Part 1

THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.

NUMBER 5. SATURDAY, AUGUST 1, 1840. VOLUME I.

If the citizens of our capital have to acknowledge, and perhaps lament, that they are unable to compete with some other cities of the empire in the extent of their commerce, the number of their manufactories, the wealth of their resident aristocracy, or, in short, any of the various results which a long and uninterrupted course of artificial prosperity is certain to bestow, they may still console themselves with the reflection, that in the singularly varied beauties of scenery with which their city is surrounded they possess riches of greater value, and enjoyments of a higher nature, of which they cannot be deprived by any circumstance, and in which no other city can ever hope to rival them. And although to the mere grovelling pursuer of gain, who is incapable of a single elevated or ennobling feeling, such a consideration may seem a matter of trivial importance, to those of wiser, better, and more happily constituted minds, it will always be a source of self-gratulation, as affording pleasures easily procured, and which they would not exchange for any of a grosser kind. It is, indeed, beyond a question, that there is no city in the British empire exhibiting around it such a variety of picturesque beauties as our own dear Dublin. We have the villa-studded, pastoral plain--the spacious bay, with all its variety of coast, from the sandy beach to the bluff sea-promontory--the richly-wooded valley with its limpid river--the lonely mountain glen with its cataracts and tiny trout-streams--the purple heath and the solitary tarn, or pool--the rural village and the gay watering-place; while in addition to all these, the interest imparted to natural scenery, by remains of ancient times, is every where present. In short, there is no class of scenery which the poet, the painter, the geologist, the botanist, or the mere man of pleasure, could desire, that may not be reached in a drive of an hour or two from any part of our city. Nature has showered on us, with a generous hand, her various riches--the riches derived from her and our Creator. It must, however, be confessed that, as yet, we have not learned sufficiently to appreciate these gifts, and, consequently, do not sufficiently enjoy them. "The world is too much with us"--and there are many scenes of striking interest within our reach, which are more frequently seen by the stranger visitant than by ourselves. Of these, one of the most remarkable is the mountain lake called Lough Bray, of which we give a sketch in our present number. How many thousands are there of the citizens of Dublin who have never seen, perhaps never heard of, this little mountain pool; and yet it is one of the most perfect examples of scenery of its kind in Ireland--one of those spots in which nature appears in her most stern and rugged aspect; solitary, gloomy, and unfit for the companionship of man. Still it is not wholly a desert. The eagles which build in its cliffs have seen a man of a kindred lofty spirit--an eagle among men--build himself a nest amongst these solitudes; and they have been often startled from their eyry by the sounds of aristocratic joy and merriment, when the shores of the dark lake have been enlivened by the presence of the most distinguished in beauty and rank in Ireland.

It is perhaps of all situations a spot in which we should least expect to find a gentleman's villa; yet this innovation is not materially injurious to the prevailing sentiment of the scene. The house is in the Old English style of architecture, highly picturesque, and in all respects worthy of the refined taste of the late Mr William Morrison, the distinguished architect by whom it was erected, and whose early death was an event which may justly be regarded in the light of a national loss. It was erected for Sir Philip Crampton, at the expense of his Grace the Duke of Northumberland, who, while Viceroy of Ireland, had spent some happy days with Sir Philip in this romantic spot, in a cottage of humbler pretensions, which had occupied its site, and was accidentally burned. The gift was one equally worthy of the illustrious donor, and the talented and estimable receiver; and there are few if any of our readers who will not join us in the wish that he may long live to enjoy it.

Lough Bray is situated near the head of the beautiful vale called Glen Cree, in the county of Wicklow, into which it sends a stream, which, subsequently uniting with the Glenisloreane river, is called the Dargle and Bray river, and falls into the sea to the north of Bray Head. Though the name is generally used in the singular number, Lough Bray properly consists of two lakes, called Upper and Lower; but the lower is the principal one, both in point of beauty and grandeur of scenery, as well as in extent of surface, its area occupying a space of thirty-seven acres. It is nearly surrounded by mountain precipices, in which eagles are wont to build, and has very much the character of the crater of an extinct volcano.

Lough Bray is most easily visited from Dublin by the Military Road, by which route the distance is little more than ten Irish miles. P.

THE SOD PARTY.

Of all the pleasant interludes in the drama of life, a sod party, where every thing goes right, is one of the pleasantest. What talking! what fuss! what discussions! what direfully important arrangements for a week before-hand! what a puzzle how to divide the various necessaries into such relatively fair proportions that no individual should feel more burdened than another. I do not mean one of those parties where all the trouble and expense fall upon one unfortunate individual, who, consequently, can derive no pleasure from the affair, except that of seeing others enjoying themselves--a very great pleasure, doubtless, considered abstractedly, but rather too refined for every-day mortals--no; but a regular pic-nic, where lots are drawn, and each supplies whatever may be written on the slip that she or he holds, and furnishes a quota of the trouble, as well as of the provisions; one individual, nevertheless, being the director.

What a hurry-skurry on the morning of the eventful day! Then the assembling of the carriages and other vehicles at the place of rendezvous.

"Dear me," said Mrs Harvey, on the morning of the day appointed for her pic-nic, having consulted her watch for the twentieth time; "dear me, where is Mr Sharpe? What can possibly delay Mrs Molloy? Well, well, how hard it is to get people to be punctual!"

"Oh, mamma, maybe they'll meet us at Howth; we had better set off. If they come here, they can be directed to follow us, you know. Do, pray, mamma, let us move."

"Oh, my dear, we must send a messenger to Mr Sharpe. If he missed us, or took huff at our going without him (and you know he's very tetchy), it would be such a dreadful inconvenience, for he has to supply the knives and forks, spoons and glasses, and he would think nothing of leaving us in the lurch, if he took it into his head; and Mrs Molloy is so forgetful, that she might come without the roast beef, and never think of it until it would be missed at table. George, dear, will you desire John to step over to Mr Sharpe's, and tell him that the company is assembled. And, Mr O'Brien, will you permit me to send your servant to Mrs Molloy with a similar message?"

"Certainly, madam, with the greatest pleasure."

And now the little annoyances inseparable from all sublunary enjoyments, begin.

"John has received a severe hurt, my dear. In packing some bottles, one of them broke, and a piece of it has cut his wrist. I have sent him to the apothecary's to get it dressed."

"Mercy on us! I hope he's not seriously injured. He won't be obliged to stay at home surely?"

"I am afraid he must, my dear."

"If he does, every thing will go wrong, he is such a careful creature, and so completely up to every thing on a sod party, and has every thing so orderly and regular, and all without fuss or hurry. Oh, dear! we shall be sadly off without him."

Mr Sharpe was announced, and a slight, small, dapper little personage made his appearance. A physiognomist of the very least discernment must at once have pronounced him to be a satirical, irritable, genuine lover of mischief, for mischief's sake--mirthful after his own fashion, and as merry as a grig upon a gridiron, when every face about him should be drawn to a half yard in length by some unforeseen annoyance, or petty disaster. He rubbed his hands, congratulating the ladies on the fineness of the day. "Heavenly morning--fine road--Bay of Dublin will be seen to such advantage--sea so smooth--coast of Wicklow splendid--Killiney will look so bold"--talk--talk--talk; he stunned every person with his extraordinary volubility.

Mr O'Brien's servant entered. "Please, ma'am, Mrs Molloy is coming." Scarcely was the message delivered when the lady made her appearance.

"Oh, my dear Mrs Harvey, I hope I hav'nt kept you waiting long. I totally forgot that this was the day appointed for your party, until Sparks reminded me of it by calling me up."

"Make no apologies, my dear madam; we havn't waited at all. Mr Sharpe has but just arrived, and our number is now complete. Have you every thing packed?"

"Packed! Why, do you think we'll have rain?--had I better get my cloak and umbrella? But, sure, I can go in your carriage, and as I shan't be exposed on an outside car, I won't want them."

"My dear Mrs Molloy, it is the beef I allude to. Is it packed?"

"The beef! What beef?"

"Why, dear me, you surely havn't forgotten that a six-rib piece of roast beef was to be supplied by you?"

"I--declare--I--never--once--thought--of it. Well, now, that's very odd."

Mr Sharpe's countenance fell. The discovery had been made too timely to please him.

"What's best to be done now? I can purchase beef somewhere as we go along, and we'll get it dressed at Howth, in some cabin or another."

"Phwee--oo," whistled Mr Robert O'Gorman, "what the deuce would we do with ourselves for five or six hours, at the least, that such a piece would take to roast, without any thing to keep its back warm in an open cabin? I'll tell you what, ma'am: give me the money, and I'll get as much cold roast beef as you like, from Mulholland."

"Who is Mulholland?"

"Oh, 'tis no matter; I'll get the meat, if you want it."

"Very well, Mr O'Gorman, do so, and you'll oblige me; here is a guinea. But why not tell who Mulholland is?"

Mr O'Gorman bolted, without making any reply.

Now, the fact of the matter was simply this, that Mulholland was a sort of second-hand caterer, who purchased the meat that was sent unused from the dining-hall of Trinity College, and supplied it again to such students as felt too economically inclined to attend commons, and thus save money from the parental allowances, for other, and better (?) uses. To this class did Mr O'Gorman sometimes belong.

In a very short time he re-appeared.

"You were not long, Mr O'Gorman; did you succeed in getting a suitable piece?"

"Suitable? If sixteen pounds will suit you, I have got that; and I gave him the change of the guinea," addressing Mrs Molloy, "for himself, ma'am, for his trouble in packing it, and the loan of the basket, which of course he can't expect in reason ever to see again. Nobody would bring home an empty basket."

"The change of the guinea for himself! Why, Mr O'Gorman, instead of giving him more than he asked, you should have cut him down in his price. The change of the guinea for himself! Oh! gracious! did anyone ever hear of the like? Oh! dear me! the change for himself! Oh! dear!" and in a gentle repetition or two, in an under-tone, Mrs Molloy's surprise died away, like a retiring echo; for the bustle of departure claimed all attention now.

It has been but too frequently remarked, that a party of pleasure is seldom wholly unembittered by pain, and our party was doomed not to be an exception to the rule; although the point had been mooted, and the question discussed, at the first meeting (an evening party at Mrs Harvey's), where the preliminaries were arranged, and it had been voted unanimously that our party should be pleasant, and agreeable, and happy, from the start to the return; and, further, that nothing should go astray; and that if any person should be disagreeable, he or she should be voted out; with fifty other resolutions, that the secretary was unable to record, in consequence of the movers and seconders, the president and audience, secretary and all, talking rapidly and vehemently together, until order was suddenly restored by Mr O'Gorman (who had the loudest voice, and the knack of making himself heard above any uproar, acquired by a long and regular course of practice in the upper gallery of Crow-street theatre) shouting out, "Order-r-r-r-r, ladies and gentlemen, order-r-r-r-r! The rule of this society is, that not more than six shall speak at a time; and I feel it to be my duty, madam, to call upon you, for the sake of regularity, to preserve this rule inviolate. This party of pleasure, madam, is to be a party of pleasure unlike all the parties of pleasure that have gone before it. Pleasure, madam, is to be the beginning, pleasure the middle, and pleasure the end of it; and I shall conclude, madam, by saying, that I have the pleasure of wishing that it may be so."

Mr O'Gorman unfortunately had not the celebrated wishing-cap on his head at the time.

Mr, Mrs, and Miss Harvey, a maiden sister of Mr Harvey, Mrs Molloy, Mr Sharpe, Mr O'Brien, his mother and three sisters, Mr O'Donnell and his daughter, O'Gorman, Fitzgerald, Sweeny, Costello, and two or three more College men, completed the muster roll of the party. The vehicles consisted of Mr Harvey's and Mr O'Brien's carriages, Mr O'Donnell's jaunting-car, an outside jarvey that O'Gorman, had brought, and Mr Sharpe's gig.

Poor John's wrist had been so sadly hurt that he could not attend, and the gentlemen gave every assurance to Mrs Harvey that he would not be missed by her, they would make themselves so useful.

Every thing was at length announced to be ready. A basket, covered with oiled silk, swinging conspicuously from the axle-tree of the gig, rendered it unnecessary to ask Mr Sharpe if he had all the requisites prepared; and Mrs Harvey, having cast the last scrutinizing glance around, gave the long-wished-for word to "take places."

Now, all this time there were four hearts bent upon one object, and four heads at work planning how to attain it. The youngest of the Misses O'Brien was the sprightliest girl of the party; and although Miss O'Donnell might dispute the prize for beauty with her, the former was the most admired by the young men upon the present occasion, and Messrs O'Gorman, Fitzgerald, Sweeny, and Costello, had each resolved to attach himself to her, if possible.

The first mentioned, who was a general favourite, had contrived most successfully to keep near her during breakfast, and pretty nearly to engross her attention during the subsequent time that had elapsed previously to the discovery of Mrs Molloy's forgetfulness, by telling her tales of College life, and adventures replete with wonders, that might have caused the renowned Sinbad the sailor himself, or the equally celebrated Baron Munchausen, to stare, and bite the bitter nail of envy, while they could not withhold their meed of applause from one who was their master at the marvellous, and could give them lessons in the sublime art of invention.

It was Bob's anxiety to get on the road that made him tender his services in the supplying of the beef; and the certainty that he had completely ingratiated himself with the young lady, by his stories, at which she had laughed most heartily, made him feel very little uneasiness at the prospect of a few minutes' separation, especially when she knew that he had only absented himself for the purpose of expediting the arrangements that were to give him an opportunity of catering for her amusement for the remainder of the day. When he returned, and saw her surrounded by the other three, he resolved to let them go on quietly, and trusted to snatch her from them by some stratagem, just at the last moment.

Now, it must be confessed that Miss Kate would have much preferred the rattling, noisy, lying, merry, mischievous scamp, as her companion, to any other, because she loved laughing, and he supplied her plentifully with food for mirth; and she was very well inclined, and quite resolved within herself, to second any bold attempt that he might make to rescue her from the trio by which she was surrounded. Great was her chagrin to see that he took no manner of trouble about the matter, but apparently occupied himself with the elder Miss Harvey. What a taste he must have! thought she, to attach himself to the old maid of the party; and it was with something of pettishness that she stood, or rather jumped up, when the order to move was given. Her glove fell. Fitzgerald and Costello stooped, or rather dashed themselves down from opposite sides at the same instant to secure the prize; their heads came in contact, with a crash resembling that caused by two cracked pitchers being jolted together, and so loud as to astonish the hearers; and they recoiled from the collision into a sitting posture, one under the table, and the other under the piano.

When Xantippe, the wife of that great philosopher Socrates, had failed in her efforts to vex him by abuse, her last resource was to break some article of crockery upon his head: it is recorded that he coolly wiped his face, which had been deluged by the contents, merely saying, "After thunder comes rain." Now, I'd be bound that if we could ascertain what Socrates said to himself at the time, we should find that for all his smooth face and soft words he inwardly took some desperate liberties with the heathen deities, and pitched Xantippe, crockery, and all the makers of it, to Pluto, and all the infernal gods, in a hurry. However, he kept his countenance, which is more than can be said of Frank Costello, or Dick Fitzgerald, or of Mr Sharpe, who nearly went into convulsions with laughter; indeed, to do him justice, his was not the only laughter, for no one could resist the excitement to risibility contained in the picture before them. At the first moment each of the gentlemen had uttered a loud exclamation savouring strongly of impiety; then, immediately recollecting the presence of ladies, they muttered what might have been supposed by the charitable to be half-suppressed prayers, but that their countenances were strangely discordant with pious thoughts, for each with his hand on his head, his teeth set, his lips apart and tightly drawn, and his eyes glaring with pain and vexation, sat looking, or rather grinning, like a hyena, at the other. That keen sense of the ridiculous which always comes upon us so inopportunely, made them at length get up, and the condolences offered on all sides, in the most tender inflections of voice, but with countenances which but too plainly showed how great was the effort to suppress laughter, excited their anger against one another most terribly; nor was it likely to be the more readily allayed by seeing Dan Sweeny walking off with the prize, the contention for which had caused their misfortune. It was with difficulty they could be kept from fighting. Leaving them to settle the matter as they pleased, Sweeny conducted the lady to her carriage, close to which a new scene awaited them.

On the step of the hackney jaunting-car sat O'Gorman, with his left foot upon his right knee, alternately rubbing his shin very gently, and hugging the leg as if it was a baby, groaning, and screwing his face into the most hideous grimaces. After the scene they had just witnessed, this was irresistible, and Miss Kate laughed long and heartily. Bob looked at her, made a more hideous grimace than before, groaned, rubbed more violently, and then giving himself a most ludicrous twist, grinned, rubbed, and groaned again.

"Why--ha-ha-ha!--Mr O'Gorman, what ha-ha-ha!--has happened you?"

"Oh! ah! oh! may the d---- I beg your pardon. But, oh! hif! to the--och, I mean bad luck to all wood and iron! Hif! oh! I attempted to jump up on this rascally step, when my foot slipped off, and down I came, scraping all the skin off my shin bone. Oh! bad luck to it--to the step, I mean."

The manner in which he said this, made all who heard him laugh more, but he did not seem to be in the least degree disconcerted; and as to being angry, there was not a trace of it on his countenance.

Sweeny, who prided himself upon being quite a ladies' man, and who was just then immensely elated at having distanced all his competitors, but especially O'Gorman, whose retirement from the competition he considered to be a tacit acknowledgment of inferiority, offered a jesting sort of condolence to him, and recommended him strongly to rub the injured part with vinegar, or whisky, or salt and water; it might smart a little at first, to be sure, and make him grin and roar somewhat, but it would be well in no time! But in the midst of his badinage, Miss O'Brien missed her parasol, and he was obliged to run back to the drawing-room to look for it.

As soon as he had disappeared within the hall door. O'Gorman sprang to his feet, and, drawing the parasol from the breast of his coat, tendered it, and his arm, to the young lady, saying, with the greatest exultation, "Hoaxed, by jingo! alas! poor Sweeny. Come, Miss Kate, your brother is so taken up with Miss O'Donnell, that he can't attend to any thing, or any body. Never mind your mother; she can't bawl out at us, you know; and if she attempted to scold, she'd be voted out. I've got Sharpe's gig--come, jump up, and we'll have such a day! Oh! but havn't I done them all brown! Hurrah for Howth, and the sky over it! Oh! you little darling," added he, restraining himself with considerable difficulty from giving her a hug and a kiss, as she laughingly complied with his invitation, and seated herself with him in the gig, just as Sweeny returned, protesting himself unable to find the parasol, "oh, it got tired waiting for you, and came of itself. But I say, Sweeny, capital receipt that of yours for sore shins; quite cured mine in a moment--first application. Hollo! here, you will probably want a pocket handkerchief during the day; I'll lend you one;" and Bob threw him his own. "I picked his pocket in the drawing-room," said he, turning to his delighted companion; "I was determined that he should go back for something; and here's yours, which I secured also. Now, then, if we follow those rumbling machines, we shall be smothered with dust, so we had better show them the way." Chick, chick--and poor Mrs O'Brien could scarcely believe her eyes when she saw her daughter whirl past her in a gig with one of the most incorrigible scapegraces in the University.

He took good care that they should not be recalled, for he was out of sight in a twinkling; nor did the party get a view of him again until they had passed Clontarf, when they found him walking the horse quietly, in order that they might over-take him.

But I must postpone detailing the subsequent events of that memorable day until the next number, having already occupied more than my share of space.

NAISI.

SUMMER FLOWERS,

A CITIZEN'S LAMENT.

Away with summer flow'rs, Twine not the wreath for me, Unbind the myrtle from the rose, And pansy, emblem of repose, Far let them scattered be; The best, the loveliest, let them part, Their very sweetness breaks my heart.

Away with summer flow'rs, Let sunshine cease to glow, Bring back the days of sombre hue, And heav'n without a glimpse of blue, And earth in vest of snow. Then weave the green perfuméd bough In fadeless verdure for my brow.