in London was present, it would have
betrayed less of the secrets of the prison-house if this bit of
nonsense had not been preconcerted by injudicious and over-zealous
friends. The turn of successful authors will, we suppose, come next;
and, therefore, such of them as are not actors had better take a few
lessons in bowing over the lamps and be ready. We know some half-dozen
whom this process would cause to shake in their shoes more vehemently
than even the already accumulated anxieties of a first night."

The critic was, in some sort, a seer. The turn of the authors arrived
in due course, some years later, although history has not been careful
to record the name of the first English dramatist who appeared before
the curtain and bowed "over the lamps." How far the accomplishment of
this proceeding is attended by shaking in the shoes, is preluded by
lessons in the art of deportment, or adds to the anxieties of a first
representation, must be left for some successful playwright to reveal.

It may be noted that this calling for the author is also of foreign
origin. The first dramatist called before the curtain in France was
Voltaire, after the production of "Merope;" the second was Marmontel,
after the representation of his tragedy of "Dionysius." More than a
century ago the author of a "Letter to Mr. Garrick" observed that it
was then usual in France for the audience of a new and well-approved
tragedy to summon the author before them that he might personally
receive the tribute of public approbation due to his talents. "Nothing
like this," he writes, "ever happened in England." "And I may say,
never will," commented the author of a reply to the letter, with more
confidence than correctness of prophecy. Further, he writes, "I know
not how far a French audience may carry their complaisance, but, were
I in the author's case, I should be unwilling to trust to the civility
of an English pit or gallery.... Suppose that every play that is
offered should be received, and suppose that some one of them should
happen to be damned, might not an English audience on this occasion
call for the author, not to partake of their applause, indeed, but to
receive the tokens of their displeasure?" Fears of this kind have been
proved groundless, however. When a play has been condemned, the actors
and the manager may suffer, and be subjected sometimes to very
considerable affront; but the public wrath is not visibly inflicted
upon the author. H