“Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see: 
  She has deceived her father, and may thee.”

Mr. Stephen Phillips, in the first act of Paolo and Francesca, outdoes all his predecessors, ancient or modern, in his daring use of sibylline prophecy.  He makes Giovanni’s blind foster-mother, Angela, foretell the tragedy in almost every detail, save that, in her vision, she cannot see the face of Francesca’s lover.  Mr. Phillips, I take it, is here reinforcing ancient tradition by a reference to modern “psychical research.”  He trusts to our conceiving such clairvoyance to be not wholly impossible, and giving it what may be called provisional credence.  Whether the device be artistic or not we need not here consider.  I merely point to it as a conspicuous example of the use of the finger-post.[4]

It need scarcely be said that a misleading finger-post is carefully to be avoided, except in the rare cases where it may be advisable to beget a momentary misapprehension on the part of the audience, which shall be almost instantly corrected in some pleasant or otherwise effective fashion.[5] It is naturally difficult to think of striking instances of the misleading finger-posts; for plays which contain such a blunder are not apt to survive, even in the memory.  A small example occurs in a clever play named A Modern Aspasia by Mr. Hamilton Fyfe.  Edward Meredith has two households:  a London house over which his lawful wife, Muriel, presides; and a country cottage where dwells his mistress, Margaret, with her two children.  One day Muriel’s automobile breaks down near Margaret’s cottage, and, while the tyre is being repaired, Margaret gives her visitor tea, neither of them knowing the other.  Throughout the scene we are naturally wondering whether a revelation is to occur; and when, towards the close, Muriel goes to Margaret’s room, “to put her hat straight,” we have no longer any doubt on the subject.  It is practically inevitable that she should find in the room her husband’s photograph, or some object which she should instantly recognize as his, and should return to the stage in full possession of the secret.  This is so probable that nothing but a miracle can prevent it:  we mentally give the author credit for bringing about his revelation in a very simple and natural way; and we are proportionately disappointed when we find that the miracle has occurred, and that Muriel returns to the sitting-room no wiser than she left it.  Very possibly the general economy of the play demanded that the revelation should not take place at this juncture.  That question does not here concern us.  The point is that, having determined to reserve the revelation for his next act, the author ought not, by sending Muriel into Margaret’s bedroom, to have awakened in us a confident anticipation of its occurring there and then.  A romantic play by Mr. J. B. Fagan, entitled Under Which King? offers another small instance of the same nature.  The date is 1746;