mns, and nearly all the rest to a subdivision of number three,
ignored by him. This subdivision consists of star plays--that is, of
dramas of theatrical character--in the manufacture of which the French
dramatists excel. Many of the dramas by Dumas _fils_ show an ingenious
combination of this subdivision with the anecdotal play. And Pinero--our
exception--how would "Percival" classify _His House in Order_, which has
a strong story? In reality it is a very adroit mixture of story, idea,
and comedy of character, this is the case with the other works of our
leading dramatist.

The fact is that "Percival" has mistaken treatment for conception. All
dramatists try to combine the three categories, but the worst class
attaches too much importance to the mere story; unfortunately our
audiences are like the bad dramatist in this respect: hence the almost
purely anecdotal play, like the anecdotal picture, is the most popular.

The Supernatural

That the forbidden is attractive is a commonplace and true. The third
party in the divorce case is often less beautiful than the petitioner,
the length of water beyond our own always promises better sport, the
mushrooms seem to grow more thickly in the fields of others. In drama we
see the same law in operation. No canon of art makes the "supernatural"
unlawful to the dramatist, but it is generally looked upon as
illegitimate in serious drama. The word "supernatural" is used in its
popular sense, which is well enough understood, but indefinable.
Naturally the dramatist is tempted the more when he sees the novelist
using the supernatural effectively.

No wonder the playwright has tried to adapt _Frankenstein_; he has
merely succeeded in presenting a grotesque unterrible figure where Mrs
Shelley gave a thrill of horror. We have had several plays on the boards
which overstep bounds. One can read Mr Jerome's tale "The Passing of the
Third Floor Back" without being oppressed by a sense of the inadequacy
of his machinery, but when Mr Forbes Robertson is supposed on the stage
to "blarney" eight or nine people who have ugly souls into righteousness
we are not only unconvinced but actively incredulous. Possibly to simple
minds the affair would be more impressive if the lodger wore a halo
supposed to be invisible to the people on the stage, or produced an
occasional flash of lightning or growl of thunder.

Take that dear old crusted melodrama _The Corsican Brothers_. The story
was thrilling en