of each generation; so long as the Book of Life itself (of which it is a part) consoles, and delights, and sustains the believer of its truths. In other words, we place these "Paraphrases" on our library shelf with such other books as we class and consider standard works for study and reference, rather than reading out of hand. Taken down for the hour or half-hour, it will present to us sermons and instruction in that Divine language with which the authorized version of the Scriptures has made us familiar; and, therefore, with this estimate of the labour, we cordially thank the Labourer for the good work he has done for us. No one can call it a great work; to write such was not the author's intention; but the path, as compiler, which his own humility prompted him to take, he has followed to the end, and that he has had pleasures by the way is as certain as that he must feel satisfaction at its successful conclusion.

Our Orchestra Stall.

OCTOBER 2.-STRAND THEATRE.

“Miriam's Crime," by Mr. H. Craven brought out. This drama is accounted a most successful one by our contemporaries of the weekly press. All the newspapers, including the Times, have given long and favourable accounts, and pointed out the originality of the events. The pivot upon which the action turns is the burning of a will by Miriam. She does this to favour the claims of the man she loves, even although the will destroyed conveyed the property to herself. Subsequently a second will turns up, and Miriam commits a second crime in securing Document No. 2. Of course, there are rival claimants to the estate, and it was to baffle them that the neroine consented to do the naughty things that very properly are made to involve her into serious trouble, but out of which she is extricated in the end, in acknowledgement of her devotion and self-sacrifice. The situations are interesting, and more natural than they always are in domestic dramas.

And now for the originality. We have before us a popular book, published by Rutledge some three or four years ago, by the author of "Crispen Kerr," etc.; the title is "Miriam May," and the frontispiece, "a Girl Burning a Will." The inside of the book will show similarities as well as outside.

OCTOBER 10.-DRURY LANE THEATRE.

Manfred," the fine dramatic poem by Byron, produced with such new and beautiful scenery as modern stage-painting and effects can produce. Mr. Phelps has the set speeches to deliver, and, altogether, the spectacle and poetry has become the magnet of the day, drawing all Londoners to old Drury.

SURREY THEATRE.

"Poor Tom," a nautical drama by Mr. Shepherd, co-lessee, produced. This simple, effective, and agreeable piece, short and really sweet with its honesty of sentiment, is founded on the ballad of "The Jolly Young Waterman," which is properly introduced. The scenery of the river Thames at Battersea, and the make up of Mr. Shepherd, as taking leave of "His trim-built Wherry," give an air of reality to this little drama, which will help to make it one of the most successful trifles of the stage.

OCTOBER 12.-ROYAL ENGLISH OPERA, COVENT GARDEN.

Opened for the eighth season under the management of Miss Louisa Pyne and Mr. Harrison, with a new opera by Vincent Wallace, the words by Messrs. Harrison and T. J. Williams, entitled "The Desert Flower."

The time, place, and characters of the "Desert Flower" certainly lend the charm of novelty to this opera, although its French predecessor appeared eight years ago, when the music of Halevy gratified Parisian ears.

Much good musical writing by Mr Wallace sustains the "Desert Flower," and the songs are pretty, but there are no passages which, by their brilliancy and sweetness, raise the work to the heights which the composer has achieved in some of his former operas. Still, the music is highly pleasing, and with the charming scenery, Miss Pyne's singing, and Mr. Harrison's acting, a delightful evening may be spent at Covent Garden, where, we very gladly notice, the royal box has again been occupied by our popular Prince of Wales and friends.

The story of the "Desert Flower" leads the spectator through the windings of Indian life on the borders of a Dutch settlement, upon which the natives yet encroach; we should rather say, occupy. The whites are protected by some soldiers, under two officers—one a brave man, the other a poltroon. The latter furnishes the comedy of the piece à la Bob Acres. Of course, the Indians are commanded by no less a personage than their queen, Oanita, who is an "Indian and a woman," in which latter character she prefers the white face of the young Dutch captain to all the dark visages of her own tribe. A few operatic difficulties are, of course, placed between the wishes of the beautiful queen and Mauriel, one of these being an Indian chief, who has in the end to be sacrificed in "fair fight," when Oanita and her Dutch lover are able to make such terms as suppose being "happy ever afterwards." This settlement of a vexed question between colonists and natives is very satisfactory. The forest scenery is quite enchanting in its suggestiveness of far-away love and quiet, and as the poețical is always true, we have to thank the management for the poetry and beauty of the "Desert Flower."

THE ROSE, THE SHAMROCK, SHAMROCK,

AND

THE THISTLE

JANUARY 1864.

THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF
JACOB MORRISTON.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

JACOB GETS INTO PICTURESQUE SOCIETY, AND MEETS WITH A STRANGE

ADVENTURE.

MIRIAM did not obey the imperious command of Jacob, which closed my last chapter. On the contrary, when his rage had subsided, she induced him to accompany her to the encampment.

The gipsys had taken up their winter quarters some little distance from the spot where Jacob had been accustomed to see their tents. Miriam conducted him along the road to a deep and shaded valley, where they found quite a formidable settlement. A portion of it, however, was of 8 very migratory character, consisting of two caravans, such as accompany "peep shows," and "temples of magic." One of these portable abodes was a "Cheap Jack" establishment, and the other a travelling mat, basket, and brush warehouse. Both also served as "private residences." There was a flight of wooden steps up to the entrance of each, and the folding doors were ornamented with brass knockers. On the left of these houses on wheels was a long rough shed for the horses. On the right were a tent and hut, the former surrounded, at the base, with furze bushes and straw, of which comfortable looking material the latter was chiefly constructed.

It was nearly dusk when Miriam and Jacob arrived at this little gipsy village. Lights shone from the well curtained windows of the two

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caravans, and a gleam of radiance came through the half opened door-way of the hut.

"A friend of the Cantrills, who needs our hospitality," said Miriam, entering.

Jacob bowed his head before the motley group of men to whom he was thus introduced.

"Who and what is he?" said a bearded fellow, who seemed to be one in authority.

"A son of sorrow and misfortune," said Jacob, touched by the picturesque and poetical interior.

"You are welcome," said the gipsy, looking into Jacob's face; "I have seen you in these parts before."

At a signal from Miriam, Jacob took a seat in the warmest part of the hut, and a man who had been gazing intently at him since his first entrance, gathered a cloak about his face, and went out.

"The Baron doesn't like strangers," said a voice near Jacob, to which another answered, "He'll not be so nice when he skowers the cramprings in Dinsley."

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"Ah! ah! the devil claw thee, but thou'll be there before him." "Muffle your patter; he's only here with his swag to dodge grabbing; his tale won't fadge; it's bam; he'll be at home with the jigger dubbers yet."

This conversation was carried on, in a low confidential style, by two men, who were lying on a bundle of matting; and though he understood but little of the gipsy cant in which they were partly speaking, Jacob could glean from it that the man who had left the hut was comparatively a stranger amongst them, and that there was one of the tribe who had a poor opinion of him.

A rude fire-place had been constructed at the end of the hut, and near it Jacob was seated. The wood fire, which crackled on the hearth, lit up the hut with a lurid glow that reddened the dark faces of a group of men, who were drinking round a rough table in the centre; made the white teeth of the man, who was laughing at the garrulous "patter" of the "Baron's" critic, still whiter; cast into shadow the "furzy" corners of the apartment; brought into relief various rough seats, and couches, covered with coats, and mats, and thick drapery; and made the whole look like deftly arranged accessories to heighten the beauty of Miriam, and make up an artistic picture of a gipsy queen.

A red cloak, which had previously covered her black hair and surrounded her dark features, was now flung carelessly over her shoulders. Her thick cloth dress was short enough to disclose a pair of beautifully rounded ankles, protected by woollen hose. She wore buckles in her thick shoes, but her bright eyes outshone the sparkles which the fire extracted from the well polished metal.

"Now, cheer up; this will do you good," said Miriam, handing Jacob a hot potation that smelt strong and spicy.