It is conceivable that the reading public may become so _intelligent_ and so keenly _sensitive_ that _one word_ will suffice to convey a wealth of information or suggestion where _a page_ is now necessary. Certain it is, if mankind is progressing at all, it is progressing in _that direction_. * * * * * The _rise_ of the _printed_ drama means the _fall_ of the _descriptive_ novel. A few years ago no American publisher would risk the printing of a play; now every play of any merit and many of no merit are issued in book form. The novelist devotes two-thirds of his book to descriptions of persons and places, and most of the remaining third to banal psychological analysis and comment. He leaves little to the imagination of the reader, who is told the color of the heroine’s eyes and hair, the number of her dimples, the length of her smile, the shape of her teeth, her make of face powder, together with endless references to her hats, gowns, shoes, parasols, etc., etc. Usually the novelist has some young woman acquaintance in mind, and he _literally forces_ the woman he likes upon the reader, who may be in love with an entirely different type, and who, if left to himself, would find the girl he likes in the pages of the story. The dramatist does nothing of the kind. “Mary Smith, age about twenty,” suffices for him. Shakespeare gives no more than the name. As for description of places, “a room,” or “an office,” “a wood,” “a garden,” answers every purpose. Managers and players have no trouble in building up both scenes and characters; the less “directions,” the more room for individual initiative. Nor is the reader of a play troubled by entire absence of description and “directions.” His imagination supplements the dramatist’s, and he creates heroes and heroines to please himself. That psychological _analysis_ is not only not essential to the psychological novel, but positively detrimental, is demonstrated by the entire absence of such analysis in so profound a psychological study as Hamlet. Paul Bourget is as obsolete as Henry James. * * * * * Bernard Shaw is the one conspicuous reactionary. He still exploits the ego, and writes as if his readers were fools--perhaps they are. * * * * * The popularity of the cinematograph lies not in the cheapness of the entertainment, nor in its _novelty_, which wore off long ago, but in the fact that it is _without words_ and each onlooker enjoys his own interpretation; from child to old man, every one in the audience is _his own playwright_, supplying his own dialogue as the scenes flicker on the curtain. The best of modern plays leave much to the imagination of the audience. Words and bits of business absolutely necessary thirty years ago are considered childishly obvious nowadays, as is amply demonstrated in revivals of old plays.