an unsatisfying life; and when rash acquaintances asked him what he did,
he used to say that he was for the Bar. Now he says he is writing a
play--and we look round the spacious lawns and terraces and marvel at the
run his last one must have had.

However, I assume that you who read this are actually in need of the
dibs. Your play must be not merely a good play, but a successful one. How
shall this success be achieved?

Frankly I cannot always say. If you came to me and said, "I am on the
Stock Exchange, and bulls are going down," or up, or sideways, or
whatever it might be; "there's no money to be made in the City nowadays,
and I want to write a play instead. How shall I do it?"--well, I couldn't
help you. But suppose you said, "I'm fond of writing; my people always
say my letters home are good enough for 'Punch.' I've got a little idea
for a play about a man and a woman and another woman, and--but perhaps
I'd better keep the plot a secret for the moment. Anyhow it's jolly
exciting, and I can do the dialogue all right. The only thing is, I don't
know anything about technique and stagecraft and the three unities and
that sort of rot. Can you give me a few hints?"--suppose you spoke to me
like this, then I could do something for you. "My dear Sir," I should
reply (or Madam), "you have come to the right shop. Lend me your ear for
ten minutes, and you shall learn just what stagecraft is." And I should
begin with a short homily on


SOLILOQUY

If you ever read your "Shakespeare"--and no dramatist should despise the
works of another dramatist; he may always pick up something in them which