When a young man inherits an estate, which I think him not qualified to spend with decency, it is my custom to creep into his favour, and lay before him a plan of a new house; the architects immediately hear that he is a lover of building, flatter his taste, and honour his magnificence; down goes the Gothic seat of his ancestors, and a new house, with a noble salon,3 is raised upon its ruins; the owner puts his estate into the hands of his steward, and retires to Boulogne, till his creditors are paid.

This had so often happened, that the name of Tom Stucco became formidable, and ruin was predicted to all that received me at their tables. I found all sport with private purses at ana end, and had recourse to bodies politic: I was the first projector of the mansion house, and the original proposer of the bridge at Black Friars.4 Having been thus successful in new edifices, I was now to consider what buildings could be spared, and immediately cast my eyes upon the gates of the city. It was natural to suppose, that the Londoners would not easily throw down the ancient boundaries of their jurisdiction, and deface the venerable monuments of their ancestors raised with strength and solidity which disdained ornament, and which well represented the rough grandeur of men that had more magnanimity than elegance.

To overpower these prejudices, I framed a long memorial of evils that were never felt, and of advantages that never will be found. I told how at every gate, meeting carriages were overturned in the conflict, and the king’s good subjects crushed under them; and filled the town with accounts of lives lost and limbs broken, though I believe that twenty pounds a year would more than compensate all the delays and mischiefs suffered at all the gates. I clamoured again and again, that the life of London was trade; and that trade could never flourish where it was obstructed; that they should open their entrances to all comers, and plenty would pour in at every corner.

All this may form a sufficient burthen for credulity, yet I ventured still further: I lamented that the cathedral5 was placed where it could not be seen, and remarked, that the downfal of Ludgate would open a full view of it to Fleet-street. The citizens, having no great skill in optics, did not know that they could not see along a curve, but fell furiously upon Ludgate; I said nothing, but let them work on, in hope of a prospect, which, with all their toil, they have not obtained.6

Having thus told you what I have already done; I shall proceed, in my next letter, to tell you what I design.

I am, &c.