For out-of-door feasting plenty of drinks should be provided; "cups,"
whether of claret, hock, or champagne, should be made on the spot and
not prepared beforehand, as the taste of stale soda water is
absolutely objectionable. Cider, if iced, is really delicious, while
a drink which the English find highly refreshing is called "moss
rose," and is made of equal quantities of tea, coffee, and "cup,"
either of the champagne or claret brand.
* * * * *
I have a story to tell you. It has nothing of mystery in it, neither
need it, necessarily, prove harrowing; it is far from being romantic,
and there isn't a glimmer of sentiment in it. It hasn't a moral; if it
had I shouldn't relate it. No, it is just true; that's the best of it
and it's the worst of it, too, as you will admit, because it isn't
without a parallel.
It--my story--is of a very charming old farmhouse situated "near to
Nature's heart."
At this farmhouse was gathered together a small company of people
known to the natives of that section of the country as "summer
boarders." To themselves this same company was known as a band of
"nature-worshippers." One day they were all seated in the shade on a
little knoll, each one trying to outdo the others in the matter of
rhapsodizing the "eternal hills," the "books to be found in brooks,"
etc., when up spake one of their number who had hitherto been silent:
"Oh, I would give all the delights that this place possesses for one
hour in the company of an ice-chest stocked as it could be with the
good things in market now."
Of course this was philistinism of the rankest sort, and it savored of
treason, too. But the offender held her head high and parried well, if
the truth must be told, the rebukes of her hearers. The mischief was
done, however; the seeds of discontent fell upon fertile ground, made
receptive by a long diet of corned beef, curd cheese and "plenty of
milk."
The next morning every conveyance the farmer-landlord could muster was
pressed into service to take his guests to the station. Every one of
them had received a sudden call to Boston. But none confided to his or
her neighbor the exact nature of this post haste summons to the Hub,
and when the train pulled into the station they scattered in different
directions, hurriedly saying to each other: "See you on the 4.30 train
this afternoon; good-by."
And sure enough they were all aboard the train as agreed, each of them
with an armful of bundles. Nobody volunteered any information as to
what his or her bundles contained, and nobody asked any questions.
They simply ignored the existence of them and talked of how good it
would seem to get back to Peaceful Valley once more, with its
quietness and vast opportunities for reflection.
That night each of them had a private audience with the landlady and
the next day at dinner was seen the result of the trip to Boston and
of the said private audience.
First of all was brought in some delicious Spanish mackerel, broiled
to a turn. These were furnished by Professor A., author of the
celebrated work "Does Angling Produce Insanity?" He said that of all
the fish in market these seemed to him just now the most desirable.