Our Saxons ancestors, of dusky memory, seldom stepped from under the
smoke of Birmingham. We have a common observation among us, that even so
late as William the Third, the roads were in so dangerous a state, that
a man usually made his will, and took a formal fare-well of his friends,
before he durst venture upon a journey to London; which, perhaps, was
thought then, of as much consequence as a voyage to America now.

A dangerous road is unfavourable both to commerce and to friendship; a
man is unwilling to venture his neck to sell his productions, or even
visit his friend: if a dreadful road lies between them, it will be apt
to annihilate friendship.

Landed property in particular, improves with the road. If a farmer
cannot bring his produce to market, he cannot give much for his land,
neither can that land well be improved, or the market properly supplied.
Upon a well formed road, therefore, might, with propriety, be placed the
figures of commerce, of friendship, and of agriculture, as
presiding over it.

There are but very few observations necessary in forming a road, and
those few are very simple; to expel whatever is hurtful, and invite
whatever is beneficial.

The breaking up of a long frost, by loosening the foundations, is
injurious, and very heavy carriages ought to be prevented, 'till the
weather unites the disjointed particles, which will soon happen.

But the grand enemy is water; and as this will inevitably fall, every
means should be used to discharge it: drains ought to be frequent, that