struggling artist still to continue the conflict, till at last courage
and perseverance meet with their just reward, and success comes. The
only feeling then to which the triumphant artist may be tempted is one
of good-natured contempt for those who are so ready to applaud those
merits which, in the past, they were too blind to recognize. Edmund
Kean was twenty-seven years old before his day of triumph came.

Without any preliminary puffs, without any flourish of trumpets, on
the evening of the 26th January, 1814, soaked through with the rain,
Edmund Kean slunk more than walked in at the stage-door of Drury Lane
Theatre, uncheered by one word of encouragement, and quite unnoticed.
He found his way to the wretched dressing-room he shared in common
with three or four other actors; as quick as possible he exchanged his
dripping clothes for the dress of Shylock; and, to the horror of
his companions, took from his bundle a _black_ wig--the proof of his
daring rebellion against the great law of conventionality, which
had always condemned Shylock to red hair. Cheered by the kindness of
Bannister and Oxberry, the latter of whom offered him a welcome glass
of brandy and water, he descended to the stage dressed, and peeped
through the curtain to see a more than half-empty house. Dr. Drury
was waiting at the wings to give him a hearty welcome. The boxes were
empty, and there were about five hundred people in the pit, and a few
others "thinly scattered to make up a show." Shylock was the part he
was playing, and he no sooner stepped upon the stage than the interest
of the audience was excited. Nothing he did or spoke in the part was
done or spoken in a conventional manner. The simple words, "I will be
assured I may," were given with such effect that the audience burst
into applause. When the act-drop fell, after the speech of Shylock
to Antonio, his success was assured, and his fellow-actors, who had
avoided him, now seemed disposed to congratulate him; but he shrank