course, hold you responsible for every word that is spoken on the stage. I like some plays; I like a play called the Wedding March; I think it is an admirable piece of fooling. I think the construction of that play is inimitable, and the situations singularly amusing. I consequently entertain a respect for the ability of the author. I am not aware that it a literal translation from the French. I am not aware that characters, scenery, plot, costumes, incidents, dialogue, and construction were supplied by a French play. If I knew it, it might induce me to modify my opinion of the author's genius for stage construction as exhibited in that work. In bestowing applause upon an author I am not in the habit of distinguishing between an original play and a translation. Now that you mention it, perhaps I should do so. Now that you remind me of it, I certainly see a wide distinction between the two. Now that you direct my attention to the circumstance, I am astonished that I should ever have bracketed them together. The more I think of it the more remarkable it appears to me that I should have placed an author of original plays on the same footing with a translator. Probably I shall henceforth bear the distinction in mind. Still, I consider your play a very bad one. I consider myself a judge of plays. I have written many plays—everybody has. They have not been acted—not yet.
Emily Fitzgibbon.—I am an actress. I played the part of Constantia in the comedy Lead. I have a poor opinion of it as a play. I disliked it from the first
