views, and none of them could tell me whither
their poorer neighbours had fled. " They get
in where they can," was the uniform answer,
and there can be no doubt that the
immediate result of such raids as I describe is
an increase in overcrowding and its attendant
evils, which is a bitter mockery upon
philanthropic effort and sanitary knowledge. But
some of my friends say, given defective drainage,
an inadequate water-supply, no ventilation
to speak of, rotting houses, and cramped rooms,
and what so plausible as a proposition for
rasing them to the ground? Away with them,
by all means. Let us have, in their place,
wholesome dwellings, wide streets, and a
thorough observance of the laws of decency and
health. But, in the mean time, let us be just.
The horde of workers who were born with
these surroundings, and who are, perhaps, in their
way, as useful citizens as either you or I, have
a claim to consideration. They have, at least,
a right to live; and before we give power to a
company to destroy their houses, we should
be satisfied that adequate compensation will
be made. " Bad plan coddling people, or
interfering with the natural laws of supply and
demand," says my friend Calicum. " Would
you interfere with the rights of property, or
interfere with public enterprise?" echoes Statis,
horrified. " A nuisance to us, and a nuisance to
themselves, and they're a class o' people with
which I've no sympathy; a good riddance out
o' this parish," says that eminent guardian of
the poor, Mr. Beadel. Granted, gentlemen—
granted. You have each a modicum of truth
on your side, and if we could only recast human
nature on your own private models, and create
a world on sound utilitarian principles, it
would doubtless be brighter, wiser, and better,
than anything we can hope for from the imperfect
materials at our hand. The difficulty is,
that we have to deal with facts and people as
they are, not as you, in your wisdom, think
they ought to be; and as long as this is so, we
must look for murmuring and dissatisfaction
when natural interests are disregarded or
trampled on, and the livelihood of thousands
thrown away. What cares Stubbs, the
costermonger, that London is to be beautified or its
commerce extended, if he be turned out of his
room and refused permission to sell his
goods ? Tell him that he shall have cheap fares
and a model village to retire to, night and
morning, and he'll laugh in your face. This,
the favourite panacea of some philanthropists,
is so singularly unsound in principle as to call
for a special word of reprobation. A colony of
small houses, with happy and virtuous workmen
coming into London each morning by train,
and going peacefully home when labour is over
at night— a model community, all trim, and
bright, and regular, where discipline shall be
perfect, and vice known only to be shunned—
such is the dream of many a well-intentioned
and benevolent gentleman. The wretchedness
of the hovels into which families are packed to
slowly die is a plea for their summary removal—
sleeping in pure country air is beneficial and
health-inspiring, space is increasingly valuable
for building purposes— these are the undeniable
truisms which are woven together to compel
people to be happy in a different fashion to the
one they choose for themselves. But, as we
have seen, both workman and employer of
labour often decline to listen to the voice of the
charmer. The one maintains that he wants to
live near his work, and the other admits that,
where skill is equal, preference would always be
given to the man residing on the spot. Some,
indeed, take a much sterner view. My red-faced
friend Mr. Typer, of Clerkenwell, for instance,
who is a warden of his City company, and has a
fine dash of absolutism in his character, vows
he'd turn a man off who couldn't stay over-hours
on emergency. " A pretty thing, indeed," said
that eminent convivialist, turning to me fiercely
as if I were a railway company, "with yer
mornin' trains and ycr evenin' trains, and yer
seasin tickets, and yer fal-fals, but how am I
to carry on my business, with jobs comin' in
on a sudden which must be finished in a hurry,
and the hands spread about Lord knows where?"'
Nor were Mr. Typer's men backward in
supporting the view of that master-mind, and in
corroborating what I had heard at King's-
cross. " You see, sir," said an open-faced grey-
haired man of fifty, " I've worked here, man
and boy, for thirty-five years, and I lived in the
parish the whole of that time. It wouldn't be
natural to me to go out o' town, unless it were
a holiday, like, and I've just to put up with one
room in Pig-court, where I'd formerly two for
the same rent." This is the flagrant evil.
The accommodation has deteriorated and is
deteriorating frightfully, while its cost increases
in an inverse ratio. Moreover, as long as such
opinions as I have quoted prevail, we have no
more right to insist that those holding them
shall live in the country than to decree how
they shall dress their children or cut their hair.
The difficulty is not to be bolted as if it were a
sugar-plum, and it behoves us all to see whether
the law be not sufficiently comprehensive to
prevent the bitter hardships complained of.

We now pass from King's-cross and Clerkenwell
to stately Kensington.

From one end of it to the other there is not
a house to let which is suitable for a working
man. No small houses have been built in
Kensington for many years, and rents have increased
so materially, that for two small rooms, which
were formerly let for four shillings a week, five
shillings and sixpence is now paid. Yet in one
portion of Kensington alone, two hundred and
sixty families have notice to quit, and will be
turned out in some four months from now.
The Kensington Improvement Bill has marked
eighty houses for demolition, nearly the whole
of which arc occupied by tenants to whom a
week's notice to quit is held to be sufficient.
The householders have six months' notice, and
this was given in March last. Among the latter
the cases of individual hardship arc both
numerous and heavy. Take that small grocery