products of his art, the actor frets his hour and disappears from the stage, to be promptly forgotten by an ungrateful public. Well, the actor's art, like the art of the executant musician, will have the endowment of permanency. And there will be a magnificent opportunity for the actor as artist, in that he will be able to compare himself and his fellows with the actors who are dead and can act no more. It is probably true that Irving is the greatest actor since Garrick, but who can prove it? The actor's art is transient to-day: it will be permanent, it will be classical, in the next century. By this fact not only will the pleasures of the theatre be made cheap, convenient and varied, but the art of the theatre will be vastly improved. Just as the actor will be spared the drudgery of mechanical, parrotlike repetition, so the indifferent maidens of the new age will have no need to waste their time in learning to play upon musical instruments more or less imperfectly. No doubt some who are not professional musicians will do so for their own pleasure. But the professional executant himself will cease, like the actor, to rank as a sort of superior harlequin or performing animal, exhibiting his powers for the diversion of an assembled public. What he has once played can, if he choose, be constantly repeated. The executant will be paid by a royalty on each reproduction, when he is wise. Less prudent artists will sell their records for a lump sum, just as the unthrifty author sells his copyrights. But let it be noted that, on the assumption that the reproduction is perfect, the evolution above predicted is a highly artistic one. Instead of the executant or singer being judged by his performance on an occasion when fatigue, illness or unfavourable circumstances may militate against his perfect success, when the nerve-shattering conditions of the platform probably in any case offend his susceptibilities and detract from the perfection of his performance, he will be able to found his reputation upon the very best performance he is capable of. He will be able to try and try again in the privacy of his study. When he has satisfied himself, and then alone, will he publish his artistic effort to the world. He can destroy as many unsatisfactory records as he pleases, just as the sculptor can break up his clay when he has not succeeded, just as the painter can paint out his picture when it has not pleased him, and be judged only by his best.