M,--We left London on Friday, the 6th, not very early, and
travelled, without any memorable accident, through a country which I had
seen before. In the evening I was not well, and was forced to stop at
Stilton, one stage short of Stamford, where we intended to have lodged.

On the 7th we passed through Stamford and Grantham, and dined at Newark,
where I had only time to observe, that the market-place was uncommonly
spacious and neat. In London, we should call it a square, though the
sides were neither straight nor parallel. We came, at night, to
Doncaster, and went to church in the morning, where Chambers found the
monument of Robert of Doncaster, who says on his stone something like
this:--What I gave, that I have; what I spent, that I had; what I left,
that I lost.--So saith Robert of Doncaster, who reigned in the world
sixty-seven years, and all that time lived not one. Here we were invited
to dinner, and, therefore, made no great haste away.

We reached York, however, that night; I was much disordered with old
complaints. Next morning we saw the minster, an edifice of loftiness and
elegance, equal to the highest hopes of architecture. I remember
nothing, but the dome of St. Paul's, that can be compared with the
middle walk. The chapter-house is a circular building, very stately,
but, I think, excelled by the chapter-house of Lincoln.

I then went to see the ruins of the abbey, which are almost vanished,
and I remember nothing of them distinct. The next visit was to the gaol,
which they call the castle; a fabrick built lately, such is terrestrial
mutability, out of the materials of the ruined abbey. The under gaoler
was very officious to show his fetters, in which there was no
contrivance. The head gaoler came in, and seeing me look, I suppose,
fatigued, offered me wine, and, when I went away, would not suffer his
servant to take money. The gaol is accounted the best in the kingdom,
and you find the gaoler deserving of his dignity.

We dined at York, and went on to Northallerton, a place of which I know
nothing, but that it afforded us a lodging on Monday night, and about
two hundred and seventy years ago gave birth to Roger Ascham.

Next morning we changed our horses at Darlington, where Mr. Cornelius
Harrison, a cousin-german of mine, was perpetual curate. He was the only
one of my relations who ever rose in fortune above penury, or in
character above neglect.

The church is built crosswise, with a fine spire,