But we appealed to the taste of San Francisco more distinctly in particular fetes.

"Ye Olde Time Pycke-Nycke," largely advertised in hand-bills beginning "Oyez, Oyez!" and largely frequented by knights, monks, and cavaliers, was drowned out by unseasonable rain, and returned to the city one of the saddest spectacles I ever remember to have witnessed.

In pleasing contrast, and certainly our chief success, was "The Gathering of the Clans," or Scottish picnic.

So many milk-white knees were never before simultaneously exhibited in public, and to judge by the prevalence of "Royal Stewart" and the number of eagle's feathers, we were a high-born company.

I threw forward the Scottish flank of my own ancestry, and passed muster as a clansman with applause.