washed; and Spanish brown (in the case of the
Moor), or burnt cork powdered (in the case
of the negro), is daubed over the lard;
carmine, in both instances, is daubed over the
Spanish brown and burnt cork, to "throw up
the impression." Let us not stop to inquire
what this mysterious phrase can possibly mean,
for the subject is too greasy and too painful to
be dwelt on. Let us rather follow the unfortunate
person whose face has been powdered,
painted, and larded, to the point at which the
exercise of his or her profession begins on the
stage—to the point, also, from which the
disclosures of bodily suffering burst on us in their
full terror.

At page twelve of the pamphlet, the instructions
for expressing the furious passions,
enumerated on the title-page, begin. On reckoning
up these passions, together with some of the
milder affections of the mind which are added
to them on the list, I find that they amount to
forty-four in number, and that they are by no
means exhausted even when they have reached
that figure, on the confession of the writer
himself, who declares that he has merely selected
them from many others. We will, in our turn,
select a few examples of what the actor or
actress is expected to undergo in order to earn
the means of subsistence. Persons who may
not have prepared themselves for what is now to
come, by reading past disclosures in connexion
with slaves and climbing-boys, are strongly
recommended not to proceed any farther with the
perusal of this article.

Here, literally and exactly copied, are the
directions for performing a passionate character
on the stage:

"Rage, or Anger, expresses itself with
rapidity, interruption, rant, harshness, and
trepidation. The neck is stretched out, the head
forward, often nodding, and shaken in a menacing
manner against the object of the passion; the
eyes alternately staring and rolling, the eyebrows
drawn down over them, and the forehead wrinkled
into clouds; the nostrils stretched wide, and
every muscle strained; the breast heaving, and
the breath fetched hard; the mouth open, and
drawn on each side towards the ears, showing
the teeth in a gnashing posture; the feet often
stamping; the right arm frequently thrown out
and menacing, with the clenched fist shaken,
and a general and violent agitation of the whole
body."

If these frightful directions have not
altogether prostrated the proverbially gentle reader,
two additional specimens may perhaps be
endured. They relate to Grief and Despair.

"Grief, sudden and violent, expresses itself
by beating the head and forehead, tearing the
hair, and catching the breath, as if choking;
also by screaming, weeping, stamping, lifting
the eyes from time to time to heaven, and hurrying
backwards and forwards."

"Despair bends the eyebrows downwards,
clouds the forehead, rolls the eyes, and sometimes
bites the lips and gnashes with the teeth;
the heart is supposed to be too much hardened
to suffer the tears to flow, yet the eyeballs will
be red and inflamed; the head is hung down
upon the breast; the arms are bent at the
elbows, the fist clenched hard, and the whole
body strained and violently agitated."

I ask any reasonable being to reflect, first of
all, on the exquisitely intricate, tender, and delicate
construction of the nerves and muscles in the
human face; and then to consider what must be
the effect on those nerves and muscles, of the
terrible epileptic contortions here insisted on, when
habitually practised for hire, by men and women,
night after night. Here are strainings of the neck,
starings and rollings of the eyes, wrinklings of
the forehead into clouds, stretchings of the
nostrils, distensions of the mouth, gnashings of the
teeth, beatings of the head, tearings of the hair,
catchings of the breath, bitings of the lip, and
inflammations of the eyeballs, all coolly enumerated
as a species of physical stock-in-trade with
out which the miserable stage performer cannot
so much as start in business with a prospect of
success. I protest my own forehead begins to
wrinkle into clouds as I trace these terrifying
lines; my own eyes begin to stare and roll; my
own placid features feel in some slight degree
the torture that is nightly self-inflicted by the
devoted wretches condemned to this direful
profession,

There are people in this world who will
endeavour to excuse everything and to make light
of everything. Such people will tell me that
the heart-rending directions here quoted, only
apply to the performance of Tragedy, and that
when Comedy has its turn the distorted faces of
the actors snatch a brief repose. I meet that
assertion with a flat denial, on the authority of
the pamphlet. The directions for impersonating
the milder and lighter affections of the mind
simply involve a new set of contortions. For
instance, "Joy is expressed by clapping of
hands and exulting looks; the eyes are opened
wide, and on some occasions raised to heaven;
the countenance is smiling, not composedly, but
with features aggravated. Modesty, or
Submission, levels the eyes to the breast, if not to
the feet of the superior character. In Boasting,
or Affected Courage, the eyes stare, the eyebrows
are drawn down, the face is red and bloated, the
mouth pouts out, the voice is hollow and
thundering." Where is the repose, here, for the
tortured theatrical face? Joy cannot smile without
aggravated features. Modesty cannot
express itself without levelling its eyes at other
people's feet. Even Boasting—jovial, thoughtless,
comically mendacious Boasting—must draw
down its eyebrows, swell its face, pout its mouth,
and thunder with its voice. The system I
denounce is at least consistent. There are always
physical convulsions of one kind or another at
the bottom of it, survey it where you will.

But, why dwell on the sufferings of the actors'
faces only, when their limbs and lungs are
assailed as mercilessly as their features by this
barbarous profession? The passion of pride, for
example, when it gets on the stage, stretches
the legs "to a distance from one another, and