who, to their eyes, was a kind of outsider, could point out to them the plain meaning of things which, though entirely familiar to them, they had never adequately understood. The central idea of the Origin of Species is an example of this in the biological sciences. The chapter on the imperfection of the geological record is another. After the publication of the Origin, Darwin gave to the world during a succession of years a series of volumes, in which some of his observations and conclusions were worked out in fuller detail. His books on the fertilization of orchids, on the movements and habits of climbing plants, on the variation of animals and plants under domestication, on the effects of cross and self-fertilization in the vegetable kingdom, on the different forms of flowers on plants of the same species, were mainly based on his own quiet work in the greenhouse and garden at Down. His volumes on the descent of man, and on the expression of the emotions in man and animals, completed his contributions to the biological argument.. His last volume, published the year before his death, treated of the formation of vegetable mould, and the habits of earth-worms, and the preparation of it enabled him to revive some of the geological enthusiasm which so marked the earlier years of his life.

Such, in briefest outline, was the work accomplished by Charles Darwin. The admirable biography prepared by his son enables us to follow its progress from the beginning to the close. But higher even than the intellect which achieved the work was the moral character which shone through it all. words to convey what Darwin was to those who did not personally As far as it is possible for know him, this has been done in the Life. His son has written a touching chapter entitled, Reminiscences of my Father's Everyday Life, in which the man as he lived and worked is vividly pictured. From that sketch, and from Darwin's own letters, the reader may conceive how noble was the character of the great naturalist. His industry and patience, in spite of the daily physical suffering that marked the last forty years of his life; his utter unselfishness and tender consideration for others; his lifelong modesty that led him. to see the worst of his own work and the best of that of other men; his scrupulous honor and unbending veracity; his intense desire to be accurate even in the smallest particulars, and the trouble he took to secure such accuracy; his sympathy with the struggles of younger men, and his readiness to help them; his eagerness for the establishment of truth by whomsoever discovered; his interest up to the very last in the advancement of science; his playful humor; his unfailing courtesy and gratitude for even the smallest acts of kindness-these elements of a lofty moral nature stand out conspicuously in the Biography. No one can rise from the perusal of these volumes without the conviction that, by making known to the world

at large what Darwin was as a man, as well as a great original investigator, they place him on a still loftier pinnacle of greatness than that to which the voice of his contemporaries had already raised him.-ARCHIBALD GEIKE, F.R.S., in The Contemporary Re

view.

THE ACTORS' CATECHISM.*

In a recent Number of LIBRARY MAGAZINE Were quoted a number of questions propounded by a man of letters to several members of the theatrical profession. Mr. William Archer, the author of these questions, repeats them in Longman's Magazine, adding: "Some of them are not so aptly framed as I could wish, the answers received having in several cases suggested a more precise and lucid form of words."-[ED. LIB. MAG.]

1. In moving situations, do tears come to yonr eyes? Do they come unbidden? Can you call them up and repress them at will? In delivering pathetic speeches does your voice break of its own accord? Or do you deliberately simulate a broken voice? Supposing that, in the same situation you on one night shed real tears and speak with a genuine "lump in your throat," and on the next night simulate these affections without physically experiencing them: on which occasion should you expect to produce the greater effect upon your audience?

2. When Macready played Virginius after burying his loved daughter, he confessed that his real experience gave a new force to his acting in the most pathetic situations of the play. Have you any analogous experience to relate? Has the memory of a bygone emotion (whether recent or remote) in your personal life influenced your acting in a similar situation? If so, was the influence, in your opinion, for good or for ill? And what was the effect upon the audience?

3. In scenes of laughter (for instance, Charles Surface's part in the screen scene, or Lady Teazle's part in the quarrel with Sir Peter), do you feel genuine amusement? Or is your merriment entirely assumed? Have you ever laughed on the stage until the tears ran down your face? or been so overcome with laughter as to have a difficulty in continuing your part? And in either of these cases, what has been the effect upon the audience?

4. Do you ever blush when representing bashfulness, modesty, or shame? or turn pale in scenes of terror? or grow purple in the face in scenes of rage? or have you observed these physical manifestations in other artists? On leaving the stage, after a scene of terror or of rage, can you at once repress the tremor you have been

* LONGMAN'S MAGAZINE, JANUARY, 1888

exhibiting, and restore your nerves and muscles to their normal quietude?

5. A distinguished actor informs me that he is in the habit of perspiring freely while acting; but that the perspiration varies, not so much with the physical exertion gone through, as with the emotion experienced. On nights when he was not "feeling the part, he has played Othello "without turning a hair," though his physical effort was at least as great as on nights when he was bathed in perspiration. Does your experience tally with this? Do you find the fatigue of playing a part directly proportionate to the physical exertion demanded by it? or dependent on other causes?

6. Have you over played a comic part when laboring under severe sorrow or mental depression? If so, have you produced less effect than usual upon the audience? or more effect? Have played a tragic part while enjoying abnormal exhilaration of spirits? If so, how has your playing been affected?

you ever

7. It used to be said of a well-known actor that he put on in the morning the character he was to play at night; that on days when he was to play Richard III. he was truculent, cynical, and cruel, while on days when he was to play Mercutio or Benedick he would be all grace, humor, and courtesy. Are you conscious of any such tendency in yourself? or have you observed it in others? In the green-room, between the acts, have you any tendency to preserve the voice and manner of the character you are playing? or have you observed such a tendency in others?

8. G. H. Lewes relates how Macready, as Shylock, used to shake a ladder violently before going on for the scene with Tubal, in order to get up "the proper state of white heat," also how Liston was overheard "cursing and spluttering to himself, as he stood at the side scene waiting to go on in a scene of comic rage." "Have you experienced any difficulty in thus "striking twelve at once?" If so, how do you overcome it?

9. Can you give any examples of the two or more strata of consciousness, or lines of thought, which must co-exist in your mind while acting? Or, in other words, can you describe and illustrate how one part of your mind is intent on the character, while another part is watching the audience, and a third (perhaps) given up to some pleasant or unpleasant recollection or anticipation in your private life?

10. Docs your personal feeling (such as love, hatred, respect, scorn) toward the actor or actress with whom you happen to be playing affect your performance? If so, in what way? Should you play Romeo better if you were in love with your Juliet, than if she were quite indifferent to you? And if you happened to dislike or despise her, how would that influence your acting?

11. Diderot tells how Lekain, in a scene of violent emotion, saw an actress's diamond earring lying on the stage, and had presence of mind enough to kick it to the wing instead of treading on it. Can you relate any similar instances of presence of mind? And should you regard them as showing that the actor is personally unmoved by the situation in which he is figuring? Have you ever suffered from inability to control laughter at some chance blunder or unrehearsed incident? And do you find less or greater difficulty in controlling it when you are absorbed in a part than when you are comparatively unmoved? Are you apt to be thrown off the rails (so to speak) by trifling sounds among the audience (a cough or a sneeze), or by slight noises which reach your ear from behind the scenes, or from the street?

12. With reference to long runs: Does frequent repetition induce callousness to the emotions of a part? Do you continue to improve during a certain number of representations and then remain stationary, or deteriorate? Or do you go on elaborating a part throughout a long run? Or do you improve in some respects and deteriorate in others? In your own opinion, do you act better on (say) the tenth night than on the first? and on the fiftieth than on the tenth? Do the emotions of a part "grip" you more forcibly on one night than on another? If so, is there any corresponding difference in your "grip" on your audience? [This is a re-statement in more general terms of the last question in Section I.] Have you ever over-rehearsed a part, as an athlete overtrains? Have you ever played a part until it has become nauseous to you? If so, have you noticed any diminution of its effect upon your audience?

13. In scenes of emotion in real life, whether you are a participant in them (e.g. the death-bed of a relative) or a casual on-looker e.g. a street accident), do you consciously note effect for subsequent use on the stage? Or can you ever trace an effect used on the stage to some phase of such a real-life experience automatically registered in your memory?

14. Do you ever yield to sudden inspirations of accent or gesture occurring in the moment of performance? And are you able to note and subsequently reproduce such inspirations? Have you ever produced a happy effect by pure chance or by mistake and then incorporated it permanently in your performance?

15. Do you act with greater satisfaction to yourself in characters which are consonant with your own nature (as you conceive it) than in characters which are dissonant and perhaps antipathetic? And in which class of characters have you met with most success? Does your liking or dislike for-your belief or disbelief in-a play as a whole affect your acting in it?

16. Do you ever find yourself disturbed and troubled by the

THE LIBRARY MAGAZINE.

small conventions of the stage? In other words, is the thread of your emotion broken by the necessity for "asides," or for giving a stage kiss instead of a real one, a stage buffet instead of a genuine knock-down blow? In the fight in Macbeth or Richard III., do you feel hampered by the necessity for counting the cuts and thrusts? Or in flinging away the goblet in Hamlet, are you disturbed by having to aim it so that it may be caught by the prompter? Is your hilarity at a stage banquet more convincing to the audience when the champagne is real than when you are quaffing toast and water?

17. In the conception and make-up of a "character part," do you generally (or do you ever) imitate some individual whom you have seen and studied? Or do you piece together a series of observations, reproducing this man's nose, that man's whiskers, the gestures and mannerisms of a third, the voice and accent of a fourth? Or do you construct a purely imaginary figure, no single trait of which you can refer to any individual model?-WILLIAM ARCHER.

SCHOOLS OF COMMERCE.

A REPORT, dealing very fully with the subject of Commercial Education, was presented to the meeting of the Associated Chambers of Commerce held in September last at Exeter. The Report contains a thoughtful digest of the methods of instruction adopted in the principal types of commercial schools found in Europe and in the United States. No part of the Report is more interesting than that devoted to a description of the German system of commercial education. It has been written, we are told, by Mr. H. M. Felkin, of Chemnitz, who, in a little book entitled Education in a Saxon Town, published in 1881 by the City and Guilds of London Institute, was one of the first to sound the note of warning as regards our deficiencies in the matter of technical instruction. The Report concludes with some valuable suggestions for the improvement of our own. educational system, or want of system; and, although the writers here deal with matters on which unanimity of opinion cannot be expected, most persons who have carefully considered the subject will agree that some such changes as those recommended would help to place us more nearly than we are at present on a level with our continental neighbors in facilities for obtaining a suitable training for mercantile pursuits.

Shortly before the publication of this Report, I read a paper on the same subject to the Manchester meeting of the British Association, in which I gave the results of some independent inquiries I had