Curiously enough, just after writing this record of a chance conversation, I came upon a paragraph in the Standard giving an account of the St. Ives dice-tossing, which runs as follows, and bears out the story as told to us:—“The ancient custom of raffling for Bibles in the parish church of St. Ives took place yesterday. The vicar directed the proceedings, and twelve children cast dice for the six Bibles awarded. The custom dates from 1675, and is in accordance with the will of Dr. Wilde, who left £50 to provide a fund for the purpose. It was expended on what is still called ‘Bible Orchard,’ with the rent of which the books are bought, and a small sum paid to the vicar for preaching a special sermon.”
The bridge at St. Ives we found to be a most interesting and picturesque structure, having a tall building over the centre pier, and in addition a low and smaller building over another pier at the farther end, that looked as though it might have been originally a toll-house. Four out of the six arches of the bridge were pointed, and thereby suggested the ecclesiastical architect. The remaining two were rounded, doubtless reconstructed so at a later period. At the base of the house that stood in the middle of the bridge was a little balcony with iron railings round it, to which access was given by a door, so that the tenant of the house could sit outside and have a quiet smoke whilst amusing himself watching the craft going up and down stream. The bridges at Bradford-on-Avon in Wiltshire and at Wakefield in Yorkshire have their old chapels, and one of the bridges at Monmouth has its ancient fortified gateway thereon; but I do not know of any bridge in England besides that of St. Ives that has an inhabited house upon it.
A HOUSE ON A BRIDGE.
Crossing the river on the quaint, old, and timeworn bridge (of which an engraving is given at the head of the first chapter), we soon found ourselves once again in the greenful country; and walking over a meadow that seemed to us a good mile long, we reached the pleasant Ouse, shimmering like a broad band of silver in the soft sunshine, and gliding slowly and smoothly along its sinuous course between flower-decked fields and reed-grown banks, with over-arching trees ever and again that gave deliciously cool reflections in the stream below.
After the hoary bridge and ancient time-dimmed town, how fresh and bright looked the fair open country, so full of exuberant vitality! How gray and aged the dusky town appeared from our distant standpoint—the wear and tear of centuries was upon it; by contrast how ever young and unchangeable the country seemed. The one so mutable, the other so immutable!
As we wandered on, we suddenly found ourselves in a most picturesque nook, where the river made a bend and a bay, and was overshadowed by trees—a peace-bestowing spot it was, and in the shallow edge of the stream, beneath the sheltering trees, cattle were lazily resting and cooling themselves. Here too we discovered a rambling old mill, the subdued droning of whose great wheel mingled with the plashing of falling water and the murmuring sur—sur—suring of the wind-stirred foliage—sounds that were just enough to make us realise the stillness and tranquilness of the spot. One does not always comprehend the quietude of Nature; we travel too much in company to do this. But besides the old mill, that so pleased us that we forthwith made a sketch of it, there was close at hand an ancient lock, gray and green, and just sufficiently tumble-down to be perfectly picturesque. Look which way we would, we looked upon a picture. Perhaps the one that pleased us best was the view of the great gabled mill as seen from the top of the lock, with the big leafy trees outstretching behind it, and the weedy and worn towing-path winding in front.
OVER FEN AND WOLD.
As we stood by the lock sketching the old mill—called Knight’s mill, we learnt from the lock-keeper—a barge came along drawn by a gray horse, for there is traffic on the Ouse, but only just enough to give it a little needful life and interest. As the barge proceeded on its journey, we observed that, at a point where the tow-path apparently ended, the horse went boldly down into the water and walked on in the river close by the bank where it was shallow; it struck us from this that it would hardly do to rely solely upon the tow-path for exploring purposes.
Not far from the mill and lock is Hemingford Grey, a pretty village whose fine old church stands picturesquely by the side of the river. The church appeared formerly to have possessed a fine spire, but now only a stump of it remains, and each angle of this is adorned with a small stone ball that gives a curious look to the building. Just against the churchyard, that is merely divided from the river by a low wall, is a little landing-place for boats; so we imagined that some of the country folk are rowed or punted to church on Sundays—quite a romantic and an agreeable proceeding in the summer time.
TO CHURCH BY BOAT.