'Oh! I really don't know what to say,' replied Mrs Curdle. 'It's not as
if the theatre was in its high and palmy days--you needn't stand, Miss
Snevellicci--the drama is gone, perfectly gone.'

'As an exquisite embodiment of the poet's visions, and a realisation of
human intellectuality, gilding with refulgent light our dreamy moments,
and laying open a new and magic world before the mental eye, the drama
is gone, perfectly gone,' said Mr Curdle.

'What man is there, now living, who can present before us all those
changing and prismatic colours with which the character of Hamlet is
invested?' exclaimed Mrs Curdle.

'What man indeed--upon the stage,' said Mr Curdle, with a small
reservation in favour of himself. 'Hamlet! Pooh! ridiculous! Hamlet is
gone, perfectly gone.'

Quite overcome by these dismal reflections, Mr and Mrs Curdle sighed,
and sat for some short time without speaking. At length, the lady,
turning to Miss Snevellicci, inquired what play she proposed to have.

'Quite a new one,' said Miss Snevellicci, 'of which this gentleman is
the author, and in which he plays; being his first appearance on any
stage. Mr Johnson is the gentleman's name.'

'I hope you have preserved the unities, sir?' said Mr Curdle.

'The original piece is a French one,' said Nicholas. 'There is abundance
of incident, sprightly dialogue, strongly-marked characters--'