e managers have some belief in the soundness of the judgment
of several of us. They all recognise the fact that we tend to create
public opinion, and that an actor or actress much spoken of admiringly
in the papers excites the curiosity of playgoers, and is a useful
addition to a cast. Consequently we feel that in speaking of or ignoring
individual performers we are affecting them to some extent in earning
their livelihood.

There is a story concerning a critic upon whose death half the stage
went into quarter-mourning. If it be true, it showed that he was very
short-sighted in his amiability, for when dealing with an overcrowded
profession one must remember that ill-earned praise of A may keep B, who
is more worthy, from getting A's place, to which, of course, he has a
better title. It is very hard to act upon this proposition, although it
involves a duty, for it is much easier to imagine the positive hurt to A
than the negative injury to B; the critic in question probably shut his
eyes to this, if he ever thought of it, and died comfortably unaware of
the fact that his indiscriminating praise had kept many meritorious
people out of their rights.

Even supposing one masters the illogical feeling of the lamented critic,
difficulties arise. We have grown very velvet-tongued in these days.
There was no nonsense about our predecessors; if the leading lady was
plain, they said so, whilst if one of us were to suggest that the
heroine, whose beauty is talked of tiresomely during the play, in real
life might sit in unflattering safety under mistletoe till the berries
shrivelled he would be regarded as an ungentle manlike brute. This is
rather awkward.

There is an injustice in being forced into a conspiracy of silence about
the figure or face of a lady who would catch cold at kiss-in-the-ring,
yet is supposed at first sight to set Romeo's pulses throbbing madly,
and when the dear creatures whom we loved a quarter of a century ago
appear to us unsuitable for _ingenue_ parts we feel that it is a
terrible breach of duty not to say so, yet it is painful to be candid.

Now and again the matter becomes ridiculous, and we venture to make
oblique suggestions; but even this is a poor accomplishment of our task.
Yet it seems appallingly rude and direct to say that Miss X. showed
intelligence and technical skill, but is too old or too fat or too ugly
for her part; and managers rely upon our reticence and upon pictures in
which the su