sthetic little hall of
the DE GONCOURT inside the blue-and-white palings of the Bedford Park
Estate.

"Was it not a success, then, _Before the Dawn_?" Ask the ring of
authors, the conspirators, the tribe of envy, hatred, and malice
assembled on that memorable occasion to crush the new authoress. Ask the
leading actors, who had always dreaded the day when Mr. ELLISTON DRURY
should play a star part in a Metropolitan Theatre. No, Ladies and
Gentlemen, _Before the Dawn_ was a failure. Certain prominent critics
were suborned to say so; and one of them, more cruel than the rest,
declared that all the humorous range of modern Burlesque did not supply
a reminiscence so positively comic as the scene in which the Roman
Maiden, staggering under her poisoned crown (which would fall into an
irresistibly funny angle with the Actress's un-Roman nose), hurled back
upon TIBERIUS CAESAR the curse of the avenging gods.

But they have a consolation, the Lady Dramatist and her illustrious
husband (he did hang up his hat, and his coat, he had little else to
move from his garret in the Strand), in having possibly found a more
useful field of duty than that of an active participation in the work
before the footlights. It has been sarcastically, and we believe
wrongfully asserted by a Tory Earl that critics are men who have failed
as authors; but a similar calumny has been perpetrated by Miss ELMIRA
JENKS (whose satelliteship came to a violent end with the marriage of
her bright particular star to Mr. ELLISTON DRURY) who has not hesitated
to declare in her unscrupulous paper that the modern teachers of
elocution are ladies and gentlemen who have failed as actors and
actresses. Mr. and Mrs. ELLISTON DRURY nevertheless pursue the even
tenor of their way; their elocution classes are well attended; Mrs.
DRURY'S afternoons never lack interesting visitors; and her husband's
occasional Shakspearian recitals at Hammersmith and Putney, inspire the
local critics with eloquent expressions of regret that the degenerate
condition of the stage should condemn so rare an actor to the
drawing-room and the platform.

Mr. ELLISTON DRURY finds this a sufficient balm for his bruised soul;
and his admiring wife declares that walking along the vale of life hand
in hand with ELLISTON, is after all bliss enough, without the added and
questionable joy of being a popular Lady Dramatist.

* * * * *

"THE SATURDAY REVIEW" AT SPITHEAD.--