coasters are those not encouraged by masters and mates to despise a currish leaning towards life-belts-while they are the very fellows, it may be assumed, who might be tempted to abandon the crazy old collier rather than go down with her. Here Jack would see the fair face of the ocean, especially about certain notorious reefs and rocks and banks, hideously dotted-every black dot marking the spot where there has been wreck and death. He would discover places over which he had sailed many a time blotched as closely as the pock-marks on some men's faces. He may read, in the report accompanying the Chart, that hundreds of these wrecks occurred either a few miles from shore, or in a part of the ocean highway so commonly trafficked over that, had the poor fellows whose lives have been sacrificed but possessed the means of holding up in the water for only a few hours, they might have stood a fair chance of rescue.

In the matter of life-saving it may sound almost inhuman to discuss the question of "cost; " to set widows' weeds and orphans' tears on one side of the scales and a few paltry shillings on the other; but still it may be as well that the reader should know what life-buoys cost. It is a fact that a manufacturing firm of standing and eminence-that of Messrs Birt, Dock Street-has offered to place the necessary apparatus on any number of ships that may desire it, to convey the same on board, and provide suitable boxes to keep it in, to visit the shops and examine the articles, and make good any deficiency, at the rate of one shilling per annum for every belt or life-buoy in use.

THEATRE ROYAL, WAPPING-WAY.

"ON Saturday evening will be presented at this theatre for the first time a new and original domestic melodrama of thrilling interest, entitled Rubies and Rags; or, a WorkGirl's Perils. Cherry Plumpton, a pretty and virtuous young needle-woman; Sir Dazzler Hawkmoth, a profligate scion of aristocratic birth; Jackal Jem, a heartless scoundrel and a lion's provider; Mealy Mike, a kind-hearted bakedpotato man, a true, though humble friend to the poor, &c., &c. Boxes, 18.; Pit, 6d.; Gallery, 3d."

The evening above mentioned was a warm one, but the enterprising lessees of the Theatre Royal had not miscalculated their prospects of a crowded house. The theatre

afforded accommodation for at least fifteen hundred persons, and within a quarter of an hour of the doors being opened it was filled from floor to ceiling. The audience, which had been drawn entirely from the immediate locality, was of a decidedly mixed character, the costermonger element mustering in force. Prominent, too, in pit and gallery were many young men, lank and lithe, who wore handkerchiefs limp and wisp-like as an eel-skin, and who were remarkable for a curious oleagineousness both of clothes and skin, suggestive of an easy slipping out of the grip of a policeman.

The most fastidious manager, however, could not desire a more attentive or a more appreciative audience. The opening scene discloses Cherry Plumpton, the pretty and virtuous young needle-woman, attired in white muslin, trimmed with pink bows. Her attic is but meanly furnished -indeed beside the chair she sits on and the table she works at, it appears to contain nothing but a pair of bellows and a canary bird in a cage. She sings, however, and stitches away at a tremendous rate, and is supremely happy. Then comes a tap at the door. "Come in," cries Cherry, cheerfully; and in he comes-Sir Dazzler Hawkmoth. Like

all profligate scions of noble birth of the nineteenth century, he wears a tunic of Lincoln green, laced with gold, and hunting-boots, and a three-corned hat of crimson velvet heavy with bullion trimming. Sir Dazzler starts. Pardon him, he has made a mistake-has been wrongly directed. He is in search of an old dame-his old nurse, in fact, who is residing somewhere thereabout, and is, he has heard in sore distress. Cherry says something complimentary respecting his kindness of heart, and Sir Dazzler remarks on Cherry's beauty. Cherry blushes and hides her confusion under an offer of chickweed to her canary. Sir Dazzler follows up his success. He draws from his finger a ring, the diamond in which from its size should be worth about three hundred pounds, and offers it to her, at the same time clasping her in his arms, and exclaiming, "Sweet girl! jewel of my a-hear-r-rt's core! be mine!" The effect is electrical; Cherry's virtuous indignation is instantly aroused, and she proceeds to revile the scion of noble birth in such withering terms that he visibly cowers and shakes at the knees. 66 What," cries Cherry, holding up the diamond ring, and addressing the gallery, "what is this glittering bauble. compared with the priceless gem of virtue!" It was the first applauding outbreak since the drama opened, and it was a rattler. The coatless young costermongers, as with one voice, roared "Bray-vo!" Grey-headed men of sinister aspect were seen to wink hard with both their eyes and repress the visible tear; even the slippery young men in the pit, speechless in their admiration for the ennobling sentiment, thrust their fingers in their mouth and whistled shrilly.

Sir Dazzler slinks out of the house, gasping with rage, and in the next act is found still in green velvet and hunting-boots in the tap-room of a public-house of call for robbers and ruffians of reckless enterprise in whispered converse with Jackal Jem. Sir Dazzler hands the latter gold, and the Jackal hisses "She shall be yours," and forthwith whispers the baronet that the dastardly deed shall be accomplished. Sir Dazzler expresses his assent, and they part. Barely have they done so when Mealy Mike emerges with his steaming stove aud his glowing charcoal fire from

behind the tap-room door, where he has been an unobserved listener to the dastardly compact. Mealy Mike knows Cherry Plumpton, and in a serio-comic manner, and during the eating of one of his own scalding hot baked potatoes, he relates a moving story of how Cherry once nursed a little daughter of his through a dreadful fever. Mealy Mike swears to deliver the virtuous work-girl from the machinations of her enemies.

The third act discloses the arch villain and the lion's provider, Jackal Jem, stretched on a wretched pallet in a miserable house. His face is chalked to a ghastly hue, and his rascally head swathed in a wisp of dirty white rag. Jackal Jem, however, is only shamming sick. He sits up in bed and chuckles in a ruffianly manner at the artful trap that is set to catch the artless Cherry, whom, it seems, he has sent to, imploring her to come and nurse a miserable penitent wretch, sick well nigh to death, and despised by all the world." Ha, ha, ha!" laughs the awful villain, "and presently she'll be here, and Jackal Jem and Sir Dazzler Hawkmoth will square their little account!" The detestable imposter drinks from a rum bottle, concealed beneath his pillow, and then comes a knock at the door, and he hastily conceals it, and, with a dismal groan, bids the knocker enter. It is the tender-hearted Cherry. She approaches the ruffian's pillow to whisper consoling words to his ear, when, with a savage laugh, he starts up, seizes on her, and gives a shrill whistle. Instantly there emerges from a cupboard Sir Dazzler Hawkmoth, still in green and gold, and carrying a hunting-whip. "Ha, ha!" he cries, mockingly; "now my pretty scornful one, you are mine, and no earthly power can save ye!" He is mistaken, Mealy Mike can! All unsuspected, that philanthropic baked-potato vendor has lain concealed under the bedstead. With an exultant cry, he crawls out seizes on the horse-whip, and lays on to the Jackal as well as the base baronet, while the audience applaud frantically, and evince by their behaviour their delight that vice should be frustrated and virtue protected.

But there is another act yet, Cherry Plumpton is in the hands of the police! Sir Dazzler has accused her of stealing his diamond ring, and she is sent to prison for three months.

It is winter time when she is released, and snow is falling fast, night time, too, and Cherry, weary and famished, sinks down by the wayside. But succour is at hand! Mealy Mike is making his way home with his can and his fire, and has sold out all but two "mealy ones," reserved for his own supper. By the light of his fire he discovers poor Cherry. He kneels by her side and chafes her cold hands, and as soon as her senses return presses on her acceptance the two reserved mealy ones. With her head on his lap, and her white face well exhibited in the cheery light of the charcoal fire, he feeds her with hot potato to slow music. The picture is affecting. Sobs are heard in the boxes, sniffing is audible in the gallery, and even the sleek-looking young fellows in the pit snort undisguisedly, and stay the trembling tear with a corner of their eel-skin neckerchiefs.

The

But suddenly there is a commotion, and a crowd is observed coming down the road, and bearing in its midst, on a litter, a gentleman clad in green and gold. It is Sir Dazzler Hawkmoth, who has just met with a terrible railway accident in which Jackal Jem was smashed all to bits. procession halts just opposite the spot where Mealy Mike is still playing the part of the Good Samaritan. Sir Dazzler on the stretcher with a shriek recognises the pallid female form on the ground. In feeble accents he summonses the generous baked-potato man to his side. Mealy Mike obeys, leading the shivering Cherry by the hand. Sir Dazzler, with a painful effort, withdraws from his bosom a heavy pocketbook, and presents it to her. "This! this!" he gasps, "will nake some amends! Virtue you already possess, now I give you wealth! But say, oh, say! Can you forgive me?" She can and does, and so does the baked-potato man and so do the audience, and Sir Dazzler dies and the curtain falls, and everybody is made happy.