I took leave here, as one does of good friends, with a certain promise that on my return I would certainly call on them again.

At noon I got to Lichfield, an old-fashioned town with narrow dirty streets, where for the first time I saw round panes of glass in the windows.  The place to mime wore an unfriendly appearance; I therefore made no use of my recommendation, but went straight through, and only bought some bread at a baker’s, which I took along with me.

At night I reached Burton, where the famous Burton ale is brewed.  By this time I felt myself pretty well tired, and therefore proposed to stay the night here.  But my courage failed me, and I dropped the resolution immediately on my entering the town.  The houses and everything else seemed to wear as grand an appearance, almost, as if I had been still in London.  And yet the manners of some of its inhabitants were so thoroughly rustic and rude, that I saw them actually pointing at me with their fingers as a foreigner.  And now, to complete my chagrin and mortification, I came to a long street, where everybody on both sides of the way were at their doors, and actually made me run the gauntlet through their inquiring looks.  Some even hissed at me as I passed along.  All my arguments to induce me to pluck up my courage, such as the certainty that I should never see these people again nor they me, were of no use.  Burton became odious and almost insupportable to me; and the street appeared as long and tired me as much, as if I had walked a mile.  This strongly-marked contemptuous treatment of a stranger, who was travelling through their country merely from the respect he bore it, I experienced nowhere but at Burton.

How happy did I feel when I again found myself out of their town, although at that moment I did not know where I should find a lodging for the night, and was, besides, excessively tired.  But I pursued my journey, and still kept in the road to Derby, along a footpath which I knew to be right.  It led across a very pleasant mead, the hedges of which were separated by stiles, over which I was often obliged to clamber.  When I had walked some distance without meeting with an inn on the road, and it had already begun to be dark, I at last sat me down near a small toll-house, or a turnpike-gate, in order to rest myself, and also to see whether the man at the turnpike could and would lodge me.

After I had sat here a considerable time, a farmer came riding by, and asked me where I wanted to go?  I told him I was so tired that I could go no farther.  On this the good-natured and truly hospitable man, of his own accord and without the least distrust, offered to take me behind him on his horse and carry me to a neighbouring inn, where he said I might stay all night.

The horse was a tall one, and I could not easily get up.  The turnpike-man, who appeared to be quite decrepid and infirm, on this came out.  I took it for granted, however, that he who appeared to have hardly sufficient strength to support himself could not help me.  This poor looking, feeble old man, however, took hold of me with one arm, and lifted me with a single jerk upon the horse so quick and so alertly that it quite astonished me.