acting
would be raised. This has been so far perceived that even people
belonging to the other side of the footlights have expressed publicly
the opinion that the unsatisfactory state of the theatres is partly due
to their being too much talked and written about.

Rosalind's phrase that a "good wine needs no bush" is but partly true;
merit rarely succeeds by its own virtue when it has to meet unfair
competition in the shape of advertisement.

Music

A little while ago a man, who had not been to the theatre for some
years, was asked his reason. "The last time I went," he replied, "it was
to a tragedy, well written and interesting, if hardly inspired, and
after the first act the band--nobody would call it an
'orchestra'--played a thing called 'The Washington Post,' which I
discovered by the aid of the programme was written by a noise-concocter
called Sousa. I sat it out; I had no choice, for I was in the middle of
a row, and in order to escape I should have had to trample upon a dozen
inoffensive strangers. During the next act the abominable noise kept
coming back into my ears and distracting me, so the drama was ruined for
me."

It was pointed out to him that Mr Sousa is a very popular composer, that
millions of people love his compositions, that it is merely a minority,
contemptible in number, which loathes them. Still he caused thoughts.
For a long time the musical folk have regarded the _entr'acte_ music
simply as one of the unavoidable discomforts of the playhouse; but,
really, managers might be more careful. Apparently it is impossible to
deal satisfactorily with the question. There is a horrible dilemma; if
the music is good you cannot enjoy it, because you can hardly hear it,
for the audience talk too loudly, and there is the bustle of people
coming in and out, and one catches the voices of young ladies inviting
people in the stalls to take tea or coffee or to buy chocolates, and the
occupants of the pit to refresh themselves with "ginger-beer, lemonade,
bottled ale or stout," a phrase to which they give a species of
rhythmical crescendo.

The difficulty is enhanced in some houses by the fact that the orchestra
is hidden in a species of box which is almost noise-proof. On the other
hand, if the music is bad--generally the case--well, it is bad; worse,
still, you can hear it easily. There is a kind of kink in nature which
breeds the law that very small interruptions will mar your pleasure in
good music, bu