long-limbed was because of the tenacity of the mud in that county;
the practice of pulling the foot out of it "by the strength of the

ancle" tending to stretch the muscle and lengthen the bone!*[4]
But the roads in the immediate neighbourhood of London long

continued almost as bad as those in Sussex. Thus, when the poet
Cowley retired to Chertsey, in 1665, he wrote to his friend Sprat

to visit him, and, by way of encouragement, told him that he
might sleep the first night at Hampton town; thus occupying; two

days in the performance of a journey of twenty-two miles in the
immediate neighbourhood of the metropolis. As late as 1736 we

find Lord Hervey, writing from Kensington, complaining that
"the road between this place and London is grown so infamously bad

that we live here in the same solitude as we would do if cast on
a rock in the middle of the ocean; and all the Londoners tell us

that there is between them and us an impassable gulf of mud."
Nor was the mud any respecter of persons; for we are informed that

the carriage of Queen Caroline could not, in bad weather,
be dragged from St. James's Palace to Kensington in less than two

hours, and occasionally the royal coach stuck fast in a rut,
or was even capsized in the mud. About the same time, the streets

of London themselves were little better, the kennel being still
permitted to flow in the middle of the road, which was paved with

round stones,--flag-stones for the convenience of pedestrians
being as yet unknown. In short, the streets in the towns and the

roads in the country were alike rude and wretched,--indicating a
degree of social stagnation and discomfort which it is now

difficult to estimate, and almost impossible to describe.
Footnotes for chapter I

*[1] Brunetto Latini, the tutor of Dante, describes a journey made
by him from London to Oxford about the end of the thirteenth

century, resting by the way at Shirburn Castle. He says,
"Our journey from London to Oxford was, with some difficulty and

danger, made in two days; for the roads are bad, and we had to
climb hills of hazardousascent, and which to descend are equally

perilous. We passed through many woods, considered here as
dangerous places, as they are infested with robbers, which indeed

is the case with most of the roads in England. This is a
circumstance connived at by the neighbouring barons, on

consideration of sharing in the booty, and of these robbers serving
as their protectors on all occasions, personally, and with the

whole strength of their band. However, as our company was
numerous, we had less to fear. Accordingly, we arrived the first

night at Shirburn Castle, in the neighbourhood of Watlington, under
the chain of hills over which we passed at Stokenchurch." This

passage is given in Mr. Edward's work on 'Libraries' (p. 328),
as supplied to him by Lady Macclesfield.

*[2] See Ogilby's 'Britannia Depicta,' the traveller's ordinary
guidebook between 1675 and 1717, as Bradshaw's Railway Time-book is

now. The Grand Duke Cosmo, in his 'Travels in England in 1669,'
speaks of the country between Northampton and Oxford as for the

most part unenclosed and uncultivated, abounding in weeds. From
Ogilby's fourth edition, published in 1749, it appears that the

roads in the midland and northern districts of England were still,
for the most part, entirely unenclosed.

*[3] This ballad is so descriptive of the old roads of the
south-west of England that we are tempted to quote it at length.

It was written by the Rev. John Marriott, sometime vicar of
Broadclist, Devon; and Mr. Rowe, vicar of Crediton, says, in his

'Perambulation of Dartmoor,' that he can readily imagine the
identical lane near Broadclist, leading towards Poltemore, which

might have sat for the portrait.
In a Devonshire lane, as I trotted along

T'other day, much in want of a subject for song,
Thinks I to myself, half-inspired by the rain,

Sure marriage is much like a Devonshire lane.
In the first place 'tis long, and when once you are in it,

It holds you as fast as a cage does a linnet;
For howe'er rough and dirty the road may be found,

Drive forward you must, there is no turning round.
But tho' 'tis so long, it is not very wide,

For two are the most that together can ride;
And e'en then, 'tis a chance but they get in a pother,

And jostle and cross and run foul of each other.
Oft poverty meets them with mendicant looks,

And care pushes by them with dirt-laden crooks;
And strife's grazing wheels try between them to pass,

And stubbornness blocks up the way on her ass,
Then the banks are so high, to the left hand and right,

That they shut up the beauties around them from sight;
And hence, you'll allow, 'tis an inference plain,

That marriage is just like a Devonshire lane.
But thinks I, too, these banks, within which we are pent,

With bud, blossom, and berry, are richly besprent;
And the conjugal fence, which forbids us to roam,

Looks lovely, when deck'd with the comforts of home.
In the rock's gloomycrevice the bright holly grows;

The ivy waves fresh o'er the withering rose,
And the ever-green love of a virtuous wife

Soothes the roughness of care, cheers the winter of life.
Then long be the journey, and narrow the way,

I'll rejoice that I've seldom a turnpike to pay;
And whate'er others say, be the last to complain,

Though marriage is just like a Devonshire lane.
*[4] Iter Sussexiense.' By Dr. John Burton.

CHAPTER II.
EARLY MODES OF CONVEYANCE.

Such being the ancient state of the roads, the only practicable
modes of travelling were on foot and on horseback. The poor walked

and the rich rode. Kings rode and Queens rode. Judges rode circuit
in jack-boots. Gentlemen rode and robbers rode. The Bar sometimes

walked and sometimes rode. Chaucer's ride to Canterbury will be
remembered as long as the English language lasts. Hooker rode to

London on a hard-paced nag, that he might be in time to preach his
first sermon at St. Paul's. Ladies rode on pillions, holding on by

the gentleman or the serving-man mounted before.
Shakespeare incidentally describes the ancient style of travelling

among the humbler classes in his 'Henry IV.'*[1]
The Party, afterwards set upon by Falstaff and his companions,

bound from Rochester to London, were up by two in the morning,
expecting to perform the journey of thirty miles by close of day,

and to get to town "in time to go to bed with a candle." Two are
carriers, one of whom has "a gammon of bacon and two razes of

ginger, to be delivered as far as Charing Cross;" the other has his
panniers full of turkeys. There is also a franklin of Kent,

and another, "a kind of auditor," probably a tax-collector,
with several more, forming in all a company of eight or ten, who

travel together for mutualprotection. Their robbery on Gad's Hill,
as painted by Shakespeare, is but a picture, by no means exaggerated,

of the adventures and dangers of the road at the time of which he
wrote.

Distinguished personages sometimes rode in horse-litters; but
riding on horseback was generally preferred. Queen Elizabeth made

most of her journeys in this way,*[2] and when she went into the
City she rode on a pillion behind her Lord Chancellor. The Queen,

however, was at length provided with a coach, which must have been
a very remarkable machine. This royal vehicle is said to have been

one of the first coaches used in England, and it was introduced by
the Queen's own coachman, one Boomen, a Dutchman. It was little