In the reign of Edward III. the Strand was an open country road, with a mansion here and there, on the banks of the river Thames, most probably a castle or stronghold. In this state it no doubt remained during the greater part of the York and Lancaster period. From Henry VII.'s time the castles most likely began to be exchanged for mansions of a more peaceful character. These gradually increased; and in the reign of Edward VI. the Strand consisted, on the south side, of a line of mansions with garden walls; and on the north, of a single row of houses, behind which all was field. The reader is to imagine wall all the way from Temple Bar to Whitehall, on his left hand, like that of Kew Palace, or a succession of Burlington Gardens; while the line of humbler habitations stood on the other side, like a row of servants in waiting. As wealth increased, not only the importance of rank diminished, and the nobles were more content to recollect James's advice of living in the country (where, he said, they looked like ships in a river, instead of ships at sea), but the value of ground about London, especially on the river side, was so much augmented, that the proprietors of these princely mansions were not unwilling to turn the premises into money. The civil wars had given another jar to the stability of their abodes in the metropolis; and in Charles the Second's time the great houses finally gave way, and were exchanged for streets and wharfs. An agreeable poet of the last century lets us know that he used to think of this great change in going up the Strand. "Come, Fortescue, sincere, experienc'd friend, Thy briefs, thy deeds, and e'en thy fees suspend; Come, let us leave the Temple's silent walls; Me, business to my distant lodging calls; Through the long Strand together let us stray; With thee conversing, I forget the way. Behold that narrow street which steep descends, Whose building to the slimy shore extends; Here Arundel's fam'd structure rear'd its fame: The street alone retains the empty name. Where Titian's glowing paint the canvass warmed, And Raphael's fair design with judgment charmed, Now hangs the bellman's song; and pasted here The coloured prints of Overton appear. Where statues breathed, the works of Phidias' hands, A wooden pump, or lonely watch-house stands. There Essex's stately pile adorned the shore, There Cecil's, Bedford's, Villiers',--now no more."[127] As the aspect in this quarter is so different from what it was, and the quarter is one of the most important in the metropolis, we may add what Pennant has written on the subject:--