od. Such feats of craftsmanship are entertaining, but
too dangerous to be commended for imitation.

In some modern plays a full close is achieved by the simple expedient of
altogether omitting the last act, or last scene, and leaving the end of
the play to the imagination. This method is boldly and (I understand)
successfully employed by Mr. Edward Sheldon in his powerful play, _The
Nigger_. Philip Morrow, the popular Governor of one of the Southern
States, has learnt that his grandmother was a quadroon, and that
consequently he has in him a much-attenuated strain of African blood. In
the Southern States, attenuation matters nothing: if the remotest
filament of a man's ancestry runs back to Africa, he is "a nigger all
right." Philip has just suppressed a race-riot in the city, and, from
the balcony of the State Capitol, is to address the troops who have
aided him, and the assembled multitude. Having resolutely parted from
the woman he adores, but can no longer marry, he steps out upon the
balcony to announce that he is a negro, that he resigns the
Governorship, and that henceforth he casts in his lot with his black
brethren. The stage-direction runs thus--

The afternoon sun strikes his figure. At his appearance a shout goes
up--long, steady, enthusiastic cheering; and, after a moment, the
big regimental band begins playing, very slowly, "My Country, 'tis
of Thee." ... All the people in the room are smiling and applauding
enthusiastically; and--as Phil in vain raises his hand for silence,
and the band crashes through the National Anthem, and the roar of
voices still rises from below--

THE CURTAIN FALLS.

One does not know whether to praise Mr. Sheldon for having adroitly
avoided an anticlimax, or to reproach him with having unblushingly
shirked a difficulty. To my sense, the play has somewhat the air of a
hexameter line with the spondee cut off.[5] One _does_ want to see the
peripety through. But if the audience is content to imagine the sequel,
Mr. Sheldon's craftsmanship is justified, and there is no more to be
said. M. Brieux experienced some difficulty in bringing his early play,
_Blanchette_, to a satisfactory close. The third act which he originally
wrote was found unendurably cynical; a more agreeable third act was
condemned as an anticlimax; and for some time the play was presented
with no third act at all. It did not end, but simply left off. No doubt
it is better that a play should stop in