other suburbs, and leave the theatre before the ending
of a play. The result threatens to be curious. The dramatists will be
induced to make their big effort in the penultimate act, leaving nothing
for the last but some tranquil rounding off which you may miss without
serious loss. Instead of the notice, often, alas! untrue: "The audience
is requested to be seated punctually at eight o'clock, since the
interest in the play begins at the rise of the curtain," we shall have:
"Members of the audience anxious for supper or to catch suburban trains
are requested to leave before the curtain rises on the last act, which
is only a kind of needless epilogue."

We had some trace of this new epilogue method in _Leah Kleschna_, as
well as in _Letty_. How the critics of the morning papers would bless
such a system! At the same time, it is imaginable that the authors will
raise a difficulty--they are such an exacting race!

However, a brilliant suggestion has been made of a way of dealing with
the difficulty. "Why not," asks a fair correspondent, whose letter has
incited this article--"why not begin with the last act?" The scornful
may answer with the question, "Why begin at all if you've nothing better
than our ordinary drama?" but they must be kept out of court. There
really is something in the idea. Public interest flags somewhat in the
case of ordinary plays because the house knows too well the things that
are going to happen; it might be stimulated by seeing them happen and
then watching the development of the facts leading up to them. This
suggestion is not protected in any way, either in England or the United
States.

Preposterous Stage Types

The title may sound a little misleading, Ruskinian, Horne-Tookian:
probably the word "preposterous" would not have been used but for an
accidental remembrance of De Quincey, who was so fond of using and
explaining it, of pointing out that it signified the behind-before, the
cart before the horse, the hysteron-proteron. By-the-by, why has De
Quincey gone out of fashion? There are charming reprints of almost
everybody who is somebody, and of somebodies who really are nobodies;
even Alexander Smith is being talked of; yet, if you want a full feast
of De Quincey you must go to ill-printed pages bound horribly. However,
except so far as Shakespeare is concerned, the author of a famous essay
on Wilhelm Meister has left us little on the topic of the stage. A
casual question brought forwa