From Ludlow we had a fine run to Worcester, though the road was sprinkled with short, steep hills noted “dangerous” in the road-book.  Our fine weather was very transient, for it was raining again when we reached Worcester.  We first directed our steps to the cathedral, but when nearly there beheld a large sign, “This way to the Royal Porcelain Works,” and the cathedral was forgotten for the time by at least one member of our party.  The Royal Porcelain Works it was, then, for hadn’t we known of Royal Worcester long before we knew there was any cathedral—­or any town, for that matter?  It is easy to get to the Royal Porcelain Works:  a huge sign every block will keep you from going astray and an intelligent guide will show you every detail of the great establishment for only a sixpence.  But it is much harder and more costly to get away from the Royal Worcester Works, and when we finally did we were several guineas poorer and were loaded with a box of fragile ware to excite the suspicions of our amiable customs officials.  Nevertheless, the visit was full of interest.  Our guide took us through the great plant from the very beginning, showing us the raw materials—­clay, chalk and bones—­which are ground to a fine powder, mixed to a paste, and deftly turned into a thousand shapes by the skilled potter.  We were shown how the bowl or vase was burned, shrinking to nearly half its size in the process.  We followed the various steps of manufacture until the finished ware, hand-painted, and burned many times to bring out the colors, was ready for shipment.  An extensive museum connected with the works is filled with rare specimens to delight the soul of the admirer of the keramic art.  There were samples of the notable sets of tableware manufactured for nearly every one of the crowned heads of Europe during the last century, gorgeous vases of fabulous value, and rare and curious pieces without number.

When we left the porcelain works it was too late to get into the cathedral, and when we were ready to start in the morning it was too early.  So we contented ourselves with driving the car around the noble pile and viewing the exterior from every angle.  We took the word of honest Baedeker that the interior is one of the most elaborate and artistic in England but largely the result of modern restoration.  The cathedral contains the tomb of King John, who requested that he be buried here, though his life was certainly not such as to merit the distinction.  Here, too, is buried the elder brother of King Henry VIII, Prince Arthur, who died at Ludlow Castle in 1502; and had he lived to be king in place of the strenuous Henry, who can say what changes might have been recorded in English history?  All these we missed; nor did we satisfy ourselves personally of the correctness of the claim that the original entry of the marriage contract of William Shakespeare and Anne Hathaway is on file in the diocese office near the gateway of the cathedral.  Along with the