“Aristotle, gentlemen, has written a famous work entitled _The Poetics_, and no actor, or would-be actor, can afford to go without it. I shall ask you all to buy a copy—Bohn’s cheap edition—and ponder very carefully what you find there. Tragedy is a combination of terror and pity. Through the one you are lifted to the other, and the actor who embarks on a classic part must always remember that he is not there merely to harrow the feelings of his fellow-creatures. Far from it—far from it. By all means let him terrify them first by the presentment of fearful passions; let him freeze them to the bone and curdle their life’s blood, if he can, by his representation of rage, remorse, fear, and so forth; but behind and beneath—permeating, as it were, the very substance of the soul, we must have the direct appeal to humanity, to our fellow man and woman. We must remind them that what we do and suffer might be done and suffered by each one of them, given the dreadful circumstances; and then, gentlemen—then what have we achieved? Why, we have summoned compassion into the theatre! We have awakened in each member of the audience the most ennobling emotion of the human heart! And at such times, when playing in the greatest parts, I have felt through the silent, spellbound theatre an electric thrill for which no human creature was responsible; and I have said, ‘It is the wings of the angel of pity!’” The noble man was much moved by this magnificent feat of eloquence. He blew his nose on a handkerchief which was obviously made of silk, and then, with a masterly touch, turned to us where we stood, deeply impressed by his spontaneous eloquence and came, as it were, to earth with a bound. “Now we must go through our paces, gentlemen,” he said. “Upon the occasion of our next meeting, I will ask each of you to bring with him the play of _Hamlet_, and I shall cast it and rehearse a scene or two. Thus the business of elocution and deportment will go hand in hand, and, at the same time, you will be able to feel the artist’s pride in uttering words and impersonating characters that have rejoiced many generations of men. But to-night I shall ask each in turn to recite before me some brief, familiar passage that is precious to him. I shall thus learn a little about your defects and can give each of you a few preliminary hints. Lastly, if time permit, I shall myself speak a speech before you with the elocution and gesture proper to it, and explain my reasons as I proceed. I will ask Mr. Smith, as our senior student, to begin. Mount the rostrum, Mr. Smith, and forget our presence. Let the aura of your poet enfold you as with a garment, Mr. Smith. Seek to be one with him, whoever he is, and in tune with his conception—of course, to the best of your powers.”