true criticism of life, if he has ignored the social, religious, and
scientific problems of his day, may we not attribute this to the fact
that the public have not been in the mood for these elements of
seriousness in their theatrical entertainment, have not demanded these
special elements of seriousness either in plays or in novels? But
during recent years, the temper of the times has been changing; it is
now the period of analysis, of general restless inquiry; and as this
spirit creates a demand for freer expression on the part of our writers
of books, so it naturally permits to our writers of plays a wider scope
in the selection of subject, and calls for an accompanying effort of
thought, a large freedom of utterance.

At this moment, perhaps, the difficulty of the dramatist lies less in
paucity of subject, than in an almost embarrassing wealth of it. The
life around us teems with problems of conduct and character, which may
be said almost to cry aloud for dramatic treatment, and the temptation
that besets the busy playwright of an uneasy, an impatient age, is that
in yielding himself to the allurements of contemporary psychology, he is
apt to forget that fancy and romance have also their immortal rights in
the drama. ["Hear! Hear!"] But when all is claimed for romance, we must
remember that the laws of supply and demand assert themselves in the
domain of dramatic literature as elsewhere. What the people, out of the
advancement of their knowledge, out of the enlightenment of modern
education, want, they will ask for; what they demand, they will have.
And at the present moment the English people appear to be inclined to
grant to the English dramatist the utmost freedom to deal with questions
which have long been thought to be outside the province of the stage. I
do not deplore, I rejoice that this is so, and I rejoice that to the
dramatists of my day--to those at least who care to attempt to discharge
it, falls the duty of striking from the limbs of English drama some of