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.
The Prophet arises, takes a stone tablet from his waistcoat-pocket,
and reads
_The Gospel according to St. Benjamin._