give at least a symmetrical and effective performance; but should he
make no definite arrangement, and depend upon our ghostly friends
Spontaneity and Inspiration to pay him a visit, and should they
decline to call, the actor will be in a maze and his audience in a
muddle.

Besides, why not prepare to receive our mysterious friends whether
they come or not? If they fail on such an invitation, we can at least
entertain our other guests without them, and if they do appear, our
preconceived arrangements will give them a better welcome and put them
more at ease.

Acting under these purely artificial conditions will necessarily be
cold, but the care with which the part is given will at least render
it inoffensive; they are, therefore, primary considerations, and not
to be despised. The exhibition, however, of artistic care does not
alone constitute great acting. The inspired warmth of passion in
tragedy and the sudden glow of humour in comedy cover the artificial
framework with an impenetrable veil: this is the very climax of great
art, for which there seems to be no other name but genius. It is
then, and then only, that an audience feels that it is in the presence
of a reality rather than a fiction. To an audience an ounce of genius
has more weight than a ton of talent; for though it respects the
latter, it reverences the former. But the creative power, divine as
it may be, should in common gratitude pay due regard to the
reflective; for Art is the handmaid of Genius, and only asks the
modest wages of respectful consideration in payment for her valuable
services. A splendid torrent of genius ought never to be checked, but
it should be wisely guided into the deep channel of the stream, from
whose surface it will then reflect Nature without a ripple. Genius