rged 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withdrawn, and the illustrious dramatist was revealed to the enraptured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