and that he built for her the fine seat at Hampstead Marshal, in the county of Berks, afterwards destroyed by fire.  The services rendered by the earl to London, his native city, in particular, were exemplary.  He was so indefatigable in preventing the ravages of the frequent fires of those days, that it was said his very horse smelt it out.  He and Monk, Duke of Albemarle,[2] heroically staid in town during the dreadful pestilence, and at the hazard of their lives preserved order in the midst of the terror of the times.”  The house was taken down, and the ground purchased by Mr. Philip Astley, who built there the Olympic Pavilion.  In Craven Buildings there was formerly a very good portrait of the Earl of Craven in armour, with a truncheon in his hand, and mounted on his white horse.  The Theatre Royal in this street, originated on the Restoration.  “The king made a grant of a patent (says Pennant) for acting in what was then called the Cockpit, and the Phoenix, the actors were the king’s servants, were on the establishment, and ten of them were called gentlemen of the Great Chamber, and had ten yards of scarlet cloth allowed them, with a suitable quantity of lace.”

    [2] He married a daughter of one of the Fine Barber-women of
        Drury Lane.

There is a curious specimen of ancient architecture at the sign of the Cock and Magpie public-house, facing Craven Buildings.  Smith, in his London, says, “The late Mr. Thomas Batrich, barber, of Drury Lane, (who died in 1815, aged 85 years,) informed me that Theophilus Cibber was the author of many of the prize-fighting bills, and that he frequently attended and encouraged his favourites.  It may be here observed, that Drury Lane had seldom less than seven fights on a Sunday morning, all going on at the same time on distinct spots.”  At present, the fights are between the apple-women and the dogberries, respecting the legal tenure of stalls: 

  “Bess Hoy first found it troublesome to bawl,
  And therefore plac’d her cherries on a stall.”

KING.

Drury Lane will always be interesting to the theatrical loiterer, from the number of stars that have irradiated from its horizon.  If the wise Solon had lived in our times, he would no doubt have felt a local attachment to this neighbourhood; for he frequented plays even in the decline of life.  And Plutarch informs us, he thought plays useful to polish the manners, and instil the principles of virtue.

P.T.W.

* * * * *

SOLUTION OF THE ENIGMATICAL EPITAPH,

(See Mirror, vol. xiv. page 214.)

  O!  Superbe!  Mors superte!  Cur Superbis? 
  Deus supernos! negat superbis vitam supernam. 
  Proud man know this! then wherefore art thou proud? 
  This awful doom—­terrific cries aloud—­
  Death lifts his arm! with unrelenting dart,
  Ready to pierce thy lofty-tow’ring heart. 
  Why then persist?  The Almighty hath denied
  Eternal life to all the slaves of Pride!