‘But what happened when the war ceased, and the general peace was concluded?’ said Lyttleton, chuckling. ‘To show how ill some of the companies manage their affairs, I could cite some laughable cases. When the combination commenced, some of them forgot to stop off their mains, and supplied water to customers whom they had previously turned over to their quondam rivals; so that one company gave the water, and the other pocketed the rent. This, in some instances, went on for years.’ Here the subject branched off into other topics. It is worthy of notice that the conversation was carried on by the side of the enormous Cornish engine, that was driving 4400 gallons per minute 218 feet high. ‘It is marvellous,’ I remarked, ‘that so much power can be exercised with so little noise and vibration.’ ‘That’s owing to the patent valves in the pump,’ said the stoker. Taking a last look at the monster, we went outside to view the stand-pipe. Being, we were told, 218 feet high, it tops the Monument in Fish Street-hill by 16 feet. Within it is performed the last stroke of hydraulic art which is needed; for nature does the rest. The water, sent up through the middle or thickest of the tubes, falls over into the open mouths of the smaller ones—(which most people mistake for supports)—descends through all four at once into the conduit-pipe, and travels of its own accord leisurely to London. In obedience to the law of levels, it rises without further trouble to the tops of the tallest houses on the highest spots in the Company’s district. In its way it fills a large reservoir on Camden-hill. The iron conduit-pipe ends at Poland street, Oxford street, and is 7½ miles long. Our inspection was now terminated. We took a parting glass of water with our intelligent and communicative hosts, and returned to town. I firmly believe that the success of Lyttleton’s speech at the great meeting next day, was very much owing to this visit. The room was crowded in every part. His tone was moderate. He avoided the extravagant exaggerations of the more fiery order of water spouters. Neither was he too tame; he was not—as Moore said of a tory orator—like an ‘awkward thing of wood Which up and down its clumsy arm doth move; And only spout, and spout, and spout away, In one weak, washy, everlasting flood,’ but he came out capitally in the hard, argumentative style. His oration bristled with logic and statistics to a degree of which I cannot pretend to give the faintest notion.