Musgrave, and in this street Hume, the historian, resided when under secretary of state in 1769. We next arrive at St. James's Place, a street in which the houses remain nearly the same as they existed in the days of Queen Anne. Here the celebrated Addison had a house, and in this street occasionally resided Thomas Parnell, the poet, the friend and correspondent of Congreve, Addison, and Steele, of Swift, Pope, Gay, and Arbuthnot. Future chroniclers of the local associations of London will point out the residence of a third poet, Mr. Rogers, and will do honour to the walls where Byron, Southey, Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Campbell have been favoured guests, and in which, at different times, have assembled all the wit, the beauty, and the talent of the present century.

In St. James's Place, in a house overlooking the Green Park, lived the charming and beautiful Mary Lepel, Lady Hervey, the idol of her contemporaries, and celebrated in verse by Pope, Gay, Voltaire, Arbuthnot, Pulteney, and Lord Chesterfield:

"Now Hervey, fair of face, I mark full well,

With thee, youth's youngest daughter, sweet Lepel."

Lady Hervey writes from Ickworth Park on the 5th of April, 1749: "I am preparing a dwelling that will suit better with my purse, though not so

well with my inclination. I have paid dear to make that dwelling look as like the country as I can; but I have been too much used to grass and green trees to bear the changing them for brick walls and dust." Lady Hervey could scarcely have fixed on any spot in London which had more the appearance of being in the country. The house in question was afterward the residence of Lord Hastings, and is now divided into two. At No. 13 St. James's Place lived Mrs. Robinson, the actress, and here also, in 1756, resided the celebrated John Wilkes. Lastly, in St. James's Place lived the Right Honourable Richard Rigby, the jovial politician and bon-vivant of the last century; whose name is so intimately connected with the social and convivial history of that period, and will probably long live in the pages of Junius, Wraxall, and Horace Walpole.

If St. James's Place is famous for having been the residence of the poets, Cleveland Row (at the bottom of St. James's Street, facing the palace) is no less remarkable as having been frequented by the wits. Here resided Colonel John Selwyn, an aid-de-camp of the great Duke of Marlborough, and the father of the memorable wit, George Selwyn; and it was in his house that the celebrated personal encounter took place between Sir Robert Walpole, then prime minister, and Lord Townshend, one of the secretaries of state. particulars may be briefly related.

The

During an altercation, in which they were engaged, Sir Robert exclaimed, with considerable warmth: "My lord, for once, there is no man's sincerity whom I so much doubt as your lordship's." Lord Townshend, who to many excellent qualities united a fiery and uncertain temperament, immediately seized the first minister by the throat. Sir Robert grappled with his antagonist in return, and, after a momentary struggle, both parties mutually relinquished their grasp and laid their hands on their swords. Mrs. Selwyn, who was present, ran out in a fright to call in the palace guard; she was prevented, however, by the celebrated Henry Pelham, by whose interposition the friends were subsequently reconciled. According to Wraxall, Gay introduced this scene into the "Beggar's Opera," where Walpole and Townshend are represented as Peachum and Lockit. Unfortunately, however, for the truth of this literary anecdote, I find that the fracas between the two ministers of state did not take place till the year 1729, at which period the "Beggar's Opera" had had the run of the stage about a year.

It was in the house where this extraordinary scene occurred, that George Selwyn resided for some years, and here he died, penitent and devout, on the 25th of January, 1791. Close to him, in Cleveland Court, died, in 1805, his friend Gilly Williams, another celebrated wit of the last century, whose correspondence with Selwyn, during

more than twenty years, has recently been given to the public; and, lastly, at No. 5 Cleveland Row, lived a wit still more brilliant, the late lamented Theodore Hook.

Previous to his great victory over De Grasse, in 1782, Lord Rodney lived in great distress in Cleveland Row. In Wraxall's "Memoirs of His Own Time," the reader will find an interesting account of him at this period.

Cleveland Row and Cleveland Court- the latter a small area at the back take their names from Cleveland House, which stood close by but nearer the Green Park. It was originally called Berkshire House, from being the residence of the Howards, Earls of Berkshire, and was then of great extent. After the restoration of Charles the Second, it was for some time the residence of the great Earl of Clarendon, but was afterward purchased and presented by Charles the Second to his beautiful mistress, Barbara, Duchess of Cleveland, and was the scene of many of their revels and their loves. A part of the property was sold by the duchess, and converted into smaller houses. The remaining part, which she kept herself, was afterward the residence of the Dukes of Bridgewater, but has been pulled down within the last few years, to make room for the splendid mansion which has been so long projected by the representative of the Bridgewater family, Lord Ellesmere.

Passing up St. James's Street, on the east side,

are two streets, King Street and Little Ryder Street, which deserve a passing notice. In King Street are Almack's rooms, which were opened, in 1765, by Almack, the proprietor of the once fashionable club in Pall Mall, which we have seen Gibbon preferring to every other club in London. Horace Walpole writes to the Earl of Hertford on the 14th of February, 1765: "The new assembly room at Almack's was opened the night before last, and they say is very magnificent, but it was empty; half the town is ill with colds, and many were afraid to go, as the house is scarcely built yet. Almack advertised that it was built with hot bricks and boiling water; think what a rage there must be for public places, if this notice, instead of terrifying, could draw anybody thither. They tell me the ceilings were dripping with wet, — but can you believe me when I tell you the Duke of Cumberland was there? Nay, he had had a levee in the morning, and went to the opera before the assembly! There is a vast flight of steps, and he was forced to rest two or three times. If he died of it, it will sound very silly, when Hercules or Theseus ask him what he died of, to reply, 'I caught my death on a damp staircase at a new club-room.""

Somewhat higher up St. James's Street is Little Ryder Street, where Swift was residing in December, 1712. From hence we pass into Bury Street, where the unfortunatę Letitia Pilkington informs