it did not reach a particular position on the stage at the right moment.

Répétitions of this character—and, it may be, of any character—are not wholly satisfactory to the critic. There is a sham-fight air about them—a good many of the players cannot work themselves up to the full fury of real combat; they are affected by the fact that the affair is not exactly genuine. One can even imagine that some of them say to themselves, "It will be all right on the night," and justice is by no means restored even if the critic afterwards sees the first public performance. The dress rehearsal has left him somewhat unfairly cold, because the circumstances were hostile, and in most cases a second dose of the affair within twenty-four hours makes him colder still, since, unless the work is the rare masterpiece, he does not wish to see it twice within a space of less than forty-eight hours, or years. No doubt the public will get the benefit of the critic's views as to the nature of the reception, since, having already written his notice, which he is not likely to alter in the least degree so far as impressions of the piece and acting are concerned, he will have plenty of time for a last paragraph about the "boos" or cheers and the non-appearance of the author or the speech.

There was even a third announcement, for the critic of the paper lovingly called The Tizer by the members of the industry whose interests it protects with the utmost vehemence of laborious alliteration stated that in the future his first-night notices would only contain an account of the plot and reception, to which presumably were to be added the words Cur adv. vult—let us hope there was no misunderstanding as to the middle word—whilst a day later his considered judgment was to be given.

Certainly this method is not quite a novelty, and has often been recommended. Probably the reason why it has not hitherto been adopted has been the repugnance to it of the critics, based on a sneaking belief that the public does not take enough interest in criticism of the drama to read the second notice, on which, of course, the writer would have bestowed the greater labour.

There is something very human in the belief; few of us have sufficient self-confidence to fancy that the public does more than glance at a notice to discover what sort of piece it deals with, and whether it was well received, and is the sort of thing the reader wants to see; and we fear there is only a very small percentage that pays any attention to our finest phrases, aptest quotations, and subtlest evidence of acquaintance with the easy aids to universal knowledge.

Indeed, we have a humiliating certainty that our friends would never get beyond the account of the plot and the reception and remarks about individual performers in whom they happen to take particular interest, friendly or otherwise. Moreover, it is to be noted that the public has come to doubt the value of the first-night receptions which we record, the fact being incontestable that a good deal of the applause is quite unreal.

Perhaps an advantage of the répétition générale system will be that if the managements can only persuade their friends that it is more chic to be at the répétition than the first performance we shall have genuine audiences at premières, whose verdict will be of real weight.

There are certain difficulties about the new system. The invitation performance is an admirable means for the manufacture of enmities: to classify one's friends into boxes, stalls, dress circle, etc., is no doubt to have a delightful opportunity of snubbing people, but it is sure to breed bitter quarrels; whilst on the other hand, to let the guests shift for themselves creates no little trouble and imposes a very difficult task upon the attendants. It sounds easy under such circumstances to reserve places for the critics, but unless they come a long time in advance they are not likely to get them.

His Fear of Libel Actions

Some while ago—it was in 1902-1903—the critics were aghast—editors, too, perhaps. Mr Justice Ridley had permitted a jury to give £100 as damages for libel in respect of a dramatic criticism less severe than dozens that most of us have written: it was said that some critics consulted their solicitors as to the best means of rendering their property "judgment proof"—a picturesque term that comes from America.

Later on the Court of Appeal interfered effectively, though possibly many actions were begun and settled before the appeal was heard; and it was held that in a libel action founded upon a criticism written concerning a work of art, unless there is some evidence of malice it is the judge's duty to consider whether the criticism can fairly be construed as being outside the range of fair comment, and if he thinks that the comments lie within the range of criticism he should decide the case in favour of the defendant, and not let it go to the jury. Then the critics breathed again, and the story goes that Fleet Street laid in a large stock of vitriol.

The next, and at present last, act in the matter was the recovery by Mr Frederick Moy Thomas of £300 damages for a libel which appeared in Punch upon his book called "Fifty Years of Fleet Street." Although the matter related to a book, and not to a play, the dramatic critics felt anxious again, because no distinction could be drawn between criticisms upon the two kinds of work. The case was peculiarly interesting to the dramatic critics because the plaintiff, who had been one of our craft for some length of time, enjoyed the reputation of being very learned in matters connected with the drama, as well as sound and conscientious.

Moreover, his father, William Moy Thomas, whose name was introduced into the case, was for many years past one of the most esteemed and admired of our profession, owing to his knowledge, fairness, judgment and excellence of style. The Court of Appeal upheld the verdict, and Punch's record of long existence without a verdict against it for libel is spoilt. Its licence, the licence of a nation's jester, has been endorsed.

It may be asked whether this is not a mere matter for the craft: in reality the public is concerned. The letter written by one friend to another, gossiping about a play or a book or a picture, exposes the writer to an action for libel unless it can be protected on the ground of truth, privilege or fair comment; and casually written remarks concerning any matter of public interest may result in damages and costs. Indeed, to put the matter simply, the professional critics have no greater rights or privileges of criticism than any member of the public. It is therefore very important to all of us to know how the matter stands, and since the judgment of the Master of the Rolls is rather technical, it seems worth while briefly to state the law in unscientific phrases.

The written opinion upon any matter of public interest—a play, a book, a piece of music, a picture, the speech of a politician, the sermon of a parson, the behaviour of a general, the conduct of an admiral, the methods of a judge, etc.—must fulfil two conditions. It must be honest and it must be expressed fairly in the point of form. In the "Ridley" action the honesty of the opinion was admitted, and the question arose whether the opinion was fair in form. In the famous Whistler v. Ruskin cause there was no doubt about the critic's honesty—fancy doubting Ruskin's honesty! However, the jury thought that he went too far in his phrase "nearly approached the aspect of wilful imposture," and probably the word "coxcomb" was fatal, for it was irrelevant.

It might almost be said that relevancy is the test of fairness in the form of a criticism. It was irrelevant as well as inaccurate to speak of a "naughty wife" in a criticism upon The Whip Hand, because there was "no naughty wife" in the play, and therefore the jury gave one shilling damages and the