varying their character to every thing at pleafure.

Here it may be proper to remark how wide the difference is between the man of real genius, and him whofe entire merit depends on the acquifitions of art: the one is never fatiffied with the prescriptions of others, but is perpetually exploring new paths to perfection; while the other, wanting ideas of his own, must derive them from the man of genius, and dares not prefume to tread out of the old beaten track of example, An Actor, who derives his excellency from nature, will always perform with spirit and ease what his most laborious imitators can do but painfully, and confequently indifferently. It has been a frequent complaint, that many Actors, at their firft fetting out, endeavour to imitate the particular manner of excellent performers in the parts they most excel in; but for want of equal abilities or difcernment, they fall fhort of the ftriking grace and beauty of their original, and convert the minute defects and common flips of humanity into the moft glaring abfurdities. This is as much a proof of their vanity as of their want of merit. Thus, in Painting

Painting and Poetry, the beft copiers of Raphael, Rubens, Angelo, &c. discover a hard and laboured stiffness in their pieces, which demonstrates their inferiority; and the highest colouring of stile in Spencer, Shakespeare, and Milton's imitators, falls infinitely short of their original. The reason is obvious; that which was the genuine effect of nature and unlimited genius in one, is only a mean imitation in the other; for though a justness of proportion and fimilarity of ftile may poffibly be preserved, yet still the freedom and grace peculiar to an original is wanting.

But where this rare genius appears, whofe rich donations from nature are afterwards matured by study and practice, his merit will not only be intitled to, but command a general applause from the public; and which is yet more, it will compel from every one that heart-felt, calm approbation of the judicious, which is always paid to fuch uncommon excellence.

CHAP.

CHA P. II.

How an Actor ought to form himself; the means by which he may arrive at excellence.

S the diamond, however intrinfically valuable, requires the utmost skill and labour of the artist to unveil its luftre to the curious eye; fo neither does genius form a complete Actor, nor yet can the character be attained without one: 'tis ftudy and practice muft improve that genius to fuch an accuracy and perfection as will stand the examination of the most judicious critic and impartial judge.

His first care will be to ftudy his fubject and character univerfally, and enter into all the spirit and variety which it admits of and requires but it is not enough that he should study and understand his own part perfectly well; he must also be intimately acquainted with all the correspondent characters, else he cannot do justice to the part he affumes. Neither is it enough that he should be abfolutely perfect in it: a good memory is one of the smalleft, though moft neceffary of his qualifications; and to fail in this particular,

fhews

fhews the greatest weakness and negligence, and is one of the highest affronts that can be offered to his audience.

To do justice to his character, he must not only strongly imprefs it on his own mind, but make a temporary renunciation of himself and all his connections in common life, and for a few hours confign all his private joys and griefs to oblivion; forget, if poffible, his own identity. How difficult, and yet how requifite the task! He must put on the character with the habit, and affume the air, look, language, and action of the perfon he reprefents, till his imagination, quite abforpt in the extensive idea, influences his whole frame; is vifible in every glance of the eye, every air of his counteThus all his powers will fometimes fwell with the most violent transports of rage, and again diffolve away by an insensible gradation into the most placid calm and ferenity. This is not fo much acting as being an original; and the Actor who has attained this has reached the fummit of his art.

nance.

The objects of his study are the various paffions and manners of mankind. 66 Nature,"

as

as Cicero obferves, "has affigned to each paffion and fentiment its peculiar air of countenance and gesture." He will be particularly careful in marking all their different appearances, as they are legible in the countenance. Thus, when rage inflames the mind, the eye kindles, and the whole frame is agitated; where joy and fatisfaction reign, a delightful calm and ferenity brightens in the countenance; but how languid and depreffed is it labouring under grief and disappointment ; and what a fcouling malignity glances in the eye, where envy and jealoufy predominate!

All these and many more he can learn in the book of Nature, which conftantly lies open for his ftudy and perufal. Art and learning offer him all the help in their power; precept and example are ever before him; and he muft want either genius or application, or both, if he does not excel in fome degree.

When he understands thefe different appearances thoroughly, he will alfo carefully note their different changes and tranfitions from one to another. This requires the utmoft pains and difcernment, and not many hitherto

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