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, and might invite a traveller to survey it; but I, perhaps, wanted vigour, and thought I wanted time.

The next stage brought us to Durham, a place of which Mr. Thrale bade me take particular notice.  The bishop’s palace has the appearance of an old feudal castle, built upon an eminence, and looking down upon the river, upon which was formerly thrown a drawbridge, as I suppose, to be raised at night, lest the Scots should pass it.

The cathedral has a massiness and solidity, such as I have seen in no other place; it rather awes than pleases, as it strikes with a kind of gigantick dignity, and aspires to no other praise than that of rocky solidity and indeterminate duration.  I had none of my friends resident, and, therefore, saw but little.  The library is mean and scanty.