On past Dunthall and Onslow Hall, the erstwhile abode of the renowned Mr. Speaker Onslow, we bowl along the dusty highway with homeward-bound Salopians, until, some two miles short of our journey's end, we call a halt to take a look at the Shelton Oak, one of the 'lions' of the locality. Yonder it stands, a storm-rent relic of the immemorial past, holding its own bravely yet ''gainst the tooth of time and razure of oblivion,' though bereft of many a stalwart limb by the gales of a thousand winters. This venerable tree still rears aloft its gaunt, grey, wrinkled branches, lifeless now, save for some ragged foliage that yet clings around the lower part of the trunk. The latter has become hollow inside, where a sort of paved chamber affords standing-room for perhaps a dozen people. As seen in our sketch, a sturdy prop, itself a fair-sized tree, serves to buttress the old giant upon the side towards which he inclines. According to a time-honoured tradition, the Welsh Prince, Owen Glendower, climbed up amidst the branches of the Shelton Oak, in order to watch thence how the fortunes of war progressed during the famous Battle of Shrewsbury: 'The bloody rout that gave To Harry's brow a wreath--to Hotspur's heart a grave.' Soon after leaving the Shelton Oak, the towers and steeples of the County-town put in an appearance ahead; here and there a country house is seen, overlooking the Severn as it winds through the vale, and bricks and mortar begin to usurp the place of trim green fields and hedgerows. That red-brick mansion upon yonder bank is The Mount, birthplace of that very distinguished Salopian, the late Charles Darwin. Anon we descend a hill, and enter the 'antient streete callyd Fraunckarell this many a daye,' a transpontine suburb of Shrewsbury, deriving its name from the fact that, in earlier days, its denizens were exempted from payment of certain tolls levied upon their neighbours over the water. Across the street rises a group of half-timbered houses, whose quaint congeries of beetling gables, chequered beams, lattice-paned casements, and dark, timeworn archways, make an old-world picture. More ancient still, perhaps, is the long, low, two-storied house front a little farther on; its massive old moulded cornices black with age, and curious louvred lights in the upper story--a venerable specimen. [Illustration: A Maiden Garland from Minsterley.] And here at last is the Welsh Bridge, in Leland's time the 'greatest, fayrest, and highest Bridge upon Severne Streame.' At that period, as Leland tells us, the Bridge had 'six great Arches of stone, with a great gate at one end of it to enter by into the Towne, and at the other end towardes Wales a mighty stronge Towre, to prohibit Enimies to enter into the bridge.'