose until the saloon seemed to be filled with soul-stirring music, curiosity went up to fever heat, and George III. would have given his kingdom to know who she was. Ingomar, the Barbarian Chief, with his long, shaggy whiskers, stood near the queen, turning the music sheets as the song progressed, and occasionally stooping to whisper something in her ear, which she answered with a nod and a smile. As soon as the song was ended the knight of Ivanhoe requested Ingomar to present him to the queen. Ingomar in a low whisper asked her permission to present the knight of Ivanhoe, which was promptly granted.

“I have the honor, your Majesty, to present my distinguished and honorable friend, Sir Knight of Ivanhoe.” A graceful bow and the queen held out her little white hand, which Ivanhoe pressed to his lips.

“Sir Knight, we are delighted to know you. Shall we have the pleasure of your presence during our excursion to New Orleans?”

“I am profoundly grateful for your Majesty’s condescension, and shall be overjoyed at the privilege of making one of the party.”

“To-morrow being the first day of May, our festivities will commence, and it is our royal pleasure, sir knight, that you shall attach yourself to our court during the trip.”

“I cannot find language, my dear madame, to express my gratitude for the distinguished honor you confer upon me.”

“Partners for a quadrille,” rang through the saloon as the band struck up a lively tune. George III., the Duke of Wellington and Napoleon all made a dash toward the queen at once, each one anxious to secure her as a partner, but with a low bow and a sweet smile she turned to Ivanhoe, took his arm, and was soon gliding through the dance. The British King appeared to take his discomfiture rather hard, while Wellington looked somewhat chop-fallen; but Napoleon proposed that their sorrow should all be drowned in a bowl of punch, which was agreed to, and the trio marched to the bar to commence the drowning process.

“Devilish provoking,” muttered George III.

“What’s provoking?” says Wellington.

“That mysterious piece of humanity styling herself queen of Scots. I shall always hate masquerade balls after this. I don’t think they are respectable at all.”

“Come, come, your royal highness, you should not surrender at the first repulse; Ivanhoe has only gained a temporary triumph, and if you will come to the charge again with a brave heart, you may yet compel victory to perch on your banner.”

“Ingomar had a monopoly until Ivanhoe leaped into the arena and carried off the prize, and I advise you to show a bold front. Strategy won’t win in battles of love. If you expect to win, don’t attempt to make a flank movement, but come boldly up to the front. Remember that ‘faint heart never won fair lady.’”

“I don’t want to win a fair lady, or any other kind of lady, until I know who she is.”

“I guess you will find that out to-morrow, for she is going to New Orleans.”

“True, but I learn that she means to make the entire trip incog.”

“Impossible, sir, impossible; how can she remain on this boat two or three weeks without being recognized by some one?”

“That’s the question to be settled hereafter; she will have to play the game very cautiously, if she prevents me from finding out who she is. By the by, do you know who that savage-looking fellow is who personates Ingomar?”

“No, but you may be sure the queen knows him; did you notice how affectionately she leans on his arm, and how close she puts her mouth to his ear when she speaks to him?”

“Yes, to be sure I did; but she is now playing the same game on Ivanhoe.”

“Who the deuce is Ivanhoe?”

“I don’t know that either, and without meaning any discourtesy to you, I beg to say that I don’t care a copper to know who he is.”

“I hear that it is the intention of Ingomar and Ivanhoe to imitate the example of the queen by making the trip incog.”

“By all means let them do it; and I suggest that we three do the same, and keep our names concealed from them, and we shall have rare sport. Don’t you know that the ladies will die of curiosity if we conceal our names? Let us form a combination against them, look and talk mysteriously, and my word for it, propositions will be made for a treaty looking to a general disclosure of names and the discarding of masks.”

“Capital idea, my lord, and you may depend upon my hearty co-operation. As soon as the boat leaves the wharf to-morrow let the war begin.”

“Perhaps the captain will object to passengers going in disguise all the time.”

“No; he told me that the queen intended to make the entire trip in mask, and that the same privilege would be extended to all who desired to avail themselves of it.”

“Very good, very good; then the alliance, offensive and defensive, may be considered as ratified and confirmed.”

“Charge, Chester, charge! and on, Stanley on!” said Wellington, as he drew the cork from a fresh bottle of champagne.

“Screw your courage up to the sticking point, my gallant king, and with the emperor and duke at your back, move on the enemy, unfurl your banner, cry ‘havoc,’ and let slip the dogs of war. Confusion and discomfiture shall overwhelm our foes.”

“We must win the queen of Sheba to our side at all hazards, as I learn that she and her two maids of honor are going on the excursion.”

“That shall be your task, then – to secure her co-operation. See her at once, and if she will join us, we will have an easy victory.”

“You may depend on me for that,” said the counterfeit king, as he started on his recruiting expedition. “I’ll be back in a moment, and report progress. Meantime you and Napoleon mature the plan of the campaign during my absence.”

George III. soon returned with a favorable report: “Her Majesty presents her compliments to the emperor, and my lord the duke of Wellington, and will be much gratified to have them enrolled as permanent members of her festive court, which will be convened on the hurricane deck at eleven o’clock A. M. to-morrow.”

“Now you have her message verbatim,” said the king, as he dove both hands into his pockets, with a self-satisfied look. “Won’t we have rare sport? won’t we make the enemy die of curiosity? We must organize thoroughly, and make a systematic siege, and if we don’t capture the entire party before three days, take my hat and hang it on the tallest wave that rises behind the ‘White Rose of Memphis.’ We must seem to ignore the other party entirely – look and talk as if no such party were aboard; drop mysterious hints – about things that never were heard of, speak of love-making that we could tell more about if we would. Let all these hints be carelessly dropped in the hearing of some one of the other party, and you may be sure that they will sue for peace and union before we reach New Orleans. Should any one of the other party ask questions (which they will be sure to do) shake your head, look mysterious, shrug your shoulders, and heave a mournful sigh. Do you think the world ever produced a woman that could stand that? Would you believe it, the queen of Scots’ first maid of honor is now half dead to know who I am? Can’t I see how she has been watching me for the last hour? I’ll capture her the first thing to-morrow and employ her as a spy in the enemies’ camp.”

At last the ball ended, the guests departed, save those who had engaged passage for the grand excursion, and they had retired for the night, to dream of the sport to be enjoyed on the morrow, while Captain Quitman paced proudly on the hurricane deck, with heart swelling with satisfaction at the pecuniary prospects before him.

CHAPTER II

The eventful and long-looked-for day on which the “White Rose of Memphis” was to start on her first trip had come at last, and a mighty stir, indeed, did that day produce on and under the tall, romantic bluff in front of Memphis. The morning was delightful, the atmosphere pure and invigorating, the sweet odor of fresh spring flowers was on the breeze, mingling with the soft notes of music produced by the band from the hurricane deck. The stars and stripes floated gracefully from the flag-staff, dark clouds of black smoke rose from the chimneys, a white cloud of steam struggled up through the black smoke and disappeared far above, innumerable drays rattled along the pavement, carriages thundered over the rocky road, carriage drivers swore at dray drivers, dray drivers returned the compliment with interest, in language not of a religious nature, deck hands sung “Dixie,” cabin boys danced juber, chamber-maids darted hither and thither, apparently anxious to perform their duty, without the slightest conception of what that duty was. A villainous urchin, in the arms of his nurse, was making a heart-rending noise with a tin horn, and a passenger muttered something not taught at Sunday-school.

“Them’s my sentiments to a T,” said another man who had been annoyed with the tin horn.

As the hour drew near when the boat was to start the confusion increased. The pilot was at his wheel, the engineer was at his engine; Captain Quitman stood on the upper deck in front of the pilot house, looking happy, and feeling vastly important. Hundreds of men, women and children in holiday costumes stood on the bluff, shouting and waving white handkerchiefs to their friends on the boat. A mocking-bird in a cage on the boiler deck imitated every imaginable sound with his wonderful voice, while a parrot, perched on a pole near the clerk’s office, kept crying, “Let her rip! let her rip, Sam!”

“How much steam have you got, Tom?” cried the pilot through his speaking-tube.

“One sixty, sir, and still rising.”

“All right; blow off the mud valves and keep a good head; we must make a good run at the start.”

“Time’s up, Dave; let her go,” said the captain. “Run her up to the mouth of Wolf, make a turn to the left, and then let her come down with her best speed.”

“Let go the head line,” cried the mate.

“Draw in the stage,” says the captain.

“Go ahead on the larboard, and back on the starboard,” cried the pilot to the engineer.

“Go ahead on the steward, and back on the cook-house,” cries a mischievous little negro, who is dancing a jig in front of the pilot house.

The boat moves slowly up stream until a point opposite the mouth of Wolf river is reached, then makes a graceful curve to the left, and comes flying past the city with a speed never equaled by any other boat on that river. As the “White Rose” passed the last crowd on the bluff a tremendous shout rose from a thousand voices, which was answered by the throng of passengers who lined the deck of the boat. As the golden rays of the morning sun glanced down against the side of the boat, and played and danced with the painted glass of her cabin, a thousand dazzling streaks of light flashed back, presenting a sight of indescribable beauty. It was but a few moments until the boat passed round the bend below President’s Island, and shut off from view the tall domes of the bluff city; but the fresh green foliage with which the tall trees were clothed presented a scene of beauty on which the beholders gazed with delight. As might have been expected, quite a sensation was created among the large crowd of passengers when a dozen or more men and women appeared on deck disguised with as many different and curious costumes. A murmur of dissatisfaction rose among some of the passengers, which threatened to produce trouble; but finally it subsided when the clerk announced the fact that all the maskers were well known to him, and that they were respectable people.

“How is your royal highness this morning?” said the Duke of Wellington, as he shook hands with George III.

“First rate, first rate, my lord. How is it with you?”

“Fine, fine, sir! Splendid day this! By the by, where is the emperor?”

“Here he is. Now let us commence the siege at once. I see her Majesty, the queen of Sheba, and her attendants, are waiting for us. The Scottish queen has marshaled her forces on the hurricane deck.”

“How is that?” demanded the emperor.

“They have all taken seats in a circle, and seem determined to continue the selfish plan. Now we will take seats at a respectable distance from them – just so as to be in hearing distance, and begin the battle according to our original plan. Our object is to so rouse their curiosity as to force them to come to our side, or in other words, to induce them to come and mingle with us. A little skillful maneuvering on our part, and the victory is ours.”

“Lead, lead, my gallant king! You shall be our commander in this fight. Take the queen of Sheba to the field, and the emperor and I will bring up the maids of honor, and then let the skirmishing begin.”

A canvas had been put up above the hurricane deck and seats arranged under it, in order to afford passengers an opportunity to view the grand scenery without being exposed to the rays of the sun; and this spot had been selected as the field of action. The queen of Scots and her party were seated in a circle, near the stern of the boat, wholly unconscious of the hostile preparations which were being made by the queen of Sheba and her adherents. Ingomar was entertaining the queen and the ladies of her court with an eloquent description of the burning of the steam-boat “Bulletin,” and the heart-rending scenes that were witnessed on that occasion. The queen of Sheba with her party was located about twenty feet from the spot occupied by the queen of Scots.

“Now,” said George III., making a low bow to the queen of Sheba, “what is your Majesty’s pleasure? What is to be the fun to-day?”

“Social conversation and enjoying the beautiful scenery will occupy us till luncheon, and when we have had enough of that, we will then form our plans for the future.”

“By the by,” said Wellington with a loud voice, evidently intended to attract the attention of the Scottish queen’s party, “have you heard the strange news?”

“No, no; what is it?”

“There are two detectives aboard in mask, on the look-out for the perpetrator of a diabolical murder that was committed near Collierville day before yesterday. They have tracked the man to this boat, and have satisfied themselves that he is aboard, and are prepared to arrest him. They have got a man spotted, and are going to take him off at Vicksburg.”

“That’s the best shot that ever was fired,” whispered Napoleon.

“See,” said the queen, “the shot has taken effect. They are all looking this way, and intently listening. They are dying to hear more. Give them another shot.”

“What were the circumstances of the murder?” inquired Napoleon, as he raised his voice and winked at Wellington.

“Oh, it was a most horrible and cruel murder – it was a love affair. The deceased was a young and pretty girl; she had loved not wisely, but too well. Poison was the means used to produce death.”

“There, there, Wellington,” whispered Napoleon; “let ’em rest on that a while. They have all been gradually moving this way. They can’t hold out much longer.”

“Let me throw one more shell into their camp,” whispered Wellington.

“All right; go ahead.”

“There is a skillful pickpocket aboard of this boat, and those who have money had better be on their guard. One passenger has been relieved of a purse containing five hundred dollars. The pocket was cut clean off, and so skillfully done that the owner knew nothing about it until his attention was called to it by a friend. I fear that our amusements will all be interfered with, and that we shall be compelled to lay aside our disguises, because, whoever he is, you may be assured he is in mask.”

“Good, good, Wellington!” said George III., in a whisper; “stop; you have got them completely demoralized, and we may safely wait for the result.”

“Oh, mercy on us!” exclaimed one of Queen Mary’s maids of honor, “we are in the midst of thieves and murderers! Didn’t you hear that gentleman say that a bloody murder had been committed, and that a gentleman had been robbed, and that both criminals were aboard of this boat? Who knows but what we shall all be murdered and robbed!”

“Don’t look toward them,” said Wellington; “the last shot has mortally wounded the last one of the party.” This sentence was whispered, so as not to be heard by the opposition.

Ivanhoe drew near Wellington and said: “Pardon me, sir, but I beg to inquire about this dreadful murder of which I heard you speak just now.”

Wellington shrugged his shoulders, and gave a deep sigh. “Horrible! horrible; must cruel! unprecedented! but that’s all I know about it.” And with a knowing wink at George III., Wellington observed: “Look at that beautiful little island there. See what delightful foliage. How splendid it would be to have a picnic on that nice green turf under such a cool-looking shade!”

“Oh, wouldn’t that be delightful!” said the queen of Sheba.

“We’ll have a picnic to-morrow,” said Napoleon. “The boat is going to take on a large lot of cotton just below Helena; and we will order the steward to prepare a picnic dinner, and we will have a dance, as well as a dinner.”

Ivanhoe bit his lip with vexation as he returned to his party no wiser than when he left it.

“Hold your hand over my mouth, else I shall be compelled to laugh out,” said the queen to her first maid of honor.

“Pray, don’t laugh,” cried the young lady; “it would cause them to suspect something.”

“What did you learn about the murder?” inquired the queen of Scots, as Ivanhoe returned to his seat.

“Nothing,” was the solemn reply. “They all seem to be an ill-mannered, ungenteel crew, and, for my part, I am inclined to think they have been making sport of us.”

“I see through it all,” said Ingomar gravely. “They are offended because we did not invite them to mingle with us. For my part, I am unwilling to notice such silly conduct. I like amusement well enough, but it must be such as sensible people may engage in. Allow me to suggest that we move to another place and inaugurate a regular systematic plan to while away our idle moments.”

The suggestion was unanimously concurred in, and the entire party went to the front end of the boat, and soon were seated, leaving the other party overwhelmed with mortification.

“That is too bad!” exclaimed Napoleon; “we had won the victory, and lost it by all grinning at once. They have evidently seen our hand, and we have lost the game.”

“Suppose we invite the other party to join us,” said Ingomar. “If we expect to enjoy our trip, it would be advisable to dispense with the rigid rules of decorum and become acquainted with each other.”

“Your sentiments are generous and noble, sir, and are heartily approved; and with your permission I will invite the other party to join us.”

“Have I your permission, madame, to deliver the invitation?”

“Yes, and I trust it will be accepted.”

Ingomar approached the spot where the queen of Sheba and her party were seated, and with a dignified bow said: “I am requested by my royal mistress, the queen of Scots, to present her highest regards to your Majesty, and request the pleasure of your company at her royal court. She further requests me to beg you to bring all the ladies and gentlemen of your party with you, in order that a friendly union may be entered into, for the better enjoyment of such festivities and pleasures as may be jointly considered worthy of well-bred and intelligent people.”

“Right noble and worthy chief, most eloquently hast thou delivered the message of thy royal mistress, and it would be extreme rudeness for us to refuse to accept it. Therefore, we request you to convey to her Majesty our most distinguished regards, and inform her that her generous offer is accepted, and that it will be our pleasure to visit her festive dominions.”

“My royal mistress will be delighted with the news.” And as he said this he raised the queen’s hand to his lips, then turned and delivered his message to the queen of Scots.

“I am going to laugh,” said the first maid.

“Laugh as much as you please, now; it can do no harm; we are forever disgraced; we are beaten, overcome, captured!” said Wellington, as he clinched his fists with vexation.

“Is this the victory that we have been fighting for?”

“I call it a complete victory,” said the queen. “Was it not the object of our plan to force them to invite us to join them, and have they not yielded? You may be sure they would never have given us the invitation had it not been for the bait which we threw out to them.”

“I agree with your Majesty there,” said George III. “We have accomplished the object for which we contended, and now let us join their party, and make ourselves agreeable.”

“Be it so, then,” replied Wellington, as he offered his arm to the queen and led her to where the other party were seated.

The two queens seemed to enter into a contest as to which should be considered most polite. The graceful bowing, the gentle hand-shaking, the sweet smiling, the high compliments, and general bearing, were such as might have been witnessed between Queen Victoria and the Empress Eugenie when they first met.

“Now,” said Ingomar, addressing the two queens, “as I understand the object of this excursion to be one of pleasure and amusement, permit me to suggest that we organize ourselves into a sort of committee of the whole, and agree on some plan by which each hour of the day shall be furnished with some kind of innocent sport.”