tug, drawn by twenty-two oxen; and, even then, it is carried so little
a way, and thrown down, and left for other tugs to take up and carry on,
that sometimes it is two or three years before it gets to Chatham. For,
if once the rain comes on, it stirs no more that year, and sometimes a
whole summer is not dry enough to make the road passable. Here I had a
sight which, indeed, I never saw in any part of England before--namely,
that going to a church at a country village, not far from Lewes, I saw
an ancient lady, and a lady of very good quality, I assure you, drawn to
church in her coach by six oxen; nor was it done in frolick or humour,
but from sheer necessity, the way being so stiff and deep that no horses
could go in it." The old lady was not singular in her method of
attending service, for another writer records seeing Sir Herbert
Springett, father of Sir William, drawn to church by eight oxen: a
determination to get to his pew at any cost that led to the composition
of the following ballad, which is now printed for the first time:--

[Sidenote: THE RIDE TO CHURCH]

THE RIDE TO CHURCH.

"A true sonne of the Church of England."
_Epitaph on Sir Herbert Springett,
in Ringmer Church._

Let others sing the wild career
Of Turpin, Gilpin, Paul Revere.
A gentler pace is mine. But hear!

The raindrops fell, splash! thud! splash! thud!
Till half the country-side was flood,
And Ringmer was a waste of mud.

The sleepy Ouse had grown a sea,
Where here and there a drowning tree
Cast up its arms beseechingly;

And cattle that in fairer days
Beside its banks were wont to graze
Now viewed the scene in mild amaze,

And, huddled on an island mound,
Sent forth so dolorous a sound
As made the sadness more profound.

And then--at last--one Sunday broke
When villagers, delighted, woke
To find the sun had flung its cloak

Of leaden-coloured cloud aside.
All jubilant they watched him ride,
For see, the land was glorified:

The morning pulsed with youth and mirth,
It was as though upon the earth
A new and gladder age had birth.

The lark exulted in the blue,
Triumphantly the rooster crew,
The chimneys laughed, the sparks up-flew;

And rolling westward out of sight,
Like billows of majes