september 5th.—yesterday we all of us set forth from rock ferry at half past twelve, and reached shrewsbury between three and four o'clock, and took up our quarters at the lion hotel. we found shrewsbury situated on an eminence, around which the severn winds, making a peninsula of it, quite densely covered by the town. the streets ascend, and curve about, and intersect each other with the customary irregularity of these old english towns, so that it is quite impossible to go directly to any given point, or for a stranger to find his way to a place which he wishes to reach, though, by what seems a singular good fortune, the sought-for place is always offering itself when least expected. on this account i never knew such pleasant walking as in old streets like those of shrewsbury. and there are passages opening under archways, and winding up between high edifices, very tempting to the explorer, and generally leading to some court, or some queer old range of buildings or piece of architecture, which it would be the greatest pity to miss seeing. there was a delightful want of plan in the laying out of these ancient towns. in fact, they never were laid out at all, nor were restrained by any plan whatever, but grew naturally, with streets as eccentric as the pathway of a young child toddling about the floor.

the first curious thing we particularly noticed, when we strolled out after dinner, was the old market-house, which stands in the midst of an oblong square; a gray edifice, elevated on pillars and arches, and with the statue of an armed knight, richard plantagenet, duke of york, in a central niche, in its front. the statue is older than the market-house, having been moved thither from one of the demolished towers of the city wall in 1795. the market-house was erected in 1595. there are other curious sculptures and carvings and quirks of architecture about this building; and the houses that stand about the square are, many of them, very striking specimens of what dwelling-houses used to be in elizabeth's time, and earlier. i have seen no such stately houses, in that style, as we found here in shrewsbury. there were no such fine ones in coventry, stratford, warwick, chester, nor anywhere else where we have been. their stately height and spaciousness seem to have been owing to the fact that shrewsbury was a sort of metropolis of the country round about, and therefore the neighboring gentry had their town-houses there, when london was several days' journey off, instead of a very few hours; and, besides, it was once much the resort of kings, and the centre-point of great schemes of war and policy. one such house, formerly belonging to a now extinct family, that of ireland, rises to the height of four stories, and has a front consisting of what look like four projecting towers. there are ranges of embowered windows, one above another, to the full height of the house, and these are surmounted by peaked gables. the people of those times certainly did not deny themselves light; and while window-glass was an article of no very remote introduction, it was probably a point of magnificence and wealthy display to have enough of it. one whole side of the room must often have been formed by the window. this ireland mansion, as well as all the rest of the old houses in shrewsbury, is a timber house,—that is, a skeleton of oak, filled up with brick, plaster, or other material, and with the beams of the timber marked out with black paint; besides which, in houses of any pretension, there are generally trefoils, and other gothic-looking ornaments, likewise painted black. they have an indescribable charm for me,—the more, i think, because they are wooden; but, indeed, i cannot tell why it is that i like them so well, and am never tired of looking at them. a street was a development of human life, in the days when these houses were built, whereas a modern street is but the cold plan of an architect, without individuality or character, and without the human emotion which a man kneads into the walls which he builds on a scheme of his own.

we strolled to a pleasant walk under a range of trees, along the shore of the severn. it is called the quarry walk. the severn is a pretty river, the largest, i think (unless it be such an estuary as the mersey), that i have met with in england; that is to say, about a fair stone's-throw across. it is very gentle in its course, and winds along between grassy and sedgy banks, with a good growth of weeds in some part of its current. it has one stately bridge, called the english bridge, of several arches, and, as we sauntered along the quarry walk, we saw a ferry where the boat seemed to be navigated across by means of a rope, stretched from bank to bank of the river. after leaving the quarry walk, we passed an old tower of red freestone, the only one remaining of those formerly standing at intervals along the whole course of the town wall; and we also went along what little is now left of the wall itself. and thence, through the irregular streets, which gave no account of themselves, we found our way, i know not how, back to our hotel. it is an uncheerful old hotel, which takes upon itself to be in the best class of english country hotels, and charges the best price; very dark in the lower apartments, pervaded with a musty odor, but provided with a white-neckclothed waiter, who spares no ceremony in serving the joints of mutton.

j——- and i afterwards walked forth again, and went this time to the castle, which stands exactly above the railway station. a path, from its breadth quite a street, leads up to the arched gateway; but we found a board, giving notice that these are private grounds, and no strangers admitted; so that we only passed through the gate a few steps, and looked about us, and retired, on perceiving a man approaching us through the trees and shrubbery. a private individual, it seems, has burrowed in this old warlike den, and turned the keep, and any other available apartment, into a modern dwelling, and laid out his pleasure-grounds within the precincts of the castle wall, which allows verge enough for the purpose. the ruins have been considerably repaired. this castle was built at various times, the keep by edward i., and other portions at an earlier period, and it stands on the isthmus left by the severn in its wandering course about the town. the duke of cleveland now owns it. i do not know who occupies it.

in the course of this walk, we passed st. mary's church,—a very old church indeed, no matter how old, but say, eight hundred or a thousand years. it has a very tall spire, and the spire is now undergoing repairs; and, seeing the door open, i went into the porch, but found no admission further. then, walking around it, through the churchyard, we saw that all the venerable gothic windows—one of them grand in size— were set with stained glass, representing coats of arms and ancient armor, and kingly robes, and saints with glories about their heads, and scriptural people; but all of these, as far as our actual perception was concerned, quite colorless, and with only a cold outline, dimly filled up. yet, had we been within the church, and had the sunlight been streaming through, what a warm, rich, gorgeous, roseate, golden life would these figures have showed!

in the churchyard, close upon the street, so that its dust must be continually scattered over the spot, i saw a heavy gray tombstone, with a latin inscription, purporting that bishop butler, the author of the analogy, in his lifetime had chosen this as a burial-place for himself and his family. there is a statue of him within the church. from the top of the spire a man, above a hundred years ago, attempted to descend, by means of a rope, to the other side of the severn; but the rope broke, and he fell in his midway flight, and was killed. it was an undertaking worthy of sam patch. there is a record of the fact on the outside of the tower.

i remember nothing more that we saw yesterday; but, before breakfast, j——- and i sallied forth again, and inspected the gateway and interior court of the council house,—a very interesting place, both in itself and for the circumstances connected with it, it having been the place where the councillors for the welsh marches used to reside during their annual meetings; and charles the first also lived here for six weeks in 1612. james ii. likewise held his court here in 1687. the house was originally built in 1501,—that is, the council house itself,—the gateway, and the house through which it passes, being of as late date as 1620. this latter is a fine old house, in the usual style of timber architecture, with the timber lines marked out, and quaint adornments in black paint; and the pillars of the gateway which passes beneath the front chamber are of curiously carved oak, which has probably stood the action of english atmosphere better than marble would have done. passing through this gateway, we entered a court, and saw some old buildings more or less modernized, but without destroying their aged stateliness, standing round three sides of it, with arched entrances and bow-windows, and windows in the roofs, and peaked gables, and all the delightful irregularity and variety that these houses have, and which make them always so fresh,—and with so much detail that every minute you see something heretofore unseen. it must have been no unfit residence for a king and his court, when those three sides of the square, all composing one great fantastic house, were in their splendor. the square itself, too, must have been a busy and cheerful scene, thronged with attendants, guests, horses, etc.

after breakfast, we all walked out, and, crossing the english bridge, looked at the severn over its parapet. the river is here broader than elsewhere, and very shallow, and has an island covered with bushes, about midway across. just over the bridge we saw a church, of red freestone, and evidently very ancient. this is the church of the holy cross, and is a portion of the abbey of st. peter and st. john, which formerly covered ten acres of ground. we did not have time to go into the church; but the windows and other points of architecture, so far as we could discern them, and knew how to admire them, were exceedingly venerable and beautiful. on the other side of the street, over a wide space, there are other remains of the old abbey; and the most interesting was a stone pulpit, now standing in the open air, seemingly in a garden, but which originally stood in the refectory of the abbey, and was the station whence one of the monks read to his brethren at their meals. the pulpit is much overgrown with ivy. we should have made further researches among these remains, though they seem now to be in private grounds; but a large mastiff came nut of his kennel, and, approaching us to the length of his iron chain, began barking very fiercely. nor had we time to see half that we would gladly have seen and studied here and elsewhere about shrewsbury. it would have been very interesting to have visited hotspur's and falstaff's battle-field, which is four miles from the town; too distant, certainly, for falstaff to have measured the length of the fight by shrewsbury clock. there is now a church, built there by henry iv., and said to cover the bones of those slain in the battle.

returning into the town, we penetrated some narrow lanes, where, as the old story goes, people might almost shake hands across from the top windows of the opposite houses, impending towards each other. emerging into a wider street, at a spot somewhat more elevated than other parts of the town, we went into a shop to buy some royal shrewsbury cakes, which we had seen advertised at several shop windows. they are a very rich cake, with plenty of eggs, sugar, and butter, and very little flour.

a small public building of stone, of modern date, was close by; and asking the shopwoman what it was, she said it was the butter cross, or market for butter, eggs, and poultry. it is a remarkable site, for here, in ancient times, stood a stone cross, where heralds used to make proclamation, and where criminals of state used to be executed. david, the last of the welsh princes, was here cruelly put to death by edward i., and many noblemen were beheaded on this spot, after being taken prisoners in the battle of shrewsbury.

i can only notice one other memorable place in shrewsbury, and that is the raven inn, where farquhar wrote his comedy of "the recruiting officer" in 1701. the window of the room in which he wrote is said to look into the inn yard, and i went through the arched entrance to see if i could distinguish it. the hostlers were currying horses in the yard, and so stared at me that i gave but the merest glance. the shrewsbury inns have not only the customary names of english inns,—as the lion, the stag,—but they have also the carved wooden figures of the object named, whereas, in all other towns, the name alone remains.

we left shrewsbury at half past ten, and arrived in london at about four in the afternoon.