what an audience takes every play to be. Up to
a certain point, this presentation of life is convincing; then, for the
sake of leaving an impression that all is well because two persons are
united who never should be, or because the hero didn't die when he
really did, or because coincidence is piled on coincidence to make a
fairy tale situation at which a fairly intelligent cow would rebel,
presto, a lie has to be told that would not deceive the very children in
the seats. It is pleasant to record truthfully that this miserable and
mistaken demand on the part of the short-sighted purveyors of
commercialized dramatic wares is yielding gradually to the more
enlightened notion that any audience wants a play to be consistent with
itself, and feels that too high a price can be paid even for the good
ending whose false deification has played havoc with true dramatic
interests.

Another mode of dishonesty, in which the writer of a play fails in
theme, is to be found whenever, instead of sticking to his subject
matter and giving it the unity of his main interest and the wholeness of
effect derived from paying it undivided attention, extraneous matter is
introduced for the sake of temporary alleviation. Not to stick to your
theme is almost as bad at times as to have none. No doubt the temptation
comes to all practical playwrights and is a considerable one. But it
must be resisted if they are to remain self-respecting artists. The late
Clyde Fitch, skilled man of the theater though he was, sinned not seldom
in this respect. He sometimes introduced scenes effective for novelty
and truth of local color, but so little related to the whole that the
trained auditor might well have met him with the famous question asked
by the Greek audiences of their dramatists who strayed from their theme:
"What has this to do with Apollo?" The remark applies to the
drastically powerful scene in his posthumous play _The City_, where the
theme which was plainly announced in the first act is lost sight of in
the dramatist's desire to use material well adapted to secure a
sensational effect in his climax. It is only fair to say that, had this
drama received the final molding at the author's hands, it might have
been modified to some extent. But there is no question that this was a
tendency with Fitch.

The late Oscar Wilde had an almost unparalleled gift for witty
epigrammatic dialogue. In his two clever comedies, _Lady Windermere's
Fan_ and _A Woman