owledge that appears almost impossible in one who, for a long time
after his arrival in London, was "ignorant of the very language of the
country." He has learnt our tongue well enough to give us some literary
criticisms of value, notably upon the Irish theatre and the poetry of Mr
W.B. Yeats, and he has made himself acquainted in a remarkable way with
the plays of the last fifteen years or so, with the theatrical clubs and
the various movements of revolt against our puppet theatre. There are
slips, no doubt, such as the suggestion that the Independent Theatre
introduced Ibsen to London, it being the fact that several of his plays
had been presented before this Society was born.

Signor Borsa has something to say on most of the topics of the times.
For instance, he deals with the Censor! "And here we touch the root of
the evil--the Censor! It is the Censor who is the real enemy--the
ruthless, insatiable Cerberus." He writes upon the question of speeches
in the theatres. "In Italy a new play is sometimes so heartily hissed
after one or two acts that the manager is forced to cut short the
performance and proceed forthwith to the farce. This never happens in
England, partly because every 'first night' is attended by a _claque_,
judiciously posted and naturally well disposed. Not that these
'first-nighters' are paid to applaud, as in Paris or Vienna. Neither are
they labelled as _claqueurs_. They are simply enthusiasts, and their
name is Legion.... It is they who salute the actor-manager after the
curtain has fallen with persistent demands of 'Speech! Speech!' And it
is to the request of these good and faithful friends that he accedes at
last, in a voice broken by emotion, due to their spontaneous and
generous reception."

Of late some people have been suggesting gleefully that the vogue of
"G.B.S." is on the wane. His popularity has been the cause of great
annoyance to the mass of the public and those critics who stand up for
a theatre of "old scenic tricks which were long familiar to
me--sensational intrigues, impossible situations, men and women who
could have been neither English nor French nor Italian." They will be
glad to learn that Signor Borsa says: "Shaw's dramatic work is pure
journalism, destined to enjoy a certain vogue, and then to be swallowed
up in the deep pit of oblivion. Nor should I be surprised if this vogue
of his were already on the decline.... Shaw, with all his wit and all
his go, already shows sig