Here, in the district where they were originally brought to light, the famous fossils of Siluria may be studied; while birds, fishes, and shells of various kinds are well in evidence. Then there are the relics of bygone Ludlow, a curious olla podrida; here a rusty iron-bound deed-chest, there a quaint money-box with intricate lock; or something 'loathely and grim' in the way of torturing gear, such as the Branks shewn in the sketch at the end of the foregoing chapter, a horrid engine used for compressing the heads and branding the cheeks of malefactors. Upon the wall above the Museum door hang two big wooden balls, with a rope's-end attached to each. These were used in olden times upon Shrove Tuesday, when a kind of municipal tug-of-war took place. At either end of a long rope (whereof we here see the remnants) the men of Broad and Castle Wards confronted the champions of Corve Street and Old Street, each party endeavouring to pull their opponents over to their side of the town, until the end of the rope went into the Teme or the Corve, as the tide of contest swayed. The Butter Cross is once again our rendezvous. Passing thence towards the Bull Ring, we notice several fine old timber-framed houses, besides others that hide their charms beneath a disfiguring mantle of whitewash. Some of these ancient residences retain their handsome plaster ceilings, and oaken staircases with massive newels and twisted balusters. [Illustration: The "Feathers" Hotel. Ludlow.] The Bull Ring itself, where our 'rude forefathers' enjoyed the exhilarating sport of bull-baiting, is encumbered with some oldish houses, not bad ones of their kind. But such attractions as they offer are quite put into the shade by a beautiful half-timbered edifice which rises but a stone's-throw away, so thitherward let us now direct our steps. This is the Feathers Hotel, an ancient hostelry which, as may be gathered from our sketch, is a magnificent example of mediæval domestic architecture. Observe how the venerable house seems to 'stand at ease,' as it were, in these days of its ripe old age; its tall beetling gables and quaintly carved beams leaning this way or that, quite regardless of perspective. With what picturesque effect its diamond-paned oriel windows jut forth from beneath the deep-browed eaves, and the queer carven monsters ogle the passer-by from bulging bracket and beam end; and how charmingly the flowering creepers on the balcony relieve its grim old timbers.