Its history is as follows:--Before the Norman Conquest there was a hospital here dedicated to St. James, for fourteen maiden lepers. A hospital continued to exist throughout the middle ages, but when Henry VIII. became King he obtained this property by an exchange, and converted it, as Holinshed bears witness, into "a fair mansion and park" when he was married to Anne Boleyn. The letters "H. A." can still be traced on the chimney-piece of the presence chamber or tapestry room, as well as a few other memorials of those distant days. And what days they were! Queen Anne Boleyn going to St. James's in all the joyous splendour of a royal bride, and how soon afterwards meeting her cruel fate at the hands of the executioner! Henry VIII. seldom lived at St. James's Palace, perhaps on account of the weird reminiscences of Anne Boleyn, but it became the favourite residence of Queen Mary after her husband Philip II. returned to Spain, and here she died in utter isolation during the dull November days of the autumn of 1558. Thus the old palace is first associated with the sad story of two unhappy queens! But brighter days were coming. Prince Henry, the eldest son of James I., settled here in 1610, and kept a brilliant and magnificent court, attached to which were nearly 300 salaried officials. Then in two short years he died, November 6, 1612. Then the palace was given to Charles, who afterwards ascended the throne in 1625, and much liked the place as a residence. It is closely associated with the stirring events of this romantic monarch's career. Here Charles II., James II., and the Princess Elizabeth were born, and here Marie de Medici, the mother of Queen Henrietta Maria, took refuge in 1638, and maintained a magnificent household for three years. It is said her pension amounted to £3,000 a month! Her residence within the royal palace increased the unpopularity of the King, whose arbitrary treatment of Parliament led to the ruinous Civil War. The noble House of Stuart is ever unfortunate all down the long page of history, and the doleful prognostications of the Sortes Vergilianæ, sought for by the King, proved but too true in the event. We quote six lines of Dryden's translation from the sixth book of the _Æneid_, at the page at which the King by chance opened the book-- "Seek not to know, the ghost replied with tears, The sorrows of thy sons in future years. This youth, the blissful vision of a day, Shall just be shewn on earth, and snatched away. . . . . . "Ah! couldst thou break through Fate's severe decree, A new Marcellus shall arise in thee." Dr. Wellwood says Lord Falkland tried to laugh the matter off, but the King was pensive. [Illustration: PORTION OF AN EXACT SURVEY OF THE STREETS, LANES, AND CHURCHES. _Comprehended by the order and directions of the Right Honourable the Lord Mayor 10th December, 1666._]