The little hilly Southampton Street, Strand, is interesting, leading as it does into Covent Garden Market. Near the top is No. 27, Garrick’s old house, where he lived so many years until he became “grand” and moved to a stately mansion on the Adelphi Terrace. It is said that this change injured his health, the terrace being exposed and unsheltered, the old house being “snug and quiet.” This became an hotel, “Eastey’s,” and later was dressed up with plaster mouldings. It is now in the possession of a business firm. With excellent feeling and good taste a handsome shield with Garrick’s arms has been set up in the hall, which recalls the fact of its having been Garrick’s residence, that in that parlour he had read Othello to a number of his friends, and in the drawing-rooms had given a party, during which Goldsmith arrived, wishing to borrow a guinea, but had gone away without having had courage to do so. The doorway which separates the back and front parlours is an elegant piece of work, most gracefully carved and moulded. I never pass by the house without looking in and recalling the pleasant scene described by Tate Williams when he came to exhibit his talents to the actor; and when he noticed this very door moving softly, and found that Mrs. Garrick was listening unseen to his mimicries. The destroyers have lately been very busy in Covent Garden, where there have been wholesale clearances. Gone now is an entire block in Bow Street, where stood the old police court, the foundations of which the blind magistrate Fielding had laid, after his own house had been burnt to the ground by the Gordon rioters. This, however, could be spared; but not the Piazza in the market behind, Inigo Jones’s work. This is literally being nibbled away. Some years ago was razed the section where the old “Hummums” stood--a house known to Johnson, who used to relate a curious ghost story associated with it. A new, fresh, and gaudy “Hummums” has taken its place, with much unpicturesque iron sheds for the market. At the corner was the old “Rockley’s,” described by Mr. Sala nearly thirty years ago, a house of call for actors and Bohemians. There is now a new Rockley’s. Last year another portion of the Piazza--that behind Bow Street--was levelled, and with it that quaint specimen of the old London hotel, the Bedford, with its coffee-room, curved old-fashioned windows, entresols, bar, etc., to say nothing of its air of snugness and comfort. A few years ago another section, the one that touches “the old Evans’s,” or Cave of Harmony, was taken down, but was rebuilt. Thus out of the four sections there is now left to us but one, whose grace and proportions all amateurs must admire. It is said that Inigo Jones intended to imitate the Piazzas he had seen in Italy; and it will be noted how fine is the proportion of this fragment, and what an air of spaciousness he has imparted to it. The line of the arches, the intersections in the ceilings, the general gaiety of the whole are