About the same time, there occurred one of
the most glaring instances within my recollection of inept
conventionalism. The hero of the play was Eugene Aram. Alone in his room
at dead of night, Aram heard Houseman breaking open the outside shutters
of the window. Designing to entrap the robber, what did he do? He went
up to the window and drew back the curtains, with a noise loud enough to
be heard in the next parish. It was inaudible, however, to Houseman on
the other side of the shutters. He proceeded with his work, opened the
window, and slipped in, Aram hiding in the shadow. Then, while Houseman
peered about him with his lantern, not six feet from Aram, and actually
between him and the audience, Aram indulged in a long and loud monologue
as to whether he should shoot Houseman or not, ending with a prayer to
heaven to save him from more blood-guiltiness! Such are the childish
excesses to which a playwright will presently descend when once he
begins to dally with facile convention.
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