headland above Land's End. What I see and hear strikes me dumb, almost sick with awe. In calmer weather it is possible to climb down hence along the ridge of rocks jutting out into the sea. To try that today were certain death. Even up here I can scarcely stand, though the wind is fortunately blowing inland. Were it blowing out to sea, I should inevitably be dashed from this exposed cliff-head on to the rocks beneath. At my feet I see columns on columns of rock, the lower brown with the sea-waves' kisses, the upper still-grey. I see the Atlantic waves, after their thousands of miles of travel, fling themselves wearily on to the rocks, with a roar that seems to fill earth and sky, and is as the thunder-cry of a universe. I see a world of white foam heaving and seething and throbbing in never-ending restlessness. White rounded bodies are whirling in the air above my head, and I watch them hurried by the wind hundreds of yards inland, till they vanish from my sight. They are pieces of foam that the wind has torn off from the surface of the sea below, and swept away with a speed like that of a bird's flight. Everywhere out at sea are rocks, rocks, rocks. Some are only indicated by the patches of white water over them. Others lift their cruel heads out of the waves, and seem to toss the billows from them in scorn. one deadly ridge, a little way from the shore, is a lighthouse. Far out to the left is another. This marks the terrible Wolf-rock, whereon many a good ship has struck and sunk. The fiendish stone is just close enough to land to be more deadly than if it were out in mid-ocean. Everywhere grandeur, fury, turmoil. Rocks, waves, wind, all at war. Such roaring, such crashing-never-ending, deafening, sublime! It is as if Nature had banished to one spot all her evil spirits, and this were her Pandemonium.

On

A Beligious Play in London.

BY HEUSCHRECKE, JUNIOR.

HEUSCHRECKE, JUNIOR, find myself in queer places at times. A while ago I might have been seen wending my way up that celebrated thoroughfare known to the Metropolitan Board of Works as Middlesex Street, and to every one else as Petticoat Lane. Wending I say advisedly, for it is not easy to keep a straight course where the road is only the width of one vehicle and the pavement little more than a foot across, the whole space blocked up with carts, trucks, and human beings. Fastidious people might detect a certain unsavoriness in the Lane. Let them turn with me into Wentworth Street. A mud-cart occupies the entrance thereto, from wall to wall. By the way, did any one ever enter, or rather attempt to enter, Wentworth Street from this end without finding a mud-cart there? And did he ever know the cart to take anything away? A desperate struggle, a few women, more or less, with their baskets of stale fish (six a penny) upset, and it is got through. We follow it into a street, to which the one we have left is clean and health-inspiring. Vegetable refuse lies about in heaps, and a reckless profusion of putrifying fish renders the footing very precarious. Just past the Jewish Home is an indescribable looking little shop, such as most Cockneys firmly believe is only to be met with in our remotest villages. Within there is just room to stand upright and turn round. A door at the back opens into a room about nine feet square, which evidently answers the combined purposes of a kitchen, nursery, dining-room, and reception-room. It looks more inviting than might be supposed, for it is scrupu

lously clean, and the fire flickers cheerily on the baby in the cradle and the cups and saucers on the shelves.

The immediate object of my visit disposed of, the proprietor and myself fall to talking of the local news. He points, with a little pardonable vanity, to a Hebrew inscription on a large card enclosed in a cheap gilt frame. It is a testimonial from some committee of which he has recently been chairman. Then he produces some tickets for an entertainment, which he asks me to purchase. They are printed in English and Hebrew, and inform the reader that they admit to a performance of "Joseph and his Brethren," in operatic form, to be given at the Town Hall, Shoreditch, in aid of a Jewish charity. He adds that one performance has already taken place, at which many "carriage people" were present, and that its success has induced a repetition. Further, that he knows the author and manager of the piece, and has understood that next time something (I am not clear what) to imitate grass is to be laid down on the stage; also that the loan of some real camels has been promised, in order to give due effect to the scene with the Ishmaelites. Altogether my curiosity is fairly aroused, and I determine to go and see for myself.

Entering the body of the hall shortly before the appointed time, I am at once convinced that the "carriage people" have all paid their visit on the previous occasion. The audience is of the usual East-end Hebrew type, and the difference in price of the seats seems to make no appreciable difference in the character of their occupiers. There are several things which would at once strike a stranger to such assembliesfirstly, the peculiar physiognomy which, in consequence of their segregation from the rest of the world, still marks the race; secondly, the griminess, suggestive not of a dirty occupation (which by the way, Jews seem to avoid), but of a total innocence of soap for many

years characterising the adults, more especially the men; thirdly, the plain, massive, genuine jewellery, serving to render only more repulsive the dirt it is designed to decorate; fourthly, the extraordinary obesity of the women as they approach middle age; fifthly, the rosy cheeks and conspicuous cleanliness of the children, who seem to have acquired a positive polish by frequent and vigorous ablutions.

That familiar tootle-tootle, twang-twang,-twung which seems indispensable before any orchestra can shake down to its work, indicates the imminent commencement of the programme. There is no curtain before the platform serving the purpose of a stage. Considering the nature of the performance I have come to see, I am not a little surprised when an acrobat appears, and, taking a chair, proceeds to exhibit himself in every imaginable position but those intended by nature. Evidently he's not Joseph or any one of his connection. He is followed by a fourth-rate conjuror, who essays a few very stale tricks.

After these somewhat inappropriate preludes, the play opens with Joseph telling his dreams to his father and his ten brethren, the latter then leaving to go and tend their flocks at Shechem. In the next scene Jacob sends Joseph to see after their welfare. Then we see him on his journey, with a stick and bundle-Whittington fashion—and when night comes on he sees an angel and converses with him. The brethren are talking angrily about him when he arrives at Dothan, and they then propose to kill him, but Reuben interferes. In spite of Joseph's earnest pleading with them, he is let down into the pit (i.e., through a trap-door on the stage). Reuben again protests, and goes away with four of the other brethren. Four Ishmaelites then appear, and Joseph is brought up out of the pit and sold to them, Still pleading with his brethren, he is carried off by his

purchasers. As night approaches, Reuben returns, and expostulates on finding what has taken place in his absence, and the other brethren arrive in the midst of a thunderstorm. Reuben is the first to reach his father's dwelling and break the news to him. The other brethren follow with the bloody coat, two of them bringing in by a chain the wild beast (a small boy encased in fur) which they say has devoured Joseph. Benjamin appears for the first time in this

scene.

The Ishmaelites halt on their journey to rest for the night. While they sleep, Joseph discovers that they are at his mother's grave. He apostrophises her, and Rachael speaks to him. The scene concludes with the Ishmaelites waking at dawn of day. On arriving in Egypt, they offer Joseph for sale to Potiphar, who buys him, after haggling for some time about the price, (a very characteristic Jewish touch this). When he is left alone with Potiphar's wife she makes advances to him, which he repels. Potiphar then appears, and on hearing her accusation, gives Joseph into custody.

The next scene is a banquet in Pharaoh's palace, at which he commits his cup-bearer to prison for offering him wine with a fly in it, and the baker also for some fault in the bread. Then we see Joseph in prison with the cup-bearer and baker, whose dreams he interprets, and the latter is taken off to execution. Reverting to the previous scene, the cup-bearer is re-instated. He tells Pharaoh of Joseph when he is asking for an interpretation of his dream, and, at his command, fetches his fellow-prisoner. The latter's explanation having been heard, Pharaoh takes the ring off his finger and presents to him, the interview ending with a general chorus in his honor.

The ten brethren take leave of their father and appear before Joseph (who is now magnificently dressed, and wearing the Royal ring) with empty sacks to buy