is the whole story), 'well, Tom, and what art thou to-night?' 'What
art thou to-night?' It may sound rather like a tract, but it will, I
think, be found difficult to find an answer to the question consistent
with any true view of human dignity.

Our last argument derived from the nature of the case is, that
deliberately to set yourself as the occupation of your life to amuse
the adult and to astonish, or even to terrify, the infant population
of your native land, is to degrade yourself.

Three-fourths of the acted drama is, and always must be, comedy,
farce, and burlesque. We are bored to death by the huge inanities of
life. We observe with horror that our interest in our dinner becomes
languid. We consult our doctor, who simulates an interest in our stale
symptoms, and after a little talk about Dr. Diet, Dr. Quiet, and Dr.
Merriman, prescribes Toole. If we are very innocent we may inquire
what night we are to go, but if we do we are at once told that it
doesn't in the least matter when we go, for it is always equally
funny. Poor Toole! to be made up every night as a safe prescription
for the blues! To make people laugh is not necessarily a crime, but to
adopt as your trade the making people laugh by delivering for a
hundred nights together another man's jokes, in a costume the author
of the jokes would blush to be seen in, seems to me a somewhat
unworthy proceeding on the part of a man of character and talent.

To amuse the British public is a task of herculean difficulty and
danger, for the blatant monster is, at times, as whimsical and coy as
a maiden, and if it once makes up its mind not to be amused, nothing
will shake it. The labour is enormous, the sacrifice beyond what is
demanded of saints. And if you succeed, what is your reward? Read the