SIR,--I am a private gentleman, who keeps a carriage, or rather, a
four-horse coach, in which I am continually driving about all over London
at full speed. We dash at such a rate over those portions of the Metropolis
that are blessed with a wood pavement that my coachman is frequently
summoned for furious driving, but we have never yet had a horse down. No
sooner, however, do we get to the asphalte than all this is changed.
Leaders and wheelers alike are instantly on their backs, and I have now
made it a rule, the moment we come to a street paved with this dangerous
and detestable composition, to put my horses inside the coach, and, with
the assistance of a policeman or two, drag the vehicle to the other end
myself. Only yesterday, I think it was, on the north side of Leicester
Square, I counted as many as nineteen ugly falls in as many minutes,
necessitating, in nearly every case, the despatch of the creature on the
spot by a shot from a revolver. The fact is, the laying of _asphalte_
anywhere should be made criminal in a Vestry. I write impartially on this
subject, as, beyond being a sleeping partner in a large firm of Wooden
Road-Paving Contractors, I have no sort of interest to serve, one way or
the other. But it must be obvious, from the account I have given of my own
personal experience above, that in addressing you on the subject, I am
actuated by no motives that are not consistent with and fitting to the
signature of