sublime which is more real than the recognition of any simulated
actuality.

The distinction between the two sources of appeal in drama may be made a
little more clear by an illustration from the analogous art of literature.
When Whitman, in his poem on _Crossing Brooklyn Ferry_, writes, "Crowds of
men and women attired in the usual costumes!", he reminds us of the
environment of our daily existence, and may or may not call forth within us
some recollection of experience. In the latter event, his utterance is a
failure; in the former, he has succeeded in stimulating activity of mind by
the process of setting before us a reminiscence of the actual. But when, in
the _Song of Myself_, he writes, "We found our own, O my Soul, in the calm
and cool of the daybreak," he sets before us no imitation of habituated
externality, but in a flash reminds us by suggestion of so much, that to
recount the full experience thereof would necessitate a volume. That second
sentence may well keep us busy for an evening, alive in recollection of
uncounted hours of calm wherein the soul has ascended to recognition of its
universe; the first sentence we may dismiss at once, because it does not
make anything important happen in our consciousness.

It must be confessed that the majority of the plays now shown in our
theatres do not stimulate us to any responsive activity of mind, and
therefore do not permit us, in any real sense, to enjoy ourselves. But
those that, in a measure, do succeed in this prime endeavor of dramatic art
may readily be grouped into two classes, according as their basis of appeal
is imitation or suggestion.

VI

HOLDING THE MIRROR UP TO NATURE

Doubtless no one would dissent from Hamlet's dictum that the purpose of
playing is "to hold, as 't were, the mirror up to nature"; but this
statement is so exceedingly simple that it is rather difficult to
understand. What special kind of mirror did that wise dramatic critic have
in mind when he coined this memorable phrase? Surely he could not have
intended the sort of flat and clear reflector by the aid of which we comb
our hair; for a mirror such as this would represent life with such sedulous
exactitude that we should gain no advantage from looking at the reflection
rather than at the life itself which was reflected. If I wish to see the
tobacco jar upon my writing table, I look at the tobacco jar: I do not set
a mirror up behind it and look into the mirror. But suppo