This is what you might call a Type-writer Age, and to keep up with the procession you'd have to work as you never worked before." "That is true," observed Tennyson.

"You'd have to learn to be ambidextrous, so that you could keep two type-writing machines going at once; and, to be perfectly frank with you, I cannot even conjure up in my fancy a picture of you knocking out a tragedy with the right hand on one machine, while your left hand is fashioning a farce-comedy on another." "He might do as a great many modern writers do," said Ward; "go in for the Paper-doll Drama.

Cut the whole thing out with a pair of scissors.
As the poet might have said if he'd been clever enough: _Oh, bring me the scissors_, _And bring me the glue_, _And a couple of dozen old plays_.
_I'll cut out and paste_ _A drama for you_ _That'll run for quite sixty-two days_.
_Oh, bring me a dress_ _Made of satin and lace_, _And a book--say Joe Miller's--of wit_; _And I'll make the old dramatists_ _Blue in the face_ _With the play that I'll turn out for it_.
_So bring me the scissors_, _And bring me the paste_, _And a dozen fine old comedies_; _A fine line of dresses_, _And popular taste_ _I'll make a strong effort to please_.
"You draw a very blue picture, it seems to me," said Shakespeare, sadly.
"Well, it's true," said Carlyle.

"The world isn't at all what it used to be in any one respect, and you fellows who made great reputations centuries ago wouldn't have even the ghost of a show now.

I don't believe Homer could get a poem accepted by a modern magazine, and while the comic papers are still printing Diogenes' jokes the old gentleman couldn't make enough out of them in these days to pay taxes on his tub, let alone earning his bread." "That is exactly so," said Tennyson.