“Where the old rotten summer-houses once had stood, palaces now reared their heads, and granite columns of gigantic girth opened a vista to the railway world beyond. The miserable waste ground, where the refuse matter had been heaped of yore, was swallowed up and gone, and in its frowzy stead were tiers of warehouses, crammed with rich goods and costly merchandise. The old bye-streets now swarmed with passengers and vehicles of every kind: the new streets that had stopped disheartened in the mud and waggon-ruts, formed towns within themselves, originating wholesome comforts and conveniences belonging to themselves, and never tried nor thought of until they sprung into existence.” Miss Lucretia Tox had apartments at _Princess Place_, an address not included in the London Directory; and _Major Bagstock_ also had chambers in the immediate vicinity, a genteel but somewhat inconvenient neighbourhood. Miss Tox’s residence is described as “A dark little house, that had been squeezed at some remote period of English history into a fashionable neighbourhood at the west end of the town, where it stood in the shade, like a poor relation of the great street round the corner, coldly looked down upon by mighty mansions. It was not exactly in a court, and it was not exactly in a yard, but it was in the dullest of No-Thoroughfares, rendered anxious and haggard by double knocks. . . . There is a smack of stabling in the air of Princess Place, and Miss Tox’s bedroom (which was at the back) commanded a vista of mews, where hostlers, at whatever sort of work engaged, were continually accompanying themselves with effervescent noises, and where the most domestic and confidential garments of coachmen and their wives and families usually hung like Macbeth’s banners on the outer walls.” Mrs. MacStinger presided at _No. 9 Brig Place_, finding accommodation for _Captain Cuttle_ as her first floor lodger, previous to the time of his hurried and secret removal to the quarters of _The Wooden Midshipman_. We read that the house was situated “On the brink of a little canal near the India Docks, where the air was perfumed with chips, and all other trades were swallowed up in mast, oar, and block making, and boat building. Then the ground grew marshy and unsettled. Then there was nothing to be smelt but rum and sugar. Then Captain Cuttle’s lodgings, at once a first floor and a top storey, in Brig Place, were close before you.” DAVID COPPERFIELD.