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we now
do not have) of the mimetic sense--the satisfaction of seeing a mirror
held up to a whole audience composed of the very class represented
upon the stage.
I have seen men of wealth and position absorbed in plays concerning
gambling, cruelty, cheating, drunkenness, and other sports, and so
absorbed chiefly because they saw themselves depicted upon the stage;
and I ask, Would not my fellows and myself largely remunerate a
similar opportunity? For though the rich go repeatedly to the play, yet
the middle-class are so much more numerous that the difference is
amply compensated.
I think we may take it, then, that an experiment in the depicting of
professional life would, even from the financial standpoint, be
workable; and I would even go so far as to suggest that a play could be
written in which there did not appear one single lord, general, Member
of Parliament, baronet, professional beauty, usurer (upon a large scale
at least) or Cabinet Minister.
The thing is possible: and I can modestly say that in the little effort
appended as an example to these lines it has been done successfully;
but here must be mentioned the second point in my thesis--I could
never have achieved what I have here achieved in dramatic art had I not
harked back to the great tradition of the English heroic decasyllable
such as our Shakespeare has handled with so felicitous an effect.
The play--which I have called "The Crisis," and which I design to be
the model of the school founded by these present advices--is specially
designed for acting with the sumptuous accessories at the disposal of a
great manager, such as Mr. (now Sir Henry) Beerbohm Tree, or for the
narrower circumstances of the suburban drawing-room.
There is perhaps but one character which needs any long rehearsal, that
of the dog Fido, and luckily this is one which can easily be supplied by
mechanical means, as by the use of a toy dog of sufficient size which
barks upon the pressure of a pneumatic attachment.
In connexion with this character I would have the student note that I
have introduced into the dog's part just before the curtain a whole line

of dactyls. I hope the hint will not be wasted. Such exceptions relieve
the monotony of our English trochees. But, saving in this instance, I
have confined myself throughout to the example of William
Shakespeare, surely the best master for those who, as I fondly hope,
will follow me in the regeneration of the British Stage.

THE CRISIS
PLACE: The Study at the Vicarage. TIME 9.15 _p.m._
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
THE REV. ARCHIBALD HAVERTON: The Vicar.
MRS. HAVERTON: His Wife.
MISS GROSVENOR: A Governess.
MATILDA: A Maid.
FIDO: A Dog.
HERMIONE COBLEY: Daughter of a cottager who takes in washing.
MISS HARVEY: A guest, cousin to Mrs. Haverton, a Unitarian.
(The REV. ARCHIBALD HAVERTON _is reading the "Standard" by
a lamp with a green shade_. MRS. HAVERTON is hemming a towel.
FIDO _is asleep on the rug. On the walls are three engravings from
Landseer, a portrait of Her late Majesty Queen Victoria, a bookcase
with books in it, and a looking-glass_.)
MRS. HAVERTON: My dear--I hope I do not interrupt you-- Helen
has given notice.
REV. A. HAVERTON (_looking up suddenly_). Given notice? Who?
Helen? Given notice? Bless my soul! (A pause.) I never thought that
she would give us notice. (_Ponders and frowns._)
MRS. HAVERTON: Well, but she has, and now the question is, What
shall we do to find another cook? Servants are very difficult to get.
(_Sighs._) Especially to come into the country To such a place as this.
(_Sighs._) No wonder, either! Oh! Mercy! When one comes to think of
it, One cannot blame them. (_Sighs._) Heaven only knows I try to do
my duty! (_Sighs profoundly._)
REV. A. HAVERTON (_uneasily_): Well, my dear, I cannot make
preferment.
(_Front door-bell rings._)
FIDO: Bow! wow! wow!
REV. A. HAVERTON (_patting him to soothe him_): There, Fido,

there!
FIDO: Wow! wow!
REV. A. HAVERTON: Good dog, there!
FIDO: Wow, Wow, wow!
REV. A. HAVERTON (_very nervous_): There!
FIDO: Wow! wow!
REV. A. HAVERTON (_in an agony_): Good dog!
FIDO: Bow! wow! wow! Wow, wow! Wow!! WOW!!!
MRS. HAVERTON (_very excited_): Oh, Lord, he'll wake the
children!
REV. A. HAVERTON (_exploding_): How often have I told you,
Dorothy, Not to exclaim "Good Lord!"... Apart from manners-- Which
have their own importance--blasphemy (And I regard the phrase as
blasphemous) Cannot--
MRS. HAVERTON (_uneasily_): Oh, very well!... Oh, very well!
(Exploding in her turn.) Upon my soul, you are intolerable! (_She
jumps up and makes for the door. Before she gets to it there is a knock
and_ MATILDA enters.)
MATILDA: Please, m'm, it's only Mrs. Cobley's daughter To say the
washing shall be sent