In these mazes of alleys, courts, or “rents” the people were for the most part closely packed. Overcrowding had been the rule since the Elizabethan proclamation of 1580, and it seems to have become worse under the Stuarts. On February 24, 1623, certain householders of Chancery Lane were indicted at the Middlesex Sessions for subletting, “to the great danger of infectious disease, with plague and other diseases.” In May, 1637, one house was found to contain eleven married couples and fifteen single persons; another house harboured eighteen lodgers. In the most crowded parishes the houses had no sufficient curtilage, standing as they did in alleys and courts. When we begin to have some sanitary information long after, it appears that their vaults, or privies, were indoors, at the foot of the common stair[151]. In 1710, Swift’s lodging in Bury Street, St James’s, for which he paid eight shillings a week (“plaguy deep” he thought), had a “thousand stinks in it,” so that he left it after three months. The House of Commons appears to have been ill reputed for smells, which were specially remembered in connexion with the hot summer of the great fever-year 1685[152]. The newer parts of London were built over cesspools, which were probably more dangerous than the visible nuisances of the streets satirized by Swift and Gay. There were also the “intramural” graveyards; of one of these, the Green Ground, Portugal Street, it was said by Walker, as late as 1839; “The effluvia from this ground are so offensive that persons living in the back of Clement’s Lane are compelled to keep their windows closed.” But that which helped most of all to make a foul atmosphere in the houses of the working class, an atmosphere in which the contagion of fever could thrive, was the window-tax. It is hardly possible that those who devised it can have foreseen how detrimental it would be to the public health; it took nearly a century to realize the simple truth that it was in effect a tax upon light and air. The Window-Tax.