his function would not be wholly despicable; but as he is generally
devoid of insight, and as, moreover, the oracles of the box-office vary
from season to season, if not from month to month, his lucubrations are
about as valuable as those of Zadkiel or Old Moore.[1]

What, then, is the excuse for such a discussion as is here attempted?
Having admitted that there are no rules for dramatic composition, and
that the quest of such rules is apt to result either in pedantry or
quackery, why should I myself set forth upon so fruitless and foolhardy
an enterprise? It is precisely because I am alive to its dangers that I
have some hope of avoiding them. Rules there are none; but it does not
follow that some of the thousands who are fascinated by the art of the
playwright may not profit by having their attention called, in a plain
and practical way, to some of its problems and possibilities. I have
myself felt the need of some such handbook, when would-be dramatists
have come to me for advice and guidance. It is easy to name excellent
treatises on the drama; but the aim of such books is to guide the
judgment of the critic rather than the creative impulse of the
playwright. There are also valuable collections of dramatic criticisms;
but any practical hints that they may contain are scattered and
unsystematic. On the other hand, the advice one is apt to give to
beginners--"Go to the theatre; study its conditions and mechanism for
yourself"--is, in fact, of very doubtful value. It might, in many cases,
be wiser to warn the aspirant to keep himself unspotted from the
playhouse. To send him there is to imperil, on the one hand, his
originality of vision, on the other, his individuality of method. He may
fall under the influence of some great master, and see life only through
his eyes; or he may become so habituated to the current tricks of the
theatrical trade as to lose all sense of their conventionality and
falsity, and find himself, in the end, better fitted to write what I