The banquet lasted more than an hour, and the effects of the champagne were soon manifest from the increased boisterousness of the guests. So far as I could observe, I was the only one who declined the wine. When the cigars were passed the guests dived their hands deep into the boxes and took hands full and filled their pockets. As I did not smoke, I took mine to the boys at the seminary who did.
The banquet being over, the toasts began. After a neat speech by the toastmaster, he announced the first toast: “The President of the United States.”
It was intended that this should be responded to by Grant, but he sat as unmoved as a statue. Cheer after cheer rang out, and Grant was called for in deafening chorus, but he was imperturbable still. My Congressman neighbor remarked in a whisper:
“Now, wouldn’t I feel ashamed to be unable to say a word in response to such a demonstration as this!”
As the President would not reply, the other toasts were responded to by Chief Justice Waite, the historian Bancroft, James G. Blaine, Senator Oliver P. Morton and one or two others of less distinction.
The scene ended amid vociferous songs, oaths and other expressions of drunken disorder, which were not calculated to inspire much respect in the young theological student for the law-makers and statesmen of the country.
Making my way out of the hall, I found that it was already dark on the outside. I boarded a street-car and was soon on board a train going toward Crozer, and at nine o’clock was in my room surrounded by a host of the boys, to whom I related the experiences of the day, while the smokers in the crowd smoked my fine cigars.
And that is the way I dined with President Grant.