sobs, to nurse its wounds, to requite its unrequited love, to sing its lullaby of death. It is the unwept tear of the criminal, it is the ode of the agnostic to immortality, it is the toy of childhood, the fairyland of the mature, and gilds old age with the afterglow of youth. HAMLET FROM AN ACTOR'S PROMPT BOOK IT 1895. T seems somewhat bold to attempt to say anything fresh about Hamlet-a subject upon which more wise and more foolish things have been spoken than upon any theme within the scope of English literature. Indeed, it is only by ignoring the vast voluminosity of learned speculation and ingenious comment that I dare hope to put forward that which alone can excuse my temerity -a new point of view. My point of view is that of the actor, and in this declaration I trust I shall not be held guilty of a too fantastic presumption, for were not Shakespeare and Hamlet both actors? I purpose, then, to approach this most debated of Shakespeare's masterpieces through the despised medium of practical experience-I |