If you will allow our tête-à-tête and projected conversation on the subject still to come off, I will write to you as soon as I see my way to the end of my month's work.—Always faithfully yours,
Charles Dickens.
Dr Southwood Smith.
I now turn to another subject. It was during these years that my grandfather conceived the idea that houses might be built from which fever could be banished even amongst the classes and in the districts in which up to that time disease had most fatally prevailed. If the experiment succeeded, and the amount of sickness and death were found to be markedly diminished, he felt that a very valuable practical illustration would be afforded of the truth of the principles he was advocating—of the law which connects bad sanitary conditions with disease. He also hoped it would be proved that money expended on the building of such dwellings would bring in a fair return of interest, so that it would be seen to be a wise as well as a benevolent expenditure of capital, and healthy dwellings might be multiplied.
To accomplish this purpose he gathered together the men who formed the original directors of "The Metropolitan Association for Improving the Dwellings of the Industrious Classes" in 1843.
As this was before the days of "limited liability," it was necessary to obtain through the Prime Minister a Royal Charter to secure those who should furnish money for the experiment against serious loss if it failed, and a deputation (who chose my grandfather as spokesman) waited on Sir Robert Peel on January 23, 1844, to ask him for this charter, which was eventually cordially granted.
The course the promoters took resulted in the building of the block of, so-called, "Model Dwellings" in Old St Pancras Road, on a site nearly opposite the Fever Hospital.
Thus a first step was taken towards providing healthy and cheap homes for the poor, and the results realised the fullest hopes of the originators.
In 1844 we removed from Kentish Town to our Highgate home. It was very beautifully situated, the slopes of the West Hill lying at the back, and the front looking over Caen Wood. When we went there, not even the present open park paling divided us from the park: there were only a few moss-grown and picturesque hurdles bordering the road between us and it, and our lane was as quiet as if it had been far in the real country. The life was, indeed, like that of the country, and full of pleasure to a child. We had cows; and my longed-for and much-enjoyed pony in the field; and chickens, and dogs, and a goat, and pigs; a perfect orchard of wonderful apple-trees, and a wealth of roses that I have never seen equalled. In the summer came hay-making of our own, and all this so near London that half an hour's drive of our fast horse Ariel took us to its centre. It was indeed inwardly and outwardly a beautiful home, and it is the one of my childhood which is fullest of recollections of my grandfather.