e intelligent spirit of
the age, and I am sure that thought and philosophy now are of the
opinion that the actor is an intellectual and spiritual force; that he
is connected most intimately with the cause of public education; that he
brings something of his own, and that, although the part provides the
soul, it is the actor who must provide the body, and without the soul
and the body, you could not have dramatic representations for the
benefit of them. [Applause.]

I am not one of those writers who believe that it is the business of the
newspaper to manage the theatres. The question of what to do to please
the public taste, to provide mankind with what they like, or what they
want, or, which is the same thing, with what they think they want, opens
a very complex inquiry. Our dear friend has been puzzled by it himself
more than a little. I should not undertake to instruct him, but as the
observer of his course I have been struck by wonder and admiration of
the way he has carried his theatre through seasons of great competition
and great peril.

I call to mind one season, now seventeen years ago, I think, when in the
course of a very few months, he produced and presented upward of
thirty-two plays, showing the best points of these plays and showing his
great company to every possible advantage; so have I seen a juggler toss
fifty knives in the air and catch them without cutting his fingers.

[At the close of his speech Mr. Winter read the following poem.]--

LESTER WALLACK

With a glimmer of plumes and a sparkle of lances,
With blare of the trumpets and neigh of the steed,
At morning they rode where the bright river glances,
And the sweet summer wind ripples over the mead;
The green sod beneath them was ermined with daisies,
Smiling up to green boughs tossing wild in their glee,
While a thousand glad hearts sang their honors and praises,
While the Knights of the Mountain rode down to the sea.

One rode 'neath the banner whose face was the fairest,
Made royal with deeds that his manhood had done,
And the halo of blessing fell richest and rarest
On his armor that splintered the shafts of the sun;

So moves o'er the waters the cygnet sedately,
So waits the strong eagle to mount on the wing,
Serene and puissant and simple and stately,
So shines among princes the form of the King.

With a gay bugle-note when the daylight's last glimmer
Smites crimson and gold on