e for the citizens when the day's work was done.

The parish of St. George, Bloomsbury, which lies westward of St. George
the Martyr, is considerably larger than its neighbour. The derivation of
this name is generally supposed to be a corruption of Blemund's Fee,
from one William de Blemund, who was Lord of the Manor in Henry VI.'s
reign. Stow and others have written the word "Loomsbury," or
"Lomesbury," but this seems to be due to careless orthography, and not
to indicate any ancient rendering.

The earliest holder of the manor of whom we have any record is the De
Blemund mentioned above. There are intermediate links missing at a later
date, but with the possession of the Southampton family in the very
beginning of the seventeenth century the history becomes clear again. In
1668 the manor passed into the hands of the Bedfords by marriage with
the heiress of the Southamptons. This family also held St. Giles's,
which, it will be remembered, was originally also part of the Prebendary
of St. Paul's.

The Royal Mews was established at Bloomsbury (Lomesbury) from very early
times to 1537, when it was burnt down and the mews removed to the site
of the present National Gallery (see _The Strand_, same series).

The parish is largely composed of squares, containing three large and
two small ones, from which nearly all the streets radiate. The British
Museum forms an imposing block in the centre. This is on the site of
Montague House, built for the first Baron Montague, and burnt to the
ground in 1686. It was rebuilt again in great magnificence, with painted
ceilings, according to the taste of the time, and Lord Montague, then
Duke of Montague, died in it in 1709. The house and gardens occupied
seven acres. The son and heir of the first Duke built for himself a
mansion at Whitehall (see _Westminster_, same series, p. 83), and
Montague House was taken down in 1845, when the present buildings of the
Museum were raised in its stead.

The Museum has rather a curious history. Like many of our national
institutions, it was the result of chance, and not of a detailed scheme.
In 1753 Sir Hans Sloane, whose name is associated so strongly with
Chelsea, died, and left a splendid collection comprising "books,
drawings, manuscripts, prints, medals, seals, cameos, precious stones,
rare vessels, mathematical instruments, and pictures," which had cost
him something like L50,000. By his will Parliament was to have the first
refusal of this c