ture.
That question does not here concern us. The point is that, having
determined to reserve the revelation for his next act, the author ought
not, by sending Muriel into Margaret's bedroom, to have awakened in us a
confident anticipation of its occurring there and then. A romantic play
by Mr. J. B. Fagan, entitled _Under Which King?_ offers another small
instance of the same nature. The date is 1746; certain despatches of
vast importance have to be carried by a Hanoverian officer from Moidart
to Fort William. The Jacobites arrange to drug the officer; and, to make
assurance doubly sure, in case the drug should fail to act, they post a
Highland marksman in a narrow glen to pick him off as he passes. The
drug does act; but his lady-love, to save his military honour, assumes
male attire and rides off with the despatches. We hear her horse's hoofs
go clattering down the road; and then, as the curtain falls, we hear a
shot ring out into the night. This shot is a misleading finger-post.
Nothing comes of it: we find in the next act that the marksman has
missed! But marksmen, under such circumstances, have no business to
miss. It is a breach of the dramatic proprieties. We feel that the
author has been trifling with us in inflicting on us this purely
mechanical and momentary "scare." The case would be different if the
young lady knew that the marksman was lying in ambush, and determined to
run the gantlet. In that case the incident would be a trait of
character; but, unless my memory deceives me, that is not the case. On
the stage, every bullet should have its billet--not necessarily in the
person aimed at, but in the emotions or anticipations of the audience.
This bullet may, indeed, give us a momentary thrill of alarm; but it is
dearly bought at the expense of subsequent disillusionment.

We have now to consider the subject of over-preparation, too obtrusive
preparation, mountainous preparation leading only to a mouse-like
effect. This is the characteristic error of the so-called "well-made
play," the play of elaborate and ingenious intrigue. The trouble with
the well-made play is that it is almost always, and of necessity,
ill-made. Very rarely does the playwright succeed in weaving a web which
is at once intricate, consistent, and clear. In nineteen cases out of
twenty there are glaring flaws that have to be overlooked; or else the
pattern is so involved that the mind's eye cannot follow it, and becomes
bewildered and fat