taken up, cannot again be laid down—­which thrill, enchain, and absorb.  For otherwise what might happen?  When some necessary question of the play had to be considered, the actor, over-occupied with the volume in his hand, fairly tied and bound by its chain of interest, might forget his part—­the book might ruin the play.  Of course such an accident could not be permitted.  The stage-book is bound to be a dull book, however much it may seem to entertain Brutus and Henry, the Stranger and Bisarre, Hamlet and Joseph Surface, Imogen and Lydia Languish.  It is in truth, a book for all stage-readers.  Now it is a prayer-book—­as in the case of Richard III.; and now, in “The Hunchback,” it is “Ovid’s Art of Love.”  According to the prompt-book of the play, Modus is to enter “with a neatly-bound book.”

    HELEN.  What is the book?

    MODUS.  Tis “Ovid’s Art of Love.”

    HELEN.  That Ovid was a fool.

    MODUS.  In what?

    HELEN.  In that. 
    To call that thing an art which art is none.

She strikes the book from his hand, and reproves him for reading in the presence of a lady.

    MODUS.  Right you say,
    And well you served me, cousin, so to strike
    The volume from my hand.  I own my fault: 
    So please you—­may I pick it up again? 
    I’ll put it in my pocket.

It is the misfortune of the “book of the play” to be much maltreated by the dramatis personae.  It is now flung away, now torn, now struck to earth; the property-master, it may be, watching its fate from the side-wings—­anxious not so much because of its contents or intrinsic value, as on account of the gaudy cover his art has supplied it with, and the pains he must take to repair any injuries it may receive in the course of the performance.

CHAPTER XX.

“HALF-PRICE AT NINE O’CLOCK.”

The plan of admitting the public to the theatres at “half-price,” after the conclusion of a certain portion of the entertainments of the evening, has, of late years, gone out of fashion.  Half-price was an institution of old date, however, and by no means without advantage to the playgoer.

Formerly, the prices of admission to the theatres were not fixed so definitely as at present.  In Colley Cibber’s time it was held to be reasonable that the prices should be raised whenever a new play was produced, on account of which any great expense in the way of scenery, dresses, and decorations had been incurred, or when pantomimes were brought out, involving an outlay of a thousand pounds or so.  After the bloom had a little worn off these novelties, the prices fell again to their old standard; consisting for some years of four shillings, two shillings and sixpence, eighteenpence, and one shilling.