Reynolds saw the ceremony of proclaiming George III. king in front of Savile House, where the monarch had resided while he was Prince of Wales. Into his own house came and went, for years, all the lofty virtues, vices, and rich nothingnesses of Reynolds’s time, to be painted. From his window he looked with pride on his gaudy carriage (the Seasons, limned on the panels, were by his own drapery man, Catton), in which he used to send his sister out for a daily drive. From the same window he saw Savile House gutted by the ‘No Popery’ rioters of 1780; fire has since swept all that was left of Page’s house on the north side of the Square; and in 1787 Reynolds looked on a newcomer to the Fields, Lawrence, afterwards Sir Thomas, who set up his easel against Sir Joshua’s, but who was not then strong enough to make such pretence. Some of the most characteristic groups of those days were to be seen clustered round the itinerant quack doctors--fellows who lied with a power that Orton, Luie, and even the ‘coachers’ of Luie, might envy. Leicester Square, in Reynolds’s days alone, would furnish matter for two or three volumes. We have only space to say further of Sir Joshua, that he died here in 1792, lay in state in Somerset House, and that as the funeral procession was on its way to St. Paul’s (with its first part in the Cathedral before the last part was clear of Somerset House) one of the occupants in one of the many mourning coaches said to a companion, ‘There is now, sir, a fine opening for a portrait-painter.’ While Reynolds was ‘glorifying’ the Fields, that is to say, about the year 1783, John Hunter, the great anatomist, enthroned science in Leicester Square. His house, nearly opposite Reynolds’s, was next door to that once occupied by Hogarth, on the east side, but north of the painter’s dwelling. Hunter was then fifty-five years old. Like his eminent brother, William, John Hunter had a very respectable amount of self-appreciation, quite justifiably.