It lacks culture, and is sometimes both bizarre and neurotic.

I do not object to patter, smart give and take, in which the comical angles of life are exposed, if it is brilliant; neither have I anything to say against light comedy in which the ridiculous side of things is portrayed.

This sort of entertainment may help men who have spent a busy day, crowded with anxious moments, and weighted with serious responsibilities, but exhibitions which make men on their way home talk not of art, or of music, or of wit, but of "the little girl who wore a little black net" are distinctly to be condemned.

Even the class who think it waste of time to think, and who go to the theater only to "laugh awfully", are not helped by this sort of entertainment.

Such songs as the following, which I have culled from the 'Play Pictorial', a monthly published in London, must in time pall the taste of even the shallow-minded.
"Can't you spare a glance?
Have we got a chance?
You've got a knowing pair of eyes; When it's 2 to 1 It isn't much fun," This is what she soon replies: "Oh, won't you buy a race-card, And take a tip from me?
If you want to find a winner, It's easy as can be When the Cupid stakes are starting, Your heads are all awhirl, And my tip to-day Is a bit each way On the race-card girl." Yet this, apparently, is the sort of thing which appeals to the modern American who wants amusement of the lightest kind, amusement which appeals to the eye and ear with the lightest possible tax on his already over-burdened brain.