y succeeded. He plunged into
calculation of the time it would take him to finish it if he were to sit at
home all day, working from seven to ten hours every day. If he could but
make up his mind concerning the beginning and the middle of the third act,
and about the end, too,--the solution,--he felt sure that, with steady
work, the play could be completed in a fortnight. In such reverie and such
consideration he lay immersed, oblivious of the present moment, and did not
stir from his chair until the postman shook the frail walls with a violent
double knock. He hoped for a letter, for a newspaper--either would prove a
welcome distraction. The servant's footsteps on the stairs told him the
post had brought him something. His heart sank at the thought that it was
probably only a bill, and he glanced at all the bills lying one above
another on the table.

It was not a bill, nor yet an advertisement, but a copy of a weekly review.
He tore it open. An article about himself!

After referring to the deplorable condition of the modern stage, the writer
pointed out how dramatic writing has of late years come to be practised
entirely by men who have failed in all other branches of literature. Then
he drew attention to the fact that signs of weariness and dissatisfaction
with the old stale stories, the familiar tricks in bringing about 'striking
situations,' were noticeable, not only in the newspaper criticisms of new
plays, but also among the better portion of the audience. He admitted,
however, that hitherto the attempts made by younger writers in the
direction of new subject-matter and new treatment had met with little
success. But this, he held, was not a reason for discouragement. Did those
who believed in the old formulas imagine that the new formula would be
discovered straight away, without failures preliminary? Besides, these
attempts were not utterly despicable; at least one play written on the new
lines had met with some measure of success, and that play was Mr. Hubert
Price's _Divorce_.

'Yes, the fellow is right. The public is ready for a good play: it wasn't
when _Divorce_ was given. I must finish _The Gipsy_. There are good things
in it; that I know. But I wish I could get that third act right. The public
will accept a masterpiece, but it will not accept an attempt to write a
masterpiece. But this time there'll be no falling off in the last acts. The
scene between the gipsy lover and the young lord will fetch 'em.'