losophy,
not only joined the category of the great farewells of all time, but
wherever read or uttered will give humanity a fresher faith with which
to meet the inevitable. In a supreme moment of the most colossal drama
that human passion ever staged, fate literally hurled him into the
universal lime-light to enact a part that gave him an undying glory.
The shyest of men became the world's observed.

The last tribute to Charles Frohman was the most remarkable
demonstration of sorrow in the history of the theater. The one-time
barefoot boy of Sandusky, Ohio, who had projected so many people into
eminence and who had himself hidden behind the rampart of his own
activities, was widely mourned.

The principal funeral services were held at the Temple Emanu-El in New
York. Here gathered a notable assemblage that took reverent toll of all
callings and creeds. It was proud to do honor to the man who had
achieved so much and who had died so heroically.

At the bier Augustus Thomas delivered an eloquent address that fittingly
summed up the life and purpose of the greatest force that the
English-speaking theater has yet known. Among other things he said:

"A wise man counseled, 'Look into your heart and write': 'C. F.' looked
into his heart and listened. He had that quoted quality of genius that
made him believe his own thought, made him know that what was true for
him in his private heart was true for all mankind. That was the secret
of his power. It was the golden key to both his understanding and
expression.

"He was a fettered and a prisoned poet, often in his finest moments
inarticulate. Working in the theater with his companies and stars, with
the women and the men who knew and loved him, he accomplished less by
word than by a radiating vital force that brought them into his
intensity of feeling. In his social intercourse and comradeship, telling
a dramatic or a comic story, at a certain pressure of its progress where
other men depend on paragraphs and phrases he coined a near-word and a
sign, and by a graphic and exalted pantomime ambushed and captured our
emotions.

"His mind was clear and tranquil as a mountain lake, its quiet depths
reflecting all the varied beauty of the bending skies. He had the gift
of epitome. The men who knew him best valued his estimate, not only of
the things in his own profession, but of any notable event or deed or
tendency. Often his spontaneous comment on a cabled utterance or act
laid