[Footnote 1:  The manor of Whichnovre, near Lichfield, is held (like the better-known Dunmow, in Essex) on the singular custom of the Lord of the Manor “keeping ready, all times of the year but Lent, one bacon-flyke hanging in his hall, to be given to every man or woman who demanded it a year and a day after marriage, upon their swearing that they would not have changed for none other, fairer nor fouler, richer nor poorer, nor for no other descended of great lineage sleeping nor waking at no time.”]

I saw Lichfield Cathedral, which has been rich, but my friend Lord Brooke and his soldiery treated poor St. Chad[1] with so little ceremony, that it is in a most naked condition.  In a niche at the very summit they have crowded a statue of Charles the Second, with a special pair of shoe-strings, big enough for a weathercock.  As I went to Lord Strafford’s I passed through Sheffield, which is one of the foulest towns in England in the most charming situation; there are two-and-twenty thousand inhabitants making knives and scissors:  they remit eleven thousand pounds a week to London.  One man there has discovered the art of plating copper with silver; I bought a pair of candlesticks for two guineas that are quite pretty.  Lord Strafford has erected the little Gothic building, which I got Mr. Bentley to draw; I took the idea from Chichester Cross.  It stands on a high bank in the menagerie, between a pond and a vale, totally bowered over with oaks.  I went with the Straffords to Chatsworth and stayed there four days; there were Lady Mary Coke, Lord Besborough and his daughters, Lord Thomond, Mr. Boufoy, the Duke, the old Duchess, and two of his brothers.  Would you believe that nothing was ever better humoured than the ancient Grace?  She stayed every evening till it was dark in the skittle-ground, keeping the score; and one night, that the servants had a ball for Lady Dorothy’s birthday, we fetched the fiddler into the drawing-room, and the dowager herself danced with us!  I never was more disappointed than at Chatsworth,[2] which, ever since I was born, I have condemned.  It is a glorious situation; the vale rich in corn and verdure, vast woods hang down the hills, which are green to the top, and the immense rocks only serve to dignify the prospect.  The river runs before the door, and serpentises more than you can conceive in the vale.  The Duke is widening it, and will make it the middle of his park; but I don’t approve an idea they are going to execute, of a fine bridge with statues under a noble cliff.  If they will have a bridge (which by the way will crowd the scene), it should be composed of rude fragments, such as the giant of the Peak would step upon, that he might not be wetshod.  The expense of the works now carrying on will amount to forty thousand pounds.  A heavy quadrangle of stables is part of the plan, is very cumbrous, and standing higher than the house, is ready to overwhelm it.  The principal front of the house is beautiful, and executed with the neatness of wrought