Great Queen Street -- Former fashionable Houses there -- Lewis and Miss Pope, the Comedians -- Martin Folkes -- Sir Godfrey Kneller and his Vanity -- Dr. Radcliffe -- Lord Herbert of Cherbury -- Nuisance of Whetstone Park -- The Three Dukes and the Beadle -- Rogues and Vagabonds in the Time of Charles II -- Former Theatres in Vere Street and Portugal Street -- First appearance of Actresses -- Infamous deception of one of them by the Earl of Oxford -- Appearance of an avowed Impostor on the Stage -- Anecdotes of the Wits and fine Ladies of the Time of Charles, connected with the Theatre in this Quarter -- Kynaston, Betterton, Nokes, Mrs. Barry, Mrs. Mountford, and other Performers -- Rich -- Joe Miller -- Carey Street and Mrs. Chapone -- Clare Market -- History, and Specimens, of Orator Henley -- Duke Street and Little Wild Street -- Anecdotes of Dr. Franklin's Residence in those Streets while a Journeyman Printer. Great Queen Street, in the time of the Stuarts, was one of the grandest and most fashionable parts of the town. The famous Lord Herbert of Cherbury died there. Lord Bristol had a house in it, Lord Chancellor Finch, and the Conway and Paulet families. Some of the houses towards the west retain pilasters and other ornaments, probably indicating, as Pennant observes, the abodes in question. Little thought the noble lords that a time would come, when a player should occupy their rooms, and be able to entertain their descendants in them; but in a house of this description, lately occupied by Messrs. Allman the booksellers, died Lewis, the comedian, one of the most delightful performers of his class, and famous to the last for his invincible airiness and juvenility. Mr. Lewis displayed a combination rarely to be found in acting, that of the fop and the real gentleman. With a voice, a manner, and a person, all equally graceful and light, and features at once whimsical and genteel, he played on the top of his profession like a plume. He was the Mercutio of the age, in every sense of the word mercurial. His airy, breathless voice, thrown to the audience before he appeared, was the signal of his winged animal spirits; and when he gave a glance of his eye, or touched his finger at another's ribs, it was the very _punctum saliens_ of playfulness and inuendo. We saw him take leave of the public, a man of sixty-five, looking not more than half the age, in the character of the Copper Captain; and heard him say, in a voice broken by emotion, that "for the space of thirty years, he had not once incurred their displeasure."