In those days the favourite resort for parties of pleasure was the rocky
shore of Howth, facing Killiney, and our party had selected a spot which
was well known to two or three of them. It was a little hollow in the
rocks, where the mould had collected, and was covered with a smooth close
sod. Its form resembled a horse shoe, the open being to the sea; and the
rock descended at that side perpendicularly six or seven feet to the
water. There was just room enough for the party to seat themselves
comfortably, so that every one could enjoy the seaward view. It was a
considerable distance from the place where the vehicles should stop;
indeed, the hill intervened and should be crossed, so that it was no
trifling matter to carry a large basket or hamper to it.
O’Gorman resolved not to encumber himself with any thing that might divide
his attention with his charming partner; and, accordingly, when they had
pulled up, calling to the driver of the jarvey, “Here, Murphy,” said he,
“you’ll take charge of the basket that’s slung under the gig, and follow
the rest when they’re ready.”
“Oh, to be sure, sir, sartinly,” was the reply, and away went Bob to show
the scenery to Miss Kate, from various points quite unknown to her before,
leaving the remainder of the party to settle matters as they pleased.
Murphy’s assistance was required by the servants who were unlading the
carriages first; and each gentleman, taking a basket or bundle, and even
the ladies charging themselves with some light articles, they set forward,
leaving two or three heavy hampers to the servants’ charge.
All having at length departed, except Mr O’Donnell’s servant, who had been
left in charge of the vehicles, and Murphy, who was to take the gig
basket, the latter proceeded to unstrap it. As he shook it in opening the
buckles, some broken glass fell upon the road.
“Oh! miallia murther! what’s this? My sowl to glory, if half the bottom
isn’t out ov the bashket. Och hone, oh! Masther Bob, bud you are the raal
clip. By gannies, he’s dhruv till he’s dhruv the knives and forks clane
through; the dickens a one there’s left; an’ as for the glasses, be my
sowl he’d be a handy fellow that ud put one together. Oh! marcy sa’ me!
here’s a purty mess. Musha! what’s best to be done, at all at all?”
“Take it to them any how,” answered his companion, “and show it to them.”
“Arrah, what’s the use of hawkin’ it over the mountain? Can’t I jist go
an’ tell what’s happened?”
“Take care you wouldn’t have to come back for it,” said the other, “an’
have two journies instead of one. Maybe they wouldn’t b’lieve you,
thinkin’ it was only a thrick that that limb o’ th’ ould boy put you up
to.”
The prospect of a second journey, on such a hot day, not being
particularly agreeable, Murphy took up the shattered basket and proceeded.
Having yet two hours to spare, the party resolved to consume them by
sauntering about until the hour appointed for dinner, which being come,
and all having assembled at one point, near the Bailey, they proceeded
together to the chosen spot, where they found Murphy awaiting them with a
most rueful countenance. He had been vainly trying to invent some
plausible excuse for his patron, as he dreaded that all the blame would be
thrown upon Bob’s hard driving at setting out.
“The bottom’s fell out o’ the blaggard rotten ould bashket, ma’am, an’ the
knives an’ forks has fell an the road.”
“Oh, well,” said Mr Sharpe (who did not seem to be either so astonished or
angry as one might have expected), “give them a rub in a napkin; a little
dust won’t do them any harm.”
“Why, thin, the sorra a one o’ them there is to rub,” said Murphy,
“barrin’ this one crukked ould fork.”
Despite his loss, Mr Sharpe could not refrain from laughing when Murphy
held up an article, which had certainly been packed for a joke, it was so
distorted, one prong being tolerably straight, but the other sticking out
as if it was going to march. However, collecting himself, he asked
sternly, “Do you mean to tell me that all the knives and forks were lost
upon the road?” “Jist so, sir,” was the reply.
“The glass; is it safe?”
“Bruck, sir--all in smithereens; sorra as much ov id together as ud show
what the patthern was.”
“And the spoons,” roared Mr Sharpe, as if the thought had only just struck
him.
“Spoons! sir. Oh, be my sowl you’d betther look for thim yourself; here’s
the bashket.”
“This is a costly party to me,” said Mr Sharpe, “but it can’t be helped
now; so don’t let my loss cause any diminution of your pleasure or
enjoyment.”
Every one looked with perfect admiration at Mr Sharpe, surprised at his
magnanimity, and Mrs Harvey thought that she must have altogether mistaken
his character hitherto; but she would not have thought so, had she known
that he had purposely procured a rotten basket, with the bottom partially
broken, in which he had packed a quantity of broken glass, and in which he
(of course) had _not_ packed either spoons, knives, or forks, except the
very one which Murphy had held up; and it was to prevent examination or
inquiry that he had been so voluble upon his arrival in the morning. But
had his loss been, as the company supposed, real instead of fictitious, he
must have been gratified, nay delighted, at the dismay which gradually
spread itself over almost every countenance, at the prospect of having to
eat a dinner without knives, forks, or spoons, and to drink without
glasses, or even cups.
“Gentlemen,” said Mr Harvey, “have you got penknives with you? I have
forgotten mine.”
So had every one else except Mr Sharpe. He would willingly have kept it
secret, but he knew that if he should attempt to use it himself, it would
be seen; so he made a virtue of necessity, and lent it to Mr Harvey for
the purpose of carving the roast beef!
The dinner was now nearly arranged, and the last basket, in which
Mulholland had packed the roast beef, was opened. The remnant of an old
college gown was first dragged forth, and Mr O’Brien’s servant, to whom
the task was assigned, looked in, tittered, looked again, and then drew
forth two long large ribs, with a piece of meat about the size of a
cricket ball attached to the ends of them. Having laid them on the dish,
he dipped again, and produced, with another titter, a shapeless lump of
meat without any bone--(he would be a clever anatomist that could tell
what part of the beast it had been). Another dip, and with a roar of
laughter he raised and deposited on the dish four ribs, from which nearly
every morsel of meat had been cut.
“What is the meaning of this, Mr O’Gorman?” said Mrs Harvey, who was quite
disconcerted at the turn things had taken, and was now seriously disposed
to be angry.
“My dear madam,” said he, “it may look a little unsightly, but it is all
prime meat, depend upon it. It was dressed yesterday for the College
dining-hall.”
“You don’t mean, surely, to call bare bones _meat_, sir?”
“My dear madam,” said Bob, “you will find that there is as much meat
without bone as will compensate. Mulholland is a very honest fellow in
that respect.”
Some laughed, some were annoyed, some were disgusted; but by degrees
hunger asserted its rights, and reconciled them a little, especially when
O’Gorman pointed out how much easier it would be to carve the small pieces
with a _penknife_, than if they had but one large one.
“Well,” said Mrs Harvey, “I have long indulged the hope of having a
_pic-nic_ party so perfectly arranged that nothing should go astray; and
so far have I been from succeeding, that I really do think there never was
a more unfortunate, irregular affair. I really do not know what to say,
and I feel quite incompetent to preside. Mr O’Gorman, as you have the
happy knack of making the best of every thing, I believe you are the
person best qualified in this company to make the most of the matter, and
we must rely on your ingenuity.”
“Thank you, ma’am. That is as much as to say, ‘Bob, as you have treated us
to broken meat, and lost the knives and forks, you will please to carve!’
Well, nabocklish, this isn’t a round table, like Prince Arthur’s, for it’s
little more than half round, and we have old Howth at the head, and old
Neptune at the foot of it; but, for the rest, we don’t stand upon
precedence, and therefore I need not change my place, to preside. Mr
Harvey, I’ll trouble you for the penknife--I beg pardon--the carver--hem!
and that specimen of antediluvian cutlery, the ‘_crukked ould fork_.’
Thank you--shove over the beef now. Ods marrow-bones and cleavers! what a
heap! Gentlemen, you had better turn up your cuffs as a needful
preliminary; and, perchance, an ablution may also be necessary--you can
get down to the water here, at this side.”
As soon as the party had re-assembled, after having washed their hands, he
again addressed them.
“Mr Sharpe, and Mr Harvey, will you please to drag that, turkey asunder?
Mr O’Brien, will you tear a wing off that fowl for Miss O’Donnell? Fitz,
gnaw the cord off one of those ale bottles; draw the cork with your teeth,
and send the bottle round. The corkscrew was with the knives.”
“Draw my teeth with the cork, you mean; I had rather knock off the neck,
thank you,” said Fitz, about to suit the action to the word.
“No, no,” cried Bob, “do you forget that we must drink out of the bottles?
Do you want the ladies to cut their pretty lips with the broken glass, you
Mohawk! Though, faith,” said he, in an under-tone, to his fair companion,
“I could almost wish such an accident to happen to some one that I know,
that I might have an opportunity of exhibiting my courageous devotion, by
sucking the wound.”
“A prize! a prize!” cried he, jumping up and running a little distance. He
returned with five or six large Malahide oyster shells, that had been
bleaching on the cliff, where they had been thrown by some former party.
Two of them were top shells. “Here,” said he, throwing one to Sweeny, “is
a carver for that ham; make haste and put an edge on it, on the rock.
Ladies, here are primitive drinking goblets for you. Miss O’Brien, the
pleasure of a _shell_ of wine with you.”
“I have put a very good edge on the shell,” said Sweeny, “but I can’t cut
the ham with it, it slides about so.”
“Psha! take a grip of it by the shank, can’t you? What are you afraid of,
you omedhaun? Hold it fast, and don’t let it slide. Costello, break up
that loaf and send it round. Mr O’Donnell, will you have the goodness to
hold one of these ribs for me. Oh, faith, finger and thumb work won’t do;
you must take it in your fist, and hold it tight; now pull--bravo! Beau
Brummell would be just in his element here. Be my sowl, as Paddy Murphy
says, I think if he saw us, he’d jump into that element there to get
away.”
Mr Sharpe was now in his glory; he had, with Mr Harvey’s assistance, torn
up the turkey; and seeing that Bob had decidedly the worst job at the
table, he asked him for beef. Mr Harvey joined in the joke, and put in
also; but their man was too able for them.
“As you are in partnership in the turkey business, in which you have been
so successful,” said he, “you had better continue so, in the general
provision line,” handing them a piece sufficient to satisfy two, and
prevent them from calling again.
“Bill” (to one of the college men), “here’s a shell for you to cut the
crust of that pie, and help it. Jem” (to another), “Miss Kate O’Brien
wishes for some of that chicken that you are trying to dislocate, as
gently as if you were afraid of hurting it, or greasing your fingers.”
“What part?” said Jem.
“A little of the soul, if you please,” said Kate, with a maliciously
demure face.
“Here it is for you. Miss Kate, soul and body;” and he handed it to her.
“The mirth and fun (now) grew fast and furious.”
No water fit for drinking could be procured, and the consequence was, that
the ale, porter, and wine, were swallowed too abundantly by the gentlemen.
Songs were called for, and O’Gorman was in the midst of the “Groves of
Blarney,” when Costello shouted out, “A porpoise! a porpoise!”
Up jumped the whole party, and up also jumped the table-cloth, which Mr
O’Donnell and Mr Sharpe had fastened to their coats or waistcoats.
They sat directly facing the opening to the water, with Mrs Harvey between
them; so that when, by their sudden start up, they raised the cloth, it
formed an inclined plane, down which dishes, plates, bottles, pies, bread,
and meat, glided, not majestically, but too rapidly, into the sea. Then,
oh! what a clamour!
Above the jingling of broken bottles and plates, the crash of dishes, and
the exclamations of the gentlemen, arose the never-failing shriek of the
ladies. And then came a pause, whilst they silently watched the last dish
as it gracefully receded from their view.
“Oh! faith,” said Mrs Harvey (surprised by her emotion into using a gentle
oath), “I think it is time to go home _now_.”
“Faith,” said O’Gorman, “it is time to leave the dinner-table at all
events, since the things have been removed; but as to going home, we have
so little to carry, or look after, besides ourselves and--hic--the ladies,
that I think, with all respect to Mrs Harvey, we may--hic--take it easy. I
wish I could get a drink of water to cure this hic--hiccough; for I am
certain, Miss O’Brien, I need not assure you--indeed I can appeal to you
to bear witness--hic--that it was the _want_, not the quantity of liquid,
that has brought it on.”
The “want,” however, had made Bob’s eyes particularly and unusually
luminous; nor did Kate take his proposition “to launch all the hampers and
baskets, after their recent contents, into the sea,” to be any additional
proof of his self-possession; and when, with a caper and whoop, he sent
Mulholland’s basket to the fishes, her suspicions that he was slightly
elevated became considerably strengthened.
“Mrs Harvey,” said Mr Sharpe, “you think your party unfortunate. I have
been upon a great many parties of this kind, and I assure you I have seen
far more unpleasant affairs--(Gentlemen, here are a few bottles of wine
that have escaped the watery fate of their unhappy companions). Now, the
very last party that I was on last season, three or four of the gentlemen
quarrelled (pass the wine if you please), and one of them, in the
scrimmage, was knocked over the rocks into the sea.”
“Mercy on us, Mr Sharpe! was he drowned?”
“Why, no, but his collar-bone was broken, and his shoulder dislocated. But
a worse accident happened in coming home.”
“What was it?”
“Poor Singleton had come, with his wife and two nieces, in a job carriage;
the driver got drunk, and overturned the whole concern, just where the
road branches off down to the strand; they rolled over the cliff, and fell
about twenty feet; the horses were both killed, and the whole party
dreadfully injured, barely escaping with life. Then, the quarrel after
dinner (by which Jones got his collar-bone broken) led to a duel on the
following morning, in which one of the parties, Edwards, fell; and his
antagonist, young O’Neill, got a bullet in his knee, which has lamed and
disfigured him for life. Pass the wine, gentlemen.”
“No! no! no!” screamed Mrs Harvey, on whom the above delectable recital
had had the desired effect, and who was worked into a desperate state of
terror, “no more wine, gentlemen, if you please. Come, ladies, we must
return at once, before evening closes in.”
Each lady being perfectly satisfied that the gentleman who had fallen to
her lot would keep sober, whatever _others_ might do, demurred to the
early retreat; but Mrs Harvey was too much frightened at the prospect of
returning with gentlemen and drivers drunk, not to be determined; and,
accordingly, with much growling, and the most general dissatisfaction, the
party broke up.
“I am done with _pic-nics_--I’ll never have any thing to say to one
again,” said the disappointed directress. “There never was any affair more
perfectly arranged, never was so much care taken to have things regular. I
never proposed to myself such enjoyment as I expected this day.”
“My dear Mrs Harvey,” said O’Gorman, to whose countenance the last four or
five shells of wine had imparted an air of the most profound wisdom, “my
dear Mrs Harvey, ‘the whole art of happiness is _contentment_.’ This is
the great secret of enjoyment in this life--this is the talisman that
clothes poverty in imperial robes, and imparts to the hovel a grandeur
unknown to the halls of princes--this is the true philosopher’s stone, for
which alchymists so long have sought in vain, that converts all it touches
into gold--this is the cosmetic that beautifies the ill-favoured wife, and
the magic wand that bestows upon the frugal board the appearance of
surpassing plenty--this is the shield of adamantine proof, on which
disappointment vainly showers its keenest darts--this is the impregnable
fortress, ensconced in which, we may boldly bid defiance to the combined
forces of sublunary ills--and whether it be announced from the pulpit or
the cliff, by the dignified divine or the college scamp; be it soothingly
whispered in the ear of the deposed and exiled monarch, or tendered as
comfort to the discomfited authoress of a _pic-nic_, it still retains, in
undiminished force, its universality of application”----
Here Mr Sweeny facetiously gave him a slap on the crown of the hat, which
drove it down, and stuck it gracefully over his eye, thereby breaking the
thread of his discourse. He then addressed the fair Catherine; but all his
eloquence and profundity were unavailing to induce her to return with him
in the gig. She would listen to nothing but the carriage, and as room
could not be made for him inside, he mounted the box, leaving the gig to
any one that pleased to have it. Nor was it long untenanted. Frank
Costello and Bill Nowlan mounted together, and were found in it next
morning fast asleep, in the stable-lane behind Mr Sharpe’s house, the
horse having found his way home when left to his own guidance.
The remainder of the party arrived as safely, but somewhat more regularly,
in the evening of their eventful day, and all dissatisfied except Mr
O’Gorman, and