No human being could possibly want to see them. If we must have censorship, the Major’s is as good as any. Censorship with flaws is preferable to perfect censorship because perfect censorship would abolish the necessity of one’s judgment. Imperfect censorship permits us, by its slips, to exercise our minds. In no other civilized country is there such restriction. Artists in America must keep their keenest visions to themselves. Censorship deadens human perceptions. Who wants cloistered virtues when true health is possible? Man must learn to judge for himself; and he surely will do so. America is unprecedented in its timidity of tastes and convictions. * * * * * MRS. HENDERSON _(in a bored manner)_. It isn’t a question of arbitrary standard; it’s purely aesthetic. The Major passes films of the most flagrant sentimentality. Only legal restrictions are made, and these are futile. The only satisfactory standard is that of individual taste. Of course, the title of this debate was not quite the one used on this article. It was very tame—the title. But not so with the films. The Major had evidently selected his choicest ones—and a goodly number of these—which were reeled off in swift succession. Murder trod on the heels of love. Flaming moments of lust were split up by stage-robbers. Nigger babies, whose crime was that they didn’t need clothes, followed suicides. Your reporter was fortunate enough to find an acquaintance, sitting in the rear of the hall. This lady married a man of millions. He liked the way she did _Florodora_—liked it so well that he gave her a chance, which she has since made much of. She is charming, because she has retained the frankness of the stage and merely exchanged the shoddy furs and diamonds for the real thing. She confided that _The Follies_ were simply right, and that the Drama League was radically opposed to the movies in any or all forms, and that she adored winter because it kept reminding her of Christmas. She is a supporting member of the League, and the only one present who waived her constitutional prerogative of a front seat. Her sisters-in-league were availing themselves of their privilege. They wanted to be where they could not get out, in case the pictures were really good. And they were—sickening. Not a member left. Not a whisper. All eyes focused upon the screen, where horrors of war and of love (in which there seemed to be nothing fair) were showing. When their nervous systems could stand no more, some lady’s locomotive and oral powers returned, and the reel was stopped.