But how if the son of our “poor nobleman” have a taste for theatricals, and, after being at Eton and Oxford, determine on “adopting the stage as a profession,” or, as it might be more correctly put, “in lieu of a profession.” What will his noble father and his relatives say to this step? Will they be as pleased as if he were going into the army, or to the bar, or into the Church? Not exactly. If he became an officer, a barrister, or a clergyman, the event would be officially notified in due form; but if he went on the stage there would be startling paragraphs in the papers announcing “The Son of an Earl on the Stage,” “The Honorable Mr. So-and-So has adopted the profession of the stage, &c., &c.” “Well, and why not?” some will exclaim; and others will commend his pluck, and say, “Quite right too.” I entirely agree with them. But the point is, has the young gentleman taken a step up the social ladder, or has he gone more than two or three down? Has he improved his position, or injured it? Certainly, as matters stand, there can be but one answer,—the step he has taken has seriously affected the position to which his birth and education entitle him. As a barrister on circuit I have supposed him received _quâ_ barrister with his legal brethren; as an officer, quartered in a garrison town, we know he will be received _quâ_ officer, with his brother officers, and no questions asked; and I have alluded to the satisfaction that will be felt (snobbery of course is taken for granted everywhere) when his rank is discovered. But as a player with other players in a country town, will he be received by society, it being understood that _because_ he is a player, _therefore_ he is a gentleman by birth and education? On becoming a soldier, or a barrister, does any one change his name? No: but on going “on the stage” it is the rule for any one to conceal his identity under some name widely different from his own, just as he conceals his individuality behind the footlights with cosmetics, burnt cork, and an eccentric wig. When it is ascertained who he is, will this same society, which would have received him as a barrister, be satisfied and delighted? No, probably scandalised. It will be with these simple, old-fashioned persons a foregone conclusion that this scion of a noble house must be a loose sort of fellow, and they will decide that the less they see of him the better. There is one reason why the aspirant for Thespian honors (if such he really be) should change his name, and that is the chance of failure. If he goes on the stage as somebody else, and fails as somebody else, very few will hear of it, and he may quit “the boards” none the worse, perhaps for the experience; but for some considerable time, until in fact he has “lived it down,” he will be very careful to conceal this episode in his career from the world at large.