They jested; they laughed; they hummed scraps of songs; they had a greeting for every boat that passed.
By-and-by, we came to an island with a little landing-place where a score or two of boats were moored against the alders by the water's edge.

A tall flag-staff gay with streamers peeped above the tree-tops, and a cheerful sound of piping and fiddling, mingled with the hum of many voices, came and went with the passing breeze.

As Dalrymple rested on his oars to listen, a boat which we had outstripped some minutes before, shot past us to the landing-place, and its occupants, five in number, alighted.
"Bet you ten to one that's a bridal party," said Mr.Sullivan.
"Say you so?
Then suppose we follow, and have a look at the bride!" exclaimed his friend.

"The place is a public garden." The proposition was carried unanimously, and we landed, having first tied the boat to a willow.

We found the island laid out very prettily; intersected by numbers of little paths, with rustic seats here and there among the trees, and variegated lamps gleaming out amid the grass, like parti-colored glow-worms.