ctions and effects
were to deny the entirety of the scheme of creation.

I take it for granted that in addressing you on the subject of the Art
of Acting I am not, _prima facie_, encountering set prejudices; for
had you despised the Art which I represent I should not have had the
honor of appearing before you to-day. You will, I trust, on your part,
bear this in mind, and I shall, on my part, never forget that you are
members of a Philosophical Institution, the very root and basis of
whose work is to inquire into the heart of things with the purpose of
discovering why such as come under your notice are thus or thus.

The subject of my address is a very vast one, and is, I assure you,
worthy of a careful study. Writers such as Voltaire, Schlegel, Goethe,
Lessing, Charles Lamb, Hazlitt, and Schiller, have not disdained to
treat it with that seriousness which Art specially demands--which
anything in life requires whose purpose is not immediate and
imperative. For my own part I can only bring you the experience
of more than thirty years of hard and earnest work. Out of wide
experience let me point out that there are many degrees of merit, both
of aim, of endeavor, and of execution in acting, as in all things. I
want you to think of acting at its best--as it may be, as it can be,
as it has been, and is--and as it shall be, whilst it be followed by
men and women of strong and earnest purpose. I do not for a moment
wish you to believe that only Shakespeare and the great writers are
worthy of being played, and that all those efforts that in centuries
have gathered themselves round great names are worthy of your praise.
In the House of Art are many mansions where men may strive worthily
and live cleanly lives. All Art is worthy, and can be seriously
considered, so long as the intention be good and the efforts to
achieve success be conducted with seemliness. And let me here say,
that of all the arts none requires greater intention than the art
of acting. Throughout it is necessary to _do_ something, and
that something cannot fittingly be left to chance, or the unknown
inspiration of a moment. I say "unknown," for if known, then the
intention is to reproduce, and the success of the effort can be
in nowise due to chance. It may be, of course, that in moments of
passionate excitement the mind grasps some new idea, or the nervous
tension suggests to the mechanical parts of the body some new form of
expression; but such are accident