is to be true to the legitimate companion of his joys and sorrows.

With all this in favour of the "Careless Husband," it is a curious
fact that the play, if presented in its original form, would not be
tolerated by the audiences of to-day.[A] The dialogue is often coarse
and suggestive, although for the most part full of sparkle and mother
wit, while the plot smacks of intrigue, lying and adultery. But it is
a fine work for all that; there is a delightful flavour about it, as
of old wine, and we feel in reading each successive scene that we are
uncorking a rare literary bottle of the vintage 1704. How much of the
vintage of 1898 will stand, equally well, the uncorking process if
applied in a century or two from now? How many plays in vogue at
present will be read with pleasure at that distant period? Will they
be the gruesome affairs of Ibsen, still tainted with their putrid air
of unhealthy mentality, or the clever performances of Henry Arthur
Jones; the dramas of Bronson Howard or the farcical skits of Mr. Hoyt?

[Footnote A: Were the "Careless Husband" adapted to suit the exacting
requirements of nineteenth century modesty, its brilliancy would be
gone.]

The "Careless Husband" has not been acted these many, many years, yet
to all who treasure the historical memories of the stage it should
be recalled with interest, for it was in this gay comedy that
the ravishing Nance shone forth in all the silvery light of her
resplendent genius. Read the pages of the old play in unsympathetic
mood and they may look musty and worm-eaten, but imagine Oldfield as
the sprightly Lady Betty Modish, the elegant Wilks as Sir Charles
Easy, and Cibber[A] himself in the empty-headed rôle of Lord
Foppington, and, presto! everything is changed. The yellow leaves are