‘The blame belongs to the system,’ said the barrister. ‘Domestic reservoirs are not only an evil but an unnecessary expense. Besides filth, they cause waste and deficient supply: they should be abolished; for continuous supply is the real remedy. Let the pipes be always full, and the water would be always ready, always fresh, and could never acquire new impurities. Still, despite all you say, I am bound to conclude that although one-third of the water may arrive in the domestic cisterns of the metropolis in a pellucid state, the other two-thirds does not.’ Mr. L. then inscribed this calculation in his note book, whispering to me that his pet ‘dirty water point’ would come out even stronger than he had expected. We had now returned to one of the engine-rooms. ‘You have tasted the water before, I now present you with some of it after, filtration,’ said the chief engineer, handing us a tumbler. ‘This is exactly the condition in which we deliver it to our customers.’ It was clear to the eye, and to the taste innocuous; but Lyttleton (who I should mention, occasionally turns on powerful streams of oratory at Temperance meetings, and is a judge of the article,) complained that the liquid wanted ‘flavour.’ ‘In other words, then it wants _impurity_’ replied one of our cicerones with alacrity, ‘for perfectly pure water is quite tasteless. Indeed, water may be too pure. Distilled water which contains no salt, is insipid, and tends to indigestion. It is a wise provision of Nature, that waters should contain a greater or less quantity of foreign ingredients; for without these water is dangerous to drink. It never fails to take up from the atmosphere a certain proportion of carbonic acid gas, and when passing through lead pipes it imbibes enough carbonate of lead to constitute poison. Dr. Christison mentions several severe cases of lead (or painter’s) cholic, which arose chiefly in country houses to which water was supplied from springs through lead pipes. The most remarkable case was that at Claremont, where the ex-king of the French and several members of his family were nearly poisoned by pure spring water conveyed to the mansion through lead pipes. ‘Mercy!’ I exclaimed, with all the energy of despair that a mere water-drinker is capable of, ‘if river water be unwholesome, and pure water poison, what _is_ to become of every temperance pledgee?’ The Engineer relieved me: ‘All the Chemists,’ he stated, ‘have agreed that a water containing from eight to ten grains of sulphate of magnesia or soda, to the imperial gallon, is best suited for alimentary, lavatory, and other domestic purposes.’