“IRVING in Clover,” was the journalistic title of a report of “a
notable breakfast given to the English tragedian,” which appeared in
the “Philadelphia Press.” “A gathering of distinguished men listen to
entertaining words by the famous actor; he is presented with the watch
of Edwin Forrest.”
The “Clover Club” is one of the pleasantest of Philadelphian
institutions. Its reception to Mr. Irving, and the Forrest incident,
which makes the day historical in the annals of the stage, calls for
a special record. As I was travelling at this time to another city,
I propose to repeat the chronicle of the local journalist, and Mr.
Irving’s own personal report of the interesting proceedings. Let
me say, then, in the language of the “Press,” that on the morning
of December 7 Mr. Irving broke his fast with the club that has a
four-leaved Shamrock on which to spread its bounty, _à votre santé_ for
its toast cry, and for its motto the quatrain,—
“While we live,
We live in clover;
When we die,
We die all over.”
The banqueting-room of the Hotel Bellevue, the scene of so many
memorable gatherings, and the shrine at which the quadrifoil devotees
ever worship, had been turned into a fairy bower. The regular clover
table had an addition in the shape of a crescent, spreading on
either side from the stem of the club’s emblem and from its centre,
and concealing a pillar supporting the floor above, arose what the
florist’s art made to appear a gigantic plant. Its branches, bearing
numerous camellias, reached to the ceiling. At its base, in a bed of
emerald moss, grew ferns and lilies. Smilax (a beautiful American
creeper), in graceful windings, covered the entire board, furnishing
a radiant green setting for dazzling glass and shining silver, and
handsome plaques of flowers and fruits. Directly in front of the
president of the club, and the guest of the occasion, was a handsome
floral structure, from which the modest clover grew around the name
“Henry Irving,” composed of radiant blossoms. On the emblematic
gridiron was placed the massive “loving-cup.” The walls of the room
were covered with precious works of art, and over all was shed the
mellow light of many wax candles, with their rays subdued by crimson
shades. The sunlight, so suggestive of business activity and all that
rebukes feasting and frivolity, was rigorously excluded from the scene
of pleasure. An English and American flag entwined draped one end of
the room.
Breakfast was served shortly, at noon, fifty-three gentlemen sitting
around the clover-leaf. Around the table, beside Mr. Irving and
twenty-three members of the club, were seated the following gentlemen:
Ex-Attorney-General MacVeagh, Charles Wyndham, the English comedian;
A. Loudon Snowden, Superintendent of the Mint; Charles Godfrey Leland
(Hans Breitman); Calvin Wells, of Pittsburg; Captain J. W. Shackford,
of the yacht Atlanta; Professor E. Coppee Mitchell, of the University;
James D. Fish, president of the Marine National Bank, New York, and
owner of the New York Casino; John B. Schoeffel, partner of Henry E.
Abbey; Morton McMichael, Jr., cashier of the First National Bank; A.
G. Hetherington, J. H. Copleston, James H. Alexander; Commodore James
M. Ferguson, President of the Board of Port Wardens; E. A. Perry, of
“The Boston Herald”; E. T. Steel, President of the Board of Education;
Thomas Hovenden, J. W. Bailey, Marcus Mayer, Peter A. B. Widener, Dr.
Alfred C. Lambdin; Henry Howe, the “first old man” of Mr. Irving’s
company; W. E. Littleton, J. M. White; Hon. Robert P. Porter, of New
York; Nathaniel Childs, the comedian; Charles A. Dougherty, J. Beaufoy
Lane, and J. H. Palser.
After the “Baby”[24] member, Colonel John A. McCaull, had descended
from the high-chair and been divested of his rattle, and the loving-cup
had been passed around, and the game on the bill of fare had been
reached, President M. P. Handy arose, and in a few fitting remarks
introduced Mr. Irving, reminding him, in conclusion, that “this
unconventionality is our conventionality,” and, further, that he was
expected “to stir up the animals.”
After the warm applause that greeted him had subsided, Mr. Irving, in a
conversational, unrestrained manner, spoke as follows:—
“Gentlemen, I can never forget, so long as I live, the hearty welcome
you have given me, coupled with such unusual and hearty hospitality.
When it was first known that I was coming to Philadelphia, your
club extended to me a most kind invitation,—the first invitation
I received after my arrival in America, and one that will ever be
memorable to me. Your great hospitality, and the gridiron there
before me, has reminded me of an old organization of which I am a
member,—the Beefsteak Club. I hope I shall have the pleasure of
welcoming some of the members of this club whenever they cross the
water. Should any of them come to London I will endeavor to make some
return for this unexpected welcome. I hope by that time we will have
some of your unconventional conventionalities of which you have,
in such an excellent manner, given me a specimen. I am told that
speech-making is not part of the programme. Therefore I can do no
better than follow the suggestion of my friend Dougherty, and give you
an experience of my early life. I don’t wish to do aught against the
rules,—for I am a great stickler for rules,—which I see you carry
out; but I will tell you a little story concerning my early life, or
it may possibly be the story of the early life of several of us.”
And then Mr. Irving branched off into a recitation descriptive of how
“some vast amount of years ago” a precocious youth—one Tom by name,
and but eleven years of age—had a prematurely amorous longing for a
spinster of thirty-two, who finally married an elder, but hated, rival.
At the conclusion of the recitation, which was received with great
laughter, he continued his remarks, as follows:—
“I feel most fondly unto you, O Clovers! Many of you, I believe, are
associated with the press. Between journalism and the stage there has
always been a great sympathy, and I fancy it will continue so until
all things cease to exist. I have often thought that the stage is a
sort of father of journalism,—it is a sort of Utopian idea,—but from
the days of the Greek drama to the time of Shakespeare there was much
news discussed at the theatres, such as we now find in the newspapers.
Our interests are mixed. We represent much of the newspaper treasury I
know, in England, and I fancy it is the same in this country. We are
therefore interested, to a very large amount, in the newspapers, and
I have found my friend, Charles Wyndham, whom I am glad to meet at
this board, interested to the extent of anxiety concerning some of his
large advertisements.
“But this is not solely a gathering of journalists. I have to-day
the honor of meeting many gentlemen who represent every class in
Philadelphia,—every class of professional calling. I will say from
my very heart that I thank you. I will remember, as long as I live,
the courtesy that has supplemented this sumptuous banquet, and your
kindness in calling me to meet such representative men. I am living
next door to this room, and had I only heard that I was to meet such
a distinguished gathering I am afraid I would have been deterred
from facing you. Mr. Handy, your president, has told me that your
conventionality consists in being unconventional, and I have tried to
be as unconventional as I possibly can. I thank you with all my heart.”
* * * * *
At the conclusion of Irving’s remarks Secretary Deacon read the
following letter from the eminent American tragedian, James E.
Murdoch:—
Previous engagements of a domestic kind induce me to send “Regrets,”
in reply to your invitation to breakfast with the members of the
Clover Club and their distinguished guest, Mr. Henry Irving. In regard
to certain “effects, defective” consequent upon the “feast of reason
and the flow of soul,” I am constrained to say, in the language of
Cassio [somewhat altered], “I have but a poor and unhappy stomach for
feasting.” I am unfortunate in the infirmity, and dare not task my
weakness with the tempting dishes of mind and matter so bountifully
served up at complimentary festivals. I hope it will not be considered
out of place for me to state that I have had the pleasure of meeting
Mr. Irving socially, and of witnessing some of his performances. I
esteem him as a man of gentle manners, and regard him as a dramatic
genius. He appears to me to possess, in an eminent degree, all those
qualities of thought and action which marked so strikingly the
historical career of Macready and Charles Kean, and which established
the reputation of those gentlemen for consummate skill in stage
direction, and for exquisite portraiture of dramatic characters.
Desiring to be excused for the obtrusion of my opinion, allow me to
add: although I shall not have the pleasure of sitting down to your
banquet, I take pleasure in saying:—
“Now, good digestion wait on appetite and health on both”—
... “Come, love and health, to all”....
I drink to the general joy of the whole table, and especially to the
health and happiness of your accomplished and worthy guest.
Yours, always, in the bonds of good-fellowship,