l catch the
infection. This is not universally or even generally true. A few
individual players no doubt have an infectious laugh. Samary was famous
for it, and her laughter in one of Moliere's farces drew all Paris; and
another French actress by her prodigious laughter in a farce at the
Royalty raised the audience to hearty sympathetic outbursts. Most
players, however, though they may mimic laughter very well, are unable
to make the audience laugh sympathetically, unless really amused by what
is supposed to entertain the characters of the play.

If someone were to invent a laughter-recording machine and use it in the
theatre during farces the stage-managers would be amazed to find how
often it happens that the noise of laughter made by two or three persons
on the stage is greater than that made by the whole audience; whenever
this occurs it is certain that a kind of irritation is being bred in the
house for which someone has to suffer.

This is the sort of thing that happens. A character enters and announces
that something very ludicrous has befallen another character, and
proceeds to state what it is to the other persons in the scene, the
statement being interrupted by his outbursts of laughter, and they in
turn roar and hold their sides; yet often enough what is being told does
not seem very amusing to us--even, perhaps, appears puerile--so we are
vexed, and smile coldly at the piece and players. If the laughter on the
stage were more moderate ours would not be the less, and we should feel
more benevolent to the play and laugh with greater freedom if and when
something funny took place.

The whole question of laughter is curious and difficult. There is one
fairly constant first-nighter whose loud laughter upon insufficient
provocation sometimes irritates the house, to the prejudice of the play;
not long ago one of our young actresses laughed so immoderately, as a
spectator, at trifles during a performance that some of the audience
actually uttered inarticulate sounds, intended to suggest to her that
she should be quieter.

Everybody knows the terrible people who laugh in a theatre at the wrong
place, or indulge in the wrong kind of laughter, and are hilarious
during pathetic passages, the pathos of which is heightened by touches
of cruel humour. Some commit this crime from simple stupidity, not
perceiving that the humour is tragic, not comic; others because they
think that dignity of character is shown if they re