that is, acting, "both at the first and now, was and is to hold, as 't were, the mirror up to nature" -by imitation-"to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure."

Therefore, acting does something. It makes something. Acting makes physical pictures of mental conceptions Acting is therefore an art. It results from a constant application of mental force to a physical effect, in the re-presentations of Nature. It is pleasing to the beholder and strengthening to the doer. Acting is therefore a fine art, and may be defined as the art of re-presenting human emotions by a just expression of the artificial and the natural language.

Taste and feeling are not arts.

Acting is an art; therefore, acting is not a mere matter of taste and feeling.

Taste and feeling are, however, necessary to the art of acting. And although the function of taste in acting is as genuine as it would necessarily be in the selection of this or that kind of discourse for a serious or joyous occasion, or the

selection of this or that kind of color in arranging pleasing effects in costumes or draperies, or in selecting this or that quality of music for a funeral or a jubilee; yet the feeling that appears, or seems to be, in acting, is not necessarily the genuine sensation of the emotion of the dramatic character represented, but a likeness of the emotion in accordance with the actor's conception of his author's presentation.

An emotion is the result of self-love affected by an exterior circumstance, either past or present, and may be divided into three parts-impression, sensation and expression-the outcome in voice, pose and gesture. In nature all of these factors are active in the presentation of joy, sorrow, anger, or whatever emotion or phase of an emotion is presented. In the art of acting, sensation may be absent but judgment resulting from observation and comparison must, through the faculty of memory, and the mimetic force, direct the physical action so as to produce a likeness of the emotion.

In proof of the position here assumed, that the

art of acting does not necessitate, on the part of the actor, the genuine sensation or feeling of love or joy, or anger, or whatever emotion the author may be describing by his situations, may be cited two or three illustrations that are familiar to actors and are perhaps worth the consideration of the public as facts that will enable them to better understand true art in acting.

The opinion prevails largely that actors who are capable of intense earnestness in their efforts to imitate the signs of an emotion, actually feel the sensation of the emotion they are re-presenting. Now this theory of feeling is just as applicable to the poet, the painter, or the musician, as it is to the actor.

The poet, the painter, and the musician are subject to cold feet and hands, and fevered, aching heads, though sitting apparently quiet in the chair, doing the labor of their respective arts; yet no one thinks of asking the poet if he feels distressed because he fancies that "up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone." Nor does any one ask the musician if the vibrations of the

low notes in his compositions have jarred him into a headache. Nor do we ask the painter if his fatigue comes from mental perturbations because he is painting a rearing horse. No, we attribute the distress to the intense mental labor of re-presenting mental impressions by word pictures, tone pictures, and line and color pictures.

So do the signs of distress manifested by a histrionic artist after a great effort, result from an over-draught of the nervous and muscular force, prompted by self-love struggling, through love of art, for approbation.

Earnestness is a prime factor in success. Greatness cannot be achieved without it. Earnestness in what?

Earnestness in doing the imitation. Is it possible that Mme. B.'s Camille is only an imitation -a sham? Yes, 'tis true-and no pity 'tis trueMme. B.'s Camille is a sham, but the presentation is good, solid, earnest work,-a severe tax on nerve and muscle for the evening.

There are many who believe that Mme. B. actually feels all the joys and sorrows described

in the character of Camille, when she plays it. If this were true "Camille" would undoubtedly soon pass from the popular stage performances of the day for, at the end of the third act, the grief of Camille at parting with her lover is so great that she is ill for six weeks. Now suppose Mme. B. actually experienced the feelings of Camille, the curtain couldn't go up on the fourth act for six weeks-a long stage wait. People who are so eager to catch the early train that they rise before the final curtain is fairly down, would probably be a little late in their return home. No, Mme. B. does not feel as Camille felt. But who knows it? Not the audience; for if the audience can for a moment think that the artist is not suffering with those whom they see suffer, then Mme. B.'s performance is a failure in the art of acting, which must be a perfect imitation of

nature.

Who knows, then, that this apparent suffering is not reality?

Let us step behind the scenes for a moment. Perhaps some of you have been there already.