sadly, you see. I write slowly, and I hate last acts; they
always spoil a play. I noticed that a little while ago you suggested
that it might be a good idea to begin a play with the last act; the idea
is a mere _hysteron-proteron_, absolutely preposterous,
prae-post-erous." This sounds as if the writer were the ghost of De
Quincey.

"In the past I got my morning paper early enough to be able to send down
to the office a correction of any error in my conjectural notice of the
last act, and reception of the play, or even a report of the speech at
the end; and if the theatre had been burnt down, or the leading player
had fallen in a fit, I would have sent an account of it, so as not to
lose my berth for apparent inattention to business. There are editors
who think that they can get critics strong enough to sit out the whole
of a play. Now, alas! the morning papers do not help me."

Certainly there was a curious and pathetic humour about his position,
for one of the features of the modern journal is that the more
"up-to-date" the paper the staler the news. Once upon a time the
ordinary daily went to press at about half-past one; but now the
printer's devil is at rest after midnight in some of these offices, and
several terrifically modern morning papers, a copy of which you can read
with your breakfast at Timbuctoo, are completely printed before the
extra-special edition of the evening paper of the (nominal) day before
is sold out. The last statement may only be applicable to the country
editions, by which the yokels are deceived.

The result is strange so far as the theatre is concerned, for on an
important occasion even a writer with such a rapid pen as that of
Clement Scott needed the full time-allowance of the old system. The
consequence is seen in two sets of announcements. According to one,
there is to be a _repetition generale_ of several forthcoming plays,
which, in plain English, means an anticipatory performance to a private
audience, given in order to assist the critics--or some of them--in
carrying out their duties and fighting the clock, and perhaps also for
the purpose of giving seats to some of the swagger "deadheads" who crowd
the stalls on a first night.

The other announcement was by Sir Herbert Tree, that his coming first
night was to begin at seven o'clock, in order that we might have leisure
on the same evening for the performance of our tasks. The
representatives of the morning papers have a melan