lurking there unseen.  It was thought to be
an exaggeration when the sanitary reformers
used to aver that there lies stagnant under
London as much filth as would make a lake
six feet in depth, a mile long, and a thousand
feet across.  We begin to believe that this
calculation was very much indeed under the
truth.

Wild Court, as we said at the time, did
not by any means impress us as the most
squalid or the filthiest place we knew in the
metropolis.  It was indeed far from that, and
it was tenanted by people, certainly poor,
but by a whole grade more prosperous than
they are commonly to be found in Rotherhithe
or Bethnal Green.  And here, though there
were only thirteen houses, all calculation was
defeated by the filth that was found under
them.  The active business of conversion was
begun in February; and from February to
April, the carting away of corrupt matter
was the main process; actually more time
being consumed in that work than in the whole
business of reconstruction by bricklayers,
carpenters, plumbers, and other workmen.
We are inclined to turn with loathing from
the details that we must express—for very
shame's sake—with the utmost brevity.
There were more cesspools than houses,
sixteen cesspools to the thirteen houses,
each or some of them sixteen feet deep
and about five feet square.  Out of these,
before they were filled up and obliterated,
there had to be taken one hundred and
fifty loads, all be it remembered lying
under thirteen houses; and that was but a
fraction of the evil; for, in addition to
that, from under the same thirteen houses,
there were removed three hundred and thirty
cart-loads of accumulated filth, animal and
vegetable, collected in the basements and
elsewhere, including vermin.  The vermin
lay hidden in crusts five and six inches
thick, comprising, according to a fair and
sober estimate made by an eye-witness and
superintendent, a ton of bugs.

If all calculation is exceeded in this way, by
the discoveries made on excavation under
only thirteen houses in a court of scarcely
more than average filthiness, who dares to
reflect upon the whole mass of abominations
that lies at the roots of London!

In Wild Court, as it used to be, there lived
two hundred families, numbering in all—
apart from the unlicensed crowd that nestled
at night on its staircases—a thousand people.
In Wild Court as it is to be—omitting the
house or two at one end, which the society
has not yet been able to obtain—there will
be accommodation for a hundred families, or
between three and four hundred people in a
hundred and eight rooms.  Already eighty-
three families are in occupation of ninety-two
well ventilated, decently appointed rooms.
Twenty-two were tenants of the court in its
days of filth, who abide by it in its days of
decency; the rest are new-comers. They submit
to a few simple rules for the preservation of
wholesomeness, which forms part of their
contract with the society.  They are, as weekly
tenants, to pay their rents every Monday
morning, and with exemplary punctuality
they do it.  After two or three months'
working, the arrears due from the eighty
families are not found to amount to fourteen
shillings, and even that does not represent
loss, but very recent debts, that will be
wiped out in a week or two.

The cost of reconstruction has exceeded
the original estimate.  The vast accumulation
of filth was not only a source of expense for
quicklime and disinfectants, but it had
rotted the foundations of the houses to
an extent which made it sometimes necessary
that they should be strengthened by
new masonry.  The lower walls are still
impregnated with a foul moisture; and it is
impossible until next year to convert the
basement storeys into airy and well-lighted
workshops for such tenants overhead as
may require them.  But, notwithstanding
the defeat of previous calculation in this
manner, experience thus far goes to show
that the profit realised upon the outlay
incurred by transforming foul dens into
wholesome dwellings, will not in this case
fall short of twelve per cent., the rents being
rather below than above those paid (or left
owing) formerly.

The transformation, we were glad to find
on visiting the premises, has been effected in
the wisest way.  Nothing has been done for
mere effect, with a view to the creation of a
show place.  A large water-tank at the top
of each house supplies the tap and the
water-closet.  Upon the little gallery attached to
each floor of each house there is not only
the tap over its own drain, for water
supply, and perfectly distinct from that of
the water-closet, but there is also a shoot
by which all dust and refuse may be
poured into a covered bin below, and
enough of surrounding railing to be used by
the people of that floor, for the drying of
such little stocks of linen as they wash for
themselves in a place appointed for the
purpose.  These railings, and the back yard
common to all, form a sufficient drying-
ground, and supersede the use of the drying-
poles which are thrust out of window, and,
when duly festooned, obstruct what circulation
of air might otherwise be possible in
most of our close London courts.

The internal arrangement of these houses
is very simple.  Most of the rooms are of
good size and height, and as the majority
of those people who inhabit places of this kind
can afford the rent of one room only, wooden
partitions, not reaching entirely to the ceiling
—put up, without any additional charge, to
the tenant—shut off a space on one side of
every large room so occupied.  A decent
arrangement for the sleeping accommodation
of the family is thus made possible.  Single