The dinner was a dainty repast (one of the special dishes was a “baked English turbot with brown sauce.”) The details of it were printed upon a photographic card which represented the loving-cup, punch-bowl, Papyrus’ manuscripts, gavel, pen and ink, and treasure-box of the institution.
During dinner Miss Terry was called upon to sign scores of the menu cards with her autograph. Upon many of them she scribbled poetic couplets, Shakespearian and otherwise, and on others quaint, appropriate lines of her own. She captivated the women, all of them. It is easier for a clever woman to excite the admiration of her sex in America than in England. A woman who adorns and lifts the feminine intellect into notice in America excites the admiration rather than the jealousy of her sisters. American women seem to make a higher claims upon the respect and attention of men than belongs to the ambitious English women, and when one of them rises to distinction they all go up with her. They share in her fame; they do not try to dispossess her of the lofty place upon which she stands. There is a sort of trades-unionism among the women of America in this respect. They hold together in a ring against the so-called lords of creation; and the men are content to accept what appears to be a happy form of petticoat government. So the women of Boston took Ellen Terry to their arms and made much of her.
After dinner the President expressed, in quaint terms, the club’s welcome of its guests, and the Secretary read the following official and authorized
REPORT OF THE LAST MEETING.
Scene.—The Banqueting Hall of the Papyrus Club. The members, reclining in the Roman fashion, sip the cool Falernian from richly-chased pateræ, while the noiseless attendants remove the wild Etrusian boar (the only one in the club). The President raps sharply upon the table with his gavel.
Spurius Lartius (a provincial guest from a hamlet called New York).—Truly, Marcenas, the ruler of the feast is a goodly youth; a barbarian by his golden beard, I ween.
Marcenas (a literary member of the club, who derives his income, in whole or in part, from the fact that his father is working.)—“Non Anglus sed Angelus.” Perhaps, some day. But, mark, he is calling upon a player for a speech, one of a strolling band which hath of late amused the town.
Spurius Lartius.—Me herculi. ‘Tis Wyndham. I have seen him oft in Terence’s comedy, “Pink Dominoes.”
Wyndham arises, pulls down his tunic, and makes a neat speech. (Cheers and applause.)
The President.—Gentlemen, we have among us to-night an inspired Prophet; the Chronicler of the Gospel’s according to St. Benjamin.