y, is not only highly entertaining, but absolutely free
from offence. I did not see it until it had reached its eighth night,
and I do not remember a piece, taken as a whole, so excellently acted.
Although he does not appear until the Second Act, Mr. WILLIE EDOUIN,
as _'Arry 'Ooker_, the Private Inquiry Agent, is _the_ feature of the
performance. His politeness to ladies, his assumption of businesslike
habits, suggested by his reading and spiking of bogus telegrams
brought to him when he is engaged with a client, his urbanity under
difficulties, and his cheerful acceptance of the inevitable in
whatever shape presented, are all admirable points, and points that
are fully appreciated by the audience. Roars of laughter follow the
one after the other when _'Arry 'Ooker_ is on the stage. Nothing can
be more absurd than his make-up, his bows, his grimaces, and yet under
the surface there is a vein of pathos that causes one to feel a pang
of genuine regret when the poverty-stricken, light-hearted rogue, who,
if he cannot secure a hundred guineas, is equally ready to accept a
"tenner," is marched oft to penal servitude as the Curtain falls. The
clerk of this entertaining individual, _Toby_, is played by a boy like
a boy, by Master Buss. Farther, Mr. ALFRED MALTBY could not be better
as the suspicious and bamboozled husband, _Richard Wrackham_. Again,
even the small part of _Alexander_, a Waiter, is well played. Once
more--the ladies, without exception, are capital; and as a result of
this all-round excellence, the piece "goes," from a quarter to nine
till just eleven, with a _verve_ that must be most satisfactory to
all concerned. So I can congratulate the Author upon a piece full of
lines that tell, and the Manager upon a play that is likely to rival
in popularity its predecessor, the phenomenally-successful _Our Flat._
And I can offer these congratulations with a dear conscience, because
I am neither Author of the piece nor Manager of the theatre, but as
Mr. RUDYARD KIPLING might observe, QUITE ANOTHER FELLOW.

* * * * *

LARKS!

SIR,--I am surprised that any of your Correspondents should doubt that
birds eat snow. There is a bull-finch in my aviary, and I tried him.
He ate it ravenously. Strange to say, he has not uttered a sound
since! My wife says, "Probably his _pipe_ is frozen." This is such a
good joke, I think you ought to have it.

Yours, LOVER OF NATURE.

SIR,--You may like to h