But where Mackaye vitalized the old style was in the vigour of his
treatment. He loved the large scene, the mob movement; and he worked
with a big brush. As Nym Crinkle, the popular New York _World_
dramatic critic of the day, wrote: "Whatever else he may be, [he] is
not a 'lisping hawthorne bud'! He doesn't embroider such napkins as
the 'Abbé Constantin', and he can't arrange such waxworks as 'Elaine'.
He can't stereoscope an emotion, but he can incarnate it if you give
him people enough."

Mackaye's mind was large, resourceful, daring--both in the opinions
it upheld, and the practical theatrical innovations it introduced
into the theatre, like the double stage for the little Madison
Square playhouse, in New York, which was the precursor of such modern
paraphernalia as came later with the foreign revolving stages.
He always stood on the threshold of modernism, advocating those
principles which were to fructify in the decades to follow him. Such
pioneer spirit was evident in his ardent advocacy of Delsarte methods
of acting; his own work as an actor was coloured and influenced by the
master whose pupil he became in the early years of his career. When
one recalls the methods of Wallack, and his shy approach toward
anything which was "natural," it seems very advanced to hear Mackaye
echoing the Delsarte philosophy. This advocacy was nowhere better
demonstrated than when, at a breakfast given him at the New York
Lotos Club, he talked on the rationale of art for two hours, and held
spell-bound the attention of Longfellow, Bryant, Louis Agassiz, James
J. Fields, E.P. Whipple, Edwin Booth and others. He once said:

A man to be a true actor must not only possess the power to
portray vividly the emotions which in any given situation
would be natural to himself, but he must study the character