transparent. Even could they have got rid of his clothes there would
have remained his flesh and bones. It was pure guess-work. They did
not observe.

The modern writer goes to work scientifically. He tells us that the
creature wore a made-up tie. From that we know he was not a
gentleman; it follows as the night the day. The fashionable novelist
notices the young man's socks. It reveals to us whether the marriage
would have been successful or a failure. It is necessary to convince
us that the hero is a perfect gentleman: the author gives him a gold
cigarette case.

A well-known dramatist has left it on record that comedy cannot exist
nowadays, for the simple reason that gentlemen have given up taking
snuff and wearing swords. How can one have comedy in company with
frock-coats--without its "Las" and its "Odds Bobs."

The sword may have been helpful. I have been told that at levees
City men, unaccustomed to the thing, have, with its help, provided
comedy for the rest of the company.

But I take it this is not the comedy our dramatist had in mind.

[Why not an Exhibition of Gentlemen?]

It seems a pity that comedy should disappear from among us. If it
depend entirely on swords and snuff-boxes, would it not be worth the
while of the Society of Authors to keep a few gentlemen specially
trained? Maybe some sympathetic theatrical manager would lend us
costumes of the eighteenth century. We might provide them with