ALL IN PLAY.
Dear Mr. Punch,—Town is supposed to be empty, except of the poor persons who are forced to attend the Houses of Parliament, and the toiling millions of the East End, who are, however, of no account in the West. In spite of this dearth of population, the Gaiety (which I attended on your behalf, looking and feeling as much like you as I possibly could) was very full on the first night of Loyal Love, a play which has apparently been put upon the stage for the personal and exclusive benefit of Mrs. Brown-Potter.
Saved by the Bottle.
Certainly this talented lady has vastly improved since she made her first appearance in Man and Wife, and has only to continue at the same rate of progress to become in a very short time a really admirable actress. Loyal Love is rather a foolish piece, and reminded me equally of the Lady of Lyons, Romeo and Juliet, and Box and Cox. The plot was feeble in the extreme; and had not Mrs. Brown-Potter made a decided point by calling a rude and ancient king, who would wear his hat in the presence of ladies, "Old Man," I really think the performance would have fallen rather flat. As it was, the phrase (which was accepted by the "first-nighters" as a colloquial "Americanism") put everyone in good humour, and the last Act, with its amusing mock poisonings, and comical arrests and counter-arrests, went with every token of genial satisfaction. By the way, the "bottle trick" (by which poison is turned into wine) should be treated more avowedly in a spirit of burlesque. Were a decanter of pantomimic proportions introduced, the effect would be excellent. Loyal Love is not a good name for this funny little—it is only in four Acts—play. It is a pity, as the hero and heroine are always declaring that they would like to live and die together on a desert island, that it was not called Mr. and Mrs. Robinson Crusoe, with an explanatory subtitle of the Purposeless Plotter, the Death-Dealing Wine-Cellar, and the Grand Old King.
Heroic Proportions.
At the Adelphi a new and original drama called The Bells of Haslemere, has been produced amidst the enthusiastic applause of the 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.