Surely the record that lives in the minds of men is still a record, though it be not graven on brass or wrought in marble.  And it were a poor conception of the value of any art, if, in considering it, we were to keep our eyes fixed on some dark spot, some imperfection, and shut our eyes to its aim, its power, its beauty.  It were a poor age indeed where such a state of things is possible; as poor as that of which Mrs. Browning’s unhappy poet spoke in the bitterness of his soul: 

                           “The age culls simples,
    With a broad clown’s back turned broadly to the
          glory of the stars.”

Let us lift our faces when we wish to judge truly of any earnest work of the hand or mind of man, and see it placed in the widest horizon that is given to us.  Poetry, painting, sculpture, music, architecture, all have a bearing on their time, and beyond it; and the actor, though his knowledge may be, and must be, limited by the knowledge of his age, so long as he sound the notes of human passion, has something which is common to all the ages.  If he can smite water from the rock of one hardened human heart—­if he can bring light to the eye or wholesome color to the faded cheek—­if he can bring or restore in ever so slight degree the sunshine of hope, of pleasure, of gayety, surely he cannot have worked in vain.  It would need but a small effort of imagination to believe that that great wave theory, which the scientists have proved as ruling the manifestations of light and sound, applies also to the efforts of human emotion.  And who shall tell us the ultimate bounds of these waves of light and sound?  If these discernible waves can be traced till they fade into impalpable nothingness, may we not think that this other, impalpable at the beginning as they are at the end, can alone stretch into the dimness of memory?  Sir Joshua’s gallant compliment, that he achieved immortality by writing his name on the hem of Mrs. Siddons’s garment, when he painted her as the Tragic Muse, had a deeper significance than its pretty fancy would at first imply.

Not for a moment is the position to be accepted that the theatre is merely a place of amusement.  That it is primarily a place of amusement, and is regarded as such by its habitues, is of course apparent; but this is not its limitation.  For authors, managers, and actors it is a serious employment, to be undertaken gravely, and of necessity to be adhered to rigidly.  Thus far it may be considered from these different stand-points; but there is a larger view—­that of the State.  Here we have to consider a custom of natural growth specially suitable to the genius of the nation.  It has advanced with the progress of each age, and multiplied with its material prosperity.  It is a living power, to be used for good, or possibly for evil; and far-seeing men recognize in it, based though it be on the relaxation and pleasures of the people, an educational medium of no mean order.