Lectures and classes by no means exhaust the modes in which the public library may carry on useful extension work; in truth, the ways are almost unlimited, except that some forms of study, teaching, or entertainment may cause inconvenience, unless the building is very large and special accommodation arranged. Thus a small library is not a suitable place for musical performances, although many public libraries cater on a lavish scale for students of music. It is not an uncommon thing, however, for dramatic readings and even full-length plays to be introduced into the scheme of lectures, or for the library to be the headquarters of a dramatic society. There is no better method of imparting a real understanding and appreciation of our best literature than to induce people to study a classical play dramatically. To begin with, simple readings should be attempted, each member of the class or study group taking a distinct part. As soon as the readers have a grip of the action and plot, they should proceed to act, still keeping the book before them. A few properties may be introduced, such as a table and a chair or two and a flagon, in the revelling scene in _Twelfth Night_, or a screen, in _The School for Scandal_--there is no need for scenery or costumes. At some libraries, properties--and even gestures--are entirely suppressed, and the reading is a reading pure and simple. Mention of these two plays brings to mind several incidents when this rudimentary kind of acting brought out as fine and penetrating an interpretation of the dramatist as any performance by professional actors, with the usual lavish apparatus, that I have ever witnessed in a West End theatre. Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew Aguecheek, Maria and the Clown, were people I knew very well, attired in their ordinary dress. The stage was a bare platform, and there was nothing on it but a table and a few chairs. The performers had the book in their hands; but, evidently, they were word-perfect in their parts. The scene went with a verve and a naturalness that could hardly be bettered; and--best of all--it was Shakespeare, interpreted by intelligent and well-educated persons, who were the last people in the world to cut or rewrite or recreate a part as they thought Shakespeare ought to have written it. Another Sir Andrew Aguecheek is still more memorable. This gentleman would probably have been a failure or a very indifferent success in any other character: he was Sir Andrew Aguecheek in the flesh--the wonder was how we had never noticed it all the years we had known him. A still more delightful proof of the latent genius that may be revealed by such modest performances was a certain Lady Teazle. She was a plain and not a very youthful person; the stage was as unfurnished and void of decoration as her get-up was plain and ordinary. Yet, by dint of dramatic instinct that any much-beparagraphed actress might envy, she easily conveyed the sense of youth and charm