Undoubtedly one of the greatest influences of the modern world is the stage, and one of the problems of modern art is to raise the tone of the stage. This must of course be done through gaining the sympathy of the acting profession in intellectual dramatic work. The question arises in my mind, is this possible? What is the average intellectual calibre of actors and actresses? I have a suspicion that, as a class, they are imitative, and but too often destitute of real intellectual interests. There are a few notable exceptions--Henry Irving, Beerbohm Tree, Jefferson, Edward S. Willard, Mounet-Sully, Richard Mansfield, James A. Herne and others. But the ordinary actor and actress, even the successful and talented ones, so far as I could ever discover, are too completely absorbed in the narrow world of play-acting, press criticisms, dresses and the jealousies and cliques of the profession, to have any leisure or inclination for an interest in the larger and freer intellectual world outside, to which men in all other callings have access as the refuge from their occupation. I confess I never _knew_ any actor or actress who was addicted to reading--except the newspapers for the criticisms. But I have heard that Francis Wilson is not only a bookman but a bibliomaniac, and I have longed to ask him whether he included among his spoils the first editions of _American_ authors. I have a notion that even the despised bibelots of today will be treasures tomorrow. It would be interesting to know if some of our leading ladies and gentlemen in the dramatic profession really spend much of their time in gaining that intimate acquaintance with life through literature which would certainly so greatly help their interpretation of character in the drama. It is almost impossible for us, who have not free access to the green room, to tell. It is a pity the average writer is so little in touch and contact with this mimic life that gives him so much instruction in his art and observation of life. But from the quality of the literature provided in our contemporary “Footlights,” of Philadelphia, it begins to look as if the theatrical profession is sharing with every other class in modern society in the increasing interest in printer’s ink. “Footlights” is, however, interesting to all who love the theatre, as well as to the profession, and it is not altogether restricted to the affairs and doings of the footlights. It contains especially good criticism of current literature, written in a vein of independence and vigor, which is another sign that, with the recruiting of the younger men in journalism and literature, criticism will again assume its proper importance and character in America. JONATHAN PENN. ICONOCLASM. I.