Opposite to the Bun House stood Stromboli House and gardens, a minor place of recreation, at its height about 1788; on the site of St. Barnabas’ College stood the Orange tavern and tea-gardens. Here was a private theatre, at which the local genii of the sock and buskin performed to their admiring neighbours; and at the junction of Grosvenor Row and Ebury Street stood an old inn, a relic of the Republicans in the neighbourhood, and which bore one of the peculiar and enthusiastic appellations of that period—_God encompasseth us_. This was corrupted into “The Goat and Compasses,” an absurd and unmeaning sign, but the modern inn is now called simply “The Compasses.” RANELAGH GROVE AND TERRACE is so named from the celebrated place of amusement of our ancestors; but is in the parish of Chelsea, and therefore not within our design. At No. 2, Ranelagh Terrace, died the Rev. Thomas Pennington, nephew of the celebrated Elizabeth Carter. He was author of two works of foreign travel, and also of “Memoirs of the Grand Dukes of the House of Medici.” He died December 21st, 1852, in his 92nd year. UPPER EBURY STREET.—Part only of this street is within the district of St. Paul’s; in it died Rodwell, the composer, and William Skelton, a celebrated engraver. Skelton’s productions are numerous, and extend over a lengthened period, among them a series of portraits of the reigning family from George III. to our present Queen. He died here, August 13th, 1848, in his 86th year, and was buried in Brompton Cemetery. Several places of public entertainment were in the neighbourhood of Ebury Street, the chief of which were “The Star and Garter” and “The Dwarf;” both were in their heyday about 1760; and notices of them were frequent in the papers of the time. “The Cherokee Chiefs,” objects of wonder in 1760, and alluded to in Goldsmith’s “Citizen of the World,” were frequently to be seen here. “The Star and Garter” stood near to the end of Burton Street, “The Dwarf” on the site of the factory in Elizabeth Street. There were besides these, places of minor resort, mere tea-gardens. “To drink tea at Pimlico” became proverbial in the last century. Here came from the close streets, to inhale the purer air of the fields, hundreds of the working-classes; more especially on the Sunday they poured forth, old and young, married and single. Gay says of the spring-time— “Then Chelsea’s meads o’erhear perfidious vows, And the press’d grass defrauds the grazing cows.” One of these places was attached to the house now numbered 75.