noise became more intense in proportion as the certainty of being deprived of them became greater.  It was proved to the satisfaction of all rational men, if Mr Macadam’s experiment succeeded, and a level surface were furnished to the streets, that, besides noise, many other disadvantages of the rougher mode of paving would be avoided.  Among these the most prominent was slipperiness; and it was impossible to be denied, that at many seasons of the year, not only in frost, when every terrestrial pathway must be unsafe; but in the dry months of summer, the smooth surfaces of the blocks of granite, polished and rounded by so many wheels, were each like a convex mass of ice, and caused unnumbered falls to the less adroit of the equestrian portion of the king’s subjects.  One of the most zealous advocates of the improvement was the present Sir Peter Laurie, not then elevated to a seat among the Equites, but imbued probably with a foreknowledge of his knighthood, and therefore anxious for the safety of his horse.  Sir Peter was determined, in all senses of the word, to leave no stone unturned; and a very small mind, when directed to one object with all its force, has more effect than a large mind unactuated by the same zeal—­as a needle takes a sharper point than a sword.  Thanks, therefore, are due, in a great measure, to the activity and eloquence of the worthy alderman for the introduction of Macadam’s system of road-making into the city.

Many evils were certainly got rid of by this alteration—­the jolting motion from stone to stone—­the slipperiness and unevenness of the road—­and the chance, in case of an accident, of contesting the hardness of your skull with a mass of stone, which seemed as if it were made on purpose for knocking out people’s brains.  For some time contentment sat smiling over the city.  But, as “man never is, but always to be, blest,” perfect happiness appeared not to be secured even by Macadam.  Ruts began to be formed—­rain fell, and mud was generated at a prodigious rate; repairs were needed, and the road for a while was rough and almost impassable.  Then it was found out that the change had only led to a different kind of noise, instead of destroying it altogether; and the perpetual grinding of wheels, sawing their way through the loose stones at the top, or ploughing through the wet foundation, was hardly an improvement on the music arising from the jolts and jerks along the causeway.  Men’s minds got confused in the immensity of the uproar, and deafness became epidemic.  In winter, the surface of Macadam formed a series of little lakes, resembling on a small scale those of Canada; in summer, it formed a Sahara of dust, prodigiously like the great desert.  Acres of the finest alluvial clay floated past the shops in autumn; in spring, clouds of the finest sand were wafted among the goods, and penetrated to every drawer and wareroom.  And high over all, throughout all the main highways of commerce—­the Strand—­Fleet Street—­Oxford Street—­Holborn—­raged a storm of sound, that made conversation a matter of extreme difficulty without such stentorian an effort as no ordinary lungs could make.  As the inhabitants of Abdera went about sighing from morning to night, “Love! love!” so the persecuted dwellers in the great thoroughfares wished incessantly for cleanliness! smoothness! silence!