occupied by "Rose, the miller's daughter."

I sometimes wonder, is it such teaching as that of Carlyle and
Tennyson that is responsible for this present tendency of literature?
Carlyle impressed upon us that the only history worth consideration
was the life of great men and women, and Tennyson that we "needs must
love the highest." So literature, striving ever upward, ignores
plain Romola for the Lady Ponsonby de Tompkins; the provincialisms of
a Charlotte Bronte for what a certain critic, born before his time,
would have called the "doin's of the hupper succles."

The British Drama has advanced by even greater bounds. It takes
place now exclusively within castle walls, and--what Messrs. Lumley &
Co.'s circular would describe as--"desirable town mansions, suitable
for gentlemen of means." A living dramatist, who should know, tells
us that drama does not occur in the back parlour. Dramatists have,
it has been argued, occasionally found it there, but such may have
been dramatists with eyes capable of seeing through clothes.

I once wrote a play which I read to a distinguished Manager. He said
it was a most interesting play: they always say that. I waited,
wondering to what other manager he would recommend me to take it. To
my surprise he told me he would like it for himself--but with
alterations.

"The whole thing wants lifting up," was his opinion. "Your hero is a
barrister: my public take no interest in plain barristers. Make him
the Solicitor General."

"But he's got to be amusing," I argued. "A Solicitor General is