The mean annual deaths were never higher in London, not even in plague times over a series of years, the fever deaths keeping pace with the mortality from all causes, and, in the great epidemic of typhus in 1741, making about a fourth part of the whole. The populace lived in a bad atmosphere, physical and moral. As Arbuthnot said in 1733, they “breathed their own steams”; and he works out the following curious sum: “The perspiration of a man is about 1/34 of an inch in 24 hours, consequently one inch in 34 days. The surface of the skin of a middle-sized man is about 15 square feet; consequently the surface of the skin of 2904 such men would cover an acre of ground, and the perspir’d matter would cover an acre of ground 1 inch deep in 34 days, which, rarefi’d into air, would make over that acre an atmosphere of the steams of their bodies near 71 foot high.” This, he explains, would turn pestiferous unless carried away by the wind; “from whence it may be inferred that the very first consideration in building of cities is to make them open, airy, and well perflated[146].” In the growth of London from a medieval walled city of some forty or sixty thousand inhabitants to the “great wen” of Cobbett’s time, these considerations had been little attended to so far as concerned the quarters of the populace. The Liberties of the City and the out-parishes were covered with aggregates of houses all on the same plan, or rather want of plan. In the medieval period the extramural population built rude shelters against the town walls or in the fosse, if it were dry, or along the side of the ditch. The same process of squatting at length extended farther afield, with more regular building along the sides of the great highways leading from the gates. Queen Elizabeth’s proclamation of 1580 was designed to check the growth of London after this irregular fashion; but as neither the original edict nor the numerous copies of it, reissued for near a hundred years, made any provision for an orderly expansion of the capital, these prohibitions had merely the effect of adding to the hugger-mugger of building, “in odd corners and over stables.” The outparishes were covered with houses and tenements of all kinds, to which access was got by an endless maze of narrow passages or alleys; regular streets were few in them, and it would appear from the account given by John Stow in 1598 of the parish of Whitechapel that even the old country highway, one of the great roads into Essex and the eastern counties, had been “pestered[147].” The “pestering” of the field lanes in the suburban parishes with poor cottages is Stow’s frequent theme[148]. The borough of Southwark, as part of the City, may have been better than most: “Then from the Bridge straight towards the south a continual street called Long Southwark, built on both sides with divers lanes and alleys up to St