More interesting is it still to pass on a little beyond to Albert Terrace, one of the most charming _locales_ in London as to its rearward view, though the front is dusty and noisy, and perhaps disagreeable. But in the mornings, you may look out on the park as on your own grounds. Here used to reside Charles Reade, the author of “It’s Never Too Late to Mend,” one of the men of genius of the day, though he once mystified his friends and others by the strange inscription along his garden wall--I well remember reading with astonishment the large letters on the parapet--“Naboth’s Vineyard”: a protest against the ground landlord, who coveted his tenement “hugely for the detriment thereof,” and its re-creation in the shape of Belgravian terraces. Now one of those _monstre_ ranges of building to hold innumerable tenants, and which are in such favour, is being erected. By-and-by the whole of the old-fashioned little terrace, with its pleasant gardens, will disappear. Returning to the Corner, we pass Hamilton Place, recently--yet it seems long ago--a _cul de sac_, and no vulgar thoroughfare. What a contention was raised by the invaded fashionables when it was proposed to throw it open to general traffic! Now the waggons and cabs trundle through the sacred precinct, and one hardly credits the fact that it was so lately a gloomy and deserted inclosure. Here lived the old Chancellor Eldon, who, for so august a personage, was plagued in a most amusing way during the Queen’s Trial. The Government had agreed to find her a town house in default of a palace, and her friends maliciously selected one in Hamilton Place, next door to the Chancellor. The horror and anguish of the old gentleman may be conceived, since the noble lady was always attended home by shouting mobs, and appeared at the windows while her friend, Alderman Wood, made speeches. He wrote to the Government to say that if this was allowed he would be driven from his house and his office at the same time. The Government gave directions accordingly; but the Queen’s friends seemed to be bent on his annoyance, and proposed a subscription to purchase that house and no other. The poor Chancellor had actually to buy it, as the only way to save himself from persecution, though he was lucky enough to re-sell it again without loss.