« Sir,

"I see that a musical drama is announced to the public, called Feudal Times, or the Banquet Gallery. In ancient architecture, gallery was understood to mean no otherwise than a long narrow avenue, on a story above-ground, leading to various apartments, as we see in travellers' inns, college-halls, and over the side aisles of cathedrals, &c.

"In ancient times all repasts, banquets, or, more properly, feasts, were held in the HALLS of Mansions, college-halls, as indeed we see the practice continued to this day, on very great occasions -Westminster Hall, at a coronation, &c. &c., every one remembering the old lines of

"This same wagging of beards is differently understood among antiquaries; some affirming it to be when the merry men were engaged in telling of jests and droll stories; others, that it was when they were employed in eating; and I ever found the eaters had the most partisans.

"The high veneration which I entertain for sub

jects relating to antiquity, could not let me pass unnoticed so glaring an impropriety in title, as the Banquet Gallery.-I have the honour to be, &c."

Colman soon satisfied him, I fancy, on this point of antiquity; for the whole piece was filled with anachronism, and gunpowder itself is the loudest he has employed. As to the Gallery, the antiquary was right, witness the picture galleries in some of the Tudor buildings, which are extremely narrow, and have the windows always on one side, and the portraits of the family possessing the mansion on the other, which thus, fortunately for the painters, you in vain endeavour to catch more than a glimpse of.

But at night, with the curtain up, our ANTI

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QUARY was yet more astonished. My God! a commander of an armed force blowing his own trumpet !—Gracious Heaven! why that is a Roman habit, and that a Grecian helmet!-There goes James the First's ruff-and Charles the First's armour !-Shields of all shapes, cross-bows like pick-axes; and (for the love of God, let me go!) a modern parade Drum Major!!"

The next novelty at this theatre was a very fair comedy, written by Morris, the barrister, called the Secret, which made its first appearance on the 2nd of March, 1799. The Secret is the cheating a young lady of her fortune, by the Torrids and the Lizards, who appear to have cultivated their amiable propensity to plunder in India. On the arrival of Rosa in England with the Torrids, Lizard puts the Secret in action, to obtain young Torrid for his daughter-the young gentleman is already in love with Rosa. The usual persecution ensues, and Rosa bethinks herself of a letter, written by her mother to a Lady Esther Dorville, whose husband was actually the father of Rosa, by another lady, whom parental cruelty had torn from his arms, and conveyed out to India. All this, as Mrs. Jordan remarked, was "quite usual on the stage, whatever the world might say to it," and we laughed at Munden's criticism on such occasions, who would sit out a green-room reading of two hours with a few contortions, as if his seat was uneasy to him; and then, with a face of astonishment, extinguish the poor author's vanity with"My precious eyes, sir, but where's the comedy ?"

The comedy, here, was in Miss Lizard, head teacher at Mrs. Monsoon's seminary for young ladies destined to the India market. There was comedy in such an establishment. Rosa was but the weaker half of Mrs. Jordan, the young lady; but "where was the comedy?" Colman wrote an epilogue for her; one of those colloquies held from the stage, with pit, box, and gallery-where particular persons are pointed at, whom the discerning Mr. Bull always turns himself about to discover. She rattled through it so very agreeably that she was obliged to repeat it, a compliment quite singular. It was about this piece, I remember, we had been speaking, when she told me she had another East Indian offered at her shrine, which she would trouble me to read. I did so, and we talked the piece over at her town residence in Somersetstreet, Portman-square. She had not told me who was the author of the play. But there was that in it which merited consideration. I gave her my opinion frankly, and pointed out the indecorum of the interest: however, though not a moral play, it was written evidently, I said, by a man of talent ; and, as a benefit piece, preferable to an old one.

Mrs. Jordan, here, in confidence, informed me that the Duke had taken the trouble to read it, at her desire also; and that we agreed most decisively in our opinions. She was in charming spirits, I remember, that morning, and occasionally ran over the strings of her guitar. Her young family were playing about us, and the present Colonel George Fitzclarence, then a child, amused me much, with his spirit and strength; he attacked me, as his mother told me, his fine-tempered father was accustomed to permit him to do himself. He certainly was an infant Hercules. The reader will judge of the pleasure with which I have since viewed his career as a soldier; and I owe him my thanks for his instructive and amusing journey across India, through Egypt, to England, in the winter of 1817-18, which he dedicated to his late Majesty George the Fourth, when Prince Regent. I shall here merely say, that his fourth chapter in this work is written with great skill, and possesses that interest which arises from actual facts at critical periods; from difficulties surmounted by patience or exertion: abounding in the terrible and destructive, unexaggerated and minutely detailed.