Very warm day. Before leaving Chettenham I took a walk in another direction, and saw Thirlestaine House, the residence of the late Lord Northwick, who built it at great expense and filled it with treasures of art, including a very fine cabinet of coins, all which has been disposed since his death, leaving the shell only. Such are the fancies of rich men without families! From here I fell into a region abounding in pretty luxurious looking Villas, looking very attractive in the midst of their shrubbery under a searching sun. This is much the best part of Chettenham, and accounts for the partiality for the place. At eleven, we took leave for Birmingham intending to make our way by the rail to Llangollen by evening. But a mistake made in the train to Wolverhampton caused a failure of the connection, so that we were compelled to pass by the way of Stafford to Shrewsbury, where we stopped for the night at the Raven. The confusion at the Station at Birmingham was such athat our blunder was pardonable. Of all things I have ever seen the country from there to Wolverhampton presents an aspect the most repulsive. Yet this is one of the sources of England’s great wealth! Shrewsbury is a curious old town, retaining a little of the air of the middle ages, so that I was not sorry for the opportunity to stop and see it. The house is quaint and good.