A humorous
writer of the day observes, that 'the rage for building fills every
pleasant outlet with bricks, mortar,rubbish,and eternal scaffold-poles,
which, whether you walk east, west, north, or south, seem to be running
after you. I heard a gentleman say, the other day, that he was sure a
resident of the suburbs could scarcely lie down after dinner, and take
a nap, without finding, when he awoke, that a new row of buildings had
started up since he closed his eyes. It is certainly astonishing: one
would think the builders used magic, or steam at least, and it would be
curious to ask those gentlemen in what part of the neighbouring counties
they intend London should end. Not content with separate streets,
squares, and rows, they are actually the founders of new towns, which in
the space of a few months become finished and inhabited. The precincts
of London have more the appearance of a newly-discovered colony than
~72~~the suburbs of an ancient city.{5} And what, sir, will be the
pleasant consequences of all this to posterity? Instead of having houses
built to encumber the earth for a century or two, it is ten to one but
they disencumber the mortgagee, by falling down with a terrible crash
during the first half life, and, perhaps, burying a host of persons in
their ruins.
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