The Life of Thomas Telford | Page 9

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 gloomy crevice 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 mutual protection. 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