Read on this book,
    That show of such an exercise may colour
    Your loneliness.

The book is now usually a missal which the lady employs at her orisons.  But it is oftentimes—­for so stage-management will have it—­the identical volume with which Hamlet had entered reading in an earlier act, and which he describes, upon being interrogated by Polonius, as containing, “words, words, words!” and “slanders, sir!” It was John Kemble’s way, we are told, to tear out a leaf from the book at this period of the performance, by way of conveying the “stronger impression of Hamlet’s wildness.”  The actor’s method of rendering this scene has not been adopted by later representatives of the character.  Indeed, a long run of the tragedy, such as happens in these times, would involve serious outlay for stage-books, if so destructive a system were persisted in.  Moreover, there is no sort of warrant in the text for tearing a leaf out of the “satirical rogue’s” work.

The “book of the play” frequently figures in theatrical anecdote.  Wilkinson relates, that when Reddish made his first essay upon the stage, he inserted a paragraph in the newspaper, informing the public that he was “a gentleman of easy fortune.”  He appeared as Sir John Dorilant, in “The School for Lovers,” and in the course of his performance threw from him an elegantly-bound book, which he was supposed to have been studying.  Observing this, a gentleman in the pit inquired of Macklin, who happened to be present:  “Pray, sir, do you think such conduct natural?” “Why, no, sir,” Macklin replied gravely, “not in a Sir John Dorilant, but strictly natural as Mr. Reddish; for, as you know, he has advertised himself as a gentleman of easy fortune.”  It has been pointed out, however, that the inaccuracy, fatal to so many anecdotes, affects even this one.  The book is thrown away in strict accordance with the stage directions of the play; and it is so treated, not by Sir John Dorilant, but by another character named Belmont.

Macklin administered a similar rebuke, while his comedy of “The True-born Irishman” was in rehearsal, to an actor personating one of the characters, and acquitting himself very indifferently.  Upon his mispronouncing the name of Lady Kennegad, Macklin stepped up to him and demanded angrily, “What trade he was of?” The player replied that he was a gentleman.  Macklin rejoined:  “Stick to that, sir! stick to that; for you will never be an actor.”

In Farquhar’s comedy of “The Inconstant,” when Bisarre is first addressed by Mirabel and Duretete, Miss Farren, playing Bisarre, held a book in her hand, which she affected to have been reading before she spoke.  Mrs. Jordan, we are told, who afterwards assumed the character, declined to make use of the stage-book, and dispensed with it altogether.  She sat perfectly still, affecting to be lost in thought.  Then, before speaking, she took a pinch of snuff!  Half a century ago a heroine who indulged in snuff was deemed no more objectionable than is one of our modern heroes of the stage, who cannot forego cigars or cigarettes.