A dozen miles more over a splendid road brought in view the three spires of Lichfield Cathedral, one of the smallest though most beautiful of these great English churches.  Built of red sandstone, rich with sculptures and of graceful and harmonious architecture, there are few cathedrals more pleasing.  The town of Lichfield is a comparatively small place, but it has many literary and historical associations, being the birthplace of Dr. Samuel Johnson, whose house is still standing, and for many years the home of Maria Edgeworth.  Here, too, once lived Major Andre, whose melancholy death in connection with the American Revolution will be recalled.  The cathedral was fortified during the civil war and was sadly battered in sieges by Cromwell’s Roundheads; but so completely has it been rebuilt and restored that it presents rather a new appearance as compared with many others.  It occurred to us that the hour for luncheon was well past, and we stopped at the rambling old Swan Hotel, which was to all appearances deserted, for we wandered through narrow halls and around the office without finding anyone.  I finally ascended two flights of stairs and found a chambermaid, who reluctantly undertook to locate someone in authority, which she at last did.  We were shown into a clean, comfortable coffee room, where tea, served in front of a glowing fire place, was grateful indeed after our long ride through the cold rain.

[Illustration:  The three spires of Lichfield.

From Photograph.]

It became apparent that owing to our many delays, we could not easily reach Manchester, and we stopped at Newcastle-under-Lyme for the night.  This town has about 20,000 people and lies on the outer edge of the potteries district, where Josiah Wedgewood founded this great industry over one hundred years ago.  The whole region comprising Burslem, Hanley, Newcastle, Stoke-on-Trent and many smaller places may be described as a huge, scattered city of about 300,000 inhabitants, nearly all directly or indirectly connected with the manufacture of various grades of china and earthenware.  The Castle Hotel, where we stopped, was a very old inn, yet it proved unexpectedly homelike and comfortable.  Our little party was given a small private dining room with massive antique furniture, and we were served with an excellent dinner by an obsequious waiter in full-dress suit and with immaculate linen.  He cleared the table and left us for the evening with the apartment as a sitting room, and a mahogany desk by the fireside, well supplied with stationery, afforded amends for neglected letters.  In the morning, our breakfast was served in the same room, and the bill for entertainment seemed astonishingly low.  Mine host will no doubt be wiser in this particular as motorists more and more invade the country.