"Received word from Helen Winslow of a meeting of literary folks called for to-morrow morning at my house."
This meeting was "very pleasant: Mrs. Ward, Miss Winslow, Jacob Strauss, and Hezekiah Butterworth attended—later Herbert Ward came in."
It was voted to form the Boston Authors' Club, and at a second meeting in December the club was duly organized.
In January the Authors' Club made its first public appearance in a meeting and dinner at Hotel Vendôme, Mrs. Howe presiding, Colonel Higginson (whom she described as her "chief Vice") beside her.
The brilliant and successful course of the Authors' Club need not be dwelt on here. Her connection with it was to continue through life, and its monthly meetings and annual dinners were among her pet pleasures. She was always ready to "drop into rhyme" in its service, the Muse in cap and bells being oftenest invoked: e.g., the verses written for the five hundredth anniversary of Chaucer's death:—
Poet Chaucer had a sister,
He, the wondrous melodister.
She didn't write no poems, oh, no!
Brother Geoffrey trained her so.
Honored by the poet's crown,
Her posterity came down.
* * * * * *
Ages of ancestral birth
Went for all that they were worth.
Hence derives the Wentworth name
Which heraldic ranks may claim.
That same herald has contrived
How the Higginson arrived.
He was gran-ther to the knight
In whose honor I indite
Burning strophes of the soul
'propriate to the flowing bowl.
Oft the worth I have defended
Of the Laureate-descended,
But while here he sits and winks
I can tell you what he thinks.
"Never, whether old or young,
Will that woman hold her tongue!
Fifty years in Boston schooled,
Still I find her rhyme-befooled.
Oft in earnest, oft in jest,
We have met and tried our best.
Nought I dread an open field,
I can conquer, I can yield,
Self from foes I can defend,
But Heav'n preserve us from our friend!"
She and her "chief Vice" were always making merry together; when their flint and steel struck, the flash was laughter. It may have been at the Authors' Club that the two, with Edward Everett Hale and Dr. Holmes, were receiving compliments and tributes one afternoon.
"At least," she cried, "no one can say that Boston drops its H's!"
This was in the winter of 1900. It was the time of the Boer War, and all Christendom was sorrowing over the conflict. On January 3 the Journal says:—
"This morning before rising, I had a sudden thought of the Christ-Babe standing between the two armies, Boers and Britons, on Christmas Day. I have devoted the morning to an effort to overtake the heavenly vision with but a mediocre result."