Bernard Shaw,
in an article celebrating the advent of the new technique, once wrote,
"Nowadays an actor cannot open a letter or toss off somebody else's
glass of poison without having to face a brutal outburst of jeering."
What an extravagance to bracket as equally exploded absurdities the
opening of a letter and the tossing off of the wrong glass of poison!
Letters--more's the pity--play a gigantic part in the economy of modern
life. The General Post Office is a vast mechanism for the distribution
of tragedy, comedy, melodrama, and farce throughout the country and
throughout the world. To whose door has not Destiny come in the disguise
of a postman, and slipped its decree, with a double rat-tat, into the
letter-box? Whose heart has not sickened as he heard the postman's
footstep pass his door without pausing? Whose hand has not trembled as
he opened a letter? Whose face has not blanched as he took in its
import, almost without reading the words? Why, I would fain know, should
our stage-picture of life be falsified by the banishment of the postman?
Even the revelation brought about by the discovery of a forgotten letter
or bundle of letters is not an infrequent incident of daily life.
Pages:
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545