It aroused a matinee audience, on a warm afternoon, to an ecstasy of enthusiastic approval, because it appealed directly to the artistic fiber. It was not a case for cold analytic judgment. It was not an occasion when long-haired critics could draw a diagram, and prate learnedly of "technique" and other topics that often make critics such insensate bores.

"A Light from St. Agnes" was recognized intuitively as great. The soul of an audience never makes a mistake, though the brain frequently errs.

A brain might perhaps prove that this play was artistically admirable, but the soul reached that conclusion instantly and unreasoningly. The effect was marvelous. I wonder if you quite grasp my meaning.

You know there are some things that refuse to be reduced to diagram form. They decline to answer to the call of a, b and c. They won't be x'd and y'd algebraically.

Very material people of course rebel at this. They want everything cut and dried. They would dissect the soul with a scalpel, and reduce psychic effects to the medium of pounds and ounces.