Where are the wondrous white waistcoats, the flimsy baréges and muslins,
Worn by the swells and the ladies who came here on pleasant excursions?
Gone are those light-hearted people, flirtations, perhaps love—even marriage,
All have had woeful effect since Mrs. Merillian's picnic;
And of that great merry-making, some bottles in tinfoil enveloped,
And a glove dropped by Jane Page, are the vestiges only remaining!
Ye who take pleasure in picnics, and dote on excursions aquatic,
Flying the smoke of the city, vexations and troubles of business,
List to a joyous tradition of one which was once held at Cliefden—
List to a tale of cold chicken, champagne, bitter beer, lobster salad!