After visiting hundreds of historic places during our summer’s pilgrimage, the memory of Ludlow, with its quaint, unsullied, old-world air, its magnificent church, whose melodious chime of bells lingers with us yet, its great ruined castle, redolent with romance, and its surrounding country of unmatched interest and beauty, is still the pleasantest of all.  I know that the town has been little visited by Americans, and that in Baedeker, that Holy Writ of tourists, it is accorded a scant paragraph in small type.  Nevertheless, our deliberately formed opinion is still that if we could re-visit only one of the English towns it would be Ludlow.  Mr. A.G.  Bradley, in his delightful book, “In the March and Borderland of Wales,” which everyone contemplating a tour of Welsh border towns should read, gives an appreciation of Ludlow which I am glad to reiterate when he styles it “the most beautiful and distinguished country town in England.”  He says:  “There are towns of its size perhaps as quaint and boasting as many ancient buildings, but they do not crown an eminence amid really striking scenery, nor yet again share such distinction of type with one of the finest mediaeval castles in England and one possessed of a military and political history unique in the annals of British castles.  It is this combination of natural and architectural charm, with its intense historical interest, that gives Ludlow such peculiar fascination.  Other great border fortresses were centers of military activities from the Conquest to the Battle of Bosworth, but when Ludlow laid aside its armour and burst out into graceful Tudor architecture, it became in a sense the capital of fourteen counties, and remained so for nearly two hundred years.”

[Illustration:  The Feathers hotel, Ludlow.]

We were indeed fortunate in Ludlow, for everything conspired to give us the best appreciation of the town, and were it not for the opinion of such an authority as I have quoted, I might have concluded that our partiality was due to some extent to the circumstances.  We had been directed to a hotel by our host in Shrewsbury, but on inquiring of a police officer—­they are everywhere in Britain—­on our arrival in Ludlow, he did us a great favor by telling us that “The Feathers” hotel just opposite would please us better.  We forthwith drew up in front of the finest old black and white building which we saw anywhere in the Kingdom and were given a room whose diamond-paned windows opened toward church and castle.  No modern improvements broke in on our old-time surroundings—­candles lighted us when the long twilight had faded away.