ressor,
Is all his end of war. And when he draws
The sword to punish, like relenting Heav'n,
He seems unwilling to deface his kind."

A few lines later and we find one of the characters drawing a parallel
between Tamerlane, otherwise William, and Divinity:

"Ere the mid-hour of night, from tent to tent,
Unweary'd, thro' the num'rous host he past,
Viewing with careful eyes each several quarters;
Whilst from his looks, as from Divinity,
The soldiers took presage, and cry'd, Lead on,
Great Alha, and our emperor, lead on,
To victory, and everlasting fame."

How changeth the spirit of each age! Imagine Bronson Howard or
Augustus Thomas writing a play wherein the President of the United
States was brought into such irreverent contact with the Deity.[A]

[Footnote A: Yet it cannot be easily forgotten that a certain
clergyman, preaching, several years ago, at the funeral of a rich
man's son, compared the poor boy to Christ. And this very ecclesiastic
probably looks upon the stage as a monument of sacrilegiousness.]

But we need not follow the platitudes of Tamerlane and his companions,
nor weep at the sententious wickedness of Bajazet, that ungrateful
sovereign typifying Louis Quatorze, King of France, Prince of
Gentlemen, and Right Royal Hater of His Protestant Majesty William of
Orange. Heaven rest their souls! and with that pious prayer we may bid
them farewell, as

"Into the night go one and all."

CHAPTER VII

NANCE AT HOME

"Home?" An actress at home? Does it not seem strange to apply the dear
old English noun, so redolent of peace, and quiet, and privacy, to
the feverish life of a mummer? We go, night after night, to see our
favourite players shining 'mid the fierce glare of the footlights,
watch them approvingly as they pass from role to role, and finally
begin to believe, like the egotists we are, that they have no
existence apart from the one we are pleased to applaud. What fools
some of us must be to think there is never a time when the paint and
powder, the tinsel and eternal artifice of the stage--yea, even our
own condescending admiration--pall on the jaded spirits of the poor
player.

"How sparklingly is Miss Smith acting Lady Teazle to-night!" we say,
elegantly pressing our hands together in token of august favour. We
are entranced, and it follows, therefore, that the actress must be
entranced likewise. Mayhap Miss Smith does not share the same ecstacy;
perhaps, as