was also apparent here. Every corner of a
garden contained its hut, well stocked with
dirty children. The house of one family was
a large yellow van upon wheels, thus raised
above high mud-mark. This was the neatest
dwelling I had observed. It had two red
painted street-doors, with bright brass
knockers, out of a tall man's reach, and
evidently never intended for knocking—the
entrance being by steps at the head of the
van; indeed, I suspect that these doors were
what the stage managers call "impracticable."
The interior appeared to be well furnished,
and divided into bed-room and sitting-room.
Altogether, it had a comfortable look, with its
chimney-pipe smoking on the top; and if I
were doomed to live in Agar Town, I should
certainly like lodgings in the yellow van.

As I proceeded, my way became more
perilous. The footpath, gradually narrowing,
merged at length in the bog of the road.
I hesitated; but, to turn back was almost as
dangerous as to go on. I thought, too, of the
possibility of my wandering through the
labyrinth of rows and crescents until I should
be benighted; and the idea of a night in Agar
Town, without a single lamp to guide my
footsteps, emboldened me to proceed. Plunging
at once into the mud, and hopping in the
manner of a kangaroo—so as not to allow myself
time to sink and disappear altogether—I found
myself, at length, once more in the King's
Road.

It is not my wish to inquire into the affairs
of the ground landlords, or to attempt to
guess at their reasons for allowing such a
miserable state of things to exist upon their
property. I have understood that the fee of
the estate is in the Ecclesiastical Commissioners,
and that the present owners hold it
only for a term of three lives; with a power
of leasing for periods not longer than twenty-one
years each. If this be the case, perhaps
no respectable tenant could be induced to
take the land for so short a term upon a
building lease. Yet, when it is considered
how much, it would have been for the benefit
of all parties that decent and comfortable
dwellings should have occupied the ground,
instead of the wretched huts to be found
there, it is much to be regretted that some
arrangement was not entered into for that
purpose. The place, in its present state, is a
disgrace to the metropolis. It has sprung up
in about ten years. Old haunts of dirt and
misery, suffered to exist in times when the
public paid no attention to such matters, are
difficult to deal with; but this is a new evil,
which only began to come into existence about
the time when Mr. Chadwick's Report first
brought before the public a picture of the
filthy homes and habits of the labouring classes,
and of the frightful amount of crime and
misery resulting therefrom.

In Agar Town we have, within a short walk
of the City—not a gas-light panorama of Irish
misery, "almost as good as being there," but
a perfect reproduction of one of the worst
towns in Ireland. The land is well situated—
being high for the most part—and therefore
capable of good drainage; and, although too
great a proximity to the cinder-heaps might
make it an objectionable site for a superior
class of dwellings, no spot could be better
adapted for the erection of small tenements
for labouring men and mechanics. It is
close to the terminus of one of the great
trunk railways, where a large number of
men—officers of the company and labourers—
are employed. There are, also, many large
manufactories in the neighbourhood. The
men employed in these places must reside
near their work, and are consequently
compelled to take any accommodation, however
miserable, which the neighbourhood may
afford, and at whatever cost. A respectable
mechanic told me that he paid for his hut a
rent of six shillings per week. This contained
two rooms only—upon the ground, for there
was no upper story. It appeared to have
hardly any foundation, the boards of the floor
being laid upon the earth, without a brick
between, to prevent the dampness oozing
through; a manner of building which has
been repeatedly pointed out, by the Sanitary
Commissioners, as productive of disease. The
place was altogether of the rudest and most
comfortless description, and could not, I was
assured, have cost more in the erection—built
as it was of old fragments of brick and plaster
—than forty pounds.

It was not by choice, but by necessity, that
this man lived in such a place. In various
parts, a certain air of cleanliness in a dwelling,
here and there, contrasting with the filthy
state of the street, gave evidence of other
inhabitants who had not been led by a mere
taste for filth and wretchedness to take up
their abode in Agar Town. These poor people
cannot help themselves; toiling early and
late, the Struggle to provide for the
ever-renewing wants of the day, exacts all their
time and energies. Who will help them?

A WORLD AT PEACE.

SHAPING the shadows of dim times to come,
   The thoughtful mind forecasts a scene of glory;
Blessings for all, no longer heap'd on some,
   Brighten the chapters of man's future story

The fiercer passions of the human breast
   Melt into love, and swell the tide of kindness;
Mercy descends, a warmly welcomed guest,
   To those who come once had spurn'd her in their
         blindness.

War is the fashion of a former age,
   Of which the scholar reads with solemn wonder;
And mutely pities, as he turns the pages,
   The madness that kept man and man asunder.

The weak dwell safely; right prevails o'er might;
   Law binds its subjects with a moral fetter:
All for some end of general good unite,
   And strive to make the world they live in,
          better.