The best way for the reciter to find unhackneyed ground is to keep a steady watch on her reading, cultivate enough of the critical faculty to distinguish between what will lend itself to recitation and what is only fit for personal study. If the student systematically pursues this course, she will find a wealth of untouched beauty awaiting her on every side.

Something should be said about the necessity for concentration. The elocutionist realising the many pitfalls lurking in her way, must keep her mind constantly alert, and fix her entire attention on the matter she has in hand. Once let her allegiance waver, and she will find that difficulties will spring up like the mustard seed ; but if she has thoroughly mastered the technique of her art, and keeps her mind fixed on her ideal, she need have no fear, but may go forth boldly on her way to win success.

Reminiscences

In concluding this series of articles, a short account of some of the writer's own platform experiences may be found both profitable and entertaining.

My first recollection of appearing before the public dates back to a school concert at which all the fond parents were present to listen to the performances of their offspring. I myself was to say a piece entitled " Dolly's Christening," but when I .appeared upon the platform the tragic discovery was made that the decorations entirely eclipsed the small performer. A wild search was made for a hassock, and 1 mounted upon it amidst the encouraging applause of the audience, who were at last able to hear a small voice, and see the minute person from whom it came.

Certainly the life of an artiste is a fascinating one, but it is one for which a store of vitality is required, for the task of appearing before a critical, albeit kindly critical, public is one which plays havoc with the nerves. There are those amongst us who can boast of never having been nervous, but they are in the minority; and it is well to realise that with the generality "nerves" play a gruesome part before a concert or recital. It frequently requires as much courage to mount the platform as it does to have a tooth out.

I have mentioned in one of the previous articles the value of taking one or two deep breaths before beginning to recite or sing, and I cannot do better than emphasise the value of this for steadying nervous thrills. I myself find it of the greatest assistance ; I also derive comfort from standing with feet in the third position, knees pressed firmly together. Immediately there comes to me a feeling of strength.

" No Encores "

A funny thing once happened at a recital that a friend and I gave in the Midlands. It was in a town where we were absolute strangers, and the concert was held in the big ballroom of one of the best hotels. The audience was an appreciative one, and we felt quite pleased with our reception. Some days afterwards I heard from my friend that the people had desired encores. I naturally said: " Why didn't they ask for them ? "

She replied: " Because there were cards in the room with ' No encores ' printed on them." This tickled us greatly, for the cards had been put there for some such well-known genius as Monsieur Paderewski, and the attendants had forgotten to remove them.

By the by, the discomfort of that concert was terrible in this way: as it was held in the ballroom, there was no proper access to the platform, and we had to enter the room by a door about fifteen or twenty yards from the stage; to walk such a distance with hundreds of eyes fixed upon one is no small ordeal.

One of the usual comments after a recital during which one has given, perhaps, ten to a dozen pieces, or even more, is: " What a memory you must have ! " It is a remark that gets on one's nerves after a time, for memorising is only the scaffolding of the work, and is purely mechanical; it should be the endeavour put forth to make the programme " living " which should call for amazement.

The Society Audience

I once undertook to give an evening at a literary society. I had recited steadily, without even a break, for an hour and three-quarters, and then I ended my items. As 1 came from the little platform, people crowded round me, and one lady said : " Oh,. I cannot tell you how much we have enjoyed this evening ! But you haven't finished, have you ? " I gasped with surprise, and murmured that I thought the evening's work had been extensive enough for them, and I did not offer to continue my efforts.

Only once have I received any discourteous treatment, and that, strangely enough, was from a society audience, who evidently desired nothing more than a gentle accompaniment to their own conversation. Indeed, 1 think had I babbled nonsense in some outlandish language my efforts would have been appreciated as fully as they were when I was reciting a really beautiful poem.

I once had an experience that caused me acute discomfort. As I was mounting the platform, 1 put my foot through some braid which was round my skirt. Being in full view of the house, 1 could not very well pick up my dress and tear the encumbrance off, so I shrugged my shoulders and went on.

The piece I was to give was one in which I had to walk a few steps; and when the time arrived, and I endeavoured to do so, the braid was so tightly wound round my foot that I could only hobble, and at each effort I heard an ominous tear ! How I managed to leave the platform, I do not know, but the audience must have thought that I was endowed by nature with a limp.

The Comradeship Of Laughter

Once, when I was singing, I had to take a very high note, after which there was an appreciable pause before the piano continued. Daring this silence, a small, childish voice piped out : " I like dat - do it adain ! " As was only natural, the audience laughed, and I joined them. Nothing knits souls together more quickly than shared laughter. I put " shared," because it is the dual appreciation of a joke that spells comradeship.

By the way, I have a canine friend who enjoys laughter to the full, and almost seems to chuckle with me. He lies down sometimes when I am reciting, and looks up at me with serious and understanding brown eyes. So well does he enter into the programme that, as I become tragic, he lifts up his voice and howls bitterly, thus showing true sympathy with my feelings.

At one concert I attended, the entry to the stage was in the centre. Over it hung a curtain, which was manipulated by a gorgeous individual, who said mechanically: " Go back and bow, madam - go back and bow, madam ! " till I felt weakly hysterical and almost said: " Go back and bow, madam 1 " to the audience.

A Word About Dress

In conclusion, one word about dress. It is well for the reciter to bear in mind that the simpler her robe the better. The last thing that is wanted is magnificence. The reciter is, or should be, desirous of being herself forgotten in the interest she creates in the words she utters; and if her gown is such that its beauty attracts much attention, her object will be defeated and she will have lost touch with her audience.

It is well, also, to remember that a public life demands unselfishness, and that a cheery manner is people's due. What you give you get; if you are happy and bright with an audience they will be with you, for

The world is a looking-glass, Wherein ourselves are shown ; Kindness for kindness, cheer for cheer, Coldness for gloom, repulse for fear, To every soul its own : We cannot change the world a whit, Only ourselves which look in it.