to the dramatic profession to exact or to expect any such thing.  Equally objectionable, and equally impracticable, are the attempts of Quixotic “dramatic reformers” to exercise a sort of goody-goody censorship over the selection and the text of the plays to be acted.  The stage has been serving the world for hundreds, yes, and thousands of years, during which it has contributed in pure dramaturgy to the literature of the world its very greatest master-pieces in nearly all languages, meanwhile affording to the million an infinity of pleasure, all more or less innocent.  Where less innocent, rather than more, the cause has lain, not in the stage, but in the state of society of which it was the mirror.  For though the stage is not always occupied with its own period, the new plays produced always reflect in many particulars the spirit of the age in which they are played.  There is a story of a traveller who put up for the night at a certain inn, on the door of which was the inscription—­“Good entertainment for man and beast.”  His horse was taken to the stable and well cared for, and he sat down to dine.  When the covers were removed he remarked, on seeing his own sorry fare, “Yes, this is very well; but where’s the entertainment for the man?” If everything were banished from the stage except that which suits a certain taste, what dismal places our theatres would be!  However fond the play-goer may be of tragedy, if you offer him nothing but horrors, he may well ask—­“Where’s the entertainment for the man who wants an evening’s amusement?” The humor of a farce may not seem over-refined to a particular class of intelligence; but there are thousands of people who take an honest pleasure in it.  And who, after seeing my old friend J.L.  Toole in some of his famous parts, and having laughed till their sides ached, have not left the theatre more buoyant and light-hearted than they came?  Well, if the stage has been thus useful and successful all these centuries, and still is productive; if the noble fascination of the theatre draws to it, as we know that it does, an immortal poet such as our Tennyson, whom, I can testify from my own experience, nothing delights more than the success of one of the plays which, in the mellow autumn of his genius, he has contributed to the acting theatre; if a great artist like Tadema is proud to design scenes for stage plays; if in all departments of stage production we see great talent, and in nearly every instance great good taste and sincere sympathy with the best popular ideals of goodness; then, I say, the stage is entitled to be let alone—­that is, it is entitled to make its own bargain with the public without the censorious intervention of well-intentioned busybodies.  These do not know what to ban or to bless.  If they had their way, as of course they cannot, they would license, with many flourishes and much self-laudation, a number of pieces which would be hopelessly condemned on the first hearing, and they would lay an embargo