Having thus spoken, the immortal dramatist wiped his hands on the tail of his dressing-gown, and performed a pas seul “as the act directs,” after which he dressed himself, and emerged into the open air.

The sun was shining brilliantly, and Phoebus remarked, with evident pleasure, that his brother had bestowed considerable pains in adorning his person.  His boots shone with unparalleled splendour, and his waistcoat—­

* * * * *

    [We omit the remainder of the inventory of the great poet’s
    wardrobe, and proceed at once to the ceremony of the Inauguration
    at the Surrey Theatre.]

Never on any former occasion had public curiosity over the water been so strongly excited.  Long before the doors of the theatre were opened, several passengers in the street were observed to pause before the building, and regard it with looks of profound awe.  At half-past six, two young sweeps and a sand-boy were seen waiting anxiously at the gallery entrance, determined to secure front seats at any personal sacrifice.  At seven precisely the doors were opened, and a tremendous rush of four persons was made to the pit; the boxes had been previously occupied by the “Dramatic Council” and the “Syncretic Society.”  The silence which pervaded the house, until the musicians began to tune their violins in the orchestra, was thrilling; and during the performance of the overture, expectation stood on tip-toe, awaiting the great event of the night.

At length the curtain slowly rose, and we discovered the author of “Martinuzzi” elevated on a pedestal formed of the cask used by the celebrated German tub-runner (a delicate compliment, by the way, to the genius of the poet).  On this appropriate foundation stood the great man, with his august head enveloped in a capacious bread-bag.  At a given signal, a vast quantity of crackers were let off, the envious bag was withdrawn, and the illustrious dramatist was revealed to the enraptured spectators, in the statuesque resemblance of his elder, but not more celebrated brother, WILLIAM SHAKSPERE.  At this moment the plaudits were vigorously enthusiastic.  Thrice did the flattered statue bow its head, and once it laid its hand upon its grateful bosom, in acknowledgment of the honour that was paid it.  As soon as the applause had partially subsided, the manager, in the character of Midas, surrounded by the nine Muses, advanced to the foot of the pedestal, and, to use the language of the reporters of public dinners, “in a neat and appropriate speech,” deposed a laurel crown upon the brows of Shakspere’s effigy.  Thereupon loud cheers rent the air, and the statue, deeply affected, extended its right hand gracefully towards the audience.  In a moment the thunders of applause sank into hushed and listening awe, while the author of the “magnificent poem” addressed the house as follows:—­

“My friends,—­You at length behold me in the position to which my immense talents have raised me, in despite of ’those laws which press so fatally on dramatic genius,’ and blight the budding hopes of aspiring authors.”