so remarkable for his eccentric vices and strange adventures,-breathed his last. He died in September, 1766, and was buried in Mary-le-bone churchyard, where there is a monument to his memory. In 1769 Boswell lived in lodgings in Old Bond Street. He mentions, on one occasion, entertaining at dinner, in this street, Doctor Johnson, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Garrick, Goldsmith, Murphy, Tom Davis, the bookseller and actor, and Bickerstaff, the author of "Love in a Village." But there are literary associations still more interesting connected with Bond Street. It was here that Gibbon passed his solitary evenings, composing his immortal history. Every one remembers the memorable passage, in which the great historian paints his lonely situation in the midst of the fashionable world. "I had not been endowed by art or nature with those happy gifts of confidence and address, which unlock every door and every bosom; nor would it be reasonable to complain of the just consequences of my sickly childhood, foreign education, and reserved temper. While coaches were rattling through Bond Street, I have passed many a solitary evening in my lodging with my books. My studies were sometimes interrupted by a sigh, which I breathed toward Lausanne; and on the approach of spring, I withdrew without reluctance from the noisy and extensive scene of crowds without company, and dissipation without pleasure." Sterne breathed his last in Bond Street. We are told, in the memoir of him attached to his works, that "he submitted to fate on the 18th day of March, 1768, at his lodgings in Bond Street." Mr. D'Israeli observes: "It does not appear to have been noticed that Sterne died with neither friend nor relation by his side! A hired nurse was the sole companion of the man whose wit found admirers in every street, but whose heart, it would seem, could not draw one to his deathbed. We cannot say whether Sterne, who had been long dying, had resolved to practise his own principle, when he made the philosopher Shandy, who had a fine saying for everything, deliver his opinion on death, 'that there is no terror, brother Toby, in its looks, but what it borrows from groans and convulsions, and the blowing of noses, and the wiping away of tears with the bottoms of curtains in a dying man's room. Strip it of these, what is it?' I find the moment of his death described in a singular book, the Life of a Footman.' I give it with all its particulars: In the month of January, 1768, we set off for London. We stopped for some time at Almack's house in Pall Mall. My master afterward took Sir James Gray's house in Clifford Street, who was going ambassador to Spain. He now began housekeeping, hired a French cook, housemaid, and kitchen-maid, and kept a great deal of the best company. About |