with a lanthorn, and Tom and myself following with a silent and determined curiosity. We were first shown the two Green-Rooms, which certainly, by day, looked miserably enough; but as I shall have to speak of them anon in a better light, I shall not here pause to give an unfavourable account of them. I was then taken into several of the principal dressing-rooms; and one I could not but regard as a place of sweet interest, for the guide addressed me with, "This, Sir, was Miss O'Neill's room." There were two full-length mirrors in it, and I found it was impossible not to contemplate them with a foolish (perchance) and romantic delight, as having so often reflected the handsome form of that fair and far-famed woman. There before those simple mirrors had stood Belvidera, and Monimia, and Isabella, in all their gentle beauty and feminine bravery; there, methought, on the first tremulous night which was to mar or make her fame, had lingered this young and intelligent and charming creature, dreading all that she was about to dare,-and sighing in timid apprehension of her splendid trial! A thousand of these idle yet delightful day-dreams of the moment flitted through my mind, as I looked upon the silent, yet not ineloquent furniture of this diminutive and simple room. I seemed to have a perfect vision of Juliet, reclining in strange and painful terror on her chair, just before she astounded the public with her gentle presence-and again, I as plainly beheld her, in my mind's eye, resting in all her heated agitation, and palpitating distress, after leaving the house in a tumult of sorrow, admiration, and intense feeling. I know not whether my friend Tom entered into any of these my sensations; I fear not; for he was intently considering his own symmetry in the mirrors, and his thoughts appeared to be of too domestic a kind to quit the all-satisfying home of his own person. From these rooms we were conducted to the wardrobe, a truly curious scene; and here we found tailors and dress-makers as earnestly engaged, as if trade were only at its height in the loftiest part of the interior of the theatre, and that the motley artizans were engaged in some fashionable contract for supplying the army of Brutus with garments, or completing a large order for Virginius for ready money only. The exactness with which the va rious dresses are kept is highly to be admired; and I could not fail to take a hint for the arrangement of my own habiliments, for which my little wardrobe has ever since been the better. Mr. Macready was at this time giving some directions about a Roman vest; and the sincere steel and the superfine stuff of which it was made really surprised me; for I, like a very country gentleman, had supposed that every ornament and property of a theatre was as unreal and slight as the keenest economy could make it. The trappings, however, of a Roman warrior of the true Covent Garden breed, are as solid, honest, and handsome, as old Cassius himself could desire; and I verily believe, that Mr. Charles Kemble, or Mr. Young, or Mr. Macready, as harnessed for the night and fairly accoutred, might safely have walked through Rome's Cheapside without being once suspected to be any other than Rome's true man. Macready's face perchance might have told an English story, but I would vouch for it, that Charles Kemble, with his fine, earnest, and classic features, and his noble figure, might meet a Roman in the market-place, and be deemed a true dweller by the Tiber, and nothing native to the Thames. dresses for all the plays are kept properly sorted and ticketed, and those needed for the night are duly laid forth in the previous morning. The From the wardrobe, we were conducted to the carpenters' room. The machinery by which the scenery is shifted, and by which the skies and ceilings of rooms are laid on, is almost fearful to look at; and I confess, that when I was walking about in the theatre's heaven, I had all the feeling of being half-mast high in a man of war, with all the sails, cordage, and pulleys, around me. Indeed, it is a question to me whether a ship is half so well rigged as a play-house. As you are nearly grown up, my dear Russell, I may inform you of the stuff that storms are made of, though I should pause at telling Mr. Macready; or that Charles Kemble was wearing a common hat and dress, and talking in a voice more familiar than Melpomene is said to sanction. Miss Foote looked as pretty, and as prettily dressed, as ever; and seemed to be ever thus armed, like Branksome's Knights. I found the rehearsal tedious and unamusing; for each performer so studiously avoided emphasis or energy, and appeared to guard so cautiously against over-informing his companions, that the play was uttered with much less spirit than a spelling lesson at school, and I certainly never saw boys half so imperfect." your little sisters such destructive facts. With them, thank heaven, at present, thunder is thunder-lightning, lightning-and rain, rain. But if, to this moment, your faith has remained strong in the sincerity of theatrical elements, now lay aside your belief, for know that the wind is not wind, but brewed from an old barrel covered with silk, which by being turned quickly round blows fit to wreck a vessel. The thunder keeps its gloomy state in a large sheet of iron, and it only bellows to the ear when some rash intruder dares to shake its throne. A long hollow tube, lined on the inside with loose pegs, and filled with peas, will wet On quitting the theatre, Tom unthe ears through presently: it is held dertook to conduct me to a Greenupright, and the shower continues Room at night, that my dramatic until all the peas have performed education might be advanced as much their journey through the pegs; and as possible; and in the mean time, then it is but turning it down anew, we adjourned to my chambers to and "spunge," you are not dry take our dinner and to pass the hours again." I saw no lightning, but the till the evening. Nothing could exman assured me that it was not real; ceed the volatile spirit that characyou may believe him or not, as you terized Tom's conversation. He was choose. Our guide was happy to find life itself. After dinner, when he had that the wind was a little disconcert- dipped his muzzle, as he himself ed, for it allowed him to make one called it, in a bottle of claret, he grew little but well-established joke, which more and more communicative, and Tom had heard four-and-twenty times, at length asked me if I knew that "it took a deal of repairing, for On my replying that I did, he said, in times like these it was very diffi- "I have a Sonnet of his in my pocketcult to raise the wind." Having been book which Prudence allowed me conducted over and under the stage, to copy from her album. It's very and let into all the mystery of lamp, tender, but Prudence says not more and trap, and fly, and wing, I was tender than true. I don't particulartaken by Tom to the stage itself, ly want it," continued he;" will you where I beheld a rehearsal of -'s have it?" I gladly accepted the castplay, going on as tamely as it possi- off verses, and on reading them, I bly could on an Author's night. I could not help fancying that you could scarcely believe that that earn- would like to put them into your est gentleman in every-day attire was book, and therefore here they are. Το A DREAM. The ring by unknown hands was brought to me, And while I cherish'd it, my thoughts of thee gone, Did tow'rds a grave most desolately stream. Cruelly tainting even my dreams with woe, And darkening my good thoughts with mystery: If you had heard Tom read these lines, I think you would have forsworn pensive poetry for ever. He drawled his voice with such painful slowness, and afflicted the passages with such cruel emphasis, that literally the town crier would have been a man of pathos compared with him. We took coffee at eight, and soon afterwards started for the theatre. In passing across the stage (not Covent Garden), I heard Miss Kelly's delightful voice making the very most of some waiting-maid prattle; and at each pause in the dialogue, the merriment of the audience broke upon my ear in a deep, subdued, yet pleasant murmur. Harley too was speaking; and his tones seemed to come from every part of the house at once, so quick and continual were his movements. I stood awhile at the side scene, and was pleased at seeing the earnestness with which these admirable performers entered into the cunning of the scene. The colouring is rather strong, or I should say, for ever let me see a Comedy from the wing. But I was now conducted into the Green-Room. It is a square unfurnished-looking place, with benches on each side, fastened to the walls'; and having at one end a huge mirror, capable of giving back the actor to himself, in all his glory; or, of showing the lady how fair, how wondrous fair, she is. A table stands near to this glass with a goblet and water (the only refreshment allowed), and these furnish a pretty excuse to the well-dressed to sun themselves in the lustre of the mirror. One hand is pouring out the water, while the other is trimming a curl, or adjusting a point of lace; and not till the eye is satisfied to the utmost, does the water ascend to the lip, and only then to be sipped and set down again. It is amusing to see the several characters sitting in easy and general conversation: Artaxerxes giving an account to Dr. Cantwell of his having caught cold at Lady Cork's party, while the Doctor is speaking of having been at the Somerset-house Exhibition. Mawworm is giving a relation of a cold dinner to Mandane. And Artabanes and old Lady Lambert are disputing about the sinking fund, though neither of them has a second idea on the subject. The performers sit around the room on benches, until they are in turn wanted on the stage, when a little boy, generally known as the call-boy, comes to the door and announces the name of the party required, a short time before it is necessary for the character to go on the stage. The boy receives the name from the prompter, or rather a number referring to the name; and it is his sole business to connect the Green-Room with the stage. In the very middle of an interesting conversation or anecdote, this imperative boy's voice utters at the entrance, "Miss Kelly!" or, "Mr. Harley!" or, "Mr. Dowton!" and the conversation is stopped-the anecdote ruined-and the party summoned rises, plumes her or his dress at the mirror, and goes to contribute amusement elsewhere. I confess discourse is not so sprightly as a stranger might expect in this anti-room of the drama;-but I was impressed with a high respect for the good sense, taste, and feeling, which marked the observations of all the principal performers with whom I conversed. In Miss Kelly there is a strength of mind, and a delicacy of taste, quite delightful; and the only drawback to the pleasure you take in her conversation is the detection, which you cannot avoid making, of a melancholy about her character and manner, forming a painful contrast with that arch pleasantry that attends her on the stage. Mr. Harley, too, is a shrewd and sensible man; and Wrench is the soul of gentlemanly whim and good fellowship. The stage manager is always in attendance until the performances are over. At the conclusion of the play I took my departure ;-for the whole mystery of this scene, when once tasted, is perfectly understood, and seen into. The sameness of sitting heroes and resting actresses becomes tiresome in an hour;-and, I confess, I was not sorry to take my leave. Before we retired, however, Tom received a paper from Harley, which gave him the utmost delight;-and when we reached the Albany he sang it to me (for it was a song) with admirable spirit and life. At my earnest entreaty he favoured me with a copy and with this I beg to conclude t1 letter. THE EXHIBITION. Come, come-I am willing With varnish and paint; St. Paul's;-and as faint: At Somerset House! Tol de rol, &c. One dandy Adonis, And two noble cronies, And tumble-down torrents, After a souse! That sky is too milky,— Tol de rol, &c. I've seen the room fuller, Abandon my head! Here, Wealth hath call'd her men, Hairy Jews, balder men, Grim gouty aldermen Wigs, beards, and brows! I think 'tis a pity, The hanging committee At Somerset house! The sculpture invites me, THE KING OF THE PEAK, A DERBYSHIRE TALE. What time the bird wakes in its bower, "Now, why stays the tale, and what stops the ballad?" said the impatient proprietor of Lyddalcross; "have I heated my hearth, have I spread my tables, and poured forth my strong drink for the poor in fancy and the lame in speech? Up-up, and give me a grave tale or a gay to gladden or sadden the present moment, and lend wings to the leaden feet of evening time. Rise, I say; else may the fire that flames so high -the table which groans with food, for which water, and air, and earth, have been sought-and the board that perfumes you with the odour of (Old Derbyshire Rhyme of Dora Vernon.) ale and mead-may the first cease to warm, and the rest to nourish ye." "Master of Lyddalcross," said a hale and joyous personage, whose shining and gladsome looks showed sympathy and alliance with the good cheer and fervent blood of merry old England; "since thy table smokes, and thy brown ale flows more frankly for the telling of a true old talethen a true old tale thou shalt haveshame fall me if I baulk thee, as the pleasant folk say, in the dales of bonny Derby. Those who have never seen Had don Hall, the ancient residence of the |