Part 32 (1/2)

And lo! John Grigg in Sunday smock; Begged pardon, pulled an oily lock; Explained: ”The mud's above the hough.

”No horse could draw 'ee sir,” he said.

”Humph!” quoth the squire and scratched his head.

”Then yoke the oxen in instead.”

(A lesser man would gladly turn His chair to fire again, and learn How fancifully logs can burn,

Grateful for such immunity From parson. Not the squire; for see, ”True sonne of England's Church” was he.)

So, as he ordered, was it done.

The oxen came forth one by one, Their wide horns glinting in the sun,

And to the coach were yoked. Then--dressed, As squires should be, in glorious best, With wonderful brocaded vest,--

Out came Sir Herbert, took his seat, Waved ”Barbara, farewell, my Sweet!”

And off they started, all complete.

Although they drew so light a load (For them!) so heavy was the road, John Grigg was busy with his goad.

The cottagers in high delight Ran out to see the startling sight And make obeisance to the knight,

While floated through the liquid air, And o'er the sunlit meadows fair, The throbbing belfry's call to prayer.

At last, and after many a lurch That shook Sir Herbert in his perch, John Grigg drew up before the church;

Moreover not a minute late.

The villagers around the gate Were filled with wonder at his state,

And, promptly, though 'twas sabbath tide, ”Three cheers for squire--Hooray!” they cried....

Such was Sir Herbert Springett's ride.

Sad is the sequel, sad but true-- For while in sermon-time a few Deep snores resounded from the pew

Reserved for squire, by others there The tenth commandment (men declare) Was being broken past repair:

For, thinking how they had to roam Through weary wastes of sodden loam Ere they could win to fire and home,

In spite of parson's fervid knocks Upon his cus.h.i.+on orthodox, They ”coveted their neighbour's ox.”

[Sidenote: OXEN OF THE HILLS]

Oxen are now rarely seen on the Suss.e.x roads, but on the hill sides a few of the farmers still plough with them; and may it be long before the old custom is abandoned! There is no pleasanter or more peaceful sight than--looking up--that of a wide-horned team of black oxen, smoking a little in the morning air, drawing the plough through the earth, while the ploughman whistles, and the ox-herd, goad in hand, utters his Saxon grunts of incitement or reproof. The black oxen of the hills are of Welsh stock, the true Suss.e.x ox being red. The ”kews,” as their shoes are called, may still be seen on the walls of a smithy here and there.

Shoeing oxen is no joke, since to protect the smith from their horns they have to be thrown down; their necks are held by a pitchfork, and their feet tied together.

Suss.e.x roads were terrible until comparatively recent times. An old rhyme credits ”Sowseks” with ”dirt and myre,” and Dr. Burton, the author of the _Iter Suss.e.xiensis_, humorously found in it a reason why Suss.e.x people and beasts had such long legs. ”Come now, my friend,” he wrote, in Greek, ”I will set before you a sort of problem in Aristotle's fas.h.i.+on:--Why is it that the oxen, the swine, the women, and all other animals, are so long legged in Suss.e.x? May it be from the difficulty of pulling the feet out of so much mud by the strength of the ankle, that the muscles get stretched, as it were, and the bones lengthened?”