 | Life and sayings of Mrs. Partington and others
of the family |  |
THE PIC-NIC:
A GRAND DOMESTIC DRAMA,
IN MANY ACTS.
In which are detailed the Fun and Drawbacks attending a Pleasure
Excursion in the town of Bozzleton.
PERSONS IN THE DRAMA.
Mr. Homespun — Who has something to say to all, and about everybody.
Jemima Short — A sweet little country rose.
Mr. Blisby — A gentleman from the city.
Miss Primrose — A refined lady of thirty-five, full of sentiment and some snuff.
Mr. Brindle — A bachelor of fifty-eight and a justice of the peace.
Miss Pidgin — A bird too tough for sentiment.
Auxiliaries, Horses, Pigeon Pie, &c., by the company.
And spreads his choicest rays around as if he dreamt of fun;
The girls are up and wide awake, the lads are spruce and gay,
For a pic-nic party is arranged for this bright summer day.
And won't we have a time of it? Just see the bag
of dough-nuts that Jemima Short has thrown out of the
window into the wagon! And there go three chickens,
and four pies, and a jug of cider. Goodness gracious.
Jemima! You are an angel of a provider, you are!
You don't mean to put us on a regiment to-day, do you?
You look like an airthly goddess, too, in your new pink
calico. I vow, it looks first-rate — I took it for chinchilli
a rod off.
Jemima. — “I don't know — I don't think much of it,
but folks tells me it 's becoming. Miss Jeems, the milliner,
got the pattern from the city, and —”
How de do, Miss Short? Gwine to the pic-nic?
Mrs. S. (with a cold in her head.) — “No, guess not;
don't feel smart, 'zactly, and the old man 's got the
romantic affection in his leg, and can't go nuther; but
Mima is gwine; she has had her hair in papers a whole
week to make her look pretty.”
Jemima. — “Why, mother! how you do talk! But
here they come — O, what a host of 'em! How proud
Betsey Babb feels of her new dress! I guess some folks
can look full as well as some folks; and there 's that
everlasting old maid, Miss Pidgin; how I hate her with
her scraggy neck and long tongue! And there 's Patty
Sprigg's city beau — O, I would n't be her to be seen
with such a fright!”
The long carts filled with girls and beaus show an attractive load,
And laughter rules the pleasant hour, and eyes shine gay and bright,
The only kind of stars that show as well by day as night.
Laughter! guess you 'd think so to hear it. Now the
cart settles down into a rut. “Dear me,” says Miss
Tibbs, “we shall all be upsot, tipsy turvy; do hold on
to me!” and then everybody thinks they must be held
on to; and everybody else is trying to hold on to somebody.
O, how frightened the city beauty is! “Do you
apprehend any danger of a tergiversation?” “No,” says
Jo Hays, “the slack men look arter them things, and
everybody 's noclated for it.”
Female Voice. — “Be still won't you! O, you satan!
see how you have tumbled my collar with your pesky
nonsense; and my face burns like fire-coals. Right before
a city gentleman too; O, for shame!”
City Gent. — “Upon my honor, miss, I was entirely
oblivious to any impropriety.”
“O, 't was n't very improper either, he, he, he; only
such things should n't be done publicly, you know.”
Miss Pidgin. — “If Susan Fry is n't setting on Sam
Sled's knees, I a'n't a living sinner! Such conduct I
must think improper. I never was guilty of such indiscretion,
I never was!”
Boys singing —
And life on a dusty road,
Where mirth warms every heart,
And pleasure finds abode:
The town may boast of its joys,
Its racket and its din,
But give a haunt away from its noise,
Some quiet nook within.”
Far from the busy din of town, in some secluded grove,
The happy party sit them down, or unrestricted rove;
All austere rules that bind the world are here thrown far aside,
And revelling in mirth's bright beam, how fleet the moments glide!
Arm-in-arm under the shady trees they now wander,
picking posies or bright berries — and such fun! Miss
Primrose smiles languidly a sort of sky-blue benignity
upon old Brindle, the bachelor.
Miss Primrose, (sentimentally.) — “How delightfully
those pines sigh in the gentle breeze, like the soft
music of love in the ear of youth!”
Old Brindle. — “Yes'm, so it does.”
Miss P. — “O, I do so love the pines!”
Old B. — “They 're better in May, mum, when the
sliver is thick and creamy. Come out here then, marm
out a square, and sliver up the tree — allers sliver up,
marm — some slivers down. Then 's when you'd like the
pines, mum.”
Miss P. — “That 's an entirely new aspect; I meant
their romantic beauty.”
Old B. — “Yes'm — beautiful wood, very; worth
four dollars a cord in Boston.”
Here come Patty Sprig and the musty-choked man
from the city.
Cit. — “Miss Spwig, how delightfully ruwal it is
here! Always thought I should like to live among the
beauties of Nachure. It 's a great pity we can't have
any nachure in town, a great pity. I've heard of some
human nachure round there, but never saw any of it.”
Patty. — “I should think they might bring it in by
pipes, as they did the Cochituate.”
Cit. — “Are those gwound-nuts?”
Patty. — “No, dear me, no; don't eat 'em; they 're
toadstools.”
Voices ringing with the pines,
Nothing our gay fancies balking,
Doing all our heart inclines.
Now on the green and beauteous sod the varied viands spread,
And appetite shall wait on health, and wit its influence shed;
The social tongue with music rife blends with the platter's noise,
As earth's rude jarring interferes with its harmonious joys.
“Here 's tongue, and ham, and sausages, and pumkin
pie, and cheese. Mercy, what a bill of fare! Miss
Peewit shall I help you to a piece of tongue?” — “No,
you for a piece of the chicken.” — “Chicken, did you
say? From his toughness I should say he was a grandfather
to thousands!”
“Pass the pigeon yonder, will you?”
“What, the old maid?”
“No, no, the pie.”
“There 's the plate — the pigeon is unavoidably detained.”
Miss Pidgin. — “I 'd thank people who use my
name to speak so that I can hear; I don't like to be
backbitten.”
“We were speaking of pigeon pie, mem” — something
more tender (Aside).
“Say, Tom, what have you got in the dish there?”
“Pickled grasshoppers, I should think. Will you have
some?”
“Miss Primrose, do allow me to help you; here 's
some ham, delicate as your own nature, ma'am.”
Miss P. — “I declare, you are quite complimentary!
Comparing my nature with smoked hog!”
“Will Mr. Blisby, the gentleman from the city, favor
us with a song? Silence, `ye gentlemen and ladies all
that grace this famous' pic-nic; Mr. Blisby is going to
sing.”
Mr. B. — “I 'd rather be excused; but though I am
not exactly in tune, I 'll endeavor for the occasion.”
Mr. Blisby sings:
Her lips are red, her eyes like sloe,
A golden glory is her hair,
Falling o'er shoulders white as snow
And burn with radiance divine,
My ardent gaze encounters hern,
The same as hern encounters mine.”
Child, yelling. — “Mother, give me a nuther pieth
ov pie!”
Mother. — “Hush, my darling, there a'n't any.”
Boy. — “I thay there ith; I wanth a pieth ov pie!”
Of talking and jingling,
The noise and glee
Sound merrily,
And set our ears a tingling.”
A dance! a dance! and gleefully a set is forthwith planned,
A fiddle most mysteriously has happened here at hand;
And here beneath the dark tree's shade, with leaves and berries crowned,
Each happy lad and laughing maid whirl in the dance around.
“Go it, my top sawyer on the pussy-gut! Work your
elbows lively, and we 'll put her through by daylight!”
“O, dear! I 'm all of a perspiration with sweat. How
slippery it is under foot!” “It a'n't slippery anywheres
else.” “I swow to man, there 's Bill Nutter and Jemima
Short both down! Up and try it again, clumsys!”
Miss Primrose. — “How these old woods echo with
the music, Mr. Brindle, like the Arcadian groves, with
the dulcet notes of the Satires!”
Mr. B. — “I never heerd of 'em; I guess they never
was in these woods — they never was that I can remember.”
“I declare, there 's Mr. Blisby dancing like an animated
Now all he wants is a tail.”
How sparkles every eye with mirth as round and round we go!
No ball-room artistes now are here to circumscribe our sport,
And Nature smiles approvingly, for here she holds her court
A lake romantic lying near tempts to its cooling vale,
And tiny boats in swift career across its bosom sail;
And waving handkerchiefs respond in answer to the song
That, rising from the venturers, is borne the breeze along.
“Jump into the boat, Patty; not the least danger in
the world of its tipping over.” — “O, my! I 've got my
shoe all satiated with water. I shall get my death a
cold.” — “You 've got your foot in it this time, that 's a
fact.”
Mr. Blisby. — “Is there any danger of sea-sickness?”
“Now just see that boat — how she scoots it! I vow
if Patty Sprig has n't got hold of the bow oar, and pulls
away like a little satan. If I thought that spindle-shank
from the city was going to have that gal, I 'd cut his
eternal — acquaintance, I would. I e'enamost said
throat, but that would be manslaughter; and I don't
see how it could be, neither, for killing such a thing as
he is.”
O'er the dark sea's foam,
Where the shrill winds whistle free.”
“Well, they do. Hallo! here 's Jim Sly. What
have you got in that bottle, old fellow? Have n't seen
you to-day afore.”
Jim Sly (drunk). — “I 've got some c-c-cough-drops
to c-c-cure the sea-sickness with — a little rum
t-t-t-tea with s-s-some sperrit in it to k-k-keep it.”
Sally Twist, his sweetheart. — “You Jim Sly, you
drunken, miserable fellow, you — you sot — you brute —
you individual — you — you — you Jim Sly” —
Jim. — “Go it, S-S-Sal, and I 'll hold yer b-b-bonnet!
What yer goin' to d-d-do 'bout it?”
Sally. — “You 'll see when we get home, you sot —
you brute — you vagabone!”
Sam. — “Let her lean, elder —
The colic, and the' —
“Can you tell me, Jemima, why Miss Pidgin yonder
is like forty-nine big apples?” — “No, I 'm sure I can't,
unless it 's 'cause she 's sour.” — “No, 't a'n't it; it 's
'cause she 's a vergin' nigh fifty.”
And what a frightful lightning flash then swept across its breast!
I feel a drop upon my hand — the pine trees rock and roar —
The waves like blacks, with nightcaps on, rush madly to the shore!
“O, what shall we do? where shall we go? what
will become of us?” screams everybody. “Do, dear
Mr. Wiggin,” says Miss Pidgin, “tell us what we shall
do?”
Mr. Wiggin. — “Why, 't a'n't no use to run 's I
see, for the rain is here, and there a'n't a house within a
mile; and my 'pinion is that we get in the woods and
make ourselves comfortable.”
“But don't the lightnin' always strike trees?”
“There 's more danger from your eyes, Jemima.
Lightnin's attracted by anything bright; you 'd better
shut 'em up.”
Jemima. — “Your wit is n't bright enough to attract
it, any how, Mr. Impudence! How does that strike
ye?”
Old Mrs. Fog. — “O, that folks should joke and
trifle so, when there 's so much to make 'em solemn!
A'n't you afraid the thunder 'll kill you? And where
would you go if you died a laughing?”
And timid men the closer cling to timid, shrinking maids;
The whitened cheek and blenching eye denote the force of fear,
And many a head bows low with dread the thunder loud to hear.
“Well, this is a comfort! See where Miss Primrose
has cornered old Brindle — cheek-by-jowl. That 's right.
Go it, old gall! My eyes! how it rains! If Pan is the
presiding genius of these woods, in my opinion he 's a
dripping Pan.”
Old Brindle — “Young man, I 'm a justice of the
peace in this 'ere jurisdiction, and if you commit that
agin, I shall commit you for contempt of court.”
“Here comes Jim Sly through the wet, pitching like
a mackerel-catcher in a chop sea. Hallo, Jim, here 's
Polly, like a widowed hen, refusing to be comforted.”
Jim (sobered). — “Sally, will ye forgive me?”
Sally. — “No, you disreputable individual. To think
that you should go away, and — and — leave me to —
boo — hoo — hoo” —
Jim. — “There, don't cry, and I 'll go and take the
totetal pledge, Maine liquor law and all, and become a
useful membrane of society, and if I drink any more, I
hope I may never — starve!”
“See, Mr. Blisby, while we are soaking, how the
horses outside are smoking.”
Mr. B. — “Do horses in the country smoke?”
“Yes, and we 've got a filly at home who throws all
that choose to back her.”
“You don't say so!”
Fun may mingle with our fear:
And, while the wind is roaring so,
Still may waken words of cheer.
The rain clears up, the burnished sun comes out with scorching ray,
Dispelling from the sky and heart all shapes of gloom away,
And laughter now bursts forth once more in cheerful, merry peal,
And “Home Again” is sung with glee as o'er the road we wheel.
“Are you all comfortable? Sit close as possible.
Here we go! And now, on the road for home, let us be
merry as we can be. Miss Pidgin, did you enjoy your
duck?” — “You are a goose, sir, to talk so.” — “Miss
Primrose, you look refreshed since your sprinkling from
nature's water-pot. Mr. Blisby, this is fine — a subject
for a letter, Mr. Blisby. Jemima, my dear, you look as
blooming as the rose in June, and twice as sweet. There 's
the Bozzleton factory rising above the trees, and the old
vane, like vanity, pluming itself in the sunshine. Hurrah
for home! Old lady with the mob-cap, take your head
in doors. Urchins in corduroys, scatter. Young maiden
with the milking-pail, who are you looking at?”
Mr. Blisby (rising). — “Before we part, I should
like to say that the pleasure I have experienced has far
exceeded my expectations, and that I shall always entertain
a pleasing recollection of the delightful moments
spent in this — in this — hay-cart!”
“Three cheers for Blisby! Ladies and gentlemen, if
it is your opinion that we have enjoyed ourselves (a
great way over the sinister), you will please to manifest
it. Yes! Then we 'll adjourn with the chorus —
Some rush on a railroad train,
But give us a part on a country cart,
And a pic-nic out in the rain!”
Exeunt Omnibus, R. U. E.
| Life and sayings of Mrs. Partington and others
of the family | |