prosperity and progress is surpassed by few cities
in the empire. It was here that Baskerville
perfected his type-casting, and published those
' magnificent editions' which 'went forth to
astonish all the librarians of Europe.' It was
here that Mr. Priestley made those discoveries
which earned for him ' the title of the founder
of pneumatic chemistry.' Here James Watt
perfected the steam engine, which is, says Mr.
Smiles, 'without exception, the greatest invention
of modern times,' and which has been
instrumental in effecting the most remarkable
revolution in all departments of industry that
the world has ever seen. Here that captain of
industry, Matthew Boulton, pursued his
wonderful career, and gave the Birmingham
manufactures the world-wide reputation which they
have ever since retained. For, ' great as the
genius and invaluable as the inventions of
James Watt were, they would have been wasted
but for the indomitable energy, the untiring
hopefulness, and the commercial genius of
Matthew Boulton. While the timid and invalid
inventor would have failed, and have left his
great discoveries to be revived when he had
long departed, Matthew Boulton gave exactly
the element of commercial success. His refined
taste, his unbounded energy, his almost reckless
profusion, had made Soho famous even for its
minor manufactures; but when the steam
engine was added, its success was complete.'
Here William Murdoch invented lighting by
gas, and in 1802, in celebration of the peace of
Amiens, Soho was brilliantly illuminated by the
new power of light. Here, too, Thomas
Attwood and his compeers laboured until they
obtained the Reform Bill of 1832—a bill which,
whatever were its shortcomings, has had a
most important influence on those great
measures of legislation which have done so much
to ameliorate the condition and to elevate the
minds and aspirations of the people. And here,
too, David Cox produced those glorious pictures
which are the delight of all who have taste to
admire the beautiful in art. Birmingham has
indeed reason to be proud of the labours of her sons
—her own and those whom she has adopted."

Among whom may be classed the writer of
this very book, a self-made man, who has
obtained no small degree of local distinction, and
who has certainly produced a most interesting
and valuable work at the cost of immense pains,
industry, and deep research.

ARMOUR-PLATED HOUSES.

THERE are some individuals who are for ever
accusing themselves of faults. " I am the idlest
fellow in the world," some member of this
class will say; or " I am as proud as Lucifer."
"I am sadly impetuous," says another; "I
want patience; " I have a very hot temper,"
and the like. Self-accusations of this sort are
seldom entirely ruinous to the character, and
it is rare, indeed, to find a man who will say, " I
am a craven at heart," or, "I am naturally very
stingy and mean."

Now it is a curious fact that this self-
accusatory habit, into which so many individuals
among us fall, is possessed by us also to some
extent as a people. We English stand almost
alone among the nations of the earth in our
practice of habitual and liberal self-censure, or
in more vulgar language of " crying stinking
fish." We are always taking ourselves to task,
pointing out our own defects, calling upon all
men to observe them, and showing how much
better things are done in other countries. "Our
town is ill-administered," we say, as indeed, it
is; "we have no government;" " our cabs and
omnibuses are a disgrace to civilisation."

But of all the accusations which it is our
practice to bring against ourselves, the oftenest
repeated, and the most severe, are those with
which we charge ourselves in connexion with
the external aspect of the great town which
successive generations of Anglo-Saxons have
built on the banks of the Thames, and which we
are ever ready to call the biggest and the ugliest
in the world. In truth, we complain of our
capital very bitterly as inconvenient and mean-
looking, mismanaged as to its street-traffic,
hideous as to its public buildings, and above
all, signal for its dirt and sootiness. Concerning
any schemes for the improvement of its aesthetic
condition we are invariably despondent in the
last degree. When some new range of buildings,
some effort of a decorative kind, is in
contemplation, we talk of it quite hopelessly. " It is
no use," we say, " We can't do it; there will be
another fine site destroyed, another good
opportunity thrown away. And then the smoke
and dirt. If we were to succeed in building a
handsome street, the beauty of it would be
inevitably destroyed in a year or two by the
accumulation of soot and dirt, which would be
certain to gather on the surface of the houses."
Now with regard to some of these incentives to
despair, which afflict us when we venture to
consider the present state and future prospects
of London as regarded from an architectural
point of view, there is certainly much difficulty
in finding any reasonable ground for hope.
Uniformity of plan, common sense in construction,
originality in design, or even the power
of collating; of setting up an edifice, which
shall without originality be agreeable and
rational to the eye—these seem to be qualities
which we may hardly hope to obtain; but such
an attainment as a measure of increased
cleanliness, and some degree of freedom from the
tyranny of soot, it does seem not wholly
irrational or Utopian to hope for. It is such an
emancipation from the thraldom of smoke and
dust that we desire; and it is with the object
of proposing a method of defying these London
despots that the suggestion contained in this
short paper is now put forward.

It must have happened to most persons who
are in the habit of using their eyes, and of
speculating on what those organs reveal to
them, to observe how many advantages belong
to the use—in all cases in which they can, with
propriety, be structurally employed—of what
are called Dutch Tiles. Any one entering a