strong hand should close upon Belasco and I should be required to write of him as of one whose work was finished and who had “bid the world good-night,” I should write in these words: From the beginning and until the end David Belasco was an embodiment of high ambition, zealous enterprise, resolute endeavor, and patient endurance. He did not drift into his career--he selected it. His natural proclivity for the Theatre was irresistible; in youth his aspiration was to reach a dominant place in that institution; all his early life was spent in arduous toil to equip himself for the eminence at which he aimed; through long years, in which he became well acquainted with bitter strife and grievous disappointment, he never lost hope or faltered in the purpose which at last he achieved,--supremacy in the American Theatre. He was a rare and vivid personality; an extraordinary and many-sided man; the natural successor of Lester Wallack, Edwin Booth, and Augustin Daly as the leading theatrical manager of America; and, in the English-speaking world, he was absolutely the last of the managers who, personally, were important and interesting. His place will not be filled. It has been said of David Belasco that he was a “posing and posturing charlatan.” That harsh censure is the tribute of envy to merit and it is as unjust as it is mean. His nature was impetuous, his temperament was intensely dramatic, his sensibility was extreme, the tone of his mind was at times exuberant and florid, and, consequently, his language and his conduct were sometimes extravagant. He, also, understood the uses of advertising; he was occasionally over-solicitous as to public opinion; he possessed a full share of very human, almost childlike, vanity, and certainly he managed the public as well as the Theatre. But his devotion to the dramatic calling was true, passionate, and entire and to it he gave his life: he never desired retirement and never thought of it. The secret of his success--if any secret there be--was his inveterate determination, indefatigable labor, and profound sincerity of purpose. If the public poured great wealth into his hands (as it did), he never spared wealth, labor, and time--toilsome days and sleepless, care-full nights--to give the public in return the very best there was in him and to make that best as good as it could be made. He was a master of every detail of his vocation and, alone among American theatrical managers of the past twenty years, he understood and practically recognized that Acting is a Fine Art and not merely a business. The main result at which he aimed was always good plays, correctly set and superbly acted. If that result was not always attained by him, neither has it always been attained by any other worker of the Stage,--not since “Roscius was an actor in Rome.” While judgment and taste must deplore his production of “Zaza” and “The Easiest Way” justice and candor must concede his right to be remembered by the best