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One of Jack B. yYeats’s Plays for the Miniature Stage
THE’ TREASURE on: THE GARDEN:
A PLAY IN THE OLD MANNER.
With Illustrations, Hand Coloured by the Author, 4to,
55. net; Uncoloured copies, 2s. 6d. net.
"',,,?" Stages, with Prosceniums designed by the Author, Footlights,
Slides, and Scenes can be had, price 5s. net, each. The Play set
up ready for Acting by the Author, with Stage and all necessaries,
price three guineas.
“ Tan sensations of wonder and respect produced by Mr. ack B. Yeats's play (for
a miniature theatre), ‘James Flaunty; or, The Terror 0 the Western Seas,’ are
deepened by the appearance of The Treasure of the Garden (Elkin Mathews,
5s. net). Here we have no mere jejune text, but also the characters and the
scenery painted unstintingly b the author, and all ready to be gummed on card-
board and strut and fret their ve minutes on the toy stage. As Stevenson, were
he now living, would probably out his work in order to produce this drama if it
reached him in working hours, the rest of us need take no shame to ourselves for
the same inclination. For about ten shillings-a stage costs five shillings-the
least among us may now explore the sensations of theatrical management-a
happiness for which far higher prices have been paid by many famous lessees of
Covent Garden and Drury Lane."-Manchester Guardian, 2[3]03.
“So many in these days are for reviving the romantic drama, for bringing to life-
The mellow glory of the Attic stage,
and for restoring the arts of acting and of speaking verse, that we have come to
regard the exposition of a new theor without emotion; the advent of a new play
without excitement. Our romantic ramatists take themselves too seriously, and
aim at expressing rather the sorrows than the joys of life. Since the world has
heard.the beauty of the muted string it has forgotten that life ever went merrily
to a pipe, or to the Arcadian, but penny, whistle. It has forgotten the song, and
the ol tune, and the old story. It has for otten that the drama ever shook men's
hearts, and has come to prefer that it shou d help to digest men's dinners. We
want-
The old laughter that had April in it.
Now perhaps the chief reason for the dulness of modern plays is the somewhat
exclusive attitude of the playwright. His appeal is no longer to the world. His
appeal is to an audience. No breadth of ran e, no scope, is allowed to him. He
has lost touch with the external forces of dai y life. An introspective study, an
allegory of the state of his own mind, is the most we can look for from him.
But in Mr. Jack B. Yeats we recognise the makings of a dramatist of an older
order; a writer of plays that are written in the intimate speech of the folk-ballad.
While his contemporaries argue, wrangle and disagree as to what is music, and
what is the best music, and what music saves a man's soul, he, like the hero Finn,
is content with the best of all music-
The music of the thing that happens.
His play of ‘ The Treasure of the Garden’ carries on a tradition that shook the stage
before playwrights became se1f>conscious and before poets aimed to please the
high foreheads in the stalls. There is no mental dyspepsia in his characters.
They present no problem. Their aim is to be real. To be glad and sorry for a
little while on a miniature stage measuring a foot across.”-A cademy, 74[3[03.
PUBLTSHED AND SOLD BY
ELKIN MATHEWS, VIGO STREET, LONDON.