An American, utterly unknown to me as I to him, came eagerly up to me as I was inspecting that unsatisfactory bust and inscription about Shakespeare, and said, "Come and see what I've found,--Martin Tupper's autograph,--he must be somewhere near, for he has just signed: do tell, is he here ?" I rather thought he might be.

"I've wished to see him ever since I was a small boy.

Do you know him, sir ?" Well, yes, a little.

"Show him to me, sir, won't you?
I'd give ten dollars for his autograph." After a word or two more, my good nature gave him the precious signature without the dollars,--and I shan't easily forget his frantic joy, showing the document to all around him, whilst I escaped.
Besides a Pindaric Ode to Shakespeare, to be found in my Miscellaneous Poems, wherein many of his characters are touched upon, I wrote the following sonnet, now out of print:-- _The Stratford Jubilee._ "Went not thy spirit gladly with us then, Most genial Shakespeare!--wast thou not with us Who throng'd to honour thee and love thee thus, A few among thy subject fellow-men?
Yea,--let me truly think it; for thy heart (Though now long since the free-made citizen Of brighter cities where we trust thou art) Was one, in its great whole and every part, With human sympathies: we seem to die, But verily live; we grow, improve, expand, When Death transplants us to that Happier Land; Therefore, sweet Shakespeare, came thy spirit nigh, Cordial with Man, and grateful to High Heaven For all our love to thy dear memory given.".