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. [Illustration: 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 _fetes_ 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.[A] _By Walker Weird, Author of "Hee Hee," "Solomon's Ewers," &c._ [Illustration: very Sincerely yours Adam Slaughterman] CHAPTER I.--BLOOD RELATIONS. "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.