In passing along Leadenhall Street there was a loud exclamation from a cherry-cheeked lactiferous damsel, commonly called a milk maid. We instantly pulled up, and it was discovered that a carpet bag and a great coat had been ejected from the rumble. This part of the carriage being pronounced insecure, from its violent vibratory motion, a different arrangement became necessary; and, when we started again, it appeared, by Mr. Drinkald's chronometer (an Earnshaw), that fifteen minutes had been lost in this operation: some of the party having a slight faith in augury, this little incident produced a temporary depression of spirits; but their fears were soon dispelled by a quick succession of new objects. At a quarter past seven we arrived at that place which many a man, in former days, has wished he had never seen-Tyburn. One hour more brought us to the Red Lion, at Southall we were at the Saracen's Head, at Beaconsfield, at fortythree minutes past nine; at the George, in West Wycomb, at fortyminutes past ten; at the Swan, at Tetsworth, at three minutes past twelve; and, at ten minutes past one, we stepped into the Star, at Oxford. We ordered a dejúné a la fourchette; and, calculating that we should reach Birmingham in good time, to sleep there, we loitered in Oxford till two, when we resumed our journey, leaving cards, en passant, at the house of Dr. Bandinell, the learned librarian of the Bodleian, who, as well as Dr. Bliss, had shewn great civility to Mr. Schultes, in the Spring, when he was searching the Ormond Papers, in that library, for Evidence in our Ecclesiastical suits. At forty-two minutes past two we got to Woodstock, and at eight minutes past four, to Chapel. House, where resides a very comely and obliging hostess, which half inclined us to dine there, only we were not hungry enough. Thirtytwo minutes past five brought us to the George, at Shipston, and we alighted to dine at the Lion, at Stratford-upon-Avon, at forty-two minutes past six. The eels of the Avon are reckoned the finest in the kingdom, although the Lincolnshire piscatory adage says, "Ankham eels, and Witham pike, We ordered some to be boiled, and some spitch-cocked, with the addition of lamb chops, and cold roast beef, and stretched our legs (which, as the old story goes, we had found quite long enough before) till dinner time. The gardener shewed us a thriving young mulberry tree, a graft from the old Shakspearean stock, which has afforded inexhaustible wood for cups and snuff-boxes, and will continue so to do as long as credulity exists. Dinner was now announced. I never could eat eels before, but these had no muddy taste, and were large, firm and delicious. The lamb chops would have been sweeter if they bad been dressed the day before, but, perhaps, less tender; the beef was exquisite, the beer execrable—the deuce take the public breweries! they have driven all the good, old fashioned, home brewed out of the country. What charming tipple I found here twenty years ago! The chronometer was now consulted, and it was fifty minutes past seven, when we made another start, and at twentyfive minutes past nine, the Lion, at Hockley-in-the-Hole, stared us in the face. In the next stage we were all "noddin, nid, nid, noddin,” til! the rattle of the pavement of Birmingham roused us, and we pulled up at the Royal Hotel, at forty minutes past ten, having travelled 122 miles in sixteen hours, ten minutes and eight seconds, including stoppages. What a fine thing it is to have a chronometer!! We had good beds here, and excellent accommodation of every kind; and the next morning, TUESDAY, 14th JUNE. we were in the carriage at twenty minutes past five, and reached Wolverhampton at thirty-four minutes past six. When the horses were put to, Mr. Noy and Mr. Schultes were missing, and, after waiting some time, we found they had strayed into the town, to buy each a trumpery knife, which they might have got in Houndsditch, for half the money. The very best locks in the world are made in this place. The next stage, to Shiffnal, runs through the great iron and coal works, for which this county is so renowned; and it would have been better to have passed it in the night, for, in many places, the eye can distinguish nothing but huge towers and furnaces, bellowing, and vomiting fire and smoke in all directions, and the countless steam engines, and immense masses of ignited coal, fill the whole atmosphere with murky and sulphureous vapour for miles around. Not a blade of grass is to be seen-all is sooty waste and desolation, and the whole place seems only fit for the habitation of infernals. This picture would, however, have been much more horrific, if we had seen it in the night, We sat down to breakfast at the Jerningham Arms, at Shiffnal, at four minutes past eight, and reached the Falcon, at Haygate, at half past nine. Passing the Ketley Iron works, beyond Watling Street, the Wrekin lifts his venerable and lofty head. When I first heard, many years ago, the toast of "all friends round the Wrekin," I imagined it to be a Scottish sentiment-" round the reekin," and I remained in this ignorance till I visited Shropshire, about the year 1808. Near the entrance into Shrewsbury there is a handsome column, erected to the memory of Lord Hill. We entered the Salopian capital at a quarter before eleven, and Mr. Drinkald and I indulged ourselves with some soda-water and lemon, for the day was oppressively hot, while Mr. Schultes, accompanied by Mr. Noy, went into the town, to execute a little commission at the confectioner's, which, I have good reason to know, he fulfilled with great punctuality and liberality. "And here each season do those cakes abide, "Whose honoured name the inventive city own, Rendering thro' Britain's isle Salopia's praises known, "Ah! midst the rest, may flowers adorn his grave, "Whose art did first these dulcet cakes display; "A motive fair to learning's imps he gave, "Till reason's morn arise and light them on their way." I have quoted these lines from the simple strain of Shenstone, lest the untravelled reader should be at a loss to know the nature of this commission. We stayed here nearly half an hour. The surrounding country is rich and picturesque, and is adorned by many gentlemens' seats. To the left, beyond Nesscliffe, we had a good view of the Breidden Hill, upon which stands a pillar, in honor of Lord Rodney, and, from its great elevation, must be visible from many adjacent counties. We got to the Wynstay Arms, Oswestry, at one. Near this place we had a distinct view of a stupendous aqueduct, called Pont Cyssylte, which conveys the Ellesmere canal across the valley, near Chirk. It consists of nineteen arches, the central one being 116 feet in height, and resembles the famous one at Alcantara, which supplies Lisbon with water. Each arch is forty-five feet wide, and the entire length of the structure is 988 feet. A boat passed over at the time we were looking at it. It is the work of the celebrated engineer Mr. Telford. A little beyond Chirk is Chirk Castle, a large mansion, built on an eminence, and from which, it is said, you may see into fifteen counties; but these travelling tales are always to be received with caution. In approaching Llangollen (which is pronounced Langothlen) the road winds along the steep and woody banks of the Dee, and, in many places, is fenced from the precipice with rather slender materials-the idea of restive, or run-away horses, could not be contemplated without shuddering: nothing could save us, in case of a rush over the fragile fence, but the fate of Absalom, and modern crops render that next to an impossibility. The ill omen, the ejection of the bag in Leadenhall Street, however, produced no such disaster, and we proceeded in safety, defying augury, till we found ourselves at the sign of the Hand, in Llangollen, at twenty-five minutes past two. This romantic little place has been much improved since I visited it in 1808, by the removal of several low houses in front of the inn, opening a view of the river from the street; and every thing about the place appeared so delightful, that we resolved to dine here, and, during that time, to debate the propriety of proceeding further that afternoon. We requested our host to let us have some of the river-trout, and an exquisite looking round of cold beef, which graced his larder, leaving him to supply any "tiny little kick-shaws," that his inventive genius might suggest. We then walked to the ancient and singularly built bridge, across the rocky bed of the Dee, and, leaning over the battlements, enjoyed, for some time, the common and intellectual amusement of watching the trout sporting in their liquid element, and the bursting of the foam bubbles, as they floated down the stream. "A moment white, then lost for ever." A moralist might have written an instructive essay upon this theme, or a parson preached a good sermon from it; but this was not our vocation. We next rambled to take a peep at the far-fained cottage, Plass Newydd, the residence of the fashionable, but antiquated |