entire Press. I am sorry to say I was a little disappointed. No doubt my expectations had been unduly raised by the "notices." It appeared to me that there was nothing absolutely and entirely new and original in the play, save a series of hats worn by Mr. John Beauchamp in the character of a fraudulent trustee. However, it is only just to say that the chapeaux of Joseph Thorndyke were unique. Had they been produced as "exhibits" to an affidavit read during a summons heard before one of the Chief Clerks in the Chancery Division of the High Court of Justice, they must have assisted materially in rendering virtue triumphant, ay, with or without an appeal to the Judge. One of the authors of the piece, Mr. Sydney Grundy, is a well-known barrister, and no doubt the legal training of this learned gentleman suggested their most appropriate introduction. Joseph Thorndyke uncovered, might have been faithful to his cestui que trust, but in his hat he could only have proved—what, alas! he was—a fraudulent trustee. Mr. Terriss as Frank Beresford, bore a striking resemblance to the naval lieutenant in the Harbour Lights whose escape from one action (on board ship) to defend another (in a police court) roused the enthusiasm of the pit and gallery for so many hundred nights, and Miss Millward in both pieces was much about the same individual. But in spite of this conventionality, the play was decidedly interesting to the audience, who filled the cheaper parts of the house. In fact I am inclined to believe that the critics are right, and that The Bells will ring for any number of nights. The scenery was admirable, and I should like to see it again. I am not quite so sure that anything else in the drama would induce me to pay the Adelphi a second visit. Stay, I think I should like to bestow another glance on Mr. Beauchamp's hats. I am all but certain, that from a fraudulent-trustee-point-of-view, they are absolutely faultless,—yes, absolutely faultless.

A Hat(e)ful Character.

The Crystal Palace, now that the new Bill is on the fair road to become law, seemingly has taken a fresh lease of popularity. The evening fêtes are a great feature, and jaded Londoners can scarcely do better than to take a train from Victoria or St. Paul's, and spend a pleasant couple of twilight hours amidst the lamps and (on Thursdays) the fireworks. In the daytime there is always an excellent panorama, and frequently a successful play performed by its original London company. This last has always a charm for

Yours most truly,

One who has Gone to Pieces.

ADAM SLAUGHTERMAN.^[1]

"It is very kind of you to come round," I said, to my two friends, Sir Harry and Bong, as they threw themselves violently into two arm-chairs (which almost broke under the brutal force of their descent), and emptied two casks of whiskey.

As I looked at Sir Harry, with his wide shoulders and deeper chest, I could not help thinking what a curious contrast I was to him, with my head of grizzled hair cut short and starting up like a half-worn scrubbing-brush. Then there was Bong, who is not like either of us, being short, dark, stout,—very stout,—with twinkling black eyes everlastingly hidden by blue spectacles.

"Look here, old fellow," said Sir Harry, "why shouldn't we give up civilisation, and go in for the mud—I mean blood—baths in South Africa?"

I fairly jumped at his words.

"Nothing I should like better. And you, Bong?"

Bong is so overpoweringly frivolous.

"I'll go, because I am getting fat."

"Shut up, Bong," said Sir Harry, and then we screamed at the witticism for three hours. After that we started for Africa, in search of the land of the White-eyed Kaffirs, which we believed to be somewhere south of the Westminster Aquarium, the Alhambra, and other Music-Halls in which a specimen of the race had occasionally been seen.

On our arrival in Africa we found our old friend, Umbugsoapygas, with his huge battle-axe (playfully called Kosikutums or "the brain-pricker," from a habit he had of chipping life out of a man's cranium), awaiting us. He was a huge savage, with a large piece of loose skin concealing the right side of his face, which was absolutely boneless. Umbugsoapygas was delighted to see us.

"O cove, O cove-dat-am-cool!"—(Oh individual, oh individual without the influence of passion!)—"brave one, great one! Let me come with thee to swim in gore!"

I let him say this, as I saw his enthusiasm was producing a marked effect upon the minds of some niggers that were listening to him. But after he had said it, I thought it better to stop his vapouring; for there is nothing I hate so much, as this Zulu system of extravagant praising—"zwaggering," as they call it.

"Shut up!" I cried, the more especially as I saw that he was getting the blood-fever upon him, and savagely destroying with his huge axe a spider's cobweb.

He gave me a sort of nod, and seized the niggers by their throats until their eyes cracked. Then, with roars of laughter (for they really looked most ridiculous), we followed the blacks into the boat, and went to the Mission House of the Rev. Bang McSaxpence, without any further adventure than cutting off at the wrist the hand of one of the murderous tribe of Lorkymussies.

The Rev. Bang McSaxpence and his wife and child lived in great comfort amidst the people they had taught so carefully. I do not quite know what the educational curriculum happened to be, but no doubt it would have merited the approval of the London School Board. They had a French cook, called Adolphe, who seemingly had been obtained from a travelling Circus that no doubt had passed the Mission House in the course of a provincial tour.

"Oh, the monster! See the horrible man. He is a Mister Black," said Adolphe, looking at Umbugsoapygas. The savage in a moment had dragged out the little Frenchman's eyes, thrown them high in the air, rubbed them in salt, and replaced them in their sockets. Bong, Sir Harry, and I could not help laughing.

A little later we were called in by Mrs. Bang McSaxpence, and soon were enjoying a really good cup of tea. I was putting forth my hand for a fresh supply, when the breakfast-things were knocked over by a head freshly severed