nation. France has a strong dramatic school because she produced her own drama to the exclusion of foreign writers; if the English people, who pride themselves on their patriotism, were to refuse to countenance French and German adaptations, the managers would be forced to produce English plays written by English playwrights, and though, very likely, for a time we would have bad workmanship and crude ideas, yet in a few years a dramatic school would be formed; but such an event will never happen while one of our leading playwrights adapts Gallic comedies wholesale and another dramatises old books of the Georgian period. England has not lost her creative power but she's doing her best to stamp it out." "How terribly severe," said Ferdinand. "But how terribly true," retorted Beaumont carelessly. "However, I will not preach any more as I'm sure you must all be tired of my chatter--and see, there is Doctor Larcher coming." He arose to his feet as he spoke, for the vicar came striding across the little lawn like a colossus. "Tea and scandal, I suppose," he roared in his hearty voice as he shook hands with the artist. "'Hic innocentis pocula Lesbii Duces sub umbra.'" "Certainly innocent enough sir," observed Reginald lightly, "but the fact is we have been listening to Mr. Beaumont." "And the discourse?" asked the vicar, taking a cup of tea from Pumpkin. "The decadence of Literature and the Drama in England," replied Beaumont with a smile. "Ah, indeed. I'm afraid, Mr. Beaumont, I know nothing of the drama, except the Bard of Avon----" "Whom Mr. Beaumont likes, in moderation," interrupted Pumpkin mischievously. "Certainly," assented Beaumont gravely. "I like all things in moderation." "Even Horace," whispered Dick to Reginald, who laughed loudly and then apologised for his untimely mirth. "As to literature," said Dr. Larcher ponderously, "I'm afraid there is rather a falling off--we are frivolous--yes, decidedly frivolous." "I wish we were anything half so pleasant," remarked Beaumont, "I'm afraid we're decidedly dull."