At length the sound of the trumpets was heard, the door of the royal box was thrown open, and "God save the King" began. Noble as this noblest of national songs is, it had, at that period, a higher meaning. It is impossible to describe the spirit and ardour in which it was received; nay, the almost sacred enthusiasm in which it was joined by all, and in which every sentiment was followed with boundless acclamation. It was more than an honourable and pleased welcome of a popular king. It was a national pledge to the throne--a proud declaration of public principle--a triumphant defiance of the enemy and the Earth to strike the stability of a British throne, or subdue the hearts of a British people. The king advanced to the front of the box, and bowed in return to the general plaudits. It was the first time that I had seen George the Third, and I was struck at once with the stateliness of his figure and the kindliness of his countenance. Combined, they perfectly realized all that I had conceived of a monarch, to whose steadiness of determination, and sincerity of good-will, the empire had been already indebted in periods of faction and foreign hostility; and to whom it was to be indebted still more in coming periods of still wilder faction, and of hostility which brought the world in arms against his crown. As I glanced around for a moment, to see the effect on the house, which was then thundering with applause, I observed a slight confusion, like a personal quarrel, in the pit; and in the next instant saw a hand raised above the crowd, and a pistol fired full in the direction of the royal box. The King started back a pace or two, and the general apprehension that he had been struck, produced a loud cry of horror. He evidently understood the public feeling, and instantly came forward, and by a bow, with his hand on his heart, at once assured them of his gratitude and his safety. This was acknowledged by a shout of universal congratulation; and many a bright eye, and many a manly one, too, streamed with tears. In the midst of all, the Queen and the royal family rushed into the box, flung themselves round the king, and all was embracing, fainting, and terror. Cries for the seizure of the assassin now resounded on every side. He was grasped by a hundred hands, and torn out of the house. Then the universal voice demanded "God save the King" once more: the performers came forward and the national chant, now almost elevated to a hymn, was sung by the audience with a solemnity scarcely less than an act of devotion. All the powers of the stage never furnished a more touching, perhaps a more sublime scene, than the simple reality of the whole occurrence before my eyes. But at length the tumult sank; the order of the theatre was resumed; and the curtain rose, displaying a remarkably fine view of Roman architecture, a vista of temples and palaces, the opening scene of Coriolanus.