just as soon think of speaking out in meeting, as of chattering when
others wanted to listen to music.

Well, after a hard tussle between the people and the music, the people
came out first-best--more shame to 'em. Then a gentleman they call Judge
Daly--a real nice-looking person--got out and reached out his arms
toward the pyramid, wrapped up in flags.

The minute he did this all the people began to stamp and clap their
hands, and fling out their handkerchiefs as if they had gone crazy. The
more he tried to speak, the more they stamped and clapped and shouted;
and he kept a-bowing real graceful, till by and by they stopped and let
him speak.

Then he went right on and told them all about the statue, which ought to
have been done and put up on the day that Mr. Shakespeare was three
hundred years old, only the statue wasn't ready then, but that was of no
account, when we considered how beautiful the whole thing was, and what
an honor it would be to American art. Judge Daly was all alive with this
idea, and spoke splendidly. When he had done, I just laid down my
parasol, and clapped my hands till a pair of three-button gloves gave
out. Sisters, that one clap cost me just three dollars and fifty cents.

When Judge Daly sat down, a gentleman walked up to the pyramid, and
stood by it looking awful pale and anxious, as if the thousands and
thousands of eyes bent on him had drawn all the blood from his body. He
was a fine, handsome-looking man, and somehow I took a shine to him at
first sight.

All at once his face flushed up, and I saw that he held the end of a
rope in his hand. While I was a-looking and wondering, he gave the rope
a jerk, and down come those silk flags, all in a wild flutter, and there
stood Mr. Shakespeare as if he'd just stopped to rest a minute after
walking, and had been struck with an idea which he was thinking over.
His head was just a little bent, and he held a book up against his
bosom, with his finger between the leaves.

Mr. Shakespeare must have been a proper handsome man about two hundred
and seventy-five years ago. No wonder that elderly young lady fell in
love with him. I could have done it myself, not because I am elderly,
far from it, but because he was--well, I suppose because he was
Shakespeare, and awful handsome at that.

Queen Elizabeth must have given him the suit of clothes he wears; for
when I said his trousers were too puffy and short for my liking, and his
cloak nothing to