speak of in the way of a covering, a gentleman near me
said the dress was Elizabethan.

This rather set me against the memory of Mr. S. He ought to have died
rather than take anything from that cruel, hard-hearted old--I was going
to say old maid, but refrain, not wishing to be hard on her, cruel as
she was.

Oh, mercy, what a shout that was. It seemed as if every heart in that
great crowd had burst out in a glow of admiration. Mine just fluttered
like a night hawk. I stood up and whirled the white parasol over my
head; more than that, I split the other glove, and was glad of it.

That Mr. Ward had been working eight years on the statue he had just
uncovered, and our enthusiasm was his best reward. There he stood face
to face with the people, who were to give him pain or cruel
disappointment. I felt for him. No wonder his face turned white and then
red as fire. Years of labor for one hour of triumph. He deserved all the
praise he got, and that was stupendous.

The statue was now all uncovered, and the sunshine lay upon it. Sisters,
it is beautiful; but one thing troubles me--the color. Was Mr.
Shakespeare of that complexion, or has the great man been darkened out
of regard to the Fifteenth Amendment and Mr. Sumner? When a man is
statued in bronze, does he always turn out a mulatto? I don't like the
idea--it's carrying the Civil Rights Bill too far.

Judge Daly had made a present of this statue to the park, in his speech.
Now Mr. Stebbins, the President of the Park Commissioners, came forward
and thanked him for it in the nicest way. He was just the man to do it,
though he is a broker and banker; for he cares quite as much for art as
he does for gold. Wherever he finds genius, this man spends his money
like dew upon it. It was he that gave Miss Kellogg her first start in
music, and a good many other stragglers have secretly been helped by him
when they felt almost like giving up. For my part, I honor and glorify
such men.

The next thing I saw was a grand-looking old man, with a long, white
beard falling over his bosom, and soft, white hair floating about his
head. I held my breath when this man arose, and while the crowd yelled
and shouted and made the ground tremble under me, I looked at him with
my heart in my eyes. What Shakespeare was to England, this old man is to
America--the best part of the land that gave him birth. He made a long
speech, a beautiful speech. I have read his poems, so have you; but the
po