{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_53241/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_53241","id":"gutenberg_53241","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53241","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Novels","Category: Travel Writing","White Horse, Vale of (England)"],"text":"THE SCOURING OF THE WHITE HORSE.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n                                  THE\n                     SCOURING OF THE WHITE HORSE;\n                                OR, THE\n                LONG VACATION RAMBLE OF A LONDON CLERK.\n\n                                  BY\n               THE AUTHOR OF \u201cTOM BROWN\u2019S SCHOOL DAYS.\u201d\n\n                            [Illustration]\n\n                     ILLUSTRATED BY RICHARD DOYLE.\n\n                                BOSTON:\n                          TICKNOR AND FIELDS.\n                               MDCCCLIX.\n\n                           AUTHOR\u2019S EDITION.\n\n                            FIFTH THOUSAND.\n\n                         RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE:\n                      STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY\n                      H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY.\n\n\n\n\nOLD AND NEW.\n\n\n    See how the Autumn leaves float by, decaying,\n      Down the red whirls of yon rain-swollen stream;\n    So fleet the works of men, back to their earth again;\n      Ancient and holy things fade like a dream.\n\n    Nay! see the Spring blossoms steal forth a-maying,\n      Clothing with tender buds orchard and glen;\n    So, though old forms go by, ne\u2019er can their spirit die.\n      Look! England\u2019s bare boughs show green leaf again.\n\n                                                  KINGSLEY.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nThe great success of the festival (or \u201cpastime,\u201d as it is called in the\nneighbourhood) which was held on White Horse Hill on the 17th and 18th\nof September, 1857, to celebrate the \u201cScouring of the Horse,\u201d according\nto immemorial custom, led the Committee of Management to think that our\nfellow-county-men at least, if not our countrymen generally, would be\nglad to have some little printed memorial, which should comprise not\nonly an account of the doings on the Hill on the late occasion, but\nshould also endeavour to gather up the scattered legends and traditions\nof the country side, and any authentic historical notices relating to\nthe old monument, of which we west-countrymen are all so fond and proud.\n\nI had the good or ill luck (as the case may be) to be the only member\nof the Committee whose way of life had led him into the perilous paths\nof literature; so the task of compiling and editing our little book was\nlaid on my shoulders.\n\nInstalled as chronicler to the White Horse, I entered with no ill will\non my office, having been all my life possessed, as is the case with\nso many Englishmen, by intense local attachment, love for every stone\nand turf of the country where I was born and bred. But it is one\nthing to have zeal, and another to have discretion; and when I came to\nconsider my materials, I found that the latter quality would be greatly\nneeded. For, what were they? One short bright gleam of history from the\nwritings of old monks a thousand years ago; traditions and dim legends,\nwhich I and most Berkshire men have always faithfully believed from\nour youth up, and shall go on believing to our dying day, but which\nwe could hardly put before general readers in serious narrative; a\ndry notice here and there by some old antiquary of the seventeenth or\neighteenth century; stories floating in the memories of old men still\nliving; small broad-sheets from country town presses, with lists of the\ncompetitors for prizes at rustic games, newspaper articles, remarks by\nCommittee-men and umpires, scraps of antiquarian lore; abuse of the\nGreat Western Railway for not allowing the trains to stop, bits of\nvernacular dialogue, and odd rhymes. What could be done with them all?\nHow out of the mass could a shapely book be called out, fit to be laid\nbefore a fastidious British public, not born in Berkshire?\n\nNot exactly seeing how this was to be done, the only honest course\nwhich remained, was to follow the example of a good housewife in the\ncomposition of that excellent food called \u201cstir-about\u201d--throw them\naltogether into the pot, stir them round and round with a great spoon,\nand trust that the look of the few great raisins, and the flavour of\nthe allspice, may leaven the mass, and make it pleasing to the eye and\npalate; and so, though the stir-about will never stand up in a china\ndish by itself, it may, we hope, make a savoury and pleasant side dish,\nin a common soup tureen.\n\nThe raisins, and those of the best quality, have been furnished by the\ngreat artist[1] who has kindly undertaken to give us pictures; the\nallspice has been contributed by the Committee and other kind friends,\nand I have done the milk and meal, and the stirring. The responsibility\ntherefore rests with me, though the credit, whatever it may be, rests\nwith others. But let me insist here, at once, that if there be any\nfailure in the dish, it is the fault of the dresser and not of the\nsubject-matter.\n\nFor, suppose an intelligent Englishman to be travelling in France, and\nto find the whole population in the neighbourhood of Tours turning\nout in their best clothes for a two days\u2019 holiday on a high hill,\nupon which the rude figure of a huge hammer is roughly sculptured.\nOn inquiry, he finds that the figure has been there long before the\nmemory of the oldest man living, but that it has always been carefully\npreserved and kept fresh; and although there is no printed history of\nhow it came there, yet that all neighbouring men, of whatever degree,\nassociate it with the name of Charles Martel and his great victory over\nthe Saracens, and are ready one and all to rejoice over it, and to work\nand pay that it may go down to their children looking as it does now.\nOr, to come to much later times, let our traveller find an eagle cut\nout on a hill in Hungary, similarly honoured, and associated with the\nname of Eugene, and the memory of the day\n\n    \u201cWhen, the old black eagle flying,\n    All the Paynim powers defying,\n    On we marched, and stormed Belgrade.\u201d\n\nShould we not all thank him for giving us the best account he could of\nthe figure, the festival, and all traditions connected with them; and\nthink he had fallen on a very noteworthy matter, and well worth the\ntelling when he got back to England?\n\nWell, here we have the same thing at our own doors; a rude colossal\nfigure cut out in the turf, and giving the name to a whole district;\nlegends connecting it with the name of our greatest king, and with his\ngreat victory over the Pagans, and a festival which has been held at\nvery short intervals ever since the ninth century. Rich as our land is\nin historical monuments, there is none more remarkable than the White\nHorse; and in this belief we put forth this little book in his honour,\nhoping that it may perhaps fix upon him, and the other antiquities\nwhich surround him, the attention of some one who can bring science and\nknowledge to bear upon the task to which we can only bring good will.\n\nFor, alas! let me confess at once, that in these qualities our book\nis like to be sadly deficient. The compiler has no knowledge whatever\nof the Anglo-Saxon tongue, or of Saxon or other antiquities. There\nis indeed of necessity a semblance of learning and research about the\nchapter which tells the history of the battle of Ashdown, because the\nmaterials for it had to be collected from a number of old chroniclers,\nwhose names will be found in the foot-notes. But any fifth-form\nboy, with industry enough to read about 200 small pages of monkish\nLatin, may master the whole for himself in the originals in a week;\nand for those who cannot do this, there is the jubilee edition of\nthe chroniclers, put forth by the Alfred Committee in 1852, where a\ntranslation of the old fellows will be found in parallel columns,\ntogether with much learning concerning them and their times, in\nfoot-note, preface, and appendix. This translation I have followed\nin all but a few passages, in which the text used by the translators\nhas probably differed from the one which I have seen. For the Saxon\nChronicle, I have used Ingram\u2019s translation.\n\nBut while we do not pretend to be antiquaries, or historians, or\nlearned men, we do claim to be honest average Englishmen, and will\nyield to no man in our love for our own quiet corner of the land of our\nbirth. We do think, that whatever deeply interests us cannot fail in a\ndegree to interest our countrymen. We are sure that reverence for all\ngreat Englishmen, and a loving remembrance of the great deeds done by\nthem in old times, will help to bring to life in us the feeling that we\nare a family, bound together to work out God\u2019s purposes in this little\nisland, and in the uttermost parts of the earth; to make clear to us\nthe noble inheritance which we have in common; and to sink into their\nproper place the miserable trifles, and odds and ends, over which we\nare so apt to wrangle. We do hope that our example will lead Englishmen\nof other counties, to cherish every legend and story which hangs round\nany nook of their neighbourhood, connecting it with the times and the\nmen who have gone before; to let no old custom, which has a meaning,\nhowever rude, die out, if it can be kept alive; and not to keep either\nlegend or custom to themselves, but (like us) to put them in the best\nshape they can, and publish them for the benefit of their countrymen;\nwe of the White Horse Committee, at any rate, hereby pledging ourselves\nto read all such publications.\n\nI must here take the opportunity of specially thanking three of my\nfellow Committee-men, and two other friends, for the trouble they have\ntaken in various ways to lighten my work. If this book at all fulfils\nthe objects for which it has been written, the thanks of my readers, as\nwell as my own, will be due to\n\n    E. M. ATKINS, Esq., of Kingstone Lisle.\n\n    Mr. WILLIAM WHITFIELD of Uffington.\n\n    Mr. HEBER HUMFREY of Kingstone Farm; and to\n\n    JOHN Y. AKERMAN, Esq., Secretary of the Society of Antiquaries;\n    and\n\n    Mr. LUKE LONSLEY, of Hampsted Norris, Berks.\n\nAnd now, without further preface, we commend our \u201cstir-about\u201d to\nEnglishmen in general, and west-countrymen in particular.\n\n[1] Doyle.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SCOURING OF THE WHITE HORSE.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\n\u201cRichard,\u201d said our governor, as I entered his room at five o\u2019clock on\nthe afternoon of the 31st of August, 1857, running his pen down the\ncolumns of the salary-book, \u201cyour quarter-day to-day, I think? Let\nme see; you were raised to \u00a3-- a-year in February last,--so much for\nquarter\u2019s salary, and so much for extra work. I am glad to see that you\nhave been working so steadily; you\u2019ll deserve your holiday, and enjoy\nit all the more. You\u2019ll find that all right, I think;\u201d and he pushed a\nsmall paper across the table towards me, on which my account was stated\nin our cashier\u2019s hand, and looked at me over his spectacles.\n\nMy heart jumped at the mention of my holiday; I just ran my eye down\nthe figures, and was glad to find the total a pound or two higher than\nI had expected. For I had lately learnt shorthand, and had been taking\nnotes for our firm, for which I found they allowed me extra pay.\n\n\u201cQuite right, Sir,\u201d I said; \u201cand I\u2019m sure I\u2019m much obliged to you, Sir,\nfor letting me do the extra work, because--\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, never mind that,\u201d said he, with a little laugh; \u201cI shouldn\u2019t\ngive you the extra work, Richard, if it didn\u2019t suit me, or if I could\nget it better done anywhere else; so the account\u2019s all square on that\npoint. There\u2019s your money.\u201d\n\nAnd he pushed over to me a very nice sum of money. I dare say you would\nlike to know what it was, reader. Now, I\u2019m not going to tell you. Why\nshould you know just what my income is? I don\u2019t owe you or any one else\nfive shillings, and have a very tidy account at the savings\u2019 bank,\nbesides having paid for all the furniture and books in my room, not\nvery far from Lambsconduit Street, which I reckon to be worth fifty\npounds of any man\u2019s money; so you see my income is enough to keep me\nbefore the world, and I wish more of you could say as much.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m very much obliged, Sir,\u201d said I again, as I wrote a receipt over a\nstamp which I took out of my pocket-book, and stuck on to the bottom of\nthe account.\n\n\u201cNo, you\u2019re not,\u201d said our governor, quite short; \u201cit\u2019s your own money,\nfairly earned. You\u2019re not obliged to any man for giving you what\u2019s your\nown.\u201d He is such an odd fellow about these things. But mind you, I\nthink he\u2019s quite right, too; for, after all, no doubt each of us earns\na good penny for him over and above what he pays us, else why should he\nkeep us on? but, somehow, one can\u2019t help thanking any one who pays one\nmoney; at least, I can\u2019t.\n\n\u201cNow, as to your holiday,\u201d went on our governor. \u201cThere\u2019s Jobson went\nfor his fortnight on the 30th; he\u2019ll be back on the 14th of September,\nat latest. You can take any time you like, after that.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen, Sir,\u201d said I directly, \u201cI should like it as soon as possible.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well,\u201d said he; \u201cTuesday the 16th to Tuesday the 29th of\nSeptember, both inclusive;\u201d and he made a note in another book which\nlay on his desk. \u201cGood evening, Richard.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood evening, Sir,\u201d said I; and away I went down to our room in as\ngood spirits as any young fellow in our quarter of London.\n\nOf course all the other clerks began shouting out at once to know how\nmuch money I\u2019d got, and when I was going to have my holiday. Well, I\ndidn\u2019t tell them what money I had, any more than I\u2019ve told you, because\nI like to keep my own counsel about such matters. Besides, there are\nseveral of our clerks whose ways I don\u2019t at all like; so I don\u2019t do any\nthing I can help which might look as if I liked them. No! hands off, is\nmy motto with these sort of chaps.\n\nI\u2019m sure there\u2019s no pride about me, though. My name\u2019s Easy, and always\nwas; and I like every fellow, whatever his coat is, who isn\u2019t always\nthinking about the cut of it, or what he has in the pocket of it. But,\ngoodness knows, I can\u2019t stand a fellow who gives himself airs, and\nthinks himself a chalk above everybody who can\u2019t dress and do just as\nhe can. Those chaps, I always see, are just the ones to do lick-spittle\nto those that they think have more in their pockets than themselves.\n\nBut I must get on with my story, for you don\u2019t all want to know my\nopinions about the clerks in our office, I dare say.\n\nWell, when I got down, as I said before, we were all just on the move,\n(business hours being from nine till six in our office,) taking down\ncoats and hats, and clearing desks for the night, so I just sidled up\nto Jem Fisher, and little Neddy Baily, who are the two I like best, and\ntold them to come up to my room to supper at eight o\u2019clock, which they\nof course were very glad to promise to do, and then I went off to get\nready for them.\n\nJem Fisher and I are very fond of a dish which I believe very few\nof you ever heard of. One Sunday in May, a year or two back, he and\nI had been down beyond Notting Hill, listening to the nightingales;\nand coming back, we walked through Kensington Gardens, and came out\nat the gate into the Notting Hill Road, close to Hyde Park. We were\nlate, for us, so we hailed a \u2019bus, and got on the box. The driver was\nfull of talk about all the fine people he had been seeing walking in\nthe gardens that afternoon, and seemed to think it hard he couldn\u2019t\nenjoy himself just as they did. \u201cHowever, gentlemen,\u201d said he at\nlast, \u201cthere\u2019s some things as the haristocracy ain\u2019t alive to. Did\nyou ever eat cow-heel?\u201d Perhaps Jem, who had all his best clothes on,\ndidn\u2019t mind being taken for one of the aristocracy; at least just for\na minute, for he\u2019s too good a fellow to like being taken for anybody\nbut himself when he comes to think of it; at any rate, he and I took to\neating cow-heel from that time. So the first thing I did, after going\nhome and locking up most of my money, and speaking to my landlady, who\nis the best old soul alive if you take her in her own way, was, to set\noff to Clare Market, and buy some cow-heel and sausages; and on my\nway back through the Turnstile, I thought, as it was so hot, I would\nhave some fruit too; so I bought a pottle of plums and a piece of a\npine-apple, and got home.\n\nThey came in sharp to time, and I and my landlady had every thing\nready, and two foaming pewter pots full of bitter beer and porter. So\nwe had a capital supper, and then cleared it all away, and sat down to\neat the fruit and have a quiet pipe by the time it began to get dark.\n\n\u201cAnd so,\u201d said little Neddy, (he is only just eighteen, and hasn\u2019t\nbeen in our office a year yet; but he\u2019s such a clever, industrious\nlittle chap, that he has gone over the heads of half a dozen of our\nyoungsters, and hasn\u2019t stopped yet by a long way,) \u201cyou\u2019re off on the\n15th! wish I was. Well, here\u2019s luck any how,\u201d said he, nodding to me,\nand taking a bite out of a slice of pine-apple.\n\n\u201cGentle Shepherd, tell me where?\u201d said Jem Fisher. (Jem is very fond of\nquoting poetry; not that I think half that he quotes is real poetry,\nonly how is one to find him out? Jem is a tall, good-looking fellow,\nas old as I am, and that\u2019s twenty-one last birthday; we came into the\noffice together years ago, and have been very thick ever since, which\nI sometimes wonder at, for Jem is a bit of a swell--Gentleman Jem they\ncall him in the office.) \u201cNow, Dick, where are you bound for?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, that\u2019s more than I know myself,\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cThen,\u201d said he, taking his pipe out of his pocket and filling it, \u201cI\nvote we settle for him, eh, Neddy?\u201d\n\n\u201cAye, aye, Sir,\u201d said Neddy, stretching over for the pottle; \u201cbut, I\nsay, Jem, you haven\u2019t finished all those plums?\u201d and he poked about in\nthe leaves with his fingers.\n\n\u201cEvery mother\u2019s son of them,\u201d said Jem, lighting a lucifer; \u201cif you\ncome to that, Master Ned, hand me over some of that pine-apple. But\nnow, about the tour; how much money are you going to spend on it, Dick?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I haven\u2019t quite settled,\u201d said I; \u201cbut I shouldn\u2019t mind, now,\ngoing as high as four or five pounds, if I can suit myself.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou may go pretty near to Jericho for that now-a-days,\u201d said Neddy.\n\u201cAs I came along Holborn to-night, I saw a great placard outside the\nGeorge and Blue Boar, with \u2018to Llangollen and back 15_s._\u2019 on it. What\ndo you think of that? You\u2019ll be turned out at the station there with \u00a34\n5_s._ in your pocket.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere\u2019s Llangollen?\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cNot half-way to Jericho,\u201d shouted Jem, with a laugh. \u201cWhere\u2019s\nLlangollen? Why didn\u2019t you ever hear the song of Kitty Morgan, the maid\nof Llangollen? You\u2019re a pretty fellow to go touring.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, fifty times,\u201d said I; \u201conly the song don\u2019t tell you where the\nplace is--where is it now?\u201d\n\n\u201cIn Wales, of course,\u201d said he, thinking he had me.\n\n\u201cYes, I know that; but whereabouts in Wales,\u201d said I, \u201cfor Wales is a\nbiggish place. Is it near any thing one reads about in books, and ought\nto go and see?\u201d\n\n\u201cHanged if I know exactly,\u201d said Jem, puffing away; \u201conly of course\nWales is worth seeing.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo is France,\u201d struck in Neddy; \u201cwhy, you may go to Paris and stay a\nfortnight for I don\u2019t know how little.\u201d\n\n\u201cAye, or to Edinburgh or the Lakes,\u201d said Jem.\n\n\u201cI want to have the particulars though,\u201d said I; \u201cI\u2019m not going to\nstart off to some foreign place, and find myself with no money to spend\nand enjoy myself with, when I get there.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll tell you what,\u201d said Neddy, jumping up, \u201cI\u2019ll just run round to\nthe Working Men\u2019s College, and borrow a Bradshaw from the secretary. We\nshall find all the cheap excursions there;\u201d and away he went before we\ncould say a word.\n\n\u201cI say,\u201d said Jem to me, \u201chow fond he is of bringing up that place;\nhe\u2019s always at me to go and enter there.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo he is at me,\u201d said I, \u201cand I think I shall, for he seems to pick\nup a lot of things there. How sharp he is at figures! and he knows\nmore history and geography ten to one than I do. I\u2019ll bet he knew what\ncounty Llangollen is in, and something about it too. Let\u2019s ask him when\nhe comes back.\u201d\n\n\u201cCatch me!\u201d said Jem; \u201che\u2019ll look it out on the map on his way back, or\nask one of the lecturers.\u201d\n\n\u201cHere you are! look here!\u201d said Neddy, tumbling in with two Bradshaws\nand a great atlas under his arm; \u201c\u2018unprecedented attraction, pleasure\nexcursions,\u2019 let me see--Return tickets for Ireland, available for a\nfortnight. Waterford, 1_l._ 16_s._; Cork, 2_l._\u201d\n\n\u201cNonsense!\u201d cried Jem, who had got the other Bradshaw; \u201clisten here:\n\u2018Channel Islands, (remarkable as being the only remaining Norman\npossessions of the British crown,) second class and fore cabin, 21_s._\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018London to Dieppe, return tickets available for fourteen days, second\nclass, 21_s._,\u2019\u201d sung out Ned, from the other Bradshaw.\n\nAnd away they went, with Brussels, and Bangor, and the Manchester\nExhibition, and Plymouth and Glasgow, and the Isle of Man, and Margate\nand Ramsgate, and the Isle of Wight; and then to Gibraltar and Malta\nand New York, and all over the world. I sat and smoked my pipe, for\n\u2019twas no use trying to settle any thing; but presently, when they got\ntired, we set to work and began to put down the figures. However, that\nwasn\u2019t much better, for there were such a lot of tours to go; and one\nwas a bit too short, and the other too long, and this cost too much,\nand that too little; so all the beer was gone, and we were no nearer\nsettling any thing when eleven o\u2019clock struck.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said Jem, getting up and knocking the ashes out of his third\npipe, \u201cI declare it\u2019s almost as good as going a tour one\u2019s self,\nsettling it for Dick here.\u201d\n\n\u201cI just wish you had settled it,\u201d said I; \u201cI\u2019m more puzzled than when\nwe began.\u201d\n\n\u201cHeigh-ho, fellows never know when they\u2019re well off,\u201d said Neddy; \u201cnow\nI never get a chance. In my holiday I just go down to the old folk at\nRomford, and there I stick.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey don\u2019t indeed,\u201d said I; \u201cI wonder to hear you talk like that,\nNed. Some folks would give all they\u2019re worth to have old folk to go to.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I didn\u2019t mean it,\u201d said he, looking hurt. And I don\u2019t believe he\ndid, for a kinder hearted fellow don\u2019t live; and I was half sorry I had\nsaid what I did say.\n\n\u201cFurther deliberation will be necessary,\u201d said Jem, lighting his fourth\npipe; \u201cwe\u2019ll come again to-morrow night; your bacchy\u2019s nearly out,\nDick; lay in some bird\u2019s eye for to-morrow; real Bristol, do you hear?\u201d\n\n\u201cTime to go, I suppose,\u201d said Ned, getting up and gathering the\nBradshaws and atlas together; \u201care we to come again to-morrow, Dick?\u201d\n\n\u201cTo-morrow, didst thou say? methought I heard Horatio say to-morrow.\nGo to; it is a thing of naught,\u201d and Jem clapped on his hat and began\nranting in his way; so I broke in--\n\n\u201cI wish you\u2019d hold that noise, and talk sense,\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cShakspeare!\u201d said Jem, stopping short and pulling up his collar.\n\n\u201cGammon!\u201d said Neddy, bursting out laughing.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s right, Neddy,\u201d said I; \u201che\u2019s always going off with some of his\nnonsense, and calling it poetry.\u201d\n\n\u201cI didn\u2019t say it was poetry, did I?\u201d said Jem.\n\n\u201cWhat is it then?\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cBlank verse,\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the difference?\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cGo up the mill-dam, fall down slam, dat poetry; go up the mill-dam,\nfall down whoppo\u2019, dat plank verse,\u201d said he. \u201cGo along nigger--had\nhim dere, nigger,\u201d and he turned in his knees and grinned, like one of\nthose poor beggars who black their faces and go about the streets with\nred striped trowsers, white ties, and banjos.\n\n\u201cYou ought to be a nigger yourself, Jem,\u201d said I, \u201cand I should just\nlike to have the driving of you. There, tumble out with you; it\u2019s time\nfor steady folks to turn in.\u201d\n\nSo I turned them out and held the candle, while they floundered down\nstairs, that wretch, Jem, singing, \u201cThere\u2019s some \u2019un in de house wid\nDinah,\u201d loud enough to be heard at the Foundling. I was glad to hear my\nlandlady catch him at the bottom of the stairs, and give it him well\nabout \u201ca respectable house,\u201d and \u201cwhat she was used to with her gents,\u201d\nwhile she opened the door; only I don\u2019t see what right she had to give\nit me all over again next morning at breakfast, and call Jem Fisher a\nwild young man, and bad company, because that\u2019s just what he isn\u2019t,\nonly a little noisy sometimes. And as if I\u2019m not to have who I please\nup to my room without her interfering! I pay my rent regular every\nmonth, I know. However, I didn\u2019t mind much what she said at breakfast\ntime, because I had got a letter from the country. I don\u2019t get a letter\nonce a month, and it\u2019s very odd this one should have come on this very\nmorning, when I was puzzling where to go for my holiday; and I dare say\nyou\u2019ll think so too, when I tell you what it was about. Let\u2019s see--here\nit is in my pocket, so you shall have it whole:--\n\n                            \u201cElm Close Farm, Berks, August 31, 1857.\n\n    \u201cDEAR DICK,--You know you owe me a visit, for you\u2019ve never been\n    down here, often as I\u2019ve asked you, since we was at school\n    together--and I have been up to you four or five times. Now,\n    why I particularly want you to come this month is, because\n    we\u2019ve got some sport to show you down in these quiet parts,\n    which don\u2019t happen every day. You see there\u2019s an old White\n    Horse cut out in the side of the highest hill hereabouts, (a\n    regular break-neck place it is, and there ain\u2019t three men in\n    the country as\u2019ll ride along the hill-side under the Horse,)\n    and many folks sets a good deal of store by it, and seems to\n    think the world\u2019d come to an end if the horse wasn\u2019t kept all\n    straight. May be I\u2019m a bit of that mind myself--anyhow you\u2019ll\n    see by the paper inside what\u2019s going on; and being a scholar,\n    may be you\u2019ll know about the White Horse, and like to come down\n    to a scouring. And I can tell you it will be good fun; for I\n    remember the last, when I was quite a little chap, before I\n    went to school, and I\u2019ve never seen such games since. You\u2019ve\n    only got to write and say what train you\u2019ll come by, and I\u2019ll\n    meet you at the Farringdon-road station in my trap. So, as I\n    ain\u2019t much of a penman, excuse mistakes, and remember me to\n    Fisher and the others I met at your place; and no more at\n    present from yours truly.\n\n                                                     \u201cJOSEPH HURST.\n\n    \u201cP. S.--You must stay as long as you can, and I\u2019ll mount you on\n    my young bay colt to see a cub killed.\u201d\n\nI shouldn\u2019t print Joe\u2019s letter whole, (and as it is I\u2019ve put a good\ndeal of the spelling right,) only I\u2019m quite sure he\u2019ll never read this\nbook, and I hope it may serve as a warning to young fellows to keep up\ntheir learning when they go and settle down in the country. For when\nJoe left the Commercial Academy at Brentford, he could write just as\ngood English as I, and if he had put \u201cmany folks seems to think,\u201d or\n\u201cyou\u2019ve only got to write,\u201d in a theme, old Hopkins would have given\nhim a good caning. But nothing wears out learning so quick as living\nin the country and farming, and Joe came into his farm when he was\nnineteen, and has been at it ever since. And after all, perhaps, it\ndoesn\u2019t much signify, because nobody makes himself better understood\nthan Joe, in one way or another; and if he wasn\u2019t a little behindhand\nin his grammar, he wouldn\u2019t think much of me perhaps--and one don\u2019t\nmind being taken for a scholar, even by those who are not the best\njudges in the world.\n\nWell, thinks I to myself, as I finished my breakfast, this seems like\nbusiness. If I go down to Joe\u2019s, and stay there all my holiday, the\nfares will be only seventeen shillings; and, say a pound for expenses\ndown there; one pound seventeen shillings, say two pounds in all. I\nshall put three pounds into my pocket, and please an old friend, which\nwill be much better than any thing Jem Fisher and little Neddy Baily\nwill hit out for me in a week from the end of Bradshaw. Besides, it\nwill look well to be able to talk of going to a friend in Berkshire.\nI\u2019ll write to Joe, and say I\u2019ll be with him in good time on the 15th.\n\nSo I went down to the office and told Jem Fisher and little Neddy, that\nI had made up my mind to go and see my old friend Joe, in Berkshire,\nbefore they had had time to get their office coats on.\n\n\u201cWhat? that jolly fellow with the brown face and red whiskers,\u201d said\nJem, \u201cwho came up and slept in your room last Christmas cattle-show,\nand wanted to fight the cabman for a gallon of beer, who charged him\nhalf-a-crown from Baker Street to Gray\u2019s Inn Lane?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said I, \u201cthat\u2019s the man.\u201d\n\n\u201cI remember him well,\u201d said Neddy; \u201cand I\u2019m sure you\u2019ll have a good\ntime of it if you go to see him. But, I say, how about supper to-night?\nYou won\u2019t want us and the Bradshaws any more, eh?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, he isn\u2019t going to get out of it like that,\u201d said Jem, as he\nsettled to his desk, and got his work out. \u201cI say, Dick, you\u2019re not\ngoing to be off now, are you? I know better.\u201d\n\n\u201cI never was on that I know of,\u201d said I; \u201chowever, I don\u2019t mind\nstanding supper at the Cheshire Cheese; but I won\u2019t have you fellows\nup in my room again to-night, kicking up a row on the stairs. No! just\ncatch me at it!\u201d\n\nSo I gave them a supper that night, and another the night after I came\nback from my holiday.\n\nThey seemed just the same, but how different I felt. Only two short\nweeks had passed, but I was as much changed as if it had been ten\nyears. I had found something which I never could get rid of, day or\nnight, and which kept me always in a fret and a struggle. What a life\nI led with it! Sometimes it cast me down and made me ready to hang\nmyself; and then, again, it would lift me up, and seem to fill me with\nwarmth and sunshine. But, somehow, even when I was at the worst, if an\nenchanter had come and offered to wipe it all out, and to put me back\njust where I was the night before my holiday, I should have said \u201cNo;\u201d\nand at all other times I felt that it was the most precious part of my\nlife. What was it? Ah, what was it? Some of you will smile, and some\nof you will sneer, when you find out, as you will (if you don\u2019t skip)\nbefore you get to the end of my story. And I can\u2019t see the least reason\nwhy I should help you to it a minute sooner.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\nNow I do pity all the lords and great gentle-folk with nothing in the\nworld to do except to find out how to make things pleasant, and new\nplaces to go to, and new ways of spending their money; at least, I\nalways pity them at the beginning of my holiday, though perhaps when\none first comes back to eleven months\u2019 hard grind in town the feeling\nisn\u2019t quite so strong.\n\nAt any rate, I wouldn\u2019t have changed places with the greatest lord in\nthe land on Tuesday morning, September 15th. I was up as soon as it was\nlight, and saw the sun rise over the Gray\u2019s Inn Lane chimney-pots; and\nI declare they looked quite beautiful. I didn\u2019t know at all before what\na fine outline they make when the rays come flat along the roofs; and\nmean often to get up in time to see them by sunrise next summer; but\njust now it\u2019s very cold of mornings, and I dare say they don\u2019t look so\nwell. When I put my head out of window it was quite clear and fresh,\nand I thought I could smell the country.\n\nI hadn\u2019t much to do, for I had packed my bag over night; but I went\nover all my things again, and changed the places of some of them in my\nold bureau, (which belonged to my father, who was clerk for forty years\nin one of the oldest houses in Clement\u2019s Inn,) and locked up all the\ndrawers; and then I set to work to lay breakfast for three, for I had\nasked my two friends to come and see me off, and they had made it all\nup with my landlady. So about six o\u2019clock they came in, and we had a\ncapital breakfast; and then we started off to walk up to the Paddington\nstation, carrying my bag between us. I had settled to go by the 7.30\ntrain, because if I hadn\u2019t they couldn\u2019t have come with me; besides, it\nis the first train which stops at Farringdon-road; and I was very glad\nwhen we got into the bustle of the station, for they were rather low,\nand I felt almost ashamed of being so jolly, though certainly they had\nhad their holiday earlier in the year. But when I saw their faces out\nof the window of the second-class carriage, just as the starting-bell\nrang, I should like to have paid their fares out of my own pocket, if\nthey could have gone with me.\n\nHowever, by the time we got past Wormwood Scrubbs, (which looked so\nfresh and breezy with the gossamer lying all over it,) I could think of\nnothing else but the country and my holiday. How I did enjoy the pretty\nhill with the church at top and the stream at the bottom by Hanwell,\nand the great old trees about half a mile off on the right before you\nget to Slough, and the view of Windsor Castle, and crossing the Thames\nat Maidenhead, with its splendid weeping willows, and the old Bath-road\nbridge, and the reach beyond with the woods coming down to the bank,\nand the great lords\u2019 houses up above. And then all the corn-fields,\nthough by this time most of them were only stubble, and Reading town,\nand the great lasher at Pangbourn, where the water was rushing and\ndancing through in the sunlight to welcome me into Berkshire; and\nthe great stretches of open land about Wallingford-road and Didcot.\nAnd after that came great green pasture-fields, and orchards, and\ngray-stone farm-houses, and before I could turn round we were at\nFarringdon-road station, and it was a quarter past eleven. As I got\nout and gave up my ticket, I couldn\u2019t help thinking of the two lines\nJem Fisher would go on saying when we went out walking in Combe Wood\nand Richmond Park one Sunday this last May--\n\n    How beautiful the country do appear\n    At this time of the year.\n\nI know he was laughing, and made them out of his own head, though he\ndeclared they were in Chaucer; but they are just as true for all that,\nwhether Jem Fisher or Chaucer made them, though the English isn\u2019t as\ngood as the sense.\n\nThere I found Joe waiting for me, with his trap, as he called it, at\nthe door, and the inn ostler standing by the head of the horse, which\nwas a bright chestnut, and looked very fine. I own I very much enjoyed\ngoing off in that dark-green high-wheeled carriage.\n\n\u201cIn with you, Dick,\u201d cried out Joe, as he took hold of the reins, and\npatted the horse on the neck. \u201cThere, shoot your bag in behind; look\nalive, she don\u2019t stand well. That\u2019ll do,\u201d he shouted to the ostler, who\njumped back and touched his hat just as if Joe owned half the parish.\nIf the horse couldn\u2019t stand well, at any rate she could step out, and\naway we whirled down the white road; Joe red in the face with holding\non, his feet well out to the splash-board, his chest thrown forward,\nand his elbows down at his side, hauling the chestnut\u2019s head right\nback, till her nose nearly touched the collar. But for all that, away\nwent her legs right straight out in front, shooting along so fast that\nI began to feel queer, not being used to horses, and took tight hold\nof the seat with my left hand, so that Joe shouldn\u2019t see; for the cart\njumped sometimes enough to pitch you out.\n\n\u201cGently there, gently, my beauty,\u201d said Joe, as the chestnut dropped\ninto a little quieter pace. \u201cThere, now, ain\u2019t she a pictur\u2019?\u201d said he\nto me;--\u201cever see a mare lay down to her work like that? Gently, my\nbeauty! if it wasn\u2019t for the blaze in her face, and the white feet,\nthe Squir\u2019d give me one hundred pounds for her to-morrow. And I won\u2019t\nsell her under. It\u2019s a mortal shame to drive her. Her mouth\u2019s like a\nkitten\u2019s.\u201d How Joe could talk so, when he was pulling fit to burst\nhimself at the reins, I don\u2019t know; I thought once or twice where we\nshould go to if one broke, but I didn\u2019t say any thing. I found out\nafterwards that Joe meant a great white mark, when he talked of the\nblaze in her face. I suppose men can\u2019t see any faults in their own\nhorses, any more than they can in their children.\n\nAfter a bit, the pace got quite steady, and then I began to enjoy\nmyself, and could look at the famous rich fields, and the high hedges\nfull of great heavy masses of clematis, and sniff up all the country\nsmells, as we whirled along, and listen to Joe, who was going grinding\non about, \u2018how badly the parish roads were kept up; and that he had set\nhis mind to have them well mended with flints instead of chalk, and\nto have all the thistles at the side kept down, which were sowing the\nwhole country round, because their vestry was so stingy they wouldn\u2019t\nput any men on the road to set it right,\u2019 and I could see that Joe was\nin the middle of a good quarrel with all the other farmers about it.\n\nWhen he had done his story, I asked him about the White Horse, and he\npointed me out the highest of the hills which ran along on our left\nhand a mile or two away. There, sure enough, I saw the figure quite\nplain; but he didn\u2019t know much about it. Only, he said, he had always\nheard tell that it was cut out by King Alfred the Great, who lived\nin those parts; and \u2018there was a main sight of strange old things up\nthere on the hill, besides the White Horse; and though he didn\u2019t know\nmuch about how they got there, he was sort of proud of them, and was\nglad to pay his pound or two, or double that if it was wanted, to keep\nthem as they should be;\u2019 \u201cfor, you see,\u201d said Joe, \u201cwe\u2019ve lived about\nhere, father and son, pretty nigh ever since King Alfred\u2019s time, which\nI reckon is a smartish time ago, though I forget how long.\u201d And though\nI think Joe, and parties in the counties generally, set too much store\nby such things, and hold their noses much higher than they\u2019ve any need\nto do, because their families have never cared to move about, and push\non in the world, and so they know where their great-grandfathers were\nborn, I couldn\u2019t help feeling there was something in it after all.\n\nAnd the more I thought of this strange old White Horse, the more it\ntook hold of me, and I resolved, if I could, while I was down in the\ncountry to learn all about it. I knew, you see, that if I could only\nget people to tell me about it, I should be able to carry it all away;\nbecause, besides having a very good memory, I can take down every thing\nthat is said as fast as most people can speak it, and that\u2019s what gives\nme such an advantage over Jem Fisher and Neddy, who spent all the time\nit took me to learn shorthand in reading poetry and other rubbish,\nwhich will never help to get them on in the world, or do them a bit of\ngood that I can see.\n\nPresently we came in sight of a house with farm buildings behind, which\nstood some way back from the road; and Joe pulled up opposite a gate\nwhich led into the field before the house.\n\n\u201cHere we are, then,\u201d said he; \u201cjust jump out, and open the gate, Dick;\nI\u2019d do it, only I can\u2019t trust you with the ribbons.\u201d\n\nIt was a beautiful great green pasture-field which we drove into, with\na score of fat sleek cows feeding in it, or lying about chewing the\ncud; and Joe was very proud of them, and walked the chestnut along\nslowly while he pointed out his favourites to me, especially one\nshort-horn, whose back he said was like a kitchen-table, though why\nshe should be any the handsomer for that I can\u2019t say. The house was an\nold brick building, with tall chimneys and latticed windows; in front\nof it was a nice little flower-garden, with a tall, clipped holly hedge\nrunning round it, so thick that you couldn\u2019t see through; and beyond\nthat, a kitchen garden and an orchard. Outside the enclosure stood four\nsuch elms as I never saw before, and a walnut-tree nearly as big as\nthey, with queer great branches drooping close to the ground, on which\nsome turkeys were sitting. There was only a little wicket-gate in the\nholly hedge, and a gravel footpath up to the front door, so we drove\ninto the farm-yard at the back; and while Joe and his man took care of\nthe chestnut, I had time to look about, and think what a snug berth Joe\nseemed to have fallen upon.\n\nThe yard must be sixty yards across, and was full of straw where the\npigs were lying with nothing but their snouts out; lots of poultry\nwere scratching and pecking about before the barn-doors, and pigeons\nwere fluttering down amongst them, and then up again to the tops of\nthe barns and stables, which ran all round the yard. The rick-yard,\nfull of long stacks of hay, and round stacks of corn, was beyond. A\nterrier and spaniel were sleeping in sunny corners, and a grayhound was\nstalking about and looking at the pigs; and every thing looked sleepy\nand happy, and as if life went easily along at Elm Close Farm.\n\nPresently Joe came out of the stable, carrying his whip, and took me\ninto the house, calling into the kitchen as we passed to send in dinner\ndirectly. There was nobody in the parlour at first, but I saw that the\ntable was laid for three; and, before I could look round at the prints\nand samples on the wall, Joe\u2019s mother and the dinner came in. She was\na good-looking old lady, dressed in black, with a very white lawn cap\nand collar, and was very kind and civil, but a little deaf. Joe bustled\nabout, and got out I don\u2019t know how many bottles of home-made wine,\nclary, and raisin, and ginger; all of which he made me drink, besides\nbeer, for he said that no one in the vale had such receipts for wine\nas his mother. And what with the dairy-fed pork, and black puddings,\nand a chicken almost as big as a turkey, and the cheese-cakes and tarts\nafterwards, and the hearty welcome and good example which Joe gave me,\nI don\u2019t remember when I have made so good a dinner.\n\nThe old lady went off directly after dinner, and I could see that Joe\nwanted to go and see after his men; so I told him not to mind me,\nfor I should enjoy loitering about the place better than any thing.\nAnd so I did; first I went into the flower-garden, and watched and\nlistened to the bees working away so busy in the mignonette, and the\nswallows darting up into their nests under the eaves, and then diving\nout again, and skimming away over the great pasture; and then round\nthe kitchen-garden, and into the orchard, where the trees were all\nloaded with apples and pears, and so out into a stubble-field at the\nback, where there were a lot of young pigs feeding and playing queer\ntricks, and back through the farm-yard into the great pasture, where I\nlay down on the grass, under one of the elms, and lighted my pipe; and\nthought of our hot clerks\u2019 room, and how Jem Fisher and little Neddy\nwere working away there; and watched a flock of little shiny starlings\nhopping up on to the backs of some old south-down wethers who were\nfeeding near me, and flying backwards and forwards into the old elms\nand walnut-trees, talking to one another all the while.\n\nAnd so the time wore on, till a stout lass in a blue cotton print came\nout, and called the cows in to milking; and they all went trooping\nslowly by into the farm-yard, some of them just stopping to stare at me\nwith their mild eyes, and smelling so sweet, that I hadn\u2019t the heart to\ngo on smoking, and let my pipe out. And after a bit, I followed into\nthe line of sheds where they were being milked by the lass and a man,\nwho balanced himself on two legs of the milking-stool, and drove his\nhead into the cow\u2019s side; and I thought I had never heard a sweeter\nsound than the tinkling sound which the milk made in the bright, tin\npails.\n\nI soon got into a talk with the lass, who was very pleasant and free\nspoken; and presently, when her pail was full, I lifted it out for her,\nall frothing up, and looking not a bit like our London sky-blue; and I\ntold her I didn\u2019t think I had ever tasted real new milk; so she got me\na long straw, and while she went on milking, I went down on my knees,\nand began to suck away through the straw. But I had hardly begun, when\nI heard a noise behind, and looking round, there stood Joe, laughing\nall over; and by his side a young woman in a broad, straw hat and a\ngray jacket; and though, for good manners, she didn\u2019t laugh out like\nJoe, I could see it was all she could do to keep from going off too.\n\nWhy was I ashamed of being caught? I don\u2019t know, but I was ashamed; and\nas I stuck there on my knees in the deep straw with the pail before me\nlooking at them, the blood rushed up to my head and made my ears sing,\nso that I couldn\u2019t hear a word that Joe said. But I could see he did\nsay something, and then went off into another great roar of laughter;\nand the lass and the man left off milking and began laughing too, till\nI thought they would have dropped off the stools. Then the young woman\nwho was with Joe said something to him, and I thought I heard the words\n\u201cWhat a shame!\u201d and \u201cyour oldest friend;\u201d and then she caught up a\nstraw, and came and knelt on the opposite side of the milk-pail, and\nbegan to suck away herself without looking at me. In another moment Joe\nplumped down too, clapping me on the back.\n\n\u201cI say,\u201d said he, \u201cstart fair! Here, make room for me; you and Lucy\nain\u2019t going to have it all to yourselves,\u201d and he began sucking away\ntoo; and then I recovered myself, and we all went on for a minute, when\nJoe took his straw out of his mouth, and said, \u201cThis is my sister Lucy,\nDick; there, shake hands over the pail, and then let\u2019s go in to tea.\u201d\n\nSo she looked up, and blushed, and gave me her hand, her merry blue\neyes twinkling with mirth, though she tried to keep grave. But I was\nall right now, and went off myself, and Joe followed, and then she,\nwith the clearest, brightest laugh you ever heard; and then the man and\nthe lass, and by the time we had done, I felt as if I had known them\nall for years. But as for Miss Lucy, as we walked away to the house to\ntea, I felt as if I could have given her my skin, if she would only\nhave had a pair of shoes made out of it for her dear little feet.\n\nThe old lady was sitting at the tea-table in great force, with plates\nof buttered toast and cake, and pots of blackberry and red-currant jam,\nand the great loaf all set out ready; and after tea, we three walked\nout again till the sun set, and then came in to supper, at which I was\nsurprised to find myself eating away just as if I had had nothing all\nday; country air does give one such an appetite. After supper, the old\nlady sat in her chair knitting and telling stories, till she nodded\noff and the spectacles fell on to the end of her nose, and her hands\ninto her lap, but still holding the needles; and every now and then\ngiving a catch with her head, and making belief to go on for a stitch\nor two. And Miss Lucy sat stitching at a patch-work coverlet, fitting\nin all sorts of scraps of silk in the prettiest patterns in the world,\nand we on the other side of the table watching her, and talking quite\nlow not to disturb the old lady. But what made it so pleasant was,\nthat I had pretty near all the talking, for they seemed never tired\nof hearing about London, and how people lived there, and what they\nthought; especially Miss Lucy, who had never been out of Berkshire in\nher life. I thought Joe a great fidget, when soon after nine he began\nto walk about and waked his mother, and got the servants in to prayers,\nand bustled them off to bed; but I believe it was all because he wanted\nto have his pipe, which he wouldn\u2019t smoke in the parlour. So we went\ninto the kitchen and finished the day there, under half a score of\ngreat brown sides of bacon, and tufts of sweet herbs which hung drying\nfrom the corners of the rack, and opposite to the dresser with its rows\nof pewter plates as bright as silver, till I went to bed in sheets\nsmelling of lavender, and dreamt of Miss Lucy.\n\nI dare say that, though I should never be tired of telling about every\nthing that happened to me at Elm Close, some people may get tired of\nreading about it. So I shall only begin my story of the next day after\nbreakfast, when Joe had the trap out again, and carried me off to see\nwhat was doing up on White Horse Hill.\n\nWe had a very pleasant drive through the Vale to Uffington, which lies\nat the foot of the hill, and here Joe put up the trap, at the Swan,\nand we set off on foot to walk up. It was very hot, and the white road\nglared as we tramped along it, but very soon we came to broad strips of\nturf on each side, and then it was pleasant enough; so we plodded up a\ngentle rise called Sour Hill, and crossed the Iceldon or Iggleton way,\nwhich I\u2019ve found out since was an old Roman road; and then the ascent\nbecame quite steep, and every thing was clear hill and down before us,\nnot a fence to be seen, and a fresh breeze came sweeping over the hill.\n\nThe road now became very bad, with ruts in the chalk like\nwater-courses. On our left hand there was a deep, narrow valley like\na little bay running up into the hill, on the opposite side of which\nvalley a large wood hung along the steepest part of the hill-side,\nwhich Joe informed me was Uffington wood, a well-known meet for the\nhounds; it made me giddy to look at the places which he declared the\nhuntsman, and any one who wanted to be sure of a good place when the\nhounds broke cover, had to ride along.\n\nAnd now the great, green hill seemed to be hanging right over us,\nas we came to a curious round mound on our right hand, up which Joe\nscrambled, and I after him, till we both pulled up out of breath on the\nflat top, some fifty yards across.\n\n\u201cThis is Dragon\u2019s Hill,\u201d said Joe, pulling off his hat and mopping his\nface with his handkerchief, \u201cwhere St. George killed the Dragon in the\nold times. Leastways so they says about here, only they calls him King\nGeorge instead of Saint George. And this bare place is where his blood\nran out, and nothing\u2019ll grow on it since, not so much as a thistle.\u201d\n\nOf course I knew better than to believe that, but it is a beautiful\nplace; for just below it another little deep valley, like the one\non the left, only narrower and steeper at the sides, runs right up\ninto the hill-side. The road we had left winds round the head of this\ngorge, for any one to drive along who isn\u2019t particular about breaking\nhis neck, for the hill is like a wall up above, and down below, with\nnothing but a little bank between you and the descent.\n\n\u201cThose are the giants\u2019 seats opposite,\u201d said Joe, pointing across the\nvalley to a set of beautiful great green slopes, like huge ridges and\nfurrows, which went sweeping down into the valley one after another\nas far as I could see; \u201cand this is the Manger, this great hole in\nthe hill-side, because it lies right under the old Horse\u2019s nose. Come\nalong, let\u2019s get up to him; there he is, you see, right above us.\u201d\n\nSo we scrambled down the side of Dragon\u2019s Hill, crossed the road,\nand then started up a row of steps cut in the turf. I\u2019m sure it must\nbe twice as steep as the hill in Greenwich Park, and I don\u2019t mind\nconfessing that I shouldn\u2019t have liked to look round just at first, and\nwouldn\u2019t have minded giving myself a help with my hands if I hadn\u2019t\nbeen afraid of Joe\u2019s seeing me and laughing. I should think we must\nhave gone up two hundred steps, when all of a sudden Joe stopped just\nabove me, and called out, \u201cHere we are;\u201d and in about four steps I came\nto a trench cut into the chalk about two feet deep, which ran up the\nhill-side right ahead of us. The chalk in the trench was all hard and\nflat, and seemed to have been scraped and brushed up quite lately.\n\n\u201cThis is his tail,\u201d said Joe. \u201cCome on; look, they\u2019re scouring him\nup above; we\u2019re in luck--I thought they\u2019d have done before this; and\nthere\u2019s the Squire too with \u2019em.\u201d\n\n[Illustration]\n\nSo I looked up; and there, some way above, I saw a lot of men with\nshovels, and besoms, and barrows, cleaning away at the trench, which,\nnow that I began to look at it, certainly came out more and more like\na horse galloping; and there amongst them, working away as hard as\nany one, was a person in yellow leather gaiters, who I saw at once\nmust be the Squire, though I had never seen a squire before. I own I\nhad a great prejudice against a country squire when I went down into\nBerkshire; which was natural enough, you see, because I had never been\nfarther from town than Twickenham (except by boat to Margate),\nand had belonged to a debating society near Farringdon-market ever\nsince I left school, where we take in three liberal papers, and once\na week have as good speaking as they get in the House of Commons. I\nhaven\u2019t been to the debates much lately, myself; but when I was an\nactive member, we used to have a regular go in about once a quarter\nat the unpaid magistracy. How we did give it them! They were bloated\naristocrats, who by the time they were thirty had drunk out all the\nlittle brains they ever had, and spent their time in preserving and\nkilling game and foxes at the expense of the farmers, and sending every\ngood man in their villages either to the Bastile (as we called the\nworkhouse), as a pauper, or to the county jail as a poacher.\n\nJoe and I very nearly quarrelled over one of those debates to which\nI took him, like a great gaby as I was, when he came up to see me at\nthe time of a cattle-show. He would get up to speak, all I could do to\nstop him; and began, all red in the face, pitching into one of our best\nspeakers who had just finished, calling him a cockney, and asking him\nwhat right he had to jaw about squires when he talked about a fox\u2019s\nears and tail, and didn\u2019t know mangold-wurzel from swedes. And then all\nour fellows began to shout and hiss, and Joe began to swear, and wanted\nto take his coat off, and fight all who had spoken; \u201cone down, and\nt\u2019other come on,\u201d as he said. I got him out and took him home; but his\nblood was up, and he would go on at our Society, and call us a set of\nquill-driving jackanapes. And I couldn\u2019t stand that, so I began at the\nlanded interest, and said all the bad of them I could think of, about\nthe Poor-Laws, game preserving, and the Corn-laws. Joe was very near\ngoing off in a huff, but we shook hands over it at last, and agreed\nthat we neither of us knew much about the sort of life the other led,\nand so had better not talk about it as if we did.\n\nWell, this was the first squire I had ever seen, so I looked at him\nwith all my eyes; and if all squires were like him, I don\u2019t wonder\nat Joe\u2019s getting in a passion at our talk in Farringdon-market. I\nshould think he must be about forty-five years old, and stands not far\nshort of six feet high; for when he came to stand by Joe, I could see\nhe was the taller of the two; but he didn\u2019t look so tall quite when\nhe stood by himself--I suppose because his figure was so good. For\nyou never saw such a clean made man; he was for all the world like a\nwell-rounded wedge from his shoulders down, and his neck and head put\non like a statue. He looked just as if he could have jumped the highest\nfive-barred gate in the Vale, and then have carried it off on his\nshoulders, and run up the hill with it. And his face, which was well\nbrowned, was so manly and frank, and his voice so cheery, and he looked\nyou so straight in the face, that you felt he wasn\u2019t ashamed of any\nthing, or afraid of anybody; and so you looked him back and spoke out,\nand were twice as good a man at once yourself while you were talking to\nhim.\n\nWell, when the Squire saw Joe, he stopped working away with his shovel,\nand called out to him; and so Joe went up and shook hands with him, and\nbegan talking to him, and in another minute the Squire called for his\ncoat--a gray tweed shooting-jacket it was--and put it on, and took up\nhis riding-whip, and told the men to look alive and get their job done,\nand then to send up to the Castle for some beer and bread and cheese\nwhich he would order for them.\n\nThen Joe and the Squire walked away along the hill-side talking,\nand I went and sat down on a little mound, just above the Horse\u2019s\nears, and watched the men working, and looked at the view. How I did\nenjoy myself! The turf was as soft as a feather bed, and as springy\nas horsehair; and it was all covered with thistle down, which came\ndrifting along like snow with the south wind; and all down below the\ncountry looked so rich and peaceful, stretching out for miles and miles\nat my feet in the hazy sunshine, and the larks right up overhead sang\nso sweetly, that I didn\u2019t know whether to laugh or cry. I should have\nliked to have had a turn at the besoms and shovels with the men, who\nseemed very good-tempered, only I was too shy, and I couldn\u2019t make out\nhalf they said. So I took out my pipe and lighted it, and sat looking\non at the work, and thinking of nothing.\n\nPresently a gentleman whom I hadn\u2019t noticed, but who was poking about\nthe place, came and sat down near me. He was dressed in dark clothes,\nvery quiet; I suppose he was a parson from some of the villages near.\nAnd we began talking about the weather, and what chance there was of\nhaving fine days for the pastime. He was a very grave, elderly man, but\neasy and pleasant, and had a keen look in his gray eyes, and a sort of\ntwinkle about his mouth, which made me put my best leg foremost, and\ntake care what I said.\n\nWell, when we had done about the weather, thinks I, \u201cThis is just the\nsort of gentleman to tell me what I want to know about the White Horse\nand all the rest of it,\u201d and you\u2019ll see as you go on that I never\nmade a better guess in my life. So I got my note-book out quietly, so\nthat he shouldn\u2019t take much notice of what I was about, and began, \u201cI\nsuppose, Sir,\u201d said I, \u201cthat it\u2019s all right about Alfred, and that he\nreally did cut out this figure after winning a great battle up here?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said he, \u201cI think so myself, because there has always been a\ntradition in the country side that this was so. And where antiquaries\ndiffer, a tradition of this sort may always be pretty safely believed.\nCountry folk hold on to such stories, and hand them down in a very\ncurious manner; but you know, I dare say, that it is claimed by some as\na Druidical, or at any rate a British monument, which would make it\nseveral hundred years older at least.\u201d\n\nI didn\u2019t know any thing about it, but why should I tell him so. \u201cI\nshouldn\u2019t like to think so, Sir,\u201d said I, \u201cbecause one wouldn\u2019t care so\nmuch about it if it wasn\u2019t made by the Saxons and their great king. The\nDruids don\u2019t seem akin to us somehow; and then one would lose all about\nthe great battle, which was certainly fought up here, wasn\u2019t it, Sir?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have no doubt about it,\u201d said he; \u201cthere are many signs of it--above\nall, graves enough to hold the harvest of many battles. You are lying\non one.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo! am I really, though?\u201d said I, sitting up and looking at the\nground; \u201chow do you know?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, it isn\u2019t very hard when the eye gets used to them,\u201d said he;\n\u201cthere\u2019s another;\u201d and he pointed to a small mound a few yards off,\nand just like the one I was sitting on. \u201cThat larger mound, too, down\nbelow, across the road, you were on it just now--\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Sir,\u201d said I, interrupting him, and pointing at it, \u201cDragon\u2019s\nHill.\u201d\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\u201cExactly so,\u201d said he; \u201cthat\u2019s another burial-place; a larger and\ngrander affair, you see, than these. Probably a king or other very\nnoble person is buried there.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe people say, Sir, don\u2019t they,\u201d said I, \u201cthat St. George killed the\nDragon there?\u201d\n\n\u201cThey do,\u201d said he, \u201cand that his blood made a pool on the top, and\nran down the steps on the other side, where the grass has never grown\nsince. This is another curious instance of the tenacity of tradition;\nbut here I think our good folk in the Vale have held on to the name,\nor a part of it, and forgotten the meaning, just as they have in the\ncase of another village over there in Oxfordshire, the name of which is\nStanton Harcourt.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow was that, Sir?\u201d said I, when he paused.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said he, laughing, \u201can old man in that village told me that a\nbattle was fought there, which the English were very near losing, when\nthe general rode up to one of his captains, named Harcourt, who was in\nthe thick of it, and called out, \u2018Stan\u2019 to un, Harcourt, stan\u2019 to un,\nHarcourt;\u2019 and that Harcourt won the battle, and the village has been\ncalled Stanton Harcourt ever since. Now, as to that mound, I believe\nit\u2019s right name to be Pendragon\u2019s Hill. Pendragon, you know, is only\na name common to those of the kings of the ancient Britons, who were\nchosen leaders in the time of national distress, and means nothing more\nthan \u2018caput regum,\u2019 \u2018the chief of kings.\u2019 According to some, \u2018Arthur\u2019\nis the same or a like word, being \u2018Ardh-reg\u2019 or \u2018Ard-heer,\u2019 and meaning\n\u2018summus Rex\u2019 (whence the \u2018Arviragus\u2019 of Juvenal; but I lay no stress on\nthis). Now we know of at least three Pendragons. There was Cassibelan,\nwho was chosen Pendragon at the time of Julius C\u00e6sar\u2019s invasion, Uter\nPendragon, and Arthur Pendragon; which Uter and Arthur were, without\ndoubt, chosen to resist the Saxons, who had won already the eastern\npart of the island. And if Arthur and Pendragon are the same words,\ndoubtless (as has been well supposed), there were many Arthurs at this\ntime, one of whom was probably slain in battle and buried here.[2]\nFor in the Saxon annals we find that Cedric, founder of the West Saxon\nkingdom, slew Natan-leod and five thousand men in these parts, which\nNatan-leod (as is shown by Mr. Baxter) is \u2018Naud-an-ludh,\u2019 or \u2018populi\ntutela,\u2019 the people\u2019s refuge; in fact, a kindred word to \u2018Pendragon,\u2019\nor \u2018Arthur.\u2019 You see how probable this would be _prim\u00e2 facie_?\u201d said\nhe, turning round to me.\n\nMy goodness! I couldn\u2019t make out head or tail of his long words, and\nwas staring at him with my mouth open; but when he turned round I shut\nit pretty quick, and looked as wise as I could. \u201cWell, Sir,\u201d said I,\n\u201cI hardly know; but it doesn\u2019t look unlikely, does it?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course not,\u201d said he, quite pleased; \u201cand as the Britons were not\ndriven from these parts till the middle of the sixth century, I should\nput the throwing up of Dragon\u2019s Hill in the beginning, say the first\nhalf, of that century. Now, in the year A.D. 520, according to Gildas\nand Bede, Arthur gained his twelfth victory at \u2018Mons Badonicus,\u2019 which\nmight very well be Baydon Hill, which you see over there.\u201d And he\npointed to a hill three or four miles off.\n\n\u201cBut then, Sir,\u201d said I, \u201cif he gained the victory, he wasn\u2019t killed\nthere, I suppose, and so he couldn\u2019t be buried here.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut he was killed in battle at last,\u201d said he; \u201cand, as I told you,\nthere must have been many Arthurs or Pendragons just at that time, and\nmany battles fought between this and Bath--why, the Britons gained a\nbattle at Wanborough, over there, as late as A.D. 581.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, Sir,\u201d said I, \u201cif Pendragon was buried down there, wouldn\u2019t\nthey have been very likely to cut out the horse up here just above,\nas another monument, at the same time; and then what becomes of King\nAlfred and the Danes?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is no instance of two such monuments over one chief,\u201d answered\nhe, quite positive; but I thought I saw him give a twinkle with his\nmouth, as if he felt I had been pretty near him. \u201cBesides, as I said\nbefore, the tradition as to the White Horse is too strong to be upset\nby conjecture.\u201d\n\n\u201cI didn\u2019t mean to conjecture, I\u2019m sure, Sir,\u201d said I; and I thought,\nthough I didn\u2019t say so, it was he who had been conjecturing pretty\nfreely, if it came to that. \u201cThe battle of Ashdown, Sir, was a very\ngreat battle then,\u201d I went on, for I liked to hear him talk about those\nold times, though I didn\u2019t quite understand all he said.\n\n\u201cThe greatest battle probably in which Alfred ever was,\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cPlease, Sir,\u201d said I, \u201cI hope you won\u2019t think me troublesome, but if\nyou would only tell me about the battle I should be so much obliged to\nyou.\u201d\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d said he, looking at me rather surprised, \u201cit is seldom that\nI can get any of the youth of this day to take an interest in these\nmatters, the study of which would greatly benefit their manners\nand morals. I shall be pleased to do what you wish. Are you a good\nlistener?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Sir,\u201d said I, \u201cyou will get tired of talking long before I shall\nof listening. And you wouldn\u2019t mind, I hope, my taking notes of the\nstory?\u201d\n\n\u201cBy no means,\u201d said he; \u201cI see you are ready with your pen. Perhaps\nI shouldn\u2019t have told you so much about Pendragon and Natan-leod if\nI had seen that you were taking me down; but now I will be careful\nto give you nothing which is not to be found in the most trustworthy\nchroniclers. Are you ready?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Sir,\u201d said I; and then he settled himself in the turf, and pulled\na couple of old brown books out of his long coat-tail pockets, to which\nhe sometimes referred, and looking out over the Vale, as if he were\ntravelling in his mind far away from me and every thing about us on the\nhill-side, began as follows.\n\n[2] E. Martin Atkins, Esq., of Kingston Lisle, has lately been opening\nthe barrows which are nearest to the Horse; and the compiler, hearing\nthat he was about to examine Dragon\u2019s Hill also, wrote to him on the\nsubject, and suggested how desirable it would be (if any ways possible)\nto find the remains of King B\u00e6gseek there who was slain at Ashdown. To\nwhich communication the compiler received the following reply. After\nmentioning the contents of the other barrows, some clearly Saxon,\nothers Romano-British, his letter proceeds as to Dragon\u2019s Hill:--\n\n\u201cAs for old B\u00e6gseek, I should chuck him overboard at once, and assume\nthat our friend Uter Pendragon\u2019s remains had been originally deposited\nhere, but that he had been disturbed in his repose by the decapitation\nof the barrow, which at some unknown time has undoubtedly taken place.\nIt is unfortunate, however, that a Roman coin of the time of Constans\nturned up from among the d\u00e9bris, and the fragments of pottery also\nwere chiefly of Roman manufacture, mixed with some of earlier date.\nIt will therefore perhaps be difficult to reconcile these matters one\nwith the other; but on turning them over in your mind, you will, I dare\nsay, _theorize with a very agreeable correctness_!\u201d What is a wretched\ncompiler to do, who gets such letters from those who should be his\naiders and abettors?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\nNearly a thousand years ago, in the year of our Lord 871, the great\nbattle of Ashdown was fought; but, in order to give you a true idea\nof its importance, I must begin my story some years earlier; that is\nto say, in the year of our Lord 866. In this year \u00c6thelbert, king of\nthe West Saxons, died, having ruled his kingdom for five years in\npeace, with the love of his subjects; and \u00c6thelred, his next brother,\nwho succeeded him, buried his body in Sherborne Minster. In this year\nAlfred, the younger brother, who afterwards succeeded \u00c6thelred, and was\ncalled Alfred the Great, reached his seventeenth year. In the autumn a\ngreat army of pagan Danes came over to Britain, and landed in that part\nof the island which was then called East Anglia, but now Norfolk. These\nwere not the first Danes who had come over to vex England, but none of\nthem ever stayed so long, fought so many battles, or did so much harm\n(as we should say, speaking according to man\u2019s judgment) as these.\n\nA very curious story is told of why they came over here; and as it goes\nat first sight against a good many of our notions of how the world is\ngoverned, and so ought to make us think a little more about the matter,\nI shall give it you pretty much as it is told by the old chronicler,\nJohn Brompton.\n\n\u201cThere was a man of royal birth in the kingdom of Denmark, named\nLodbroc, who had two sons, Hinguar and Hubba. This man embarked one\nday with his hawk in a small boat to catch ducks, and other wild-fowl\non the adjoining sea-coasts and islands. A terrible storm arose, by\nwhich Lodbroc was carried away and tossed for several days on every\npart of the ocean. After numberless perils, he was cast ashore on the\ncoast of Norfolk, near the village of Redham,\u201d (at least that must be\nthe name, as I read it in Brompton, though I have not been able to\nhear of a village of that name on the coast of Norfolk,) \u201cwhere he was\nfound having his hawk alone for his companion, and presented to King\nEdmund. That king, struck with the manliness of his form, kept him at\nhis court, and heard from his own mouth the history of his adventures.\nHe was then associated with Berne, the king\u2019s huntsman, and indulged\nin all the pleasures of the chase, for in the exercise of both hunting\nand hawking he was remarkably skilful, and succeeded in capturing both\nbirds and beasts according as he had a mind.\u201d In fact, Lodbroc was the\nsort of man to please King Edmund, for the art of capturing birds and\nbeasts was, next to the art of fighting for one\u2019s home and country,\nthe art most esteemed amongst the Anglo-Saxons; who acknowledged \u201cthat\nskill and good fortune in this art, as in all others, are among the\ngifts of God, as we also have often witnessed.\u201d But to go on with our\nstory. \u201cThe skill of Lodbroc bred jealousy in the heart of Berne the\nhuntsman, who one day, as they went out together hunting, unawares\nset upon Lodbroc, and having foully slain him, buried his body in the\nthickets of the forest. But Lodbroc had a small harrier dog, which he\nhad bred up from its birth, and which loved him much. While Berne the\nhuntsman went home with the other hounds, this little dog remained\nalone with his master\u2019s body. In the morning, the king asked what had\nbecome of Lodbroc, to which Berne answered that he had parted from him\nyesterday in the woods, and had not seen him since. At that moment the\nharrier came into the hall and went round wagging its tail, and fawning\non the whole company, but especially on the king; when he had eaten\nhis fill, he again left the hall. This happened often; until some one\nat last followed the dog to see where he went, and having found the\nbody of the murdered Lodbroc, came and told the story to the king. The\naffair was now carefully inquired into, and when the truth was at last\nfound out, the huntsman was exposed on the sea, without oars, in the\nboat which had belonged to Lodbroc. In some days, he was cast ashore\nin Denmark, and brought before the sons of Lodbroc; who, putting him\nto the torture, inquired of him what had become of their father, to\nwhom they knew the boat belonged. To this Berne answered,\u201d as one might\nhave guessed he would answer, he being a liar and cowardly murderer,\n\u201cthat their father Lodbroc had fallen into the hands of Edmund, King\nof East Anglia, by whose orders he had been put to death.\u201d Now, King\nEdmund was a wise and righteous man, who \u201cdevoutly undertook the\ngovernment of the East Angles, and held it with the right hand of\npower, always adoring and glorifying God for all the good things which\nhe enjoyed;\u201d[3] and it is a pity he did not on this occasion remember,\nthat having safely caught a great scoundrel, the best thing to do with\nhim was to see him hung out of the way himself; for, by letting him go,\nyou see, he gave a chance to the devil, who can\u2019t afford to lose such\ngentlemen as Berne the huntsman out of the world, and has considerable\ngrudges against kings like Edmund.\n\nWell, when Hinguar and Hubba heard the tale of Berne the huntsman,\nthey, like good and true sons, according to the notions of piety then\ncurrent amongst the Danes, hastened to fit out a fleet to invade\nEngland, and avenge their father. And their three sisters wove for them\nthe standard, called the Raven, in one day--which flag waved over many\na bloody field, from Northumbria to Devonshire, until it was taken by\nKing Alfred\u2019s men, under Odda, the Alderman of Devon, before a certain\ncastle in that county, which is called Cynuit by Asser, and Kenuith\nelsewhere, (the situation of which castle I cannot identify, or the\nname,) where were slain King Halfdene, a brother of Hinguar and Hubba,\nand 840 Danish warriors. It was said, that when the Danes were about to\ngain a battle, a live crow would fly before the middle of the standard;\nbut if they were to be beaten, it would hang motionless.[4]\n\nSo Hinguar and Hubba, as has been said, landed in the country of the\nEast Angles, in the late autumn, bent on vengeance. King Edmund knew\nnothing of the blood-feud between him and these Danish leaders, by\nreason of Berne\u2019s lying story, so took no more than the usual measures\nfor preparing to attack them; but whether it was that they found King\nEdmund too strong for them at the time, or for some other reason, they\nseem to have wintered there quietly, and to have bought horses, and\nmade some sort of truce with the East Angles.[5] But in the spring of\nthe year 867, they crossed the Humber, marched hastily upon York, and\ntook it.\n\nThe kingdom of Northumbria was just the place for the army of Pagans\nand the standard Raven at this time; for it was divided against itself.\nOsbert, the rightful king, had been playing Tarquin in the house of\nBruern Brocard, one of his chief earls; so his people had cast him out,\nand had taken to themselves a king \u00c6lla, of unkingly blood, and the two\nwere warring against one another when the Danes took York. Late in the\nautumn, however, a peace was made between Osbert and \u00c6lla, and they\nmarched to York; where within the very walls of the city into which\nthe Northumbrians penetrated, was fought a most bloody battle. In that\nfight fell almost all the Northumbrian warriors, and both the kings,\nand a multitude of noble men; and the remainder who escaped made peace\nwith the Pagans.[6] By this time, no doubt, there was small spoil left\nfor Hinguar and Hubba north of the Humber.\n\nAccordingly, in the year 868, the pagan army, leaving Northumbria,\nmarched into Mercia, and surprised and took Nottingham. Then Burhred,\nKing of Mercia, and his witan sent to \u00c6thelred, king of the West\nSaxons, to come and help them. And \u00c6thelred and Alfred marched to\nNottingham with the West Saxon power, and with Burhred besieged the\nPagans, there; but they could not force the wall, and there was no\ngreat battle, and \u00c6thelred and Alfred went home with their troops. But\nthe Pagans, after wintering at Nottingham, made peace with Burhred and\nthe Mercians; that is to say, such a peace as they loved to make--I\nmean a peace till it was worth their while to come again; for in 874\nthey came back, drove King Burhred over the sea, and subdued the whole\ncountry--and Burhred went to Rome and died there, and his body lies in\nSt. Mary\u2019s Church at the English School.[7]\n\nIn the year 869, \u201cthe aforesaid army of Pagans, galloping back to\nNorthumbria, went to York, and there passed the winter;\u201d or, in the\nwords of Huntingdon, \u201cremained there cruelly for one year.\u201d And what\nsort of a winter was it for the poor Yorkshiremen? \u201cThere was again a\ngreat famine, a mortality among men, and a pest among cattle.\u201d Such\nis the fate of a divided people which can only make truces with its\noppressors.\n\nIn this winter, Hinguar and Hubba seem to have got large\nreinforcements from over the sea, headed by two other kings, B\u00e6gseeg\nand Halfdene their brother, for in the year 870 we find them no longer\nsurprising a city, and from thence defying their enemies and oppressing\nthe neighbourhood. Now they march openly and fearlessly across Mercia;\nand, the day of vengeance having come, burst upon East Anglia, and take\nup their head-quarters at Thetford. And then comes the saddest part of\na sad story. King Edmund, being a king like Josiah, who believed in God\nand ruled in righteousness, was not the man to see the desolation of\nany part of his people, or to shut himself up in fenced cities while\nthe pagan cavalry rode through East Anglia--so the aforesaid King\nEdmund gathered his men, and \u201cfought fiercely and manfully against\nthe army. But because the merciful God foreknew that he was to arrive\nat the crown of martyrdom, he there fell gloriously. Of his passion\nI would fain insert some particulars into our history, that the sons\nof men may know and perceive how terrible is Christ the Son of God in\nthe counsels of men, and with what glorious triumph he adorns those\nwhom he tries here under the name of suffering, that the saying may\nbe fulfilled, \u2018He is not crowned except he strive lawfully.\u2019 (2 Tim.\nii. 5.)\u201d[8] Such is the lesson which the old monk Simeon, pr\u00e6centor\nof the Church of Durham, gets out of the death and martyrdom of King\nEdmund, and I know not where we are to look for a better. Perhaps it\nmay help us when we think of India[9] to remember with Simeon, how\nterrible is Christ the Son of God in the counsels of men, and with\nwhat glorious triumph he adorns those whom he tries here under the\nname of suffering. For Hinguar and Hubba took the wounded king on\nthe field of battle, and tied him to a tree, because he chose to die\nsooner than give over his people to them, and there shot him through\nthe body with their arrows.[10] But his people got the body and buried\nit at Bradoriesunyrthe, now called St. Edmund\u2019s Bury, or Bury St.\nEdmunds;[11] and many miracles were wrought at his tomb, and he was\ncanonized--at which honour let all Englishmen rejoice, the earth having\nas much need as ever of many such kings and saints.\n\nAnd they were rare then as now, and then as now men went their own\nway, and not God\u2019s way, and cut out their own work instead of taking\nhis. For \u201cwhen King Edmund was slain, his brother Edwold, dreading\nthe pleasures of the world, and seeing that a hard lot had fallen\non himself and his brother, retired to the monastery of Carnelia in\nDorsetshire, near a clear well which St. Augustine had formerly brought\nout of the earth by prayer, to baptize the people in, and there he\nled a hermit\u2019s life on only bread and water.\u201d[12] Yes! and no doubt\nthought himself righteous and despised others--and left the kingdom\nwhich God had given him to the Pagans, who \u201csubdued all the land and\ndestroyed all the ministers they came to,\u201d which Edmund his brother had\nbuilt--\u201cand that same time they came to Medeshamstede, and burned and\nbeat it down, slew abbot and monks, and all that place which before was\nfull rich, they reduced to nothing,\u201d[13] while Edwold, who should have\nbeen there with the remnant of the East Angles, to make his last stand,\nlike a true shepherd of his people, was eating his bread and drinking\nhis water in peace, by a clear well near the monastery of Carnelia in\nDorsetshire.\n\nAnd now the Pagan kings, \u201cwith a new army, very great, like a flowing\nriver which carries all along with it,\u201d[14] having doubtless been\nreinforced again from over the sea, where the story of their victories\nhad spread far and wide, were looking about for some new field for\nplunder and murder. The whole north and east of England was a desolate\nwilderness behind them; London was in ruins, and Kent had been harried\nover and over again by their brethren the sea-kings. But some thirty\nmiles up the Thames was a fair kingdom, stretching far away west,\ndown to the distant sea. This was Wessex, the kingdom of the West\nAngles, over which \u00c6thelred, the brother of Alfred, was now ruling, and\nentering on the sixth year of his reign. The kingdom had had peace for\nten years, and was full of royal burgs, and rich pastures, with cattle\nand horses, and sheep. Perhaps Hinguar and Hubba remembered the leaguer\nof Nottingham three years before, and how the West Angles, with their\nking and his brother, had hemmed them in and watched them there through\na long summer.\n\nIn the early years of their inroad, the Pagans would not have dared\nto brave a united people with \u00c6thelred for king; but they had now\ngrown bold from success, and were in numbers so great that \u201cby reason\nthereof they could not advance together, but went by different roads.\u201d\nSo in an early month of the year 871, with their usual swiftness, they\nmarched up the Thames valley and seized on Reading, a royal burg, and\nthe then easternmost city of note in Wessex. Reading is situate on the\nsouth bank of the Thames and on the north bank of the Kennet, at the\nconfluence of the two rivers; and, while part of the Pagan host made a\nrampart between the rivers, to protect their camp and the town which\nthey had taken, a large force, on the third day after their arrival,\nbegan scouring the country for plunder, under two of their earls.\n\nBut the men of Wessex had increased and multiplied as well as their\ncattle, and \u00c6thelwulf, Alderman of Berkshire, was a man \u201cwho raged as\na lion in battle.\u201d So \u00c6thelwulf, with what men he could get together,\nfought with the two earls at Englefield, though he had but a small\nband of Christians with him. But he cheered his men, saying to them,\n\u201cthough they attack us with the advantage of more men we may despise\nthem, for our commander Christ, is braver than they.\u201d[15] Whereupon the\nmen of Wessex buckled to their work under the oaks of Englefield Chase\n(afterwards beloved by the great Queen Bess), and there discomfited\nthe pagans very sore, and slew one of the two earls. In one of the\nold chroniclers, there are a few lines which may partly account for\n\u00c6thelwulf\u2019s victory; \u201ctheir two consuls,\u201d says \u00c6thelwerd, \u201cforgetting\nthat they were not on board their fleet, rode proudly through fields\nand meadows on horseback, which nature had denied them;\u201d possibly\ntherefore these were the new comers, who had just joined the Pagan army\nand were not used to horses or landfighting.\n\nWithin the next three days King \u00c6thelred and his brother Alfred came\nup from the west, each leading a strong band of West Saxon warriors,\nand joined \u00c6thelwulf; and on the fourth day they attacked the Pagans at\nReading. Those who were outside the rampart they cut to pieces, and at\nfirst had the vantage; but the Pagans came out with all their forces,\nand after great slaughter had been made on either hand, and the brave\n\u00c6thelwulf had been slain, \u201cthe Pagans had possession of the place of\ndeath.\u201d[16] Thus the chronicle states it; probably the men of Wessex\nwere grievously beaten, and went back with their king, in confusion,\nalong the chalk hills to the other end of Berkshire, pursued by B\u00e6gseeg\nand Halfdene, the two lately arrived Danish kings, with the strength of\nthe Pagan host. I suppose that Hinguar and Hubba stayed at Reading, to\nhold the place of safety; for neither of them were at Ashdown.\n\nBut every mile as they fell back added strength to \u00c6thelred and Alfred,\nas bands of men came up from the rear; from the broad Wiltshire plains\nover the Kennet at Hungerford, and along the chalk hills from Swindon\nand Ashbury; from the vales of the Kennet and the Thames on either\nflank; and a few perhaps already from Glostershire and Oxfordshire,\nwhere the news was doubtless spreading like the wind. So \u00c6thelred and\nhis host turned to bay at Ashdown, and set the battle in array against\nthe pagan kings.\n\nThere is some question between antiquaries as to where the exact site\nof this battle is. It must however, it seems to me, be somewhere in the\nwestern part of Berkshire; for it is quite impossible that \u00c6thelred and\nAlfred could have fought at Reading, at Ashdown, and at Basing, as they\nunquestionably did, within three weeks, if we are to look for Ashdown\nbattle-field either at Ashdown forest, in Essex, or at Ashendon, in\nthe hundred of Bernwood in Buckinghamshire, which are the only sites\nout of Berkshire claiming this honour, and supported by a tittle of\nauthority. Besides, even supposing these three battles could have been\nfought in the time, yet the battle of Reading, having gone against the\nSaxons, (as to which every chronicler agrees,) is it likely that they\nshould have retired _past_ the town and stronghold of the Danes, either\nnortheast into Buckinghamshire, or southeast into Sussex, leaving the\nwhole of Wessex open to the enemy, instead of falling back westward\ninto Wessex, and so covering their own homes? It is perfectly absurd to\nsuppose this, Alfred being one of their generals; and how such ancient\nand venerable persons as Bishops Kennet and Leland can have talked such\nnonsense, is hard to say; unless, indeed, they were born, the one in\nSussex, the other in Buckinghamshire, in which case it is of course\nexcusable, nay, justifiable in them; but of this I know nothing.\n\nAs to the Berkshire sites, I don\u2019t see any reason for troubling you\nwith their several titles. I am myself satisfied that the battle was\nfought here; but all the sites are somewhere on this range of chalk\nhills, of which the old White Horse is king. So now we will turn to the\naccount of the great battle in the old chroniclers.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\u201cAbout four days after the battle at Reading, King \u00c6thelred and Alfred,\nhis brother, fought against the whole army of the Pagans at Ashdown.\nAnd they were in two bodies; in the one were B\u00e6gseeg and Halfdene the\nPagan kings, and in the other were the earls.\u201d \u201cNow the Christians\nhad determined that King \u00c6thelred with his men should attack the two\nPagan kings, but that Alfred his brother with his men, should take the\nchance of war against the earls. Things being so settled, the king\nremained a long time in prayer, hearing the mass, and said he would\nnot leave it till the priest had done, nor abandon the protection of\nGod for that of men. And so he did, which afterwards availed him much\nwith the Almighty, as we shall declare more fully in the sequel. But\nthe Pagans came up quickly to the fight. Then Alfred, though holding a\nlower authority, as I have been told by those who were there and would\nnot lie, could no longer support the troops of the enemy unless he\nretreated or charged upon them without waiting for his brother; so he\nmarched out promptly with his men in a close column and gave battle.\u201d\n\u201cHe too,\u201d as Simeon says, \u201cknowing without a doubt that victory would\nnot lie with a multitude of men, but in the pity and mercy of\nGod,\u201d and seeing also that, mass or no mass, the Pagans must not be\nallowed to get between him and his brother. \u201cBut here I must inform\nthose who are ignorant of the fact, that the field of battle was not\nequal for both armies. The Pagans occupied the higher ground, and the\nChristians came up from below. There was also in that place a single\nstunted thorn-tree, which I myself have seen with my own eyes. Around\nthis tree the opposing hosts came together with loud shouts from all\nsides, the one to pursue their wicked course, the other to fight for\ntheir lives, their dearest ties, and their country.\u201d \u201cIn the midst of\nthe fight, and when Alfred was hard pressed,\u201d--according to Brompton,\nfor the older chroniclers do not mention this,--\u201cthe king came up with\nhis fresh forces.\u201d \u201cAnd when both hosts had fought long and bravely,\nat last the Pagans, by God\u2019s judgment, could no longer bear the attack\nof the Christians, and having lost great part of their men, took to a\ndisgraceful flight, and all the Pagan host pursued its flight not only\nuntil night, but the next day, even until they reached the stronghold\nfrom which they had come out. The Christians followed, slaying all\nthey could reach until it became dark.\u201d[17] \u201cAnd the flower of the\nPagan youth were there slain, so that neither before nor since was\never such destruction known since the Saxons first gained Britain by\ntheir arms.\u201d \u201cThere fell in that battle King B\u00e6gseeg and these earls\nwith him; that old Earl Sidroc, to whom may be applied that saying \u2018the\nancient of evil days,\u2019 and Earl Sidroc the younger, and Earl Osbern,\nand Earl Fr\u0153na, and Earl Harold; who, with their men, choosing the\nbroad and spacious way, went down into the depths of the lake;\u201d or, let\nus perhaps hope not, old monk Simeon, seeing that they died gallantly\nin harness, and that, as you yourself add in the next sentence, \u201cthey\nknew not the way of teaching nor understood its paths; it was kept far\naway from their faces.\u201d It is fair to add that Brompton states that\n\u00c6thelred slew B\u00e6gseeg with his spear, and another Pagan of note with\nhis sword, after, he got up to the fight; but the older chroniclers do\nnot mention this.[18]\n\nTo finish briefly the history of the rest of the year 871, fourteen\ndays after the battle of Ashdown, \u00c6thelred and Alfred fought another\nbattle with the Pagans (probably with that part which had remained\nin garrison at Reading, with Hinguar and Hubba, and the relics of\nHalfdene\u2019s army), at Basing, which seems to have been undecided; and\ntwo months afterwards another at Merton. After which, in the summer,\nreinforcements came from beyond sea, and joined the Pagans; King\n\u00c6thelred died, and Alfred fought before the winter four more pitched\nbattles. So, as the Saxon Chronicle sums up, \u201cin this year nine general\nbattles were fought against the army in the kingdom south of the\nThames; besides which, Alfred, the king\u2019s brother, and single aldermen\nand king\u2019s thanes, oftentimes made attacks on them which were not\nnumbered, and slew of them within the year one king and nine earls.\u201d\nThis was not what the Pagans reckoned on; they liked fighting very\nmuch in reason, as an accompaniment of spoiling a country, and did it\nwell; but to be fighting nine pitched battles in a year, hemmed in in\none corner of a rich kingdom (for they never got farther than a few\nmiles into Wiltshire), and getting no spoil even there, was not to\ntheir taste; so in the winter they made truce with Alfred, and took\nthemselves off to their old haunts in Mercia and Northumbria, and did\nnot return for five years.\n\nThis year, A.D. 871, is a year for Berkshire men to be proud of, for\non them fell the brunt of that fiery trial; and their gallant stand\nprobably saved England a hundred years of Paganism. For had they\ngiven way at Ashdown, and the reinforcements from over the sea come\nto a conquering, instead of to a beaten army in the summer, there was\nnothing to stop the Pagans between Reading and Exeter. The other eight\nbattles were skirmishes in comparison with this one; they scarcely\noccupy five lines each in the chroniclers, and out of the king and nine\nPagan earls who were slain within the year, six fell at Ashdown. It was\nAlfred\u2019s crowning mercy; and so he felt it to be, and in memory of it\nhe caused his army (tradition says, on the day after the battle) to\ncarve the White Horse, the standard of Hengist, on the hill-side just\nunder the Castle, where it stands as you see until this day.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\u201cThank you, Sir,\u201d said I, when he paused, \u201cwhat a grand story it makes!\nAnd are those the real words of the old chroniclers, as you call them,\nSir, which you used?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said he, \u201calmost every word is simply a translation from one\nor other of them, but the greater part is taken from the Chronicle of\nAsser, who was a contemporary and intimate friend of Alfred, and a very\nlearned and pious ecclesiastic.\u201d\n\n\u201cI suppose they were; mostly priests and monks who wrote the Chronicles\nthen, Sir, for they don\u2019t read at all like our modern histories. They\nseem a much more religious sort of books.\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t call them religious books,\u201d said he, \u201cit puts one in mind of\nreligious newspapers,--the greatest curse of our times. Yes, people\nsneer at the old English chroniclers now-a-days, and prefer the Edda,\nand all sorts of heathen stuff, to them; but they are great books,\nSir, for those who have eyes for them; godly books is the name for\nthem, written by God-fearing men, who were not ashamed of the faith\nwhich was in them;--men who believed, Sir, that a living God was ruling\nin England, and that in his name one of them might defy a thousand.\nYour historians, now-a-days, Sir, believe that Providence (for they\ndare not talk of God) is on the side of the strongest battalion.\nThere\u2019s some difference, when you come to think of it, between the two\ncreeds, Sir.\u201d\n\nThe old gentleman looked at me quite fierce, so I made all the haste I\ncould to change the subject.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t you think it very curious, Sir, that the figure should have\nlasted all this time?\u201d said I; \u201cbecause you see, Sir, if you or I were\nto cut a trench, two feet or so deep, up here, on the side of the hill,\nand stamp down the chalk ever so hard, it would be all filled up and\ngrown over in a few years.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are not the first person who has made that remark,\u201d said he. \u201cIn\nthe year 1738, an antiquary, of the name of Francis Wise, who lived\nat Oxford, visited the hill, and wrote a letter on the subject to Dr.\nMead, the most learned antiquary of that day. First he speaks of the\nfigure of the horse as \u2018being described in so masterly a manner that it\nmay defy the painter\u2019s skill to give a more exact description of the\nanimal.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cHow could he talk like that, Sir?\u201d said I; \u201cwhy the figure isn\u2019t a bit\nlike----\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are as bad as Camden,\u201d said he, \u201cwho talks of I know not what\nshape of a horse fancied on the side of a whitish hill; but the truth\nis, it is a copy of the Saxon standard, which, of course, was a rude\naffair. However, Wise, whom I was telling you of, goes on:--\n\n\u201cWhen I saw it, the head had suffered a little and wanted reparation;\nand the extremities of his hinder legs, from their unavoidable\nsituation, have by the fall of rains been filled up in some measure\nwith the washings from the upper parts; so that, in the nearest view of\nhim, the tail, which does not suffer the same inconvenience, and has\ncontinued entire from the beginning, seems longer than his legs. The\nsupplies, which nature is continually affording, occasion the turf to\ncrumble and fall off into the white trench, which in many years\u2019 time\nproduces small specks of turf, and not a little obscures the brightness\nof the Horse; though there is no danger from hence of the whole figure\nbeing obliterated, for the inhabitants have a custom of \u2018scouring the\nHorse,\u2019 as they call it; at which time a solemn festival is celebrated,\nand manlike games with prizes exhibited, which no doubt had their\noriginal in Saxon times in memory of the victory.\u201d[19]\n\n\u201cScouring the Horse! yes, of course,\u201d said I, \u201cthat is what they are\ndoing now, and the games are to come off to-morrow.\u201d\n\n\u201cExactly so,\u201d said he, \u201cbut you will like to hear how Wise goes on:--\n\n\u201cIf ever the genius of King Alfred exerted itself (and it never failed\nhim in his greatest exigencies), it did remarkably so upon account\nof this trophy. The situation of his affairs would not permit him\nto expend much time, nor his circumstances much cost, in effecting\none,\u201d (truly, for he had six more pitched battles to fight between\nApril and November.) \u201cHis troops, though victorious, were harassed\nand diminished by continual duty; nor did the country afford, to any\nman\u2019s thinking, materials proper for a work of this kind. Though he\nhad not therefore the opportunity of raising, like other conquerors, a\nstupendous monument of brass or marble, yet he has shown an admirable\ncontrivance, in erecting one magnificent enough, though simple in its\ndesign--executed, too, with little labour and no expense--that may\nhereafter vie with the Pyramids in duration, and perhaps exist when\nthese shall be no more.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, dear me, Sir,\u201d said I, \u201chow can the White Horse vie with the\nPyramids in duration? Why, the Pyramids were built----\u201d\n\n\u201cNever mind when they were built,\u201d said he; \u201cdon\u2019t you see the old\nantiquary is an enthusiast? I had hoped you were one also.\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed, Sir, I am very anxious to hear all you can tell me,\u201d said I,\n\u201cand I won\u2019t interrupt again.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, as to the scouring, Wise says:--\n\n\u201cThe ceremony of scouring the Horse, from time immemorial, has been\nsolemnized by a numerous concourse of people from all the villages\nround about. I am informed, though the Horse stands in the parish of\nUffington, yet other towns claim, by ancient custom, a share of the\nduty upon this occasion. Since, therefore, this noble antiquity is now\nexplained, and consequently the reason of the festival, it were to\nbe wished that, in order to prevent for the future its falling into\noblivion, some care was taken of the regulation of the games, and\nthat they were restored to their ancient splendour, of which, without\nquestion, they are fallen much short. I know that these rites are\ncavilled at and maligned by the more supercilious part of mankind;\nbut the dislike to them seems to be founded merely upon the abuse of\nthem to riot and debauchery, which I intend by no means to justify\nor excuse. The practice of the best and wisest states, whose maxims\nwe approve and profess to follow, is sufficient authority for their\nuse. The liberty we so justly boast, and which ought to be a common\nblessing to all, pleads loudly for them. The common people, from their\ndaily labour, stands at least in as much need of proper intervals of\nrecreation as their superiors, who are exempt from it, and therefore\nin all free states have been indulged in sports most suited to their\ngenius and capacity. And if manlike games contribute any thing\ntowards the support of the natural bravery of these, who are to be our\nbulwark and defence in times of danger, they cannot be more seasonably\nrevived than at this juncture, when, through the general luxury and\ndissoluteness of the age, there was never more likelihood of its\nbeing extinguished. Besides all this, from hence a superior influence\ndiffuseth itself through the better sort, who are supposed to enter\nfurther into the intention of these solemnities; for which reason it\nis, that to perpetuate to posterity the remembrance of great men, and\nof great actions, has been always recommended, as a proper incentive to\nvirtue. Customs of very trifling import, some ridiculous in themselves,\nothers owing to causes equally ridiculous, are oftentimes kept up by\nEnglishmen with much zeal and tenacity; and shall the greatest prince\nthat this isle was ever blessed with, and the greatest action of that\nprince\u2019s life, be in danger of being forgot, through the neglect of a\nsolemnity, the only one, perhaps, that was ever instituted, at least,\nthat is now preserved, to his honour?\u201d[20]\n\nI didn\u2019t say a word now, though he seemed to have finished.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said he, after a minute, \u201chave you nothing to say? You\u2019re very\nglad that it\u2019s over, I suppose?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, Sir, indeed I am not,\u201d said I; \u201cbut I am very much obliged to you\nfor your kindness in telling me all that you have.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are a very intelligent young man, Sir,\u201d said he; \u201cmost young\nfellows of your age would have been bored to death half-an-hour ago,\neven if they hadn\u2019t managed to run off altogether, and so they would\nhave lost a good lesson in English history--not that they would have\ncared much for that though. But now, I dare say you are getting hungry.\nLet us go up and see what they are doing in the Castle, and I shall be\nvery glad if you will do me the honour of lunching with me.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d thought I, as we got up from the turf, \u201cthere are not many\nbetter things for getting a man on than being a good listener. Here is\na very learned old gentleman who doesn\u2019t know my name, and I have got\nthe length of his foot, and he has asked me to luncheon, just because I\nhave been listening to his old stories. I wonder where the lunch is to\nbe though? he spoke of a Castle, perhaps he lives in it--who knows?\u201d\n\nSo we strolled away together up over the brow of the hill.\n\n[3] See Simeon, A.D. 870.\n\n[4] See Chronicle of St. Neot, A.D. 878.\n\n[5] See Saxon Chron. and Asser, A.D. 866.\n\n[6] See Asser, A.D. 867.\n\n[7] See Saxon Chron. and Huntingdon, A.D. 874.\n\n[8] See Simeon, A.D. 870.\n\n[9] N. B. This was written in October, 1857.\n\n[10] Here is Robert of Gloster\u2019s account of the martyrdom:--\n\n    \u201cSo that atte laste to Estangle agen hym come:\n    Ther hii barned and robbede and that fole to grounde slowe;\n    And as wolves among ssep reulych hem to drowe,\n    Seynt Edmond was tho her kyng, and tho he sey that delvol cas\n    That me morthred so that fole, and non amendement n\u2019as,\n    He ches levere to deye hym-sulf, that such soreve to ysey--\n    He dude hym vorth among ys ton, n\u2019olde he nothyng fle.\n    Hii nome hym and scourged hym, and suthe naked hym bounde\n    To a tre, and to hym ssote, and made hym mony a wounde,\n    That the arewe were on hym tho thycke, that no stede n\u2019as byleved.\n    Atte laste hii martred hym, and smyte of ys heved.\u201d\n\n                               _Robert of Gloster\u2019s Chronicle_, p. 263,\n                                     _apud Thomas Hearne_. Ed. 1724.\n\n\n[11] See Saxon Chronicle, and Huntingdon, A.D. 870.\n\n[12] See Brompton, A.D. 870.\n\n[13] See Sax Chron., A.D. 870.\n\n[14] See Huntingdon, A.D. 871.\n\n[15] See Simeon, A.D. 871.\n\n[16] See Saxon Chronicle, A.D. 871.\n\n[17] See Asser, A.D. 871.\n\n[18] This is Robert of Gloster\u2019s account of the Battle:--\n\n    \u201cThe Kyng and Alfred ys brother nome men ynowe,\n    Mette hem, and a batayle smyte up Assesdowne--\n    Ther was mony moder chyld, that sone lay ther doune--\n    The batayle ylaste vorte-nygt, and ther were aslawe\n    Vyf dukes of Dene-march, ar hii wolde wyth drawe,\n    And mony thousende of other men, and tho\u2019 gonne hii to fle;\n    Ac hii adde alle ybe assend, gyf the nyght n\u2019adde y bee.\n\n                                     _Robert of Gloster, p. 263,\n                                    apud Thomas Hearne. Ed. 1724._\u201d\n\n\n[19] Wise\u2019s Letter to Dr. Mead, \u201cconcerning some Antiquities in\nBerkshire,\u201d ed. 1, pp. 25, 26.\n\n[20] Wise\u2019s Letter, p. 31.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n\n\u201cWell, here\u2019s the Castle, you see,\u201d said he, when we had walked a few\nhundred yards, and were come quite to the top of the hill.\n\n\u201cWhere, Sir?\u201d said I, staring about. I had half expected to see an\nold stone building with a moat, and round towers and battlements, and\na great flag flying; and that the old gentleman would have walked\nacross the drawbridge, and cried out, \u201cWhat ho! warder!\u201d and that we\nshould have been waited upon at lunch by an old white-headed man in\nblack velvet, with a silver chain, and keys round his waist. Somehow,\nthe story of the battle, and all the talk about Pendragon and Arthur,\ncoming upon the back of the farm-house, and the out of the way country\nlife, which was so strange to me, had carried me into a sort of new\nworld; and I shouldn\u2019t have been much surprised to see a dragon\nrunning about the hill, though I should have been horribly frightened.\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t make up my mind about this Castle,\u201d he went on, without\nnoticing me; \u201con two sides it looks like a regular Roman castrum, and\nRoman remains are found scattered about; but then the other sides are\nclearly not Roman. The best antiquaries who have noticed it call it\nDanish. On the whole, I think it must have been seized and occupied in\nsuccession by the lords of the country for the time being; and each\nsuccessive occupier has left his mark more or less plainly. But, at any\nrate, you see it is a magnificent work.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Sir,\u201d said I, \u201cno doubt;\u201d though I own I was a good deal\ndisappointed. For what do you think the Castle is? Up at the very\ntop of the hill, above the White Horse, there is a great flat space,\nabout as big as Lincoln\u2019s Inn Fields, only not the same shape, because\nit is only square on two sides. All round this space, there is a\nbank of earth, eight or ten feet high in some places, but lower at\nothers. Then, outside, there is a great, broad, deep ditch; it must be\ntwenty-five feet from the top of the inner bank to the bottom of the\nditch; and outside that again, is another large bank of earth, from\nthe foot of which the downs slope away on every side. But the banks and\nditch are all grown over with turf, just like the rest of the downs,\nand there isn\u2019t even a single stone, much less a tower, to be seen.\nThere are three entrances cut through the double banks, one on the\nwest, one on the southeast, and the third at the northeast side, which\nwas the one through which we entered.\n\nBut if there were no warders and seneschals and drawbridges, there was\nplenty of life in the Castle. The whole place seemed full of men and\nwomen, and booths and beasts, and carts and long poles; and amongst\nthem all were the Squire and Joe, and two or three farmers, who I\nafterwards found out were Committee-men, trying to get things into\nsome sort of order. And a troublesome job they were having of it. All\nthe ground was parcelled out for different purposes by the Committee,\nand such parts as were not wanted for the sports, were let at small\nrents to any one who wanted them. But nobody seemed to be satisfied\nwith his lot. Here a big gypsy, who wouldn\u2019t pay any rent at all, was\nsettling his cart and family, and swinging his kettle, on a bit of\nground, which the man who owned the pink-eyed lady had paid for. There\na cheap-Jack was hustling a toyman from Wantage, and getting all his\nfrontage towards the streets, (as they called the broad spaces which\nwere to be kept clear for the people to walk along.) In another place,\na licensed publican was taking the lot of a travelling showman into his\nskittle-alley. Then there were old women who had lost their donkeys\nand carts, and their tins of nuts and sacks of apples; and donkeys who\nhad lost their old women, standing obstinately in the middle of the\nstreets, and getting in everybody\u2019s way; and all round, saws and axes\nand hammers were going, and booths and stalls were rising up.\n\nI shouldn\u2019t have liked to have had much to do with setting them all\nstraight, and so I told Joe, when he came up to us, after we had been\nlooking on at all the confusion for a minute or two. For most of the\nmen were very rough-looking customers, like the costermongers about\nCovent Garden and Clare Market, and I know that those huckstering,\nloafing blades are mostly terrible fellows to fight; and there wasn\u2019t\na single policeman to look like keeping order. But Joe made light\nenough of it--he was always such a resolute boy, and that\u2019s what made\nme admire him so--and said, \u201cFor the matter of that, if they were ten\ntimes as rough a lot, and twice as many, the Squire and the farmers\nand their men would tackle them pretty quick, without any blue-coated\nchaps to help! Aye, and nobody knows it better than they, and you\u2019ll\nsee they\u2019ll be all in nice order before sundown, without a blow struck;\nexcept amongst themselves, perhaps, and that\u2019s no matter, and what\nthey\u2019re used to. But now, you come in,\u201d said Joe, turning towards\none of the large publicans\u2019 booths, which was already finished, \u201cthe\nCommittee have got a table here, and we must dine, for we shan\u2019t be\nhome these four hours yet, I can see.\u201d\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d said my new friend to Joe, drawing himself up a bit, but very\npolitely; \u201cthis gentleman is my guest. He has done me the honour of\naccepting my invitation to luncheon.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! beg pardon, Sir, I\u2019m sure,\u201d said Joe, staring; \u201cI didn\u2019t know that\nDick had any acquaintance down in these parts. Then,\u201d said he to me,\n\u201cI shall take my snack with the rest presently; you\u2019ll see me about\nsomewhere, when it\u2019s time to get back.\u201d Joe went back into the crowd,\nand I followed the old gentleman.\n\nWe went into the booth, which was a very big one, made of strong,\ndouble sail-cloth, stretched over three rows of fir poles, the middle\nrow being, I should say, sixteen or eighteen feet high. Just on our\nright, as we entered from the street, was the bar, which was made with\na double row of eighteen-gallon casks, full of ale, along the top of\nwhich boards were laid, so as to make a counter. Behind the bar the\nlandlord and landlady, and a barmaid, were working away, and getting\nevery thing into order. There were more rows of large casks, marked XX\nand XXX, ranged upon one another against the side of the booth, and\nsmall casks of spirits hooped with bright copper, and cigar boxes, and\na table covered with great joints of beef and pork, and crockery and\nknives and forks, and baskets full of loaves of bread, and lettuces and\npotatoes. It must have cost a deal of money to get it all up the hill,\nand set the booth up. Beyond the bar was a sort of inner room, partly\nscreened from the rest of the booth by a piece of sail-cloth, where a\nlong table was laid out for luncheon, or \u201cnunching,\u201d as the boots, who\nwas doing waiter for the occasion, called it. The rest of the booth,\nexcept a space before the bar which was kept clear for casual customers\nto stand about in, was set about with rough tables and forms. We got\na capital dinner; for the landlord knew my entertainer, and was very\ncivil, and brought us our ale himself and poured it out, making an\napology because it hadn\u2019t had quite time to fine down, but it would be\nas clear as a diamond, he said, if we would please to call in to-morrow.\n\nAfter we had done, we went round behind the booth, where some rough\nplanking had been put up to serve for stalls, and the boots, in his\nwaiter\u2019s jacket, brought out the old gentleman\u2019s cob.\n\n\u201cPeter,\u201d said he, when he had mounted, \u201chere is sixpence for you; and\nnow mind what you are at, and don\u2019t get drunk and disgrace yourself up\non the hill.\u201d\n\nPeter, who seemed to be very much afraid of the old gentleman, kept\npulling away at his forelock, and hunching up his shoulders, till we\nturned the corner of the booth.\n\n\u201cNow I must be riding home,\u201d said my friend, \u201cbut if you like just to\nwalk round with me, I will show you the site of the battle.\u201d\n\nSo I thanked him, and walked along by the side of his cob, and he\nrode out of the entrance we had come in by, and then round the outer\nearthwork of the castle. As we passed along, the inner bank rose high\nup on our right hand, and we could just see the tops of the highest\nbooths above it.\n\n\u201cYou see what a strong place it must have been before gunpowder was\ninvented,\u201d said the old gentleman; \u201cand here, you see, is the second\nentrance; and this road which we are upon is the Ridgeway, one of the\noldest roads in England. How far it once extended, or who made it, no\nman knows; but you may trace it away there along the ridge of the downs\nas far as you can see, and, in fact, there are still some sixty miles\nof it left. But they won\u2019t be left long, I fear, Sir, in this age which\nvenerates nothing.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t see much fear of that, Sir,\u201d said I, \u201cafter it has lasted so\nlong already.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo fear, Sir!\u201d said he, \u201cwhy miles of it have been ploughed up within\nmy memory. God meant these downs, Sir, for sheep-walks, and so our\nfathers left them; but within the last twenty years would-be wise men\nhave found that they will grow decent turnips and not very bad oats.\nWell, they plough them up, find two inches of soil only, get one crop\nout of them, and spoil them for sheep. Next year, no crops. Then comes\nmanure, manure, manure, nothing but expense; not a turnip will trouble\nhimself to grow bigger than a reddish under a pennyworth of guano or\nbones. The wise men grumble and swear, but the downs are spoiled.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut that will all cure itself then, Sir,\u201d said I; \u201cthey won\u2019t plough\nup any more, if it doesn\u2019t pay; and then the Ridgeway won\u2019t be touched!\u201d\n\n\u201cThey are all mad for ploughing, Sir, these blockhead farmers; why,\nhalf of them keep their sheep standing on boards all the year round.\nThey would plough and grow mangold-wurzel on their fathers\u2019 graves.\nThe Tenth Legion, Sir, has probably marched along this road; Severus\nand Agricola have ridden along it, Sir; Augustine\u2019s monks have carried\nthe Cross along it. There is that in that old mound and ditch which\nthe best turnips and oats in the world (if you could get them) can\u2019t\nreplace. There are higher things in this world, Sir, than indifferent\noats and d--d bad turnips.\u201d\n\nThe old gentleman was all in a blaze again; he brought down his cane\nsharply on to the cob\u2019s neck, which made him caper up and jump off\nalong the Ridgeway, and it was a hundred yards before they drew up. I\nfollowed, thinking that he couldn\u2019t be a clergyman after all, to be\nswearing like that about nothing. When I got up to him, however, he was\nquite cool again. He had stopped just below the western entrance to the\nCastle, and the ground fell rapidly in front of us.\n\n\u201cNow, you can\u2019t have a better point than this,\u201d said he; \u201cyou remember\nwhat I told you about the armies. The Danes held the higher ground,\nthat is, Uffington Castle, up here, behind us. Alfred, with his\ndivision of the Saxon army, lay over there, in that valley to the\nleft, where you see the great wood in the middle of the down. That is\nAshdown Park, Lord Craven\u2019s seat, and just on the edge of it there is\na circular earthwork, which is called Alfred\u2019s camp. Aubrey says that\nin his time it was \u2018almost quite defaced, by digging for the Sarsden\nstones to build my Lord Craven\u2019s house in the park;\u2019 but you may still\nfind it if you look. Then, over there, on that point, a mile or more\naway to the right, is a camp called Hardwell Camp, where \u00c6thelred lay.\nThe crown of the slope you see along which the Ridgeway runs, is midway\nbetween the Saxon camps.\n\n\u201cIn the early spring morning, the low call to arms passes round the\nheight; the Danish host, marshalled behind the high earthworks, breaks\nover them, like an overflowing lake, and rushes down the slope.\nAlfred\u2019s division of the Saxon army is already on foot, and there he\nsits, the sickly stripling on the white horse, untried save in one\nluckless fight. How will he guide such a battle? See, his host is in\nmotion; scouts fly out, riding for life across to \u00c6thelred\u2019s camp.\n\u2018Come up, my brother! the Pagan is upon us--while I live they shall\nnot divide us--I will hold the crest of the Ridgeway, come life, come\ndeath.\u2019 The vans are together with a wild shout, squadron by squadron\nthe hosts close up, the fight sways slowly backwards and forwards,\nthe life\u2019s blood of a brave man pays for every inch won or lost. The\nSaxons are but one to three, the Pagans slowly overlap them--are on\ntheir flanks. The white horse and his rider dash from side to side,\nfaster and faster, as the over-matched Christians faint, reel, give\nback--now here, now there, along the line. When will the mass be over?\nCut it short, as thou art Saxon man, oh priest! and get thee to sword\nand buckler.\n\n\u201cAt last they come, \u00c6thelred and his host--they are upon the right\nflank of the Pagan, and the fight is restored; and with many an ebb and\npause, but steadily, through the long morning hours, rolls up the hill\ntowards the camp and the fatal thorn.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs that the old thorn-tree, then, do you think, Sir?\u201d said I, pointing\nto one which was growing by itself some way off.\n\n\u201cI fear not, Sir, I fear not; the \u2018unica spinosa arbor\u2019 is gone. It\nmust have stood somewhere up here, on the slope just below the Castle,\nthe stronghold of the Danish robbers. Here the grim Pagan turns to\nbay for the last time. King B\u00e6gseeg lies dead, a hundred yards below;\nby his side his standard-bearer and Earl Fr\u0153na; Halfdene is still\nunhurt, but near him Osbert totters under his shield; Harold can\nscarce back his charger, and the life-blood trickles slowly down his\nleg, and falls, drop by drop, on the trampled turf, as they still make\nfront against \u00c6thelred yonder--there on the right. But here, here the\nfield must be won! This way, you Saxon men, kings-thane, and alderman!\nWhoever hath stout heart and whole body left.\n\n\u201cIt is the old sea-king, Sidroc, \u2018the ancient one of evil days;\u2019 mark\nhim, as he bestrides his black war-horse, there by the old twisted\nthorn. His heavy sword drips with blood, his sword-arm is steeped in\nblood to the elbow--the dint of long and fierce battle is on horse\nand man; but the straight thin lips are set like flint in the midst\nof that gray beard, and the eyes glow and gleam under that fearful\nbrow--eyes that have never quailed before conquering foe, or softened\nto the fallen--lips that have never opened to say the word \u2018Spare.\u2019\nBy his side the young Sidroc, grim son of grim sire. Ashdown crows\nmust feast on those eyes, and Ashdown wolves pick those bones, if the\nPagans are to be beaten this day. Round them rally the Danes as they\nare driven up the slope. Again and again the advancing Saxons reel\nback from the stunted thorn, before the shock of the two Boersirkir.\nHe comes! it is the sickly prince, the stripling on the white\nhorse, trampling fetlock-deep in blood. Round him a chosen band of\nyellow-bearded men of Wessex. One moment\u2019s pause, and they meet in a\nlast death-grapple. Bite, Saxon blade; pierce, Saxon spear! Think of\nyour homes, my countrymen; think of the walls of Reading, of Ethelwulf\nand his last war-cry, \u2018Our commander, Christ, is braver than they!\u2019\nThe black horse is down; young Sidroc springs over the brute, lashing\nout in death agony, and covers his father. His head is cleft to the\nchin--a half-armed gaunt cowherd drives his spear through the chest of\nthe old sea-king. Away over their bodies up the hill go white horse,\nand stripling prince, and yellow-bearded men; rushing through the camp\ngate, scrambling over the banks pell-mell with the flying Pagan. The\ncamp is ours; now slay while light is left--for there is no shelter for\na Pagan between this and Reading. \u2018Then were the horse-hoofs broken by\nthe means of the prancings, of the prancings of their mighty ones. Oh\nmy soul, thou hast trodden down strength!\u2019\u201d\n\nThe old gentleman stopped at last, and took off his hat and wiped his\nface, and then looked down at me as if he were half-ashamed--\n\n\u201cI see you think I\u2019m mad--\u201d he began.\n\n\u201cIndeed, sir--\u201d said I, stammering a little.\n\n\u201cWell, well! never mind,\u201d he said; \u201cthe fact is, I live a good deal in\nthose old times. I\u2019ve been up here, and sat and gone over the fight\nso often, that when I get on the hill-side, I think I saw it all. In\nthe autumn evenings at twilight, when the southwest wind blows wild,\nand the mist comes drifting over the broad downs, many a time, as I\nhave stolen down the silent hill-side, I have seen the weird old Pagan\nking and the five earls, sitting one on each of the giants\u2019 seats, and\nlooking mournfully out over the Vale, waiting--waiting--waiting for a\nthousand years, all but fourteen. It\u2019s a long time, sir, a long time;\nbut you and I may have to wait for a longer over the scene of some of\nour doings. Who can say?\u201d\n\nI really now did begin to think the old gentleman a little crazy, so I\nsaid nothing. Presently he went on in his old quiet voice:--\n\n\u201cThere, now I have dismounted my hobby, and am sane again. I live in\na wild, lonely part of the world down west, and for the last thirty\nyears have read little else but the Bible, and books 200 years old\nand upwards. Every man has his madness--that\u2019s mine--I don\u2019t get a\nchance of letting it out once a-year. I have spent a very pleasant day\nwith you, Sir; and if you ever come down to these parts again, and\nlike to come on and see me, I shall be very glad. There is my name\nand address;\u201d and he gave me his card, but he didn\u2019t say that I might\npublish it.\n\n\u201cThank you, Sir,\u201d said I, putting it into my pocket-book; \u201cbut I hope\nyou will be up on the hill to-morrow?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I shall just ride up,\u201d he said, \u201cto see how they have used my old\nfriend; he wanted scouring sadly. The games I don\u2019t much care about,\nthough I\u2019m glad they go on. But not one man in a thousand who will be\non the hill to-morrow will know what the meaning of it all is; and that\nmakes it a melancholy sight to me, Sir, on the whole.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut what a pity,\u201d said I, \u201cthat they are not told. It would interest\neverybody else, I\u2019m sure, just as it has me. Why don\u2019t you tell it\nthen, Sir, in a book or a newspaper?\u201d\n\n\u201cNobody would read my old-world stuff,\u201d said he. \u201cNo: a man must\nunderstand and be in sympathy with his own generation to coax it into\ncaring about an older one. But now I must be going. If you have time to\nwalk down to that little clump of trees over there, towards \u00c6thelred\u2019s\ncamp, you will find an old Druidical cromlech well worth examining. It\nis called Wayland Smith\u2019s cave. Walter Scott, who should have known\nbetter, says that the Danish king killed at Ashdown was buried there.\nHe was no more buried there than in Westminster Abbey. Good-bye.\u201d And\nso he put his cob into a canter, and went off along the Ridgeway.\n\nWhen he was gone I walked down to the clump of trees and went into the\ncave; and then sat down on the great flat stone which covers it over,\nand finished putting down all I had heard from the old gentleman; and\nthought what odd people a man finds about the world, and how many\nthings there are which one never heard of that other folk are spending\ntheir lives over. Then I went up to the camp again to find Joe, for\nthe afternoon was getting on. True enough, as he had said, when I got\nback there I found it all getting into order. All along the north\nside were the theatres and peep-shows, and acrobats, and the pink-eyed\nlady, and the other shows. On the west side were the publicans\u2019 booths,\nsome of them all ready, and others half up, but all with their places\nsettled; and the great street of hucksters\u2019 stalls and cheap-Jacks was\nall set out along the south side, and as more and more of them came\nup they went off to the end of the line and pitched regularly. The\ngypsies and people with no regular business were all got away into a\ncorner, behind the stalls. On the west side the county police were\npitching their large tent close away by the bank, out of the way of\neverybody; and, some way in front of them, Lord Craven\u2019s people had\nput up two military-looking tents which I heard had belonged to the\n42d Regiment, with a great flagstaff close by them. About the middle\nof the camp stood a large stage about six feet high, roped round for\nthe backswording and wrestling. There was plenty of room now, and all\nthe people, who were not working at the booths and stalls, were sitting\nabout boiling kettles and getting their food. It was a very cheerful,\npretty sight, up there out of the way of every thing.\n\nI soon found Joe amongst a group of farmers and one or two young\ngentlemen, some on horseback and some on foot, standing round the\nSquire. They were talking over the arrangements before going home; and\nI stood a little way off, so as not to interrupt them or to seem to be\npushing myself into their company.\n\n\u201cNow I think we have done all we can to-day,\u201d said the Squire,\ngathering up his reins; \u201cbut some of us must be up early to-morrow to\nget the lists made, and settle every thing about the games.\u201d\n\n\u201cAbout ten o\u2019clock, Sir?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, that will do capitally. Now I shall just go and see how they have\ndone the Horse.\u201d\n\nSo he rode out of the camp, and we all followed over the brow of the\nhill till we came to a good point for seeing the figure, which looked\nas bright and clean as a new sixpence.\n\n\u201cI think he\u2019ll do very well,\u201d said the Squire.\n\n\u201cListen to the scourers,\u201d said one of the young gentlemen.\n\nThey had finished their work, and were sitting in a group round a\nlarge can of beer which the Squire had sent down to them; and one of\nthem was singing a rumbling sort of ditty, with a tol-de-rol chorus, in\nwhich the rest joined lazily.\n\nOne of these young gentlemen gave me what he said were the words they\nwere singing, afterwards, when I came to know him (as you will hear in\nthe next chapter); and it seems he had found out that I was collecting\nall I could about the Horse. But I don\u2019t quite know whether he wasn\u2019t\ncutting his jokes upon me, for he is \u201camazin\u2019 found of fun,\u201d as Joe\nsaid; and for my part, I could never quite tell, when I was with him,\nwhether he was in jest or earnest. However, here are the words he gave\nme:--\n\nBALLAD OF THE SCOURING OF THE WHITE HORSE.\n\n                       I.\n\n    The owld White Harse wants zettin to rights\n      And the Squire hev promised good cheer,\n    Zo we\u2019ll gee un a scrape to kip un in zhape,\n      And a\u2019ll last for many a year.\n\n                      II.\n\n    A was made a lang lang time ago\n      Wi a good dale o\u2019 labour and pains,\n    By King Alferd the Great when he spwiled their consate\n      And caddled,[21] thay wosbirds[22] the Danes.\n\n                      III.\n\n    The Bleawin Stwun in days gone by\n      Wur King Alfred\u2019s bugle harn,\n    And the tharnin tree you med plainly zee\n      As is called King Alferd\u2019s tharn.\n\n                      IV.\n\n    There\u2019ll be backsword play, and climmin the powl,\n      And a race for a peg, and a cheese,\n    And us thenks as hisn\u2019s a dummell[23] zowl\n      As dwont care for zich spwoorts as theze.\n\nWhen we had done looking at the Horse, some went one way and some\nanother, and Joe and I down the hill to the Swan Inn, where we got the\ntrap and started away for Elm Close.\n\n\u201cWhy, Dick, how did you manage to pick up the old gentleman who was\ntreating you at dinner?\u201d said Joe; \u201cI suppose he\u2019s one of your London\nfolk.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2019Twas he who picked me up,\u201d said I, \u201cfor I never set eyes on him\nbefore. But I can tell you he is a very learned party, and very kind\ntoo. He told me all about the battle of Ashdown, and ever so many\nmore old stories. I should think he must have been two hours and more\ntelling them.\u201d\n\n\u201cSooner you than I,\u201d said Joe. \u201cWell, I thought I knew his face. He\nmust be the old gent as was poking about our parish last fall, and\nsort of walking the bounds. Though there isn\u2019t any call for that,\nI\u2019m sure, for we walk the bounds ourselves every year. The men as he\nhired told me he was looking after some old stone, the play stone I\nthink he called it, and would have it he knew more about the names of\nthe fields, and why they were called so, than they as had lived there\nall their lives. However, he stood \u2019em something handsome for their\ntrouble. I expect he isn\u2019t quite right up here,\u201d said he, touching his\nforehead and looking at me.\n\n\u201cJust as right as you,\u201d said I, \u201cand I\u2019ve no doubt he does know more\nabout your parish than all of you put together. I think he must be some\ngreat antiquary.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! that\u2019s what the Squire said when I told him. A great angular Saxon\nscholar he called him.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnglo-Saxon, Joe,\u201d said I, \u201cnot angular.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, Anglo or angular, it\u2019s no odds,\u201d said Joe; \u201cI calls it\nangular--that\u2019s good English at any rate.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, Joe,\u201d said I, \u201cI\u2019ve taken down all he said, and should like to\nread it to you. I\u2019m sure it would interest you.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, after supper to-night, over a pipe, perhaps,\u201d said Joe; \u201cI ain\u2019t\nmuch of a hand at your old-world talk, you see. Or, I\u2019ll tell you what,\nyou shall read it to Lu; she takes to book-learning and all that better\nthan I.\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall be very glad indeed to read it to your sister,\u201d said I; \u201cand I\ndaresay she can tell me something more.\u201d\n\n\u201cMay be,\u201d said Joe, drawing his whip gently over the mare\u2019s loins; and\nthen he began telling me about the talk he had had with the Squire.\n\nHe seemed to have been telling him all about his quarrel at the vestry\nwith the other farmers, about keeping up the parish roads; and the\nSquire had smoothed him down, and given him some good advice as to\nhow to get the roads made and the fences kept up without losing his\ntemper. Joe owned to me that he was often falling out with some of\nhis neighbours, or his hired men, when he couldn\u2019t get things quite\nhis own way (for that\u2019s what it came to, and Joe is a warm-tempered\nfellow), and that he would sooner come six miles to get the Squire\nto \u201ctackle it,\u201d than go to any other justice who lived nearer; \u201cfor\nhe knows our ways, and manages one way or another to get it out all\nstraight without making a Sessions job of it,\u201d said Joe, as we drove\nup to his gate; and though I was looking out to catch a sight of Miss\nLucy, and hoping she might be out in the garden, I couldn\u2019t help\nallowing to myself that perhaps the country mightn\u2019t get on so much\nbetter after all if the unpaid magistracy were done away with.\n\nJoe went off to the stable to see after his precious chestnut, and\nseemed to pity me because I didn\u2019t go with him. But I was off round the\nhouse and into the garden, to try and find Miss Lucy. When I did find\nher though, I wasn\u2019t quite pleased at first, as you may fancy when you\nhear what she was doing.\n\nThere is a trellis-work about eight feet high, between the little\nflower-garden and the kitchen-garden, and in it a wicket-gate, through\nwhich runs a nice green walk by which you get from one to the other.\nThe trellis-work is so covered with roses, and jessamine, and other\ncreepers, that you can\u2019t see through, at least not in summer time;\nand I heard merry voices on the other side, but they couldn\u2019t hear\nme on the turf. So I hurried up to the wicket-gate; and the moment I\ngot through, there I saw Miss Lucy, and close by her side a young man\nin a black coat, dark gray trousers, and a white tie. He had a great\nribstone-pippin apple in one hand, off the best tree in the orchard,\nout of which he had taken a great bite or two, which I thought rather\nvulgar; and there he was, holding up his bitten apple and some of the\ncreepers against the trellis-work, with both hands above Miss Lucy\u2019s\nhead. And she stood there in her pretty white-straw hat, with the\nribbons dangling loose over her shoulders, tying up the creepers to the\ntrellis-work close to his face. I could see, too, that she was very\nwell dressed, for she had on a pretty embroidered collar, as white as\nsnow, with a nice bow of fresh pink ribbon in front; and the sleeves of\nher gown were loose, and fell back a little as she reached up with the\nstring to tie the creepers, and showed her nice, white, round arms,\nwhich looked very pretty, only I wished she had waited for me to hold\nup the creepers instead of him. At her feet lay a basket full of apples\nand pears, and lavender and mignonette; so they must have been going\nabout together for some time, picking fruit and flowers.\n\nI stopped at the gate, and felt half inclined to go back; but he said\nsomething to her, and then she turned round and called me, so I walked\nup feeling rather sheepish. By the time I got up to them they had\nfinished tying up the creeper, and she introduced me to Mr. Warton, of\nLondon. He held out his hand, and said he had often heard Joseph speak\nof me, and was very glad to meet an old friend of his friend Hurst. So\nwe shook hands, and he began eating his apple again, and she picked up\nher basket, and we walked together towards the house; but they were so\nfree and pleasant together, and laughed and joked so, that it made me\nfeel rather low, and I couldn\u2019t talk easily, though I did manage to say\nsomething about the White Horse, and how well it looked, and what a\nwonderful place it was up on the hill, when they asked me about it.\n\nI wasn\u2019t sorry when she went in to look after the tea, and he sat down\nto write a letter. So I went round to the farm-yard to look for Joe,\nthat I might find out from him about this Mr. Warton. I found Joe with\nhis fogger,[24] as he called him, looking at some calves, and thinking\nof nothing but them and the pigs. However, I stuck to him and praised\nall the beasts just as if I knew all about them, and so at last got him\nout of the yard; and then I told him there was a Mr. Warton come.\n\n\u201cNo! is he?\u201d said he; \u201cI\u2019m so glad. I was afraid he couldn\u2019t come down\nas he didn\u2019t answer my last letter.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho is he, Joe?\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cHaven\u2019t I told you?\u201d said he; \u201cwhy, he\u2019s a parson up somewhere in\nLondon, and a real right sort. He was curate here for five years before\nhe went up to town.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe seems to know you and Miss Lucy very well,\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cBless you, yes!\u201d said Joe; \u201cLu was in his school, and he prepared her\nfor confirmation. He\u2019s the best company in the world, and not a bit\nproud, like some parsons. When he was down here, he used to drop in of\nan evening two or three times a week, and take his tea, or a bit of\nsupper, just like you might.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s a good bit older than we, though,\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cWell, four or five years, maybe,\u201d said Joe, looking rather surprised\nat me; \u201cI should say he was about thirty last grass, but I never asked\nhim; what does it matter?\u201d and so we got to the front door, and I went\nup-stairs to my room to wash my hands before tea. I made myself as\nsmart as I could, but I own I didn\u2019t half like the way this Mr. Warton\nwent on. However, I thought Miss Lucy must see he was too old for her.\n\nAs I was dressing, I turned the matter over with myself, how I was\nto behave down stairs. First, I thought I would try to ride the high\nhorse, and be silent and vexed, and make them all uncomfortable; but\nthen, thought I, will Miss Lucy see why I do it? It may be all out of\nlove for her, and jealousy of this Mr. Warton; and they say no young\nwoman dislikes to see men jealous about her. But suppose she shouldn\u2019t\nsee it in that light? Mightn\u2019t she only think, perhaps, that I was\na very changeable and disagreeable sort of fellow? That would never\ndo. Besides, after all, thought I, I\u2019m down here at Joe\u2019s house, and\nI owe it to him to be as pleasant as I can. How\u2019s he to know that I\nam in love with his sister already? And this Mr. Warton, too; he\u2019s a\nclergyman, and seems a very good sort, as Joe said; and then he has\nknown them all so well, for so long; why am I to give myself airs\nbecause he likes talking to Miss Lucy? So I settled it in my own mind\nto go down with a smiling face, and to do all I could to make all the\nrest happy; and I felt much better myself when I had made up my mind.\n\nThere never was such a tea and supper (for we had them both together\nthat night, as it was late) in the world; and I don\u2019t think I could\nhave stood out five minutes if I had gone down in the sulks, as I\nthought of doing at first. The old lady, and Joe, and Miss Lucy, were\nall in great spirits at getting Mr. Warton down; and he was just like a\nboy home for his holidays. He joked and rattled away about every thing;\nexcept when they talked about any of his old parishioners or scholars,\nand then he was as kind and tender as a woman, and remembered all\ntheir names, and how many children there were in every family, and the\nsort of mistakes the boys and girls used to make in school. And he\ndrew Miss Lucy out about the school, and Joe about the markets and the\nlabourers, and the old lady about the best way of pickling cabbages,\nand me about London and my work, and shorthand, which he managed to\nfind out that I could write in no time. So we were all in the best\nhumour in the world, and pleased with one another and with him; and\nspent half an hour in praising him after he had gone up stairs to\nfinish some writing which he had to do.\n\nThen I asked them about the pastime, and what we should see next day on\nthe hill. Miss Lucy began directly about the stalls and the sights, and\nthe racing and the music; and cold dinner on the hill-side, and seeing\nall her friends in their best dresses. Joe listened to her for a bit,\nand then struck in--\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s all very well for you women,\u201d said he; \u201cbut look here, Dick. If\nwhat I hear comes true, we shall have a fine treat on the stage; for\nthey tells me there\u2019s a lot of the best old gamesters in Somersetshire\ncoming up, to put in for the backsword prizes.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen I\u2019m sure I hope they won\u2019t be allowed to play,\u201d said Miss Lucy.\n\n\u201cNot let to play!\u201d said Joe; \u201cwho put that into your head? Why, there\u2019s\nthe printed list of the sports, and \u00a312 prize for backswording, and \u00a310\nfor wrestling.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, it\u2019s a great shame, then,\u201d said Miss Lucy; \u201cfor all the\nrespectable people for miles round will be on the hill, and I think the\ngentlemen ought to stop them.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf they do, they\u2019ll spoil the pastime; for there won\u2019t be one man in\ntwenty up there who\u2019ll care to see any thing else. Eh, old fellow?\u201d\nsaid Joe, turning to me.\n\n\u201cI agree with Miss Lucy,\u201d said I; \u201cfor I\u2019m sure if the women are\nagainst these games, they can\u2019t be good for the men, and ought to be\nput down.\u201d\n\n\u201cDick, you\u2019re a cockney, and know no better,\u201d said Joe, giving me\na great spank on the back, which hurt a good deal and was very\ndisagreeable, only I didn\u2019t say any thing because I knew he meant it\nkindly; \u201cbut as for you, Lucy, you, a west-country yeoman\u2019s daughter,\nto talk like that! If you don\u2019t take care, you shan\u2019t go up the hill\nto the pastime to-morrow at all; I\u2019ll leave you at home with mother,\u201d\nand he shook his great fist at her.\n\n\u201cWon\u2019t I go up though?\u201d said she, laughing; \u201cwe\u2019ll see, Master Joe;\nwhy, I can walk up by myself, if it comes to that; besides, any of the\nneighbours will give me a lift--or here\u2019s Mr. Richard, or Mr. Warton.\nI\u2019m sure--\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s that you\u2019re saying, Miss Lucy? What am I to do, eh?\u201d and the\nparson walked in just as I was going to speak. I was vexed at his just\ncoming in, and taking the word out of my mouth.\n\n\u201cWhy I was telling Joe that you\u2019ll stop and take me up the hill, if he\nleaves me behind; won\u2019t you now, Mr. Warton?\u201d\n\n\u201cLeave you behind, indeed! here\u2019s a pretty to do!\u201d said he, laughing.\n\u201cWhat in the world are you all talking about?\u201d\n\n\u201cAbout the wrestling and backsword play,\u201d struck in Joe; \u201cnow she\nsays--\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, now, I\u2019ll leave it to Mr. Warton,\u201d said Miss Lucy, interrupting\nhim; \u201cI know he won\u2019t say it\u2019s right for men to be fighting upon a high\nstage before all the country side.\u201d\n\n\u201cStuff and nonsense with your fighting!\u201d said Joe; \u201cyou know, Sir, very\nwell that they are old English games, and we sets great store by them\ndown here, though some of our folk as ought to know better does set\ntheir faces against them now-a-days.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, you know, Joe, that three or four clergymen have been preaching\nagainst them only last Sunday,\u201d said Miss Lucy.\n\n\u201cThen they ain\u2019t the right sort, or they\u2019d know better what to preach\nagainst. I don\u2019t take all for Gospel that the parsons say, mind you,\u201d\nsaid Joe.\n\nMiss Lucy looked shocked, but Mr. Warton only laughed.\n\n\u201cHullo, Joseph,\u201d said he, \u201cspeaking evil of your spiritual pastors!\nHowever, I won\u2019t say you\u2019re altogether wrong. Parsons are but men.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, Sir,\u201d said I, quite confidently, \u201cI\u2019m sure no clergyman can stand\nup for fighting and quarrelling.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course not,\u201d said he; \u201cbut what then?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, Sir, these sports, as they call them, are just fighting, and\nnothing else, and lead to all sorts of quarrels and bad blood, and\nso--\u201d\n\n\u201cThey don\u2019t lead to nothing of the kind,\u201d shouted Joe; \u201cand you know\nnothing about it, Dick.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow, Joe, at our last feast,\u201d said Miss Lucy, \u201cdidn\u2019t Reuben Yates get\nhis head broken, and his arms all black and blue at backsword play?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, and didn\u2019t you and mother patch him up with yards of diachylum,\nand give him his supper every night for a week, to come and be doctored\nand lectured? Rube liked his suppers well enough, and didn\u2019t mind the\nplastering and lecturing much; but if he don\u2019t go in to-morrow for the\nyoung gamesters\u2019 prize, my name ain\u2019t Joe Hurst.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen he\u2019ll be a very ungrateful, wicked fellow,\u201d said Miss Lucy.\n\n\u201cAnd you and mother won\u2019t give him any more suppers or diachylum,\u201d said\nJoe; \u201cbut I dare say he won\u2019t break his heart if you don\u2019t give him\nthe preaching by itself. It does seem to me plaguy hard that the women\nwon\u2019t let a man get his own head broke quietly, when he has a mind to\nit.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd there was Simon Withers, too,\u201d went on Miss Lucy, \u201che sprained his\nankle at the wrestling, and was in the house for three weeks, and his\npoor old mother nearly starving.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2019Twasn\u2019t at wrestling, though,\u201d said Joe, \u201c\u2019twas at hurdle-racing.\nHe\u2019d much better have been at backsword; for a chap can go to work with\na broken head next morning, and feel all the better for it, but he\ncan\u2019t with a sprained ankle.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat does Mr. Warton think?\u201d said I; for somehow he was keeping back,\nand seemed a little on Joe\u2019s side, and if he showed that, I thought he\nwould lose ground with Miss Lucy.\n\n\u201cOh! I\u2019m sure Mr. Warton is on our side, ain\u2019t you, Sir? Do tell Joe\nhow wrong it is of him to go on talking as he does.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no, Miss Lucy, I\u2019m not going to be drawn into the quarrel as your\nknight; you\u2019re quite able to take your own part,\u201d said Mr. Warton.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m sure Mr. Warton is against us in his heart,\u201d said I to Miss Lucy;\n\u201conly he\u2019s a clergyman, and doesn\u2019t like to say so.\u201d\n\n\u201cCome, now, I can\u2019t stand that,\u201d said he to me; \u201cand you and I must\nhave it out; only mind, Miss Lucy, you mustn\u2019t come in; one at a time\nis enough for me.\u201d\n\n\u201cI won\u2019t say a word, Sir, if Joe won\u2019t.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well,\u201d said he, \u201cand now let\u2019s get our ground clear. Do you\napprove of the other sports, running matches, jumping matches, and all\nthe rest?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Sir, of course I do,\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cAnd you see no harm in one man beating another in a race for a prize?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, Sir, no harm at all.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, but I suppose one must have activity and endurance to win in any\nof them?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said I, \u201cand good pluck, too, Sir. It takes as much heart, I\u2019m\nsure, any day, to win a hard race as a bout at backsword.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery good,\u201d said he. \u201cThen putting every thing else aside, tell me\nwhich you think the best man, he who doesn\u2019t mind having his head\nbroken, or he who does?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, Sir,\u201d said I, beginning to fence a bit, for I thought I saw what\nhe was driving at, \u201cthat depends on circumstances.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no,\u201d said he, \u201cI want a short answer. We\u2019ve nothing to do with\ncircumstances. Suppose there were no circumstances in the world, and\nonly two men with heads to be broken?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, then, Sir,\u201d said I, \u201cI suppose the one who doesn\u2019t mind having\nhis head broken, must be the best man.\u201d\n\n\u201cHah, hah!\u201d laughed Joe, \u201cthat puts me in mind of old Ben Thomson last\nfeast. When he threw up his hat on the stage, he said he could get his\npint of beer any day for tuppence, but it wasn\u2019t every day as he could\nget his pint of beer and a broken head too for the same money.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, but Mr. Warton--\u201d broke in Miss Lucy.\n\n\u201cNow, you were not to say a word, you know,\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cBut Joe began, Sir.\u201d\n\n\u201cJoseph, hold your tongue.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well, Sir,\u201d said Joe, grinning.\n\n\u201cThen we come to this,\u201d said he to me, \u201ca man must have just the same\nqualities to win at backsword as to win a race; and something else\nbesides, which is good in itself?\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, Sir,\u201d said I, \u201cthat doesn\u2019t meet the point. What I say is, that\nbacksword is a game in which men are sure to lose their tempers and\nbecome brutal.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut don\u2019t they sometimes lose their tempers in races?\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cYes, sometimes, perhaps,\u201d said I, \u201cbut not often.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd sometimes they don\u2019t lose them at backsword?\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cWell, perhaps not, Sir.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen it seems that all that can be said against backsword is, that\nit is a harder trial of the temper than other games. Surely that\u2019s no\nreason for stopping it, but only for putting it under strict rules. The\nharder the trial the better. I\u2019m sure that\u2019s good English sense.\u201d\n\nI didn\u2019t quite know what to say, but Miss Lucy broke in again.\n\n\u201cOh, but Mr. Warton, did you ever see any backsword play?\u201d\n\n\u201cNow, Miss Lucy, that is against law,\u201d said he; \u201cbut I don\u2019t mind\nanswering. I never did, and I dare say your champion never has.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, Sir,\u201d said I; \u201cbut though you may have got the best of me, I don\u2019t\nbelieve you really mean that you think us wrong.\u201d\n\n\u201cWould you, really, Sir, preach a sermon now in favour of backsword\nplay and wrestling?\u201d asked Miss Lucy, with a long face.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s that got to do with it, Lucy?\u201d broke in Joe. \u201cWe\u2019re not talking\nabout preaching sermons, but about what\u2019s right for country chaps to\ndo at pastimes.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow, Joseph, I\u2019m not going to ride off on any hobby of yours--besides,\nyour sister\u2019s test is right. Several of your clergy about here have\npreached against these games, as was their duty if they had considered\nthe subject well, and thought them wrong. I have never thought much\nabout the matter till to-night. At present I think your clergy wrong.\nIf I hold to that belief I would preach it; for I hope I never\nseriously say any thing in the parlour which I wouldn\u2019t say in the\npulpit.\u201d\n\nJust then, the tall clock in the passage outside gave a sort of cluck,\nwhich meant half-past nine o\u2019clock, and Joe jumped up and opened the\ndoor for the servants, and gave Mr. Warton the prayer-book. And then as\nsoon as ever prayers were over, he bustled his mother and sister off\nto bed, though I could see that Miss Lucy wasn\u2019t half satisfied in her\nmind about the backsword play and wrestling, and wanted to stay and\nhear something more from Mr. Warton. But Joe is always in a hurry for\nhis pipe when half-past nine strikes, so we all had to humour him, and\nMr. Warton and I went with him into the kitchen to smoke our pipes.\n\n[21] \u201cCaddle\u201d--to worry: from c\u0101d, strife.--The Berkshire scholiast\nsuggests that the modern \u201ccad,\u201d having regard to the peculiarities of\nthe class, must be the same word.\n\n[22] \u201cWosbird,\u201d bird of woe, of evil omen.\n\n[23] \u201cDummell,\u201d dull, stupid.\n\n[24] \u201cFogger\u201d--quasi fodderer--he who giveth fodder to the\ncattle--generally used for the farmer\u2019s head man.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n\nNow when we had fairly lighted up, and Joe had mixed us a glass of\ngin and water a piece, I felt that it was a very good time for me to\nhave a talk about the White Horse and the scourings. I wasn\u2019t quite\nsatisfied in my mind with all that the old gentleman had told me on the\nhill; and, as I felt sure that Mr. Warton was a scholar, and would find\nout directly if there was any thing wrong in what I had taken down, I\ntook out my note-book, and reminded Joe that he had promised to listen\nto it over his pipe. Joe didn\u2019t half like it, and wanted to put the\nreading off, but Mr. Warton was very good-natured about it, and said he\nshould like to hear it--so it was agreed that I should go on, and so I\nbegan. Joe soon was dozing, and every now and then woke up with a jerk,\nand pretended he had been listening, and made some remark in broad\nBerkshire. He always talks much broader when he is excited, or half\nasleep, than when he is cool and has all his wits about him. But I kept\non steadily till I had got through it all, and then Mr. Warton said he\nhad been very much interested, and believed that all I had taken down\nwas quite correct.\n\n\u201cWhat put it into your head,\u201d said he, \u201cto take so much interest in the\nHorse?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know, Sir,\u201d said I, \u201cbut somehow I can\u2019t think of any thing\nelse now I have been up there and heard about the battle.\u201d This wasn\u2019t\nquite true, for I thought more of Miss Lucy, but I couldn\u2019t tell him\nthat.\n\n\u201cWhen I was curate down here,\u201d said he, \u201cI was bitten with the same\nmaggot. Nothing would serve me but to find out all I could about the\nHorse. Now, Joe here, who\u2019s fast asleep--\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, he bean\u2019t,\u201d said Joe starting, and giving a pull at his pipe,\nwhich had gone out.\n\n\u201cWell, then, Joe here, who is wide awake, and the rest, who were born\nwithin sight of him, and whose fathers fought at Ashdown, and have\nhelped to scour him ever since, don\u2019t care half so much for him as we\nstrangers do.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! I dwon\u2019t allow that, mind you,\u201d said Joe; \u201cI dwon\u2019t know as I\ncares about your long-tailed words and that; but for keeping the Horse\nin trim, and as should be, why, I be ready to pay--\u201d\n\n\u201cNever mind how much, Joseph.\u201d\n\nJoe grinned, and put his pipe in his mouth again. I think he liked\nbeing interrupted by the Parson.\n\n\u201cAs I was saying, I found out all I could about the Horse, though it\nwas little enough, and I shall be very glad to tell you all I know.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen, Sir,\u201d said I, \u201cmay I ask you any questions I have a mind to ask\nyou about it?\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly,\u201d said he; \u201cbut you mustn\u2019t expect to get much out of me.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you, Sir,\u201d said I. \u201cA thousand years seems a long time, Sir,\ndoesn\u2019t it? Now, how do we know that the Horse has been there all that\ntime?\u201d\n\n\u201cAt any rate,\u201d said he, \u201cwe know that the Hill has been called, \u2018White\nHorse Hill,\u2019 and the Vale, the \u2018Vale of White Horse,\u2019 ever since the\ntime of Henry the First; for there are cartularies of the Abbey of\nAbingdon in the British Museum which prove it. So, I think, we may\nassume that they were called after the figure, and that the figure was\nthere before that time.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m very glad to hear that, Sir,\u201d said I. \u201cAnd then about the\nscourings and the pastime? They must have been going on ever since the\nHorse was cut out?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I think so,\u201d said he. \u201cYou have got quotations there from Wise\u2019s\nletter, written in 1736. He says that the scouring was an old custom in\nhis time. Well, take his authority for the fact up to that time, and\nI think I can put you in the way of finding out something, though not\nmuch, about most of the Scourings which have been held since.\u201d\n\nAnd he was as good as his word; for he took me about after the pastime\nto some old men in the neighbouring parishes, from whom I found out a\ngood deal that I have put down in this chapter. And the Squire, too,\nwhen Joe told him what I was about, helped me.\n\nNow I can\u2019t say that I have found out all the Scourings which have been\nheld since 1736, but I did my best to make a correct list, and this\nseems to be the proper place to set it all down.\n\nWell, the first Scouring, which I could find out any thing about, was\nheld in 1755, and all the sports then seem to have been pretty much\nthe same as those of the present day. But there was one thing which\nhappened which could not very well have happened now. A fine dashing\nfellow, dressed like a gentleman, got on to the stage, held his own\nagainst all the old gamesters, and in the end won the chief prize for\nbacksword-play, or cudgel-play, as they used to call it.\n\nWhile the play was going on there was plenty of talk as to who this man\ncould be, and some people thought they knew his face. As soon as he had\ngot the prize he jumped on his horse, and rode off. Presently, first\none, and then another, said it was Tim Gibbons, of Lambourn, who had\nnot been seen for some years, though strange stories had been afloat\nabout him.\n\nIt was the Squire who told me the story about Tim Gibbons; but he took\nme to see an old man who was a descendant of Tim\u2019s, and so I think I\nhad better give his own account of his ancestor and his doings. We\nfound the old gentleman, a hale, sturdy old fellow, working away in a\nfield at Woolstone, and, as near as I could get it, this was what he\nhad to say about the Scouring of 1755:--\n\n_Squire._ \u201cGood morning, Thomas. How about the weather? Did the White\nHorse smoke his pipe this morning?\u201d\n\n_Thos._ \u201cMornin\u2019, Sir. I didn\u2019t zee as \u2019a did. I allus notices he doos\nit when the wind blaws moor to th\u2019 east\u2019ard. I d\u2019wont bode no rain to\nday, Sir.\u201d\n\n_Squire._ \u201cHow old are you, Thomas?\u201d\n\n_Thos._ \u201cSeventy year old this Christmas, Sir. I wur barn at Woolstone,\nin the hard winter, when I\u2019ve heard tell as volks had to bwile their\nkettles wi\u2019 the snaw.\u201d\n\n_Squire._ \u201cI want to know something about your family, Thomas.\u201d\n\n_Thos._ \u201cWell, Sir, I bean\u2019t no ways ashamed of my family, I can\nassure \u2019ee. I\u2019ve a got two zons, and vour daaters. One on \u2019em, that\u2019s\nmy oldest bwoy, Sir, wur all droo\u2019 the Crimee wars, and never got a\nscratch. In the Granadier Guards, Sir, he be. A uncommon sprack[25]\nchap, Sir, though I says it, and as bowld as a lion; only while he wur\nabout our village wi\u2019 t\u2019other young chaps, he must allus be a fighting.\nBut not a bad-tempered chap, Sir, I assure \u2019ee. Then, Sir--\u201d\n\n_Squire._ \u201cBut, Thomas, I want to know about those that came before\nyou. What relation was Timothy Gibbons, whom I\u2019ve heard folks talk\nabout, to you?\u201d\n\n_Thos._ \u201cI suppose as you means my great-grandvather, Sir.\u201d\n\n_Squire._ \u201cPerhaps so, Thomas. Where did he live, and what trade did he\nfollow?\u201d\n\n_Thos._ \u201cI\u2019ll tell \u2019ee, Sir, all as I knows; but somehow, vather and\nmother didn\u2019t seem to like to talk to we bwoys about \u2019un.\u201d\n\n_Squire._ \u201cThank \u2019ee, Thomas. Mind, if he went wrong it\u2019s all the more\ncredit to you, who have gone straight; for there isn\u2019t a more honest\nman in the next five parishes.\u201d\n\n_Thos._ \u201cI knows your meanings good, and thank \u2019ee kindly, Sir, tho\u2019\nI be no schollard. Well, Timothy Gibbons, my great grandvather, you\nsee, Sir, foller\u2019d blacksmithing at Lambourn, till he took to highway\nrobbin\u2019, but I can\u2019t give \u2019ee no account o\u2019 when or wher.\u2019 Arter\nhe\u2019d been out, may be dree or vour year, he and two companions cum\nto Baydon; and whilst hiding theirselves and baiting their hosses in\na barn, the constables got ropes round the barn-yard and lined \u2019em\nin. Then all dree drawed cuts[26] who was to go out fust and face\nthe constables. It fell to Tim\u2019s two companions to go fust, but their\nhearts failed \u2019em, and they wouldn\u2019t go. So Tim cried out as \u2018he\u2019d\nshew \u2019em what a Englishman could do,\u2019 and mounted his hos and drawed\nhis cutlash, and cut their lines a-two, and galloped off clean away;\nbut I understood as t\u2019other two was took. Arter that, may be a year\nor two, he cum down to a pastime on White Hos Hill, and won the prize\nat backswording; and when he took his money, fearing lest he should\nbe knowed, he jumped on his hos under the stage, and galloped right\noff, and I don\u2019t know as he ever cum again to these parts. Then I\u2019ve\nunderstood as things throve wi\u2019 \u2019un, as \u2019um will at times, Sir, wi\u2019\nthay sort o\u2019 chaps, and he and his companions built the Inn called \u2018the\nMagpies,\u2019 on Hounslow Heath; but I dwon\u2019t know as ever he kep\u2019 the\nhouse hisself, except it med ha\u2019 been for a short while. Howsomever, at\nlast he was took drinking at a public-house, someweres up Hounslow way,\nwi\u2019 a companion who played a cross wi\u2019 \u2019un, and I b\u2019live \u2019a was hanged\nat Newgate. But I never understood as he killed any body, Sir, and a\u2019d\nused to gie some o\u2019 the money as he took to the poor, if he knowed they\nwas in want.\u201d\n\n_Squire._ \u201cThank\u2019ee, Thomas. What a pity he didn\u2019t go soldiering; he\nmight have made a fine fellow then!\u201d\n\n_Thos._ \u201cWell, Sir, so t\u2019wur, I thinks. Our fam\u2019ly be given to that\nsort o\u2019 thing. I wur a good hand at elbow and collar wrastling myself,\nafore I got married; but then I gied up all that, and ha\u2019 stuck to work\never sence.\u201d\n\n_Squire._ \u201cWell, Thomas, you\u2019ve given me the story I wanted to hear, so\nit\u2019s fair I should give you a Sunday dinner.\u201d\n\n_Thos._ \u201cLord love \u2019ee, Sir, I never meant nothin\u2019 o\u2019 that sort; our\nfam\u2019ly\u201d--\n\nWe were half-way across the field, when I looked round, and saw old\nThomas still looking after us and holding the Squire\u2019s silver in his\nhand, evidently not comfortable in his mind at having failed in telling\nus all he had to say about _his fam\u2019ly_, of which he seemed as proud as\nany duke can be of his, and I dare say has more reason for his pride\nthan many of them. At last, however, as we got over the stile, he\npocketed the affront and went on with his work.\n\nI could find out nothing whatever about the next Scouring; but I was\nlucky enough to get the printed hand-bill which was published before\nthe one in 1776, which I made out to be the next but one after that at\nwhich Tim Gibbons played.\n\nWhen I showed this old hand-bill to the Parson he was very much\ntickled. He took up the one which the Committee put out this last time,\nand looked at them together for a minute, and then tossed them across\nto me.\n\n\u201cWhat a queer contrast,\u201d said he, \u201cbetween those two bills.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow do you mean, Sir?\u201d said I; \u201cwhy the games seem to be nearly the\nsame.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo they are,\u201d said he; \u201cbut look at the prizes. Our great\ngrandfathers, you\u2019ll see, gave no money prizes; we scarcely any others.\nThe gold-laced hat and buckskin breeches have gone, and current coin\nof the realm reigns supreme. Then look at the happy-go-lucky way in\nwhich the old bill is put out. No date given, no name signed! who was\nresponsible for the breeches, or the shoe-buckles? And then, what\ngrammar! The modern bill, you see, is in the shape of resolutions,\npassed at a meeting, the chairman\u2019s name being appended as security\nfor the prizes.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat seems much better and more business-like,\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cThen you see the horserace for a silver cup has disappeared,\u201d he\nwent on. \u201cEpsom and Ascot have swallowed up the little country races,\njust as big manufacturers swallow up little ones, and big shops whole\nstreets of little shops, and nothing but monsters flourish in this age\nof unlimited competition and general enlightenment. Not that I regret\nthe small country town-races, though.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I see, Sir, that \u2018smocks to be run for by ladies,\u2019 is left out in\nthe modern bill.\u201d\n\n\u201cA move in the right direction there, at any rate,\u201d said he; \u201cthe bills\nought to be published side by side.\u201d So I took his advice, and here\nthey are:--\n\n                  \u201cWHITE HORSE HILL, BERKS, 1776.[27]\n\n    \u201cThe scowering and cleansing of the White Horse is fixed for\n    Monday the 27th day of May; on which day a Silver Cup will be\n    run for near White Horse Hill, by any horse, &c. that never run\n    for any thing, carrying 11 stone, the best of 3 two-mile heats,\n    to start at ten o\u2019clock.\n\n    \u201cBetween the heats will be run for by Poneys, a Saddle, Bridle,\n    and Whip; the best of three two-mile heats, the winner of 2\n    heats will be entitled to the Saddle, the second best the\n    Bridle, and the third the Whip.\n\n    \u201cThe same time a Thill harness will be run for by Cart-horses,\n    &c. in their harness and bells, the carters to ride in smock\n    frocks without saddles, crossing and jostling, but no whipping\n    allowed.\n\n    \u201cA flitch of Bacon to be run for by asses.\n\n    \u201cA good Hat to be run for by men in sacks, every man to bring\n    his own sack.\n\n    \u201cA Waistcoat, 10_s._ 6_d._ value, to be given to the person who\n    shall take a bullet out of a tub of flour with his mouth in the\n    shortest time.\n\n    \u201cA Cheese to be run for down the White Horse Manger.\n\n    \u201cSmocks to be run for by ladies, the second best of each prize\n    to be entitled to a Silk Hat.\n\n    \u201c_Cudgel-playing_ for a _gold-laced Hat_ and a pair of buckskin\n    Breeches, and _Wrestling_ for a pair of silver Buckles and a\n    pair of pumps.\n\n    \u201cThe horses to be on the White Horse Hill by nine o\u2019clock.\n\n    \u201cNo less than four horses, &c. or asses, to start for any of\n    the above prizes.\u201d\n\n                               PASTIME.\n\n    _To be held on the occasion of the Scouring of the White Horse,\n    September 17th and 18th, 1857._\n\n    At a meeting held at the Craven Arms, Uffington, on the 20th\n    day of August, 1857, the following resolutions (amongst others)\n    were passed unanimously:--\n\n    First. That a pastime be held on the White Horse Hill, on\n    Thursday and Friday, the 17th and 18th of September, in\n    accordance with the old custom at the time of \u201cThe Scouring of\n    the Horse.\u201d\n\n    2dly. That E. Martin Atkins, Esq. of Kingston Lisle, be\n    appointed Treasurer.\n\n    3dly. That prizes be awarded for the following games and\n    sports, That is to say--\n\n        Backsword Play. { Old gamesters,   \u00a38.\n                        { Young gamesters, \u00a34.\n\n        Wrestling.      { Old gamesters,   \u00a35.\n                        { Young gamesters, \u00a34.\n\n    A jingling match.\n\n    Foot races.\n\n    Hurdle races.\n\n    Race of cart-horses in Thill harness (for a new set of harness).\n\n    Donkey race (for a flitch of bacon).\n\n    Climbing pole (for a leg of mutton).\n\n    Races down \u201cthe Manger,\u201d (for cheeses.)\n\n    A pig will be turned out on the down, to be the prize of the\n    man who catches him (under certain regulations); and further\n    prizes will be awarded for other games and sports as the funds\n    will allow.\n\n    4thly. That no person be allowed to put up or use a stall or\n    booth on the ground, without the previous sanction of Mr.\n    Spackman, of Bridgecombe Farm, [the occupier,] who is hereby\n    authorized to make terms with any person wishing to put up a\n    stall or booth.\n\n                                                Signed,\n                                      E. MARTIN ATKINS, _Chairman_.\n\nThen came a Scouring on Whit-Monday, May 15, 1780, and of the doings on\nthat occasion, there is the following notice in the \u201cReading Mercury\u201d\nof May 22, 1780:--\n\n\u201cThe ceremony of scowering and cleansing that noble monument of Saxon\nantiquity, the White Horse, was celebrated on Whit-Monday, with great\njoyous festivity. Besides the customary diversions of horseracing,\nfoot-races, &c. many uncommon rural diversions and feats of activity\nwere exhibited to a greater number of spectators than ever assembled\non any former occasion. Upwards of thirty thousand persons were\npresent, and amongst them most of the nobility and gentry of this and\nthe neighbouring counties; and the whole was concluded without any\nmaterial accident. The origin of this remarkable piece of antiquity\nis variously related; but most authors describe it as a monument to\nperpetuate some signal victory, gained near the spot, by some of our\nmost ancient Saxon princes. The space occupied by this figure is more\nthan an acre of ground.\u201d\n\nI also managed to get a list of the games, which is just the same as\nthe one of 1776, except that in addition there was \u201ca jingling-match\nby eleven blindfolded men, and one unmasked and hung with bells, for a\npair of buckskin breeches.\u201d\n\nThe Parson found an old man, William Townsend by name, a carpenter at\nWoolstone, whose father, one Warman Townsend, had run down the manger\nafter the fore-wheel of a wagon, and won the cheese at this Scouring.\nHe told us the story as his father had told it to him, how that \u201celeven\non \u2019em started, and amongst \u2019em a sweep chimley and a millurd; and the\nmillurd tripped up the sweep chimley and made the zoot flee a good\n\u2019un;\u201d and how \u201cthe wheel ran pretty nigh down to the springs that\ntime,\u201d which last statement the Parson seemed to think couldn\u2019t be\ntrue. But old Townsend knew nothing about the other sports.\n\nThen the next Scouring was held in 1785, and the Parson found several\nold men who could remember it when they were very little. The one who\nwas most communicative was old William Ayres of Uffington, a very dry\nold gentleman, about eighty-four years old:--\n\n\u201cWhen I wur a bwoy about ten years old,\u201d said he, \u201cI remembers I went\nup White Hoss Hill wi\u2019 my vather to a pastime. Vather\u2019d brewed a barrel\no\u2019 beer to sell on the Hill--a deal better times then than now, Sir!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, William?\u201d said the Parson.\n\n\u201cAugh! bless\u2019ee, Sir, a man medn\u2019t brew and sell his own beer now;\nand oftentimes he can\u2019t get nothin\u2019 fit to drink at thaay little\nbeer-houses as is licensed, nor at some o\u2019 the public-houses too for\nthat matter. But \u2019twur not only for that as the times wur better then,\nyou see, Sir----\u201d\n\n\u201cBut about the sports, William?\u201d\n\n\u201cEes Sir, I wur gandering sure enough,\u201d said the old man; \u201cwell now,\nthere wur Varmer Mifflin\u2019s mare run for and won a new cart saddle and\nthill-tugs--the mare\u2019s name wur _Duke_. As many as a dozen or moor\nhorses run, and they started from Idle\u2019s Bush, which wur a vine owld\ntharnin\u2019-tree in thay days--a very nice bush. They started from Idle\u2019s\nBush, as I tell \u2019ee, Sir, and raced up to the Rudge-waay; and Varmer\nMifflin\u2019s mare had it all one way, and beat all the t\u2019other on \u2019um\nholler. The pastime then wur a good \u2019un--a wunderful sight o\u2019 volk of\nall sorts, rich and poor. John Morse of Uffington, a queerish sort of a\nman, grinned agin another chap droo\u2019 hos collars, but John got beaat--a\nfine bit of spwoort to be shure, Sir, and made the folks laaf. Another\ngeaam wur to bowl a cheese down the Mainger, and the first as could\ncatch \u2019un had \u2019un. The cheese was a tough \u2019un and held together.\u201d\n\n\u201cNonsense, William, that\u2019s impossible,\u201d broke in the Parson.\n\n\u201cAugh Sir, but a did though, I assure \u2019ee,\u201d persisted William Ayres,\n\u201cbut thaay as tasted \u2019un said a warn\u2019t very capital arter all.\u201d\n\n\u201cI daresay,\u201d said the Parson, \u201cfor he couldn\u2019t have been made of any\nthing less tough than ash pole.\u201d\n\n\u201cHah, hah, hah,\u201d chuckled the old man, and went on.\n\n\u201cThere wur running for a peg too, and they as could ketch \u2019un and hang\n\u2019un up by the tayl, had \u2019un. The girls, too, run races for smocks--a\ndeal of pastime, to be sure, Sir. There wur climmin\u2019 a grasy pole for\na leg of mutton, too; and backsoordin\u2019, and wrastlin\u2019, and all that,\nye knows, Sir. A man by the name of Blackford, from the low countries,\nZummersetshire, or that waay some weres, he won the prize, and wur\ncounted the best hand for years arter, and no man couldn\u2019t break\nhis yead; but at last, nigh about twenty years arter, I\u2019ll warn[28]\n\u2019twur--at Shrin\u2019um Revel, Harry Stanley, the landlord of the Blawin\u2019\nStwun, broke his yead, and the low-country men seemed afeard o\u2019 Harry\nround about here for long arter that. Varmer Small-bwones of Sparsholt,\na mazin\u2019 stout man, and one as scarce no wun go where \u2019a would could\ndrow down, beaat all the low-country chaps at wrastlin\u2019, and none\ncould stan\u2019 agean \u2019un. And so he got the neam o\u2019 Varmer Greaat Bwones.\n\u2019Twur only when he got a drap o\u2019 beer a leetle too zoon, as he wur\never drowed at wrastlin\u2019, but they never drowed \u2019un twice, and he had\nthe best men come agean \u2019un for miles. This wur the first pastime as I\nwell remembers, but there med ha\u2019 been some afore, for all as I knows.\nI ha\u2019 got a good memorandum, Sir, and minds things well when I wur a\nbwoy, that I does. I ha\u2019 helped to dress the White Hoss myself, and a\ndeal o\u2019 work \u2019tis to do\u2019t as should be, I can asshure \u2019ee, Sir. About\nClaay Hill, \u2019twixt Fairford and Ziziter, I\u2019ve many a time looked back\nat \u2019un, and \u2019a looks as nat\u2019ral as a pictur, Sir.\u201d\n\nBetween 1785 and 1803 there must have been at least two Scourings, but\nsomehow none of the old men could remember the exact years, and they\nseemed to confuse them with those that came later on, and though I\nlooked for them in old county papers, I could not find any notice of\nthem.\n\nAt the Scouring of 1803, Beckingham of Baydon won the prize at\nwrestling; Flowers and Ellis from Somersetshire won the prize at\nbacksword play; the waiter at the Bell Inn, Farringdon, won the cheese\nrace, and at jumping in sacks; and Thomas Street, of Niton, won the\nprize for grinning through horse collars, \u201cbut,\u201d as my informant told\nme, \u201ca man from Woodlands would ha\u2019 beaat, only he\u2019d got no teeth. This\ngeaam made the congregation laaf \u2019mazinly.\u201d\n\nThen came a Scouring in 1808, at which the Hanney men came down in a\nstrong body and made sure of winning the prize for wrestling. But all\nthe other gamesters leagued against them, and at last their champion,\nBelcher, was thrown by Fowler of Baydon;--both these men are still\nliving. Two men, \u201cwith very shiny top-boots, quite gentlemen, from\nLondon,\u201d won the prize for backsword play, one of which gentlemen\nwas Shaw, the life-guardsman, a Wiltshire man himself as I was told,\nwho afterwards died at Waterloo after killing so many cuirassiers. A\nnew prize was given at this pastime and a very blackguard one, viz:\na gallon of gin or half a guinea for the woman who would smoke most\ntobacco in an hour. Only two gypsy women entered, and it seems to have\nbeen a very abominable business, but it is the only instance of the\nsort that I could hear of at any Scouring.\n\nThe old men disagree as to the date of the next Scouring, which was\neither in 1812 or 1813; but I think in the latter year, because the\nclerk of Kingstone Lisle, an old Peninsula man, says that he was at\nhome on leave in this year, and that there was to be a Scouring. And\nall the people were talking about it when he had to go back to the\nwars. At this Scouring there was a prize of a loaf made out of a bushel\nof flour, for running up the manger, which was won by Philip New,\nof Kingstone-in-the-Hole; who cut the great loaf into pieces at the\ntop, and sold the pieces for a penny a piece. I am sure he must have\ndeserved a great many pennies for running up that place, if he really\never did it; for I would just as soon undertake to run up the front\nof the houses in Holborn. The low country men won the first backsword\nprize, and one Ford, of Ashbury, the second; and the Baydon men, headed\nby Beckingham, Fowler, and Breakspear, won the prize for wrestling. One\nHenry Giles (of Hanney, I think they said) had wrestled for the prize,\nand I suppose took too much beer afterwards; at any rate, he fell into\nthe canal on his way home and was drowned. So the jury found, \u201cKilled\nat wrastlin\u2019;\u201d \u201cthough,\u201d as my informant said, \u201c\u2019twur a strange thing\nfor a old geamster as knew all about the stage, to be gettin\u2019 into the\nwater for a bout. Hows\u2019mever, Sir, I hears as they found it as I tells\n\u2019ee, and you med see it any day as you\u2019ve a mind to look in the parish\nregister.\u201d\n\nThen I couldn\u2019t find that there had been another Scouring till 1825,\nbut the one which took place in that year seems by all accounts to\nhave been the largest gathering that there has ever been. The games\nwere held at the Seven Barrows, which are distant two miles in a\nsoutheasterly direction from the White Horse, instead of in Uffington\nCastle; but I could not make out why. These seven barrows, I heard the\nSquire say, are probably the burial-places of the principal men who\nwere killed at Ashdown, and near them are other long irregular mounds,\nall full of bones huddled together anyhow, which are very likely the\ngraves of the rank and file.\n\nAfter this there was no Scouring till 1838, when, on the 19th and 20th\nof September, the old custom was revived, under the patronage of Lord\nCraven. The _Reading Mercury_ congratulates its readers on the fact,\nand adds that no more auspicious year could have been chosen for the\nrevival, \u201cthan that in which our youthful and beloved Queen first wore\nthe British crown, and in which an heir was born to the ancient and\nnoble house of Craven, whom God preserve.\u201d I asked the Parson if he\nknew why it was that such a long time had been let to pass between the\n1825 Scouring and the next one.\n\n\u201cYou see it was a transition time,\u201d said he; \u201cold things were passing\naway. What with Catholic Emancipation, and Reform, and the new Poor\nLaw, even the quiet folk in the Vale had no time or heart to think\nabout pastimes; and machine-breaking and rick-burning took the place of\nwrestling and backsword play.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut then, Sir,\u201d said I, \u201cthis last fourteen years we haven\u2019t had any\nReform Bill (worse luck) and yet there was no Scouring between 1843 and\n1857.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy can\u2019t you be satisfied with my reason?\u201d said he; \u201cnow you must\nfind one out for yourself.\u201d\n\nThe last Scouring, in September, 1843, Joe had been at himself, and\ntold me a long story about, which I should be very glad to repeat,\nonly I think it would rather interfere with my own story of what I\nsaw myself. The Berkshire and Wiltshire men, under Joe Giles of\nShrivenham, got the better of the Somersetshire men, led by Simon\nStone, at backsword play; and there were two men who came down from\nLondon, who won the wrestling prize away from the countrymen. \u201cWhat\nI remember best, however,\u201d said Joe, \u201cwas all the to-do to get the\nelephant\u2019s caravan up the hill, for Wombwell\u2019s menagerie came down\non purpose for the Scouring. I should think they put-to a matter of\nfour-and-twenty horses, and then stuck fast four or five times. I was a\nlittle chap then but I sat and laughed at \u2019em a good one; and I don\u2019t\nknow that I\u2019ve seen so foolish a job since.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t see why, Joe,\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cYou don\u2019t?\u201d said he, \u201cwell, that\u2019s good, too. Why didn\u2019t they turn the\nelephant out and make him pull his own caravan up? He would have been\nglad to do it, poor old chap, to get a breath of fresh air, and a look\nacross the vale.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBut now that I have finished all that I have to tell about the old\nScourings, (at least all that I expect any body will read,) I must go\nback again to the kitchen on the night of the 16th of September, 1857.\nJoe, who, as I said, was half asleep while I was reading, soon waked\nup afterwards, though it was past eleven o\u2019clock, and began to settle\nhow we were to go up the hill the next morning.\n\n\u201cNow I shall ride the chestnut up early,\u201d said he, \u201c\u2019cause I may be\nwanted to help the Squire and the rest, but it don\u2019t matter for the\nrest of you. I\u2019ll have a saddle put on my old brown horse, and he\u2019ll be\nquiet enough, for he has been at harvest work, and the four-wheel must\ncome up with Lu somehow. Will you ride or drive, Sir?\u201d said he, turning\nto the Parson.\n\n\u201cOh, I don\u2019t mind; whichever is most convenient,\u201d said Mr. Warton.\n\n\u201cDid\u2019st ever drive in thy life, Dick?\u201d said Joe to me.\n\nI was very near saying \u201cyes,\u201d for I felt ashamed of not being able to\ndo what they could; however, I told the truth, and said \u201cno;\u201d and next\nminute I was very glad I had, for, besides the shame of telling a lie,\nhow much worse it would have been to be found out by Miss Lucy in the\nmorning, or to have had an upset or some accident.\n\nSo it was settled that Mr. Warton should drive the four-wheel, and that\nI should ride the old horse. I didn\u2019t think it necessary to say that I\nhad never ridden any thing but the donkeys on Hampstead Heath, and the\nelephant in the Zoological Gardens. And so, when all was settled, we\nwent to bed.\n\n[25] \u201cSprack,\u201d--sprightly.\n\n[26] \u201cDraw cuts,\u201d--to draw lots.\n\n[27] This hand-bill was kindly given me by H. Godwin, Esq., of Newbury.\n\n[28] \u201cWarn,\u201d--contraction of the word \u201cwarrant.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n\nNext morning I got up early, for I wasn\u2019t quite easy in my mind about\nriding Joe\u2019s old horse, and so I thought I would just go round and\nlook at him, and ask the fogger something about his ways. It was a\nsplendid morning, not a cloud to be seen. I found the fogger strapping\naway at the horses. Everybody had been up and about since daylight, to\nget their day\u2019s work done, so that they might get away early to the\npastime. All the cows had been milked and turned out again, and Joe was\naway in the fields, looking after his men.\n\nI stood beating about the bush for some time, for I didn\u2019t want to let\nthe man see what I was thinking of if I could help it. However, when he\nbrought out the old brown horse to clean him down, I went up and patted\nhim, and asked whether he was a good saddle horse.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\u201cEes, there warn\u2019t much fault to find wi\u2019 un,\u201d said the fogger,\nstopping his hissing and rubbing for a moment, \u201cleastways for them as\ndidn\u2019t mind a high goer.\u201d\n\nI didn\u2019t quite know what he meant by a high goer, so I asked him if the\nbrown was up to my weight.\n\n\u201cLor\u2019 bless \u2019ee, ees. He\u2019d make no account o\u2019 vivteen stun. Be you to\nride un up the hill, Sir, make so bold?\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cYes, at least I think so,\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cHev \u2019ee got arra loose tooth, Sir?\u201d said he, grinning.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said I, \u201cwhy?\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2019Cause he\u2019ll be as likely as not to shake un out for \u2019ee, Sir, if you\nlets un hev his head up on the downs.\u201d\n\nI didn\u2019t like this account of the brown horse, for as I hadn\u2019t ridden\nmuch, he might take his head perhaps whether I let him have it or not.\nSo I made up my mind not to ride. I thought I would go behind in the\nfour-wheel, for I didn\u2019t like to leave Miss Lucy all alone with the\nParson for so long; but then I found out that one of the carter-boys\nwas to go behind to look after the horses, and I didn\u2019t choose to be\nput up side by side with him, to look ridiculous. There was a big\nwagon going up, too, full of the farm servants, but that didn\u2019t seem to\nsuit me any better, so I settled with myself that I would just start\nand walk up.\n\nJoe, luckily for me, thought he had settled every thing, and so at\nbreakfast said nothing more about the old horse; though I was afraid\nhe would every minute, and then I should have had to pretend I was\ngoing to ride, or they might have found out that I didn\u2019t quite like\nthe notion. I was very glad when I saw him fairly off after breakfast,\ncantering away on the chestnut; and, very soon afterwards, I took a\ngood stout stick of Joe\u2019s in my hand, put my note-book in my pocket,\nand started off quietly by myself.\n\nAt first as I walked along I didn\u2019t enjoy myself much for thinking of\nthe four-wheel, and I was almost getting jealous of the Parson again.\nBut I soon got over it, when I remembered how kind he had been the\nnight before. And I felt, too, that if he really was making up to her\nthere was very little chance for me, so I had better make up my mind\nanyhow to see and enjoy every thing I could. I don\u2019t think I was very\nmuch in love at the time; if it had been a week later I should have\nfound it much harder perhaps.\n\nI kept along the shady side of the road, for it was getting hot\nalready, and crossed the canal, and kept making up towards the hills.\nI wasn\u2019t sure of the way, but I knew that if once I got up the hill I\nshould find the Ridgeway, and could follow it all the way up to the\nCastle. After a bit I fell in with groups of people, all going the same\nway; and so, following on with them, after about an hour\u2019s walk, I came\nto the foot of the hills; and found a pretty little inn, standing back\nfrom the road, nestled into a plantation, where everybody else seemed\nto be stopping; and so I stopped too, and sat down on the bench before\nthe door to have a glass of beer before facing the pull up to the top.\n\nIn front of the door was an oak tree, and under the tree a big stone\nwith some curious holes in it, into which pieces of wood were fitted,\nsecured by a padlock and chain. I was wondering what it could be, when\nthe landlord came out with some of his guests, and pulling out a key\nunlocked the padlock, and took the pieces of wood out of the holes.\nThen there was some talk between the young men and their sweethearts,\nand first one and then another stooped down and blew into the hole at\nthe top, and the stone made a dull moaning sound, unlike any thing I\nhad ever heard. The landlord told me that when it was well blown on a\nstill day, it could be heard for four or five miles, and I should think\nit could; for I left them blowing away when I started again, and heard\nthe sound every now and then until I was close up to the Castle, though\nthe wind blew from the south, and down the hill.\n\nI should think a dozen parties, in all sorts of odd go-carts and other\nvehicles, or on foot, must have passed the Blowing-Stone in the ten\nminutes which I spent on the bench. So I got quite eager to be up at\nthe Castle, and paid for my beer and started again. It is a very long\nstiff pull up Blowing-Stone Hill, and the road is not a very good\none; so I soon began to pass the gigs and carts, most of which had\nto stop every hundred yards or so, to let the horses and donkeys get\ntheir wind. Half-way up, in the worst part of the hill, I found an old\nhuckstering woman and a boy in great trouble. They had a little cart\nladen with poles and boards for a stall, and two great sacks of nuts\nand sweet-stuff; and only one donkey in the shafts, who had got one\nwheel of the cart into a deep chalk rut, and stood there like a post.\nThe woman and boy were quite beat with dragging at his head, and trying\nto lift the wheel out of the rut, and as I came up she was \u201cfairly\ngiving out.\u201d\n\n\u201cLawk-a-massy! how ever be I to scawt[29] up? Do\u2019ee lend a help,\nthere\u2019s a good soul,\u201d said she to me.\n\nWell, I couldn\u2019t go by and leave her there, though I didn\u2019t half like\nhaving to stop; so I helped to lift the wheel out, and then we pushed\nthe cart up a few yards, and the old donkey tried to sidle it into\nanother rut, and we had another fight with him. My blood got up at his\nobstinacy; I don\u2019t believe there ever was another such a donkey in the\nworld; so the more he backed and sidled, the more I and the old woman\nand the boy fought. And then the people that passed us began to laugh\nand joke at us, and I got very angry at them, and the old woman, and\neverybody; but I set my teeth, and made up my mind to get him up to the\ntop if I stayed there all day.\n\nI should think we must have been nearly half an hour at work, and had\ngot on about three hundred yards or so, when a fine dog-cart on high\nwheels came up. I heard the gentlemen in it talking and laughing as\nthey came near us; but I didn\u2019t look up, and kept working away at the\ndonkey, for I was afraid they would only joke at us.\n\n\u201cOh deary me, deary me, Master Gaarge, be that you?\u201d I heard the old\nwoman call out; \u201cnow do\u2019ee stop some o\u2019 the chaps, and tell \u2019em to\nhelp. I be nigh caddled to death wi\u2019 this drattled old jackass--oh\ndear, oh dear!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, Betty! what in the world are you after?\u201d said a merry voice,\nwhich I thought I had heard before; and, looking up, I saw the young\ngentleman who had promised me the song.\n\n\u201cOh, you see, Master Gaarge, I thought as I might turn a honest penny\nif I could only win up to the pastime wi\u2019 some nuts and brandy-balls.\nSo I loaned neighbour Tharne\u2019s cart as he fetches coals from the canal\nwi\u2019, and his ass--and if \u2019twas Balaam\u2019s ass hisself he couldn\u2019t be no\nwus--and here I be; and if it hadn\u2019t a been for this kind gentleman\u201d--\n\n\u201cWell, stop your talk, Betty, and take hold of his head,\u201d said he,\njumping out of his dog-cart and giving the reins to the one who was\nbeside him. \u201cAh, good morning,\u201d nodding to me, as he came to the back\nof the cart, \u201cnow then, with a will! shove away!\u201d\n\nSo we shoved the cart hard against the donkey\u2019s legs. \u201cDon\u2019t pull,\nBetty, let him have his head; just keep hold of the reins. Look out,\nboy; stop him making for the ditch;\u201d and away went Master Neddy\nscrambling up hill, for he found that the cart was coming over his back\nif he didn\u2019t move on. Master George was as strong as a ballast heaver,\nand the donkey seemed to find it out quick enough, for we were up the\nhill in no time.\n\n\u201cBless your kind heart, Master Gaarge!\u201d almost sobbed the old woman; \u201cI\nbe all straight now. Do\u2019ee hev summat to suck now, or some nuts, and\nthis kind gentleman too; you allus wur fond o\u2019 suck;\u201d and she began\nuntying the neck of one of her sacks.\n\n\u201cOh, Betty, you wicked old lone woman!\u201d said he, \u201chaven\u2019t you made me\nill often enough with your nastinesses fifteen years ago?\u201d\n\n\u201cDwont\u2019ee, now, call \u2019em names, Master Gaarge.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood-bye, Betty, and make haste up to the Castle before all the small\nboys are poisoned. I can give you a lift, Sir,\u201d said he to me, \u201cif\nyou\u2019ll jump up behind.\u201d\n\nI thanked him, and got up behind, by the side of one of the other young\ngentlemen, who I thought didn\u2019t seem much to like having me there; and\nI felt very pleased, as we bowled along the Ridgeway, passing all the\npeople who had been laughing at me and the donkey, that they should see\nthat I was in such good company, and should be up at the Castle before\nany of them.\n\nThe whole Ridgeway was alive with holiday folk, some walking with\ntheir coats and bonnets off, some in great wagons, some in all sorts\nof strange vehicles, such as I had never seen before (many of which\nMaster George declared had been impressed by Alfred\u2019s commissariat\nand hospital staff, in his wars against the Danes, when they were\nstrong young traps); but from one and all there rose up a hum of broad\nBerkshire, and merry laughter, as we shot by them. Sometimes a yeoman\nin his gig, or on his stout hackney, would try to keep up with us, or\nto stop us from passing him, but Master George was a reckless driver,\nand somehow or another, galloping or trotting, on the right side or the\nwrong, he _would_ pass; so in about ten minutes we had got over the two\nmiles of downs, and were close up to the Castle.\n\nHere the first thing I saw was Joe, with two other farmers, carrying a\nlot of little white and pink flags, and measuring ground.\n\n\u201cPlease put me down, Sir,\u201d said I, \u201cthere\u2019s my friend.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, yes,\u201d said Master George, pulling up, \u201cI see--you\u2019re staying\nwith Farmer Hurst. Well, I\u2019m much obliged to you for helping poor old\nBetty--she\u2019s a good struggling old widow body in our village; I\u2019ve\nknown her ever since I could walk and suck. Good morning, Mr. Hurst;\nlikely to be a good muster to-day.\u201d\n\n\u201cMornin\u2019, Sir,\u201d said Joe, touching his hat, \u201cI think so--there\u2019s a\nsmart lot of folk in the Castle already.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I hope we may meet again,\u201d said Master George to me, \u201cI won\u2019t\nforget the song for you,\u201d--and away he drove towards the Castle.\n\n\u201cWhy, Dick man, where\u2019s the old horse?\u201d said Joe, looking as if I had\ncome from the moon.\n\n\u201cOh, I walked,\u201d said I, \u201cI prefer it, when I have time.\u201d\n\n\u201cCome own it, Dick,\u201d said he, \u201cthou wast ashamed of the old horse\u2019s\nlong rough coat--I didn\u2019t think thou hadst been such a dandy.\u201d\n\n\u201cUpon my honour it was nothing of the sort,\u201d said I, glad enough that\nhe wasn\u2019t on the right scent.\n\n\u201cAnd how did you get along with one of our young squires?\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cOh, he offered me a lift,\u201d said I; and then I told him my story.\n\n\u201cWell, you always seem to fall on your legs,\u201d said he; \u201cwho are they\nwith him?\u201d\n\n\u201cOxford scholars, I think,\u201d said I, \u201cfrom their talk; but I didn\u2019t get\non much with them, they\u2019re not so free spoken as he is. But what are\nyou about here, Joe?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, helping the umpires to measure out the course for the cart-horse\nrace; look, there are the flags right along for half a mile, and the\nfinish is to be up there by the side of the Castle, for all the folk to\nsee. But come along, for I must be after the umpires; I see they want\nme.\u201d\n\n\u201cI think,\u201d said I, \u201cI should like to go and see what\u2019s going on in the\nCastle.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery good,\u201d said he, \u201cthen I\u2019ll look after you when we\u2019ve done this\njob;\u201d and away he went.\n\nI wouldn\u2019t take time to go round by either of the entrances, but made\nstraight across to the nearest point of the great earthworks, and\nscrambled over the outer bank, and down into the deep ditch, and up the\ninner bank, and stood there on the top, looking down on all the fun\nof the fair; for fair it was already, though it was very little past\neleven o\u2019clock in the morning.\n\nThere was the double line of booths and stalls which I had seen putting\nup the day before, making a long and broad street, and all decked out\nwith nuts and apples, and ginger-bread, and all sorts of sucks and\nfood, and children\u2019s toys, and cheap ribbons, knives, braces, straps,\nand all manner of gaudy-looking articles. Opposite, on the north side,\nall the shows had got their great pictures up of the wonders which\nwere to be seen inside, and the performers were strutting about on\nthe stages outside, and before one of them an acrobat was swinging\nbackwards and forwards on the slack rope, and turning head over heels\nat the end of each swing. And every show had its own music, if it were\nonly a drum and pan pipes, and all the musicians were playing, as loud\nas they could play, different tunes. Then, on the east side, were the\ngreat booths of the publicans, all decked out now with flowers and\ncheap flags, with their skittle-grounds behind; and lots of gypsies,\nand other tramps, with their \u201cthree sticks a penny,\u201d and other games.\nThe west side was only occupied, as I said before, by the great white\ntent of the County Police, where the Committee were sitting, and Lord\nCraven\u2019s tents some way in front; but these looked pretty and gay now,\nfor they had hoisted some good flags; and there in the middle stood\nthe great ugly stage, and the greasy pole. The whole space was filled\nwith all sorts of people, from ladies looking as if they had just come\nfrom Kensington Gardens, down to the ragged little gypsy children, with\nbrown faces and brick-coloured hair, all moving about, and looking very\nmuch as if they were enjoying themselves. So after looking a minute, I\ngot down into the crowd, and set to work to see every thing I could.\n\nI hadn\u2019t been pushing about amongst the rest above five minutes, when\ntwo men stopped close by me, one (who was the Wantage crier, I found\nout afterwards) with his hand full of papers, and the other carrying a\ngong, which he began to beat loud enough to deafen one. When the crowd\nhad come round him, the crier began, and I should think he might have\nbeen heard at Elm Close:--\n\n\u201cOh yes! oh yes! by order of the Committee, all persons who mean to\nplay for prizes, must enter their names on the umpires\u2019 lists. Oh yes!\noh yes! the umpires\u2019 lists are open in the tent, and names may be\nentered from now till half-past twelve. Oh yes! a list of the umpires\nfor the different games and sports may be seen on the board outside the\ntent-door. God save the Queen!\u201d\n\nAs soon as he had done, he and the man with the gong went off to\nanother part of the Castle, but I could see some of the men and boys,\nwho had been standing round, sidling off towards the great tent to\nenter for some of the games, as I guessed. So I followed across the\nCastle to the space in front of the tent.\n\nI could see, through the entrance, two or three of the Committee\nsitting at a table, with paper and pens and ink before them; and every\nnow and then, from the little groups which were standing about, some\nman would make a plunge in, and go up to the table; and, after a word\nor two with them, would enter his name on one or more of the lists, and\nthen come out, sometimes grinning, but generally looking as if he were\nhalf ashamed of himself. I remarked more and more through the day what\na shy, shamefaced fellow the real countryman was, while the gypsies\nand racing boys and tramps, who entered for the races, but not for the\nbacksword or wrestling prizes, were all as bold as brass, and stood\nchattering away to the Committee-men, till they were almost ordered out\nof the tent.\n\nI sat down on the turf outside the tent to watch; for I felt very\nmuch interested in the games, and liked to see the sort of men who\ncame to enter. There were not many very stout or tall men amongst\nthem; I should say they averaged about eleven stone in weight, and\nfive feet eight inches in height; but they looked a very tough race;\nand I could quite believe, while looking at them, what Joe told me\none day--\u201cThough there\u2019s plenty of quicker men, and here and there\nstronger ones, scarce any man that ever comes down our way--either at\nnavigator\u2019s work or loafing about, like the gypsies and tramps--can\never come up to our chaps in _last_, whether at fighting or working.\u201d\n\nThere was one man amongst them who struck me particularly, I suppose\nbecause he wore a Crimean medal with four clasps, and went quite lame\non a crutch. I found out his history. Old Mattingly, the blacksmith of\nUffington, had three sons when the Russian war broke out. They all went\nfor soldiers. The first was shot through the hand, as that gray, deadly\ndawn broke over Inkermann, on the 5th of November, 1854. Had he gone to\nthe rear he would probably have lived. He fought till the last Russian\nvanished along the distant road, and over the bridge heaped with slain,\nlike a gallant Berkshire lad--and then went to hospital and died of his\nwounds within a week. The second lies before Sebastopol in the advanced\ntrenches of the right attack. The third, the young artilleryman, went\nthrough the whole war, and after escaping bayonet and shot and shell,\nwas kicked by the horse of a wounded officer, and probably lamed for\nlife. According to the rules of the service, my informant seemed to\nthink, he was not entitled to a pension for life, \u201cbut they had given\nhim one for eighteen months after his discharge, so that he had almost\na year of it to run; and perhaps he might learn blacksmith-work in that\ntime, if he could stand at all, for that was mostly arm-work.\u201d\n\nI didn\u2019t know what the regulations as to pensions were, or how long\nyoung Mattingly would take to learn blacksmith-work, but I did feel\nrather ashamed that England couldn\u2019t afford to do a little more for\nsuch as he; and should be glad for my part to pay something towards it,\nif the Chancellor of the Exchequer, or somebody, would find out a way\nto set this right. Or perhaps if this should ever meet the eye of the\nCommander-in-Chief, or of any of the gentlemen who were made K.C.B\u2019s in\nthe war-time, or of any other person who has interest in the army, they\nmay see whether any thing more can be done for young Mattingly.\n\nMany of the younger ones I could see hadn\u2019t made up their minds whether\nor no they should enter, and were larking and pushing one another\nabout; and I saw several good trials of strength, and got an idea of\nwhat the wrestling was like before the lists were closed.\n\n\u201cBi\u2019st in for young geamsters prize at wrastlin\u2019, shepherd?\u201d asked\na young carter with his hat full of ribbons, of a tight-made,\nneatly-dressed fellow, who had already won a second prize, I heard, at\nhis village revel.\n\nThe shepherd nodded.\n\n\u201cMose, mun,\u201d went on the carter, \u201cthee shouldst go in. Thee bi\u2019st big\nenough.\u201d\n\nMoses was an overgrown, raw-boned fellow, of about eighteen, in a short\nsmock-frock and a pair of very dilapidated militia-trousers. He had\nbeen turning the matter over in his own mind for some time, and now,\nafter looking the shepherd over for a minute, pulled his great hands\nout of his pockets, hunched up his shoulders, and grunted out--\n\n\u201c\u2019Zay! Try a file[30] wi\u2019 thee, shepherd.\u201d\n\nThe bystanders all cheered. Moses, the militiaman, was rather a joke to\nthem. The shepherd looked scornful, but was ready to try a file; but\nhe stipulated that Mose must borrow some shoes instead of his great,\niron-clouted high-lows, (no man is allowed to wrestle, I found, with\nany iron on his shoes.)\n\nThis seemed likely to stop the fun. Moses pulled off his high-lows,\nand appeared in sinkers,[31] at which everybody roared; but no shoes\nwere to be had. Then he offered to wrestle without shoes; but at last\na pair were found, and Moses advanced with his great hands stretched\nout towards the shepherd, who, not deigning to take one hand out of his\npocket, caught Mose\u2019s elbow with the other. After one or two awkward\nattempts, and narrowly escaping some well-meant trips, Mose bored in;\nand before the shepherd could seize the militiaman\u2019s collar with his\nsecond hand, over he went, and Mose was proclaimed winner of a file,\namid shouts of laughter. Then they buckled to again, the shepherd doing\nhis best; but somehow Mose managed to keep his legs; and when they went\ndown, both fell on their sides, and it was only a dog-fall.\n\nIn another minute I saw the militiaman in the tent before the table.\n\n\u201cPlaze, Sur, put down Moses Tilling--young geamster--wrastlin\u2019.\u201d\n\nAfter watching the tent till the lists were just closing, I started\noff to see if I could find Miss Lucy, who ought to have been up by\nthis time, and to get something to eat before the sports began. The\nluncheon I managed easily enough, for I went over to the great booth in\nwhich I had dined the day before, and sat down at the long table, where\nPeter welcomed me, and soon gave me as much as I could eat and drink.\nBut when I had finished, and went out to look for my friends, I found\nit a very difficult business, and no wonder, for there were more than\n20,000 people up on the Hill.\n\nFirst I went to the outside of the Castle, where all the carriages were\ndrawn up in long rows, to see if I could find the four-wheel amongst\nthem. As I was poking about, I came close to a fine open carriage,\nand hearing a shout of merry laughter, looked up. There were a party\nat lunch; two ladies and some quite young girls inside, some boys on\nthe box, and several gentlemen standing round, holding bottles and\nsandwiches; and they were all eating and drinking, and laughing at an\nold gypsy woman, who was telling the fortune of one of the ladies.\n\n\u201cLove\u2019ll never break your heart, my pretty lady,\u201d said the old woman;\n\u201clet the Norwood gypsy see your hand, my pretty lady.\u201d\n\nThe lady held out her right hand, and the little girls glanced at the\nlady, and one another, brimming with fun.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s the other hand the gypsy ought to see. Ah, well, then, never\nmind,\u201d she went on, as the lady looked quietly in her face, without\nmoving a muscle, \u201cthe old Norwood gypsy can read it all in your eyes.\nThere\u2019s a dark gentleman, and a light gentleman, who\u2019ll both be coming\nbefore long; there\u2019ll be sore hearts over it, but the richest will win\nbefore a year\u2019s out--\u201d Here the girls clapped their hands, and burst\ninto shouts, and the lady showed her other hand with a wedding-ring on,\nand went on quietly with her lunch.\n\n\u201cAh! I never said she wasn\u2019t married!\u201d said the gipsy to the girls,\nwho only laughed the more. I had got quite close up to the carriage,\nand at this moment caught the eye of the lady, who was laughing too;\nthen I felt awkward all at once, and as if I was where I had no right\nto be. But she didn\u2019t look the least annoyed, and I was passing on,\nwhen I saw that Mr. Warton was amongst the gentlemen on the other side\nof the carriage. \u201cAh,\u201d thought I, \u201cI wonder if he\u2019ll know me now he\u2019s\nwith his fine friends?\u201d But the next minute I was ashamed of myself\nfor doubting, for I heard him wish them good-bye, and before I was ten\nyards from the carriage, he put his arm in mine.\n\n\u201cWell, you never rode after all,\u201d he began.\n\n\u201cNo, Sir,\u201d said I. \u201cBut where are they? I haven\u2019t seen Joe this two\nhours.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, not far off,\u201d said he; \u201cfeeding, like the rest of us.\u201d\n\nAnd further down the line we found Joe, and Miss Lucy, and several\nfriends of theirs, lunching on the turf by the four-wheel. So we sat\ndown with them, but I didn\u2019t half like the way in which Miss Lucy was\nrunning on with two young farmers, one on each side of her. She told\nme afterwards that she had known them ever since they were children\ntogether, but somehow that didn\u2019t seem to me to mend the matter much.\nAnd then again, when Joe got up, and said it was time to move, for the\nsports would be just beginning, nothing would serve her but to walk\noff to Wayland Smith\u2019s cave. I wonder whether she did it a little bit\nto provoke me; for she knew that I had been to see it the day before,\nand that I wanted particularly to see all the sports. But I don\u2019t think\nit could have been that after all, for when I said I should stay with\nJoe, she was just as pleasant as ever, and didn\u2019t seem to mind a bit\nwhether I or any one else went with her or not.\n\nI am afraid I shall make a very poor hand at telling about the sports,\nbecause I couldn\u2019t be in five or six places at once; and so I was kept\nrunning about, from the stage in the middle of the Castle out on to\nthe downs to see the cart-horse race, and then back again into the\nCastle for the jingling match, and then out on the other side to the\nmanger for the cheese races, and so on backwards and forwards; seeing\nthe beginning of one sport, and the end of another, and the middle of\na third. I wish the Committee would let the sports begin earlier, and\nthen one might be able to see them all. However I must do the best I\ncan, and just put down what I saw myself.\n\nThe first move for the sports was made a little before one, just as\nI got back into the Castle, after seeing Miss Lucy start for Wayland\nSmith\u2019s cave. The Committee came out of their tent in a body, each\nman carrying the lists of the entries for the sports over which he\nwas to preside. But instead of going different ways, each to his own\nbusiness, they walked across in a body to the stage, and stopped just\nunderneath it, in the middle of a great crowd of men and boys; and then\nthey shouted for silence, and the chairman spoke:--\n\n\u201cWe wish to say a few words, my men, to those who are going to play\nwith the sticks or wrestle to-day. There has been a good deal of talk\nabout these sports, as you all know; and many persons think they\nshouldn\u2019t be allowed at all now-a-days--that the time for them has\ngone by. They say, that men always lose their tempers and get brutal\nat these sports. We have settled, however, to give the old-fashioned\ngames a fair trial; and it will rest with yourselves whether we shall\never be able to offer prizes for them again. For, depend upon it, if\nthere is any savage work to-day, if you lose your tempers, and strike\nor kick one another unfairly, you will never see any more wrestling or\nbacksword on White Horse Hill. But we are sure we can trust you, and\nthat there won\u2019t be any thing to find fault with. Only remember again,\nyou are on your trial, and the stage will be cleared at once, and no\nprizes given, if any thing objectionable happens. And now, you can put\nto as soon as you like.\u201d\n\nThe Committee then marched off, leaving a very large crowd round the\nstage, all eager for the play to begin.\n\nThe two umpires got up on to the stage, and walked round, calling out,\n\u201cTwo old gamesters at backsword, and two old gamesters at wrastlin\u2019,\nwanted to put to.\u201d But I suppose the chairman\u2019s speech had rather taken\nthe men by surprise, for no one came forward, though there was a crowd\ntwenty deep round the stage.\n\n\u201cWho are the old gamesters?\u201d I asked of the man next me.\n\n\u201cThem as has won or shared a first prize at any revel,\u201d answered he,\nwithout looking round.\n\nAfter a minute the chairman\u2019s brother, who didn\u2019t seem to have much\nscruple about these sports, jumped up on the stage, and blew an old\nFrench hunting-horn, till the young ones began to laugh; and then told\nthe men not to be afraid to come up, for if they didn\u2019t begin at once\nthere wouldn\u2019t be light to play out the ties.\n\nAt last there was a stir amongst the knot of Somersetshire men, who\nstood together at one corner of the stage; and one of them, stepping\nup, pitched on to it his stumpy black hat, and then climbed up after it\nhimself, spoke a word to the umpires, and began handling the sticks, to\nchoose one which balanced to his mind, while the umpires proclaimed,\n\u201cAn old gamester wanted, to play with John Bunn of Wedmore.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere he stands, you see,\u201d said Master George, who was close by me,\nthough I hadn\u2019t seen him before, \u201cthe only remaining representative of\nthe old challenger at tourneys ready to meet all comers. He ought to\nhave a herald to spout out his challenge in verse. Why not?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know what he could say more than the umpire has, Sir,\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cHe might blow his own trumpet at any rate,\u201d said he; \u201csomehow thus;\u201d\nand he repeated, after a false start or two,--\n\nTHE ZONG OF THE ZUMMERZETSHIRE OWLD GEAMSTER.\n\n                   I.\n\n    \u201cCham[32] a Zummerzetshire mun\n      Coom her to hev a bit o\u2019vun.\n    Oo\u2019lt[33] try a bout? I be\u2019ant aveard\n      Ov any man or mother\u2019s zun.\n\n                   II.\n\n    \u201cCham a geamster owld and tough,\n      Well knowed droo all the country zide,\n    And many a lusty Barkshire man\n      To break my yead hev often tried.\n\n                   III.\n\n    \u201cWho\u2019s vor a bout o vriendly plaay,\n      As never should to anger move?\n    Zich spwoorts wur only meaned vor thaay\n      As likes their mazzards broke for love.\u201d\n\nJohn Bunn looked by no means a safe man to play with. He stood about\nfive feet eleven, with spare long muscular limbs, a sallow complexion,\nand thick shock head of black hair,--a good defence in itself against\nany common blow of a stick. But now that the ice was broken, his\nchallenge was soon answered; and George Gregory, of Stratton, one of\nthe best mowers in the Vale, appeared to uphold the honour of Berks\nand Wilts. He stood half a head shorter than his opponent, but was,\nprobably, the stronger man of the two, and had a sturdy and confident\nlook, which promised well, and was fair-haired, and, like David,\nruddy to look upon.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nWhile they were taking off coats and waistcoats, and choosing sticks,\ntwo wrestlers got up on the stage, and showed the shoes in which they\nwere going to wrestle to the umpires, for approval; and stood at the\nropes, ready to begin as soon as the first bout at backsword was over.\nThe crowd drew a long breath, while Bunn and Gregory came forward,\nshook hands; and then throwing up their guards, met in the middle of\nthe stage.\n\nAt the first rattle of the sticks, the crowd began cheering again,\nand pressed in closer to the stage; and I with them, for it was very\nexciting, _that_ I felt at once. The coolness and resolution in the\nfaces of the two men, as they struck and parried with those heavy\nsticks, trying all the points of each other\u2019s play in a dozen rapid\nexchanges; the skill and power which every turn of the wrist showed;\nand the absolute indifference with which they treated any chance blow\nwhich fell on arm or shoulder, made it really a grand sight; and with\nall my prejudices I couldn\u2019t help greatly admiring the players. \u201cBout,\u201d\ncried Bunn, after a minute or so, and down came their guards, and they\nwalked to the side of the stage to collect coppers from the crowd below\nin the baskets of their sticks, while the two first wrestlers put to in\nthe middle.\n\nI suppose there are more unsettled points in wrestling, or it is harder\nto see whether the men are playing fair, for the crowd was much more\nexcited now than at the backsword play, a hundred voices shouting to\nthe umpires every moment to stop this or that practice. Besides, the\nkicking, which is allowed at elbow and collar wrestling, makes it look\nbrutal very often; and so I didn\u2019t like it so much as the backsword\nplay, though the men were fine, good-tempered fellows, and, when most\nexcited, only seemed to want what they called \u201cfair doos.\u201d\n\nI stopped by the stage until Gregory had lost his head. How it happened\nI couldn\u2019t see, but suddenly the umpires cried out \u201cBlood!\u201d The men\nstopped; Gregory put up his hand to his hair, found that the blood was\nreally coming, and then dropped his stick and got down, quite as much\nsurprised as I was. And two more old gamesters were called up, the\nfirst head being to Somersetshire.\n\nBut now I heard that the cart-horse race was just coming off, and so\nfollowing the crowd, made my way across to the east of the Castle.\n\nI scrambled up to the highest part of the bank, and so got a capital\nview of the scene below. The course was marked out all the way down\nto the starting-post by rows of little pink and white flags, and the\nCommittee-men were riding slowly up and down, trying to get the people\nto keep back behind the flags. The line was, on the whole, pretty\nwell kept; but as the crowd got thicker every minute, every now and\nthen a woman with two or three children would wander out to escape\nthe pressure from behind; or a young couple keeping company would run\nacross, hoping to better their position; or a lot of uproarious boys\nwould start out for a lark, to try the tempers, and very possibly the\nwhips, of the Committee.\n\nJoe presently rode by the place where I was standing, and called out to\nme to come down and see the mounting. So I slipped out of the crowd,\nand ran down the back of the line to the starting-place. There I found\nthe Squire and the umpires, passing the men and horses. Five or six\nwere all ready; the great horses in their thill harness, which jingled\nand rattled with every movement; and the carters perched up in the\nmiddle of the wood and leather and brass, in their white smock-frocks,\nwith the brims of their break-of-days turned up in front, and a bunch\nof ribbons fluttering from the side, and armed with the regular long\ncart-whip. Just as I came up, Mr. Avery Whitfield\u2019s bay horse, \u201cKing of\nthe Isle,\u201d was passed, and took his place with the others. He was one\nof the three favourites, I heard people say.\n\n\u201cCall the next horse.\u201d\n\n\u201cMr. Davenport\u2019s gray mare, Dairymaid,\u201d shouts the umpire. Here she\ncomes with old Joe Humphries, the jockey and horse breaker, on her\nback. He is in full jockey costume--cap, jacket, and tops, with a\nracing whip and spurs. The umpires look doubtfully at him, and consult\nthe Squire. At first they seem inclined not to let Joe ride at all, but\nas the owners of the other horses don\u2019t object, they only insist on his\ntaking off his spurs and changing his whip for a common long carter\u2019s\nwhip. Then Dairymaid is passed, and then one other horse; eight in all.\nTwo of the Committee gallop down in front to clear the course for the\nlast time; the word \u201cOff\u201d is given; and away go the great steeds in\nfurious plunging gallop, making the whole hill shake beneath them, and\nlooking (as I heard one of the Oxford scholars remark) like a charge of\nGerman knights in some old etching. Close after them came the umpires,\nthe Committee-men, and all the mounted farmers, cheering and shouting\npieces of advice to the riders; and the crowd, as they pass, shout and\nwave their hats, and then rush after the horses. How everybody isn\u2019t\nkilled, and how those men can sit those great beasts in the middle of\nthat rattling mass of harness, were my puzzles, as I scrambled along\nafter the rest.\n\nMeantime, in the race, Dairymaid shoots at once some yards ahead,\nand improves her lead at every stride; for she is a famous mare, and\nold Joe Humphries understands the tricks of the course, and can push\nher and lift her in ways unknown to the honest carters and foggers,\nwho come lumbering behind him--Joe even has time for a contemptuous\nglance over his shoulder at his pursuers. But the race is not always\nto the swift, at least not to those who are swiftest at starting.\nHalf-way up the course, Dairymaid ceases to gain; then she shows signs\nof distress, and scarcely answers to Joe\u2019s persuasions. \u201cKing of the\nIsle\u201d is creeping up to her--the carter shakes his bridle, and begins\nto ply his long cart-whip--they are crossing the Ridgeway, where\nstand the carter\u2019s fellow-servants, Mr. Whitfield\u2019s fogger, shepherd,\nploughboys, &c. who set up a shout as he passes, which sends the bay\nright up abreast of the mare. No wonder they are excited, for the\nmaster has promised that the three guineas, the price of the new thill\nharness, shall be divided between them, if the bay wins.\n\nIn another fifty yards he is drawing ahead. All old Joe\u2019s efforts are\nin vain; his jockeyship has only done him harm, whereas the carter\u2019s\nknowledge of what his steed\u2019s real powers are, has been the making of\nhim, and he rides in, brandishing his long cart-whip, an easy winner.\n\nDairymaid is second, but only just before the ruck; and old Joe creeps\naway, let us hope, a humbler and a wiser man.\n\nOf course I couldn\u2019t see all this myself, because I was behind, but Joe\ntold me all about the race directly afterwards. When I got up there was\na great crowd round \u201cKing of the Isle,\u201d from whose back the carter was\nexplaining something about the race. But I couldn\u2019t stay to listen,\nfor I heard that the races for the \u201cprime coated Berkshire fives\u201d (as\nthey called the cheeses), were just coming off; so I hurried away to\nthe brow of the hill, just above the Horse, where it is steepest; for I\nwanted of all things to see how men could run down this place, which I\ncouldn\u2019t get up without using both hands.\n\nThere stood Mr. William Whitfield, of Uffington, the umpire who had\nto start the race, in his broad-brimmed beaver, his brown coat and\nwaistcoat with brass buttons, and drab breeches and gaiters. I thought\nhim a model yeoman to look at, but I didn\u2019t envy him his task. Two\nwild-looking gypsy women, with their elf-locks streaming from under\ntheir red handkerchiefs, and their black eyes flashing, were rushing\nabout amongst the runners, trying to catch some of their relations who\nwere going to run; and screaming out that their men should never break\ntheir limbs down that break-neck place. The gypsies dodged about, and\nkept out of their reach, and the farmer remonstrated, but the wild\nwomen still persevered. Then, losing all patience, he would turn and\npoise the wheel, ready to push it over the brow, when a shout from the\nbystanders warns him to pause, and, a little way down the hill, just in\nthe line of the race, appear two or three giggling lasses, hauled along\nby their sweethearts, and bent on getting a very good view. Luckily at\nthis moment the Chairman appeared, and rode his white horse down to the\nfront of the line of men, where there seemed to me to be footing for\nnothing but a goat. Then the course was cleared for a moment, he moved\nout of the line, making a signal to the farmer, who pushed the wheel\nat once over the brow, and cried, \u201cOff.\u201d The wheel gained the road in\nthree bounds, cleared it in a fourth monster bound which measured forty\nyards, and hurried down far away to the bottom of the manger, where the\nother two umpires were waiting to decide who is the winner of the race.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nAway go the fourteen men in hot pursuit, gypsies, shepherds, and\nlight-heeled fellows of all sorts, helter-skelter; some losing their\nfoothold at once, and rolling or slipping down; some still keeping\ntheir footing, but tottering at every step; one or two, with their\nbodies well thrown back, striking their heels firmly into the turf,\nand keeping a good balance. They are all in the road together, but\nhere several fall on their faces, and others give in; the rest cross\nit in a moment, and are away down the manger. Here the sheep-walks,\nwhich run temptingly along the sides of the manger, but if they would\nlook forward will take the runners very little nearer the bottom where\nthe wheel lies, mislead many; and amongst the rest, the fleetest of\nthe gypsies, who makes off at full speed along one of them. Two or\nthree men go still boldly down the steep descent, falling and picking\nthemselves up again; and Jonathan Legg, of Childrey, is the first of\nthese. He has now gained the flat ground at the bottom, where after\na short stagger he brings himself up, and makes straight for the\numpires and the wheel. The gypsy now sees his error; and turning short\ndown the hill, comes into the flat, running some twenty yards behind\nJonathan. In another hundred yards he would pass him, for he gains at\nevery stride; but it is too late; and we, at the top of the hill, cheer\nloudly when we see Jonathan, the man who had gone straight all the way,\ntouch the wheel a clear ten yards before his more active rival.\n\nI should have liked to have seen the boys\u2019 races down the manger, but\nwas afraid of missing some other sport, so I left farmer Whitfield\nat his troublesome post, shouting out the names of the boys and\ntrying to get them into line, and went back into the Castle, where I\nfound a crowd round the greased pole; and when I got up to it, saw a\nheavy-looking fellow, standing some five feet up the pole, with one\nfoot in a noose of cord depending from a large gimlet, and the other\nleg hooked round the pole. He held in his right hand another large\ngimlet, which he was preparing to screw into the pole to support\na second noose, and gazed stolidly down at a Committee-man, who\nwas objecting \u201cthat this wasn\u2019t fair climbing--that if gimlets and\nnooses were to be allowed, he could get up himself.\u201d I thought he was\nright; but public feeling seemed to side with the climber; so the\nCommittee-man gave in, declaring that there would be no more legs of\nmutton to climb for, if any thing but arms and legs were to be used.\n\n\u201cRather a slow bit of sport this,\u201d I said to an old gray-headed\nman, who was leaning on his stick at my side, and staring up at the\nperformer.\n\n\u201cEes, Zur,\u201d answered he, \u201cI dwon\u2019t knaow but what it be.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you call it fair climbing, now?\u201d\n\n\u201cAuh, bless\u2019ee, not I. I minds seein\u2019 the young chaps when I wur a\nbuoy, climin\u2019 maypowls a deal higher nor that, dree at a time. But\nnow-a-days \u2019um be lazy, and afraid o\u2019 spwiling their breeches wi\u2019 the\ngrase.\u201d\n\n\u201cAre there any maypoles about here now?\u201d\n\n\u201cNever a one as I knows on, Zur, for twenty mile round. The last as I\nremembers wur the Longcott one, and Parson Watts of Uffington had he\nsawed up nigh forty year ago, for fear lest there should ha\u2019 been some\nmurder done about \u2019un.\u201d\n\n\u201cMurder about a maypole! Why, how was that?\u201d\n\n\u201cAuh! you see, Zur, this here Longcott maypowl wur the last in all\nthese parts, and a wur the envy of a zight o\u2019 villages round about. Zo,\none cluttery[34] night in November, thirty of our Ashbury chaps thay\nstarted down to Longcott, and dug \u2019un up, and brought \u2019un cler away on\nhandspikes, all the waay to the Crown\u2019d Inn at Ashbury, and \u2019tis quite\nvour mil\u2019d.\u201d\n\n\u201cOn handspikes! Why, how big was he, then?\u201d\n\n\u201cAugh! a fyeightish sized \u2019un. How big? whoy a sight bigger, bless\u2019ee,\nnor that \u2019un, and all the bottom half on \u2019un solid oak. When thay cum\nto put \u2019un up afore the bar winder of the Crown\u2019d, a reached right\nup auver the tops o\u2019 the housen. But zoon arter a wur put up, the\nUffington chaps cum up, and tuk and carried \u2019un down ther\u2019. Ther\u2019 was a\nsmartish row or two about \u2019un at Uffington arter that, but they watched\n\u2019un night and day; and when the Lambourn chaps cum arter \u2019un one night,\nthey chucked scaldin\u2019 water right auver\u2019m. Zo then Parson Watts, he\ntuk and sawed \u2019un up, and guv \u2019un to the owld women at Christmas for\nvirewood.\u201d\n\nI walked away from the pole, turning over in my mind whether Parson\nWatts was right or wrong in his summary method of restoring peace to\nhis parish, and, somehow or other, found myself again close under the\nstage. Now, and throughout the day, I found no flagging there; whenever\nI passed there was the crowd of men standing round, and the old and\nyoung gamesters hard at work. So I began to believe what Joe had said,\nthat the countrymen thought more about these games than any thing else,\nand wouldn\u2019t care to go to the pastime if they were stopped.\n\nI found that the Ashbury men were carrying it all their own way in the\nwrestling, and that their champion, old Richens (the rat-catcher, an\nold gamester in his fiftieth year), would probably not even have to\nwrestle at all; for his own men were throwing all the gamesters of the\nother parishes, and of course would give up to him when it came to the\nlast ties. The men all wrestle in sides, at least the old gamesters do;\nso that a man generally plays for his parish, and not for his own head,\nwhich is a better thing, I think.\n\nAs to the backsword play, the stage was strewed with splinters of\nsticks and pieces of broken baskets, and many a young gamester has had\nhis first broken head in public. But, for the chief prize, matters are\ngoing hard with Berks and Wilts. The Somersetshire old gamesters have\nwon two heads to one; and, as they have six men in, and Berks and Wilts\nonly four, the odds are all in favour of the cider county, and against\nthe beer drinkers.\n\nIn good time up gets an old gamester, who looks like the man to do\ncredit to the royal county. It is Harry Seeley, of Shrivenham, the only\nBerkshire man in; for there has been some difference between Berks and\nWilts, and Harry\u2019s two mates haven\u2019t entered at all. So he, being one\nof the true bull-dog breed, is in for his own head, against all odds,\nand is up to play the next Somersetshire man.\n\nHarry is a fine specimen of an Englishman. Five feet eight high, with\na bullet head, and light blue eye; high-couraged, cool, and with an\nabsolutely imperturbable temper. He plays in a blue shirt, thin from\nage and wear, through which you may see the play of his splendid arms\nand chest. His opponent is a much younger man, about the same size; but\na great contrast to Harry, for he has a savage and sly look about him.\n\nThey shake hands, throw themselves into position, and the bout begins.\nHarry is clearly the finer player, and his adversary feels this at\nonce; and the shouts of anticipated victory, in the Berkshire tongue,\nrouse his temper.\n\nNow comes a turn of the savage play, which ought never to be seen on a\nstage. The Somerset man bends far back, and strikes upper cuts at the\nface and arms, and then savagely at the body. He is trying to maim and\ncow, and not to win by fair brave play. The crowd soon begin to get\nsavage too; upper-cutting is not thought fair in Berks and Wilts; a\nstorm begins to brew, hard words are bandied, and a cry of \u201cFoul,\u201d and\n\u201cPull him down,\u201d is heard more than once, and the Committee man, who\nwatches from below, is on the point of stopping the bout.\n\nBut nothing puts out old Harry Seeley; no upper cut can reach his face,\nfor his head is thrown well back, and his guard is like a rock; and\nthough the old blue shirt is cut through and through, he makes no more\nof the welts of the heavy stick than if it were a cat\u2019s tail. Between\nthe bouts his face is cheery and confident, and he tells his friends to\n\u201chold their noise, and let him alone to tackle the chap,\u201d as he hands\nround his basket for the abounding coppers.\n\nNow I could see well enough why the parsons don\u2019t like these games.\nIt gave me a turn, to watch the faces round the stage getting savage,\nand I could see what it might soon get to if there was much of this\nwild work. And there were Master George, and the two Oxford scholars,\nat the opposite corner of the stage, shouting till they were hoarse\nfor old Seeley, and as savage and wicked-looking as any of the men\nround them; setting such a bad example, too, as I thought,--whereas it\ndidn\u2019t matter for a fellow like me, who was nobody,--so I shouted, and\nthrew my coppers to old Seeley, and felt as wild as any of them, I do\nbelieve. Three bouts, four bouts pass; Harry\u2019s stick gets in oftener\nand oftener. Has the fellow no blood in him? There it comes at last!\nIn the fifth bout, Harry\u2019s stick goes flashing in again, a fair down\nblow from the wrist, which puts the matter beyond all question, as the\nSomersetshire man staggers back across the stage, the blood streaming\nfrom under his hair. Loud are the shouts which greet the fine-tempered\nold gamester, as he pulls on his velveteen coat, and gets down from the\nstage.\n\n\u201cWhy, Harry, thou\u2019dst broke his yead second bout, mun, surely!\u201d shout\nhis admirers.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d says Harry, dogmatically, \u201cyou see, mates, there\u2019s no \u2019cumulation\nof blood belongs to thay cider-drinking chaps, as there does to we\nas drinks beer. Besides, thay drinks vinegar allus for a week afore\nplayin\u2019, which dries up most o\u2019 the blood as they _has_ got; so it\ntakes a \u2019mazin\u2019 sight of cloutin\u2019 to break their yeads as should be.\u201d\n\nAfter this bout all the other play seemed to be tasteless; so,\npromising myself to come back and see the ties played off, (unless\nMiss Lucy turned up in the mean time, in which case I shouldn\u2019t have\ndared to go near the stage, and in fact I felt rather nervous already,\nlest she should have seen or heard of me there,) I marched off, and\njoined the crowd which was collecting round the jingling ring. That\ncrowd was one of the pleasantest sights of the whole day. The jingling\nmatch seemed a very popular sport, especially with the women. There\nthey were, of all ranks--for I\u2019m certain I saw some young ladies in\nriding habits, and others in beautiful muslins, whom I, and Jem Fisher,\nand little Neddy have often seen riding with very great people in\nthe Park, when we have managed to get down to Rotten Row on summer\nevenings--seated on the grass or standing round the ring, in all sorts\nof dresses, from fine silks down to cottons at 2_d._ a yard, and all\nlooking pleasant and good-tempered, and as if they were quite used to\nbeing mixed up like this every day--which I\u2019m sure I wish they were,\nfor my part, especially if the men were allowed to join in the crowd\ntoo, as we were round the jingling ring. For there were gentlemen, both\nparsons and others, and farmers, and ploughboys, and all manner of\nother men and boys.\n\nI don\u2019t know what sort of fun a jingling match is in general, but\nI thought this one much the slowest game I saw. The ring must have\nbeen forty yards across, or thereabouts, and there were only eight\nblindfolded men running after the bellman. To make it good fun, there\nshould have been twenty-five or thirty at least. Then the bellman, who\nhas his hands tied behind him, ought to have the bell tied round his\nneck, or somewhere where he can\u2019t get at it to stop the ringing; but\nour bellman had the bell tied to his waistband behind, so that he could\ncatch hold of it with his hands, and stop it when he was in danger.\nThen half the men could see, I\u2019m sure, by the way they carried their\nheads up in the air, especially one gypsy, who, I think, won the prize\nat last. The men who couldn\u2019t see were worth watching, for they kept\ncatching and tumbling over one another. One time they made a rush to\nthe rope, just where some of the young ladies were sitting, and, as\nnearly as could be, tumbled over among them. I thought there would have\nbeen a great scrambling and screaming; not a bit of it--they never\nflinched an inch, or made the least cry, and I was very proud to think\nthey were my countrywomen. After the bellman had been caught about a\nminute, there was a great laugh at one of the blinded men, who made a\nrush, and caught a Committee-man, who was standing in the ring, in his\narms. But on the whole, I thought the game a poor one, and was glad\nwhen it was over.\n\nI hurried away directly after the jingling match, and went across the\nCastle, and out on to the down where the cart-horse race had been run\nto see the foot-races, which were run over the last half of the same\ncourse, on which ten good stiff sets of hurdles, at short distances\napart, had been set up. I found a debate going on between the umpires\nand some of the men as to whether they were all to start together. The\nregular agricultural labourers were remonstrating as to some of the\ncandidates.\n\n\u201cIt bean\u2019t narra mossel o\u2019 use for we chaps to start along wi\u2019 thay\nlight-heeled gentry,\u201d said one,--\u201cWhoy, look \u2019ee here, zur\u2019s one, and\nyander\u2019s another, wi\u2019 a kind o\u2019 dancin\u2019 pumps on, and that \u2019un at\ntother end wi\u2019 a cricketin\u2019 waistcut.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd there\u2019s two o\u2019 them little jockey chaps amongst \u2019em, sumweres,\nZur,\u201d said another, looking about for these young gentlemen, who dodged\nbehind some of the bigger candidates.\n\n\u201cHow can we help that?\u201d said the umpire.\n\n\u201cAuh, Zur, thay be all too nimble by half for we to be of any account\nto \u2019em,\u201d persisted the first speaker. \u201cIf twur for the sticks now, or\nwrastling--\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, but what shall we do then?\u201d interrupted the umpire.\n\n\u201cLet I pick out ten or a dozen on \u2019em to run by theirselves.\u201d The\numpires proposed this to the rest, and, no one objecting, told Giles,\nthe protester, to pick out the ten he was most afraid of. This Giles\nproceeded to do with a broad grin on his face, and generally seemed to\nmake a good selection. But presently he arrived at, and after a short\ninspection passed over, a young fellow in his blue shirt-sleeves and a\ncloth cap, who to the umpire\u2019s eye seemed a dangerous man.\n\n\u201cWhy, Giles,\u201d said he, \u201cyou\u2019re never going to pass him over?\u201d\n\n\u201cAuh, ees, Zur,\u201d said Giles, \u201clet he \u2019bide along wi\u2019 we chaps. Dwont\u2019ee\nzee, he\u2019s a tipped and naayled \u2019un?\u201d\n\nWhen Giles had finished his selection, the first lot were started, and\nmade a grand race; which was won by a Hampshire man from Kingsclere,\nthe second man, not two feet behind, being a young Wiltshire farmer,\nwho, having never been beaten in his own neighbourhood, had come to\nlose his laurels honourably at the Scouring.\n\nThe running in the second race was, of course, not so good, but much\nmore amusing. The \u201ctipped and naayled \u2019uns\u201d were a rushing lot, but\nvery bad at rising. Hurdle after hurdle went down before them with a\ncrash, and the most wonderful summersaults were executed. The second\nhurdle finished poor Giles, who charged it manfully, and found himself\nthe next moment on his broad back, gazing placidly up into the evening\nsky. The cloth cap, notwithstanding his shoes, went easily ahead, and\nwon in a canter. I heard one of the umpires rallying Giles afterwards\nat his want of eyes.\n\n\u201cEes, Zur,\u201d said Giles, hunching up his great shoulders, \u201cI wur tuk in,\nzure enough. He wur a town chap, arter all, as wouldn\u2019t ha\u2019 knowed a\npiece o\u2019 clumpers afore he cum across to White Hos Hill.\u201d\n\nI left the umpires now to start the other races, and got back once\nagain into the Castle. I was now beginning to get very tired in my\nlegs, though not in my spirits, so I went and sat down outside the\ncrowd, which was thicker than ever round the stage, for the ties were\nbeing played out. I could hear the umpires call every now and then\nfor some gamester who was not forthcoming to play out his tie--\u201cJohn\nGiles, if you beant on the stage in five minutes, to put to with James\nHiggins, you shall lose your head\u201d--through all the cheers and shouts,\nwhich rose louder and louder now that every blow or trip might decide\nthe prizes. And while I was sitting, the donkey races were run outside,\nand I heard were very good fun; especially the last one, in which no\nman rode his own donkey, and the last donkey had the prize. I hope my\nfriend, the old suck-woman, entered neighbour Thorne\u2019s beast, for if\nshe did, I\u2019ll be bound he carried off the prize for her. They were the\nonly sports that I didn\u2019t manage to see something of.\n\nIt was now just five o\u2019clock, the hour for the pig-race, which seemed\nto be a most popular sport, for most of the lookers-on at the stage\nwent off to see it, leaving only a select crowd of old and young\ngamesters, most of whom had been playing themselves, and whom nothing\ncould drag five yards from the posts until the ties were all played\nout. I was just considering whether I should move or stay where I was,\nwhen Master George came striding by and caught sight of me.\n\n\u201cHullo,\u201d said he, \u201chow is it you\u2019re not on the move? You must see the\npig-race; come along.\u201d So I got up and shambled along with him.\n\nThe pig was to be started on the slope below the west entrance, where\nthe old gentleman had stood and lectured me the day before about Earl\nSidroc. There was the spring cart, covered with a net, with a fine\nyoung Berkshire pig in it, just at the place where the Bersirkir (as\nhe called them) made their last stand. When we came up, the runners,\nthirty in number, with their coats and waistcoats off, were just being\ndrawn up in line inside the Castle, from which place they were to be\nstarted, and run down through the west entrance out on to the open\ndown, at the word \u201coff.\u201d It was thought that this rush down between\nthe double banks, covered thickly with the crowd, would be the finest\nsight of the race. But the rush never came. Piggy was to have five\nminutes law, and the Committee-man who went down to turn him out put\nhis snout towards Ashdown Park, and gave him a push in hopes that he\nwould take straight away over the downs, and so get a good start. Of\ncourse, he turned right round and came trotting and grunting up towards\nthe Castle, to see what all the bustle could be about. Then the crowd\nbegan to shout at him, and to press further and further down the outer\nearthworks, though all the Committee were there to keep the course\nclear for the regular runners; and at last, before half of the five\nminutes were over, the whole line broke up with a great shout, and the\ndown was covered in a moment with countless men and boys in full chase\nof Piggy. Then the lawful candidates could stand it no longer, and\naway they went too, cleaving their way through the press, the Committee\nriding after them as fast as was safe in such a crowd, to see fair play\nif possible at the finish.\n\nIn a minute or two, Piggy was mobbed, surrounded, seized first by\none of the crowd, and then by a lawful runner. These tumbled over in\ntheir struggle without loosing their hold and more of their friends\nover them, and from the middle of the mass poor Piggy sent up the most\nvigorous and dismal squeals, till the Committee-men rode in, laying\nabout with their whips; and Farmer Whitfield, springing off, seized\nPiggy, and in another minute was cantering away with him towards\nWayland Smith\u2019s cave. Here he was turned out again for a fair race,\nand was won by Charles Ebury, of Fernham; who, fearing the results of\nhis racing performances, sold him at once for 10_s._ to the Woolston\ncarrier. But I am happy to say that he wasn\u2019t really hurt, for I went\nto see him some days afterwards, and found him as hearty as pig could\nbe.\n\nMaster George and I agreed, as we walked back to the Castle, that it is\na shame to have a pig-race.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said he, \u201clet men run any risk they like of broken heads or limbs\nfor themselves; they may play or not as they like. But Piggy has no\nchoice, and to let him run the risk of having the legs pulled out of\nhis body before he is wanted for pork, isn\u2019t fair.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe didn\u2019t seem to think it was, certainly, Sir,\u201d I said.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said he, laughing; \u201cdid you ever hear such a song as he made? No\nanimal can talk like a pig. He can scold or remonstrate just as well as\na Christian. Any one who knows the language can tell you just what he\nis saying. Well,\u201d he went on, \u201cI see you don\u2019t believe me; now I will\ngo and hear what he has to say about this proceeding, and give you it\nword for word.\u201d\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThis was what he gave me afterwards, with the other songs he had\npromised me:--\n\nTHE LAY OF THE HUNTED PIG.\n\n    \u201cVathers, mothers, mothers\u2019 zons!\n    You as loves yer little wuns!\n    Happy pegs among the stubble,\n    Listen to a tale of trouble;\n    Listen, pegs in yeard and stye,\n    How the Barkshire chaps zard I.\n\n    \u201cI wur barn at Kingstone-Lisle,\n    Wher I vrolicked var a while,\n    As vine a peg as e\u2019er wur zeen\n    (One of a litter o\u2019 thirteen)\n    Till zome chaps wi\u2019 cussed spite\n    Aimed ov I to make a zite,\n    And to have a \u2018bit o\u2019 vun,\u2019\n    Took I up to Uffington.\n\n    \u201cUp, vorights[35] the Castle mound\n    They did zet I on the ground;\n    Then a thousand chaps, or nigh,\n    Runned and hollered arter I--\n    Ther, then, I till I wur blowed,\n    Runned and hollered all I knowed,\n    When, zo zure as pegs is pegs,\n    Eight chaps ketched I by the legs,\n    Two to each--\u2019tis truth I tell \u2019ee--\n    Dree more clasped I round the belly!\n    Under all they fellers lyin\u2019--\n    Pegs!--I thought as I wur dyin\u2019.\n\n    \u201cBut the Squire (I thenks I zee un),\n    Varmer Whitfield ridin\u2019 wi\u2019 un,\n    Fot I out o\u2019 all thuck caddle,\n    Stretched athurt the varmer\u2019s zaddle--\n    Bless \u2019em, pegs in yeard and stye,\n    Them two vrends as stuck to I.\n\n    \u201cBarkshire men, vrom Hill and Vale,\n    All as ever hears this tale,\n    If to spwoort you be inclined,\n    Plaze to bear this here in mind--\n    Pegs beant made no race to win,\n    Be zhart o\u2019 wind, and tight o\u2019 skin,\n    Dwont\u2019ee hunt \u2019em, but instead\n    At backswyrd break each other\u2019s yead\n    Cheezes down the manger rowl--\n    Or try and clim the greasy powl.\n\n    \u201cPegs! in stubble yeard and stye,\n    May you be never zard like I,\n    Nor druv wi greasy ears and tail,\n    By men and bwoys drough White Horse Vale.\u201d\n\n[29] \u201cScawt\u201d--to get up.\n\n[30] \u201cFile\u201d--a fall.\n\n[31] \u201cSinkers\u201d--stockings without feet.\n\n[32] \u201cCham\u201d--\u201cI am,\u201d a form still used in parts of Somersetshire.\n\n[33] \u201cOo\u2019lt\u201d--wilt thou.\n\n[34] \u201cCluttery\u201d--pelting with rain.\n\n[35] \u201cVorights\u201d--opposite.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n\nMaster George slipped away from me somehow, after the pig-race, so I\nstrolled up into the Castle again. The sports were all over, so the\ntheatres and shows were making a greater noise than ever, but I didn\u2019t\nfeel inclined to go to any of them, and kept walking slowly round the\nbank on the opposite side, and looking down at the fair. In a minute\nor two I heard cheering, and saw an open carriage, with postilions,\ndriving out of the Castle, and three or four young ladies and a\ngentleman or two cantering along with it. I watched them for some way\nacross the downs, and thought how nice it must be to be able to ride\nwell, and to have nice horses to go galloping over the springy downs,\ninto the golden sunset, putting up the larks and beautiful little\nwheatears; and, besides all that, to have all the people cheering one\ntoo! So down I went into the crowd, to find out who they were. It was\nLord Craven and his party, the first man I came across told me; and\nthen I quite understood why this carriage should be the only one to\ncome inside the Castle, and why the people should cheer; because, you\nsee, the White Horse, and Dragon\u2019s Hill, and the Manger, all belong to\nhim, and he is very good-natured in letting everybody go there and do\npretty much what they please. There were other carriages going off now\nfrom the row outside, and coachmen bringing up their horses to harness,\nand a few of the foot people who came from the longest distances,\nstarting along the Ridgeway, or down the Uffington Road. I was standing\nwatching all this, and thinking how I was to find my party, and whether\nI should go behind in the four-wheel (which I began to feel very much\ninclined to do, for I was getting tired, and it would be dark), when I\nsaw Joe bustling about amongst the crowd, and looking out for some one;\nso I made across to him.\n\n\u201cAh, there you are,\u201d said he, as soon as he caught sight of me, \u201cI\u2019ve\nbeen hunting for you; it\u2019s all over for to-day. Lu sent me after you\nto come and have some tea. If you like, you can go home directly\nafterwards with her and Mr. Warton.\u201d\n\nI was much pleased to hear that Miss Lucy had sent after me, but I\ndidn\u2019t want to show it.\n\n\u201cWhat are you going to do?\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d said Joe, \u201cI shan\u2019t leave till all the Committee go; I must be\nat the giving away of the prizes in the tent; and then, if any thing\nshould happen afterwards--any row, you know, or that sort o\u2019 thing--I\nshouldn\u2019t like to be gone.\u201d\n\nI didn\u2019t say any thing more, as I thought I might just as well leave\nit open; so I followed him to the west side of the Castle, where the\npolice tent stood, and it was quite quiet.\n\n\u201cHere they are,\u201d said Joe, \u201cover in the ditch;\u201d and he scrambled up\nthe bank, and I after him, and in the ditch below sure enough was\na most cozy tea-party. Miss Lucy, with her bonnet off, was sitting\ncutting up a cake, and generally directing. Two other young women, nice\nfresh-looking girls, but not to be named with her, were setting out a\nfew cups and saucers and plates, which they had borrowed from some of\nthe stalls. Mr. Warton was on his knees with his hat off, blowing away\ntill he was red in the face at a little fire made of chips and pieces\nof old hampers, over which the kettle, also borrowed, hung from three\nsticks driven into the ground so that their tops met above the fire.\nTwo or three young farmers sat about looking on, or handing things as\nthey were wanted, except one impudent young fellow of about eighteen,\nwith scarcely a hair on his chin, who was almost in Miss Lucy\u2019s pocket,\nand was meddling with every thing she was doing.\n\n\u201cWell, here you are, at last,\u201d said she, looking up at us; \u201cwhy, where\nhave you been all day?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am sure I have been hunting after you very often,\u201d said I, which,\nperhaps, was rather more than I ought to have said; \u201cbut it isn\u2019t easy\nfor one who is a stranger to find people in such a crowd.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know that,\u201d said she, with a pretty little toss of her head;\n\u201cwhere there\u2019s a will there\u2019s a way. If I hadn\u2019t found friends, I might\nhave been alone all day--and there are three or four of the shows I\nhave never seen, now.\u201d\n\nI began to look as sorry as I could, while I thought what to answer,\nwhen the young man who was close to her tried to steal some of the\ncake; she turned round quickly, and rapped his fingers with the back of\nher knife, and he pretended to be hurt. She only laughed, and went on\ncutting up the cake, but she called him Jack, and seemed so intimate\nwith him that it put me out, and I sat down on the other side of the\ncircle, some way off.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s all right,\u201d said the Parson, looking up from the fire; \u201cboils\nsplendidly--give me the tea.\u201d\n\nMiss Lucy handed him a little parcel of tea from her bag, and he put it\ninto the kettle.\n\n\u201cI declare we have forgotten the milk,\u201d said she; \u201cdo run and fetch it,\nJack--it\u2019s in a bottle under the back seat of the four-wheel.\u201d\n\nI jumped up before Jack, who hardly moved, and ran off to fetch the\nmilk; for which she gave me a pleasant smile when I came back, and I\nfelt better pleased, and enjoyed the tea and cake and bread and butter,\nand all the talk over it, very much; except that I couldn\u2019t stand this\nJack, who was forcing her to notice him every minute, by stealing her\nteaspoon or her cake, or making some of his foolish remarks.\n\nThe sun set splendidly before we had finished, and it began to get a\nlittle chilly.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said Joe, jumping up, \u201cI\u2019m off to get the horse put to. You\u2019d\nbetter be starting, Lu; you won\u2019t be down hill much before dark, now,\nand there\u2019s no moon--worse luck.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well,\u201d said she, taking up her bonnet, and putting it on; \u201cwe\nshall be ready in five minutes.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll go behind with them, I suppose,\u201d said Joe to me.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m to have a seat, mind,\u201d struck in that odious Jack; \u201cLucy promised\nme that an hour ago.\u201d I could have given him a good kick; however, I\ndon\u2019t think I showed that I was put out.\n\n\u201cHow can you tell such fibs, Jack?\u201d said she; but I didn\u2019t take any\nnotice of that.\n\n\u201cThank you, I wish to stay on the hill,\u201d said I. \u201cBesides, the\nfour-wheel will be full without me.\u201d\n\nShe didn\u2019t seem to hear; and began talking to one of the other girls.\n\n\u201cBut how are you to get down?\u201d said Joe.\n\n\u201cOh, I can walk,\u201d said I, \u201cor ride behind you.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery good, if you like,\u201d said he; \u201cthe chestnut would carry six, if\nher back was long enough;\u201d and away he went to get the four-wheel ready.\n\nWe followed; Miss Lucy sticking close to her friend, and never saying\na word to any of us. I walked with Mr. Warton, who was in the highest\nspirits, looking over his shoulder, and raving about the green tints in\nthe sunset.\n\nWhen we got to the carriages, there was kissing and shaking of hands,\nand the rest went off, while the parson and Miss Lucy packed into the\nfront seat, and Jack and Jem the carter-boy into the hind seat of the\nfour-wheel; and away they drove, wishing us \u201cgood night.\u201d I watched\nthem for some time, and could see Jack leaning forward close to her\near; and turned back with Joe into the Castle, more out of sorts than I\nhad been since I left London.\n\nJoe hurried off to the police tent, where the Committee were giving\naway the prizes, saying I should find him there when I wanted him;\nand I loitered away to see whatever was to be seen. At first nothing\nseemed to please me. I watched the men and boys playing at three\nsticks a penny, and thought I might as well have been on Primrose\nHill. Then I went and looked at the shows; and there was the fellow in\nflesh-coloured tights, turning over and over on the slack rope, and\nthe clarionet and French horn and drum, played by the three men in\ncorduroys, all out of tune and louder than ever, as if they had only\njust begun, instead of having been screaming and rumbling away all day;\nand the man outside the pink-eyed lady\u2019s caravan was shouting away for\nthe hundredth time all about her, and then playing the pan-pipes, as if\nno other woman in the world had pink eyes.\n\nI was determined they shouldn\u2019t have any of my money at any rate, so\nI strolled further down the line, and looked into a low booth where a\nfiddle was going. Here several couples were dancing, with their arms\na-kimbo, on some planks which had been put down on the grass, and all\nthe rest of the booth was crowded with others looking on. This pleased\nme better, for the dancers seemed to enjoy themselves wonderfully,\nand made a sort of clattering accompaniment to the music with their\nhob-nailed shoes, which was merry and pleasant.\n\nWhen I was tired of watching them, I thought I would go and find Joe;\nso I went over to the tent, and there I got all right, and began to\nenjoy myself again.\n\nIn the further corner of the tent, the Squire and another justice were\nsitting, and hearing a charge of pocket-picking, of which there were\nonly two during the whole day, the police told me. Opposite the door,\nthe rest of the Committee were sitting at a table and giving away the\nprizes.\n\nJoe beckoned me in, and I went round to the back of the table and\nlooked on. As the men came up from the group round the door, when their\nnames were called out, the umpires said a few words to each of them,\nand then gave them their prizes, and most of them made some sort of\nspeech in answer; for they were much less shy than in the morning, I\nsuppose from the sense of having earned their right to hold up their\nheads by winning. The owner of the successful donkey was just carrying\nout the flitch of bacon when I arrived; after him the Somersetshire\nbacksword players were called in to take the first three prizes for\nthat sport, they having beaten all the Wiltshire men; while old\nSeeley, the only Berkshire man entered, to everybody\u2019s surprise had\nnot played out his tie, but had given his head (as they said) to his\nsecond opponent. Therefore, although entitled to the last prize for\nhaving won his first bout, he had not done all his duty in the eyes of\nthe umpires, who gently complained, while handing him over his four\nhalf-crowns, and wondered that so gallant an old gamester, and a Yale\nman, should not have played out his ties for the honour of the county.\n\n\u201cWell, gen\u2019l\u2019men,\u201d said old Seeley, giving a hitch with his shoulders,\n\u201cI\u2019ll just tell you how it was. You see, ther wur six Somersetshire\nold gamesters come up to play, and ther wur six of our side to play\n\u2019em; dree Wiltshire and dree Barkshire, if so be as we could have\nmade a party. But the dree from Wiltshire they wouldn\u2019t go in along\nwi\u2019 we, and turned their backs on me and my two mates; so my two\nmates wouldn\u2019t go in at all, and wanted me to give out too. But you\nsee, gen\u2019l\u2019men, I\u2019d a spent a matter of a pound over getting myself\na little better food, and making myself lissom; so thinks I, I must\ngo up and have a bout, let it be how t\u2019wool. And you saw, gen\u2019l\u2019men,\nas I played a good stick. When it cum\u2019 to playing off the ties, there\nwur dree Somersetshire tiers, and two of our side, that\u2019s Slade and\nme. But when a man turns his back on me, gen\u2019l\u2019men, why I turns my\nback on him; so I guv my head to young Mapstone, and left Slade to\nwin if he could. Though I thinks, if thay Wiltshire chaps had behaved\ntheirselves as thay should, we might ha\u2019 had the prize, for I knows as\nI never played freer in my life. And I hopes, gen\u2019l\u2019men, as you don\u2019t\nthink I wur afeard of any man as ever got on that stage. Bless you!\u201d\nsaid old Seeley, warming up, \u201cI be that fond o\u2019 thay sticks, I assure\nyou, gen\u2019l\u2019men, I\u2019d as lief meet a man as is a man for a bout wi\u2019 thay\nsticks, as I would--a joint of roast beef.\u201d\n\nOld Seeley\u2019s speech carried conviction, for there could be no mistake\nabout the tone in which he drew his last comparison, after a moment\u2019s\npause to think of the thing he liked best, and he retired from the tent\nin high favour, as I think he deserved to be.\n\nAfter watching these doings for some time, I began to feel very hungry,\nfor I had eaten hardly any thing at tea, so I told Joe that he would\nfind me over in the great booth getting some supper, and went out.\nIt was getting quite dark, and the stage and poles looked black and\nmelancholy as I passed by them. But the publicans\u2019 booths were all\nlighted up inside, and looked very cheerful, and were full of holiday\nfolk, fortifying themselves with all sorts of meat and drink before\nstarting for the descent of the hill, and the walk home in the dark.\n\nI pushed my way through the crowd round the door, and reached the\nbar, where the landlord recognized me directly, and handed me over to\nPeter, who soon landed me at the table in the recess, which was still\nwell supplied with cold joints and bread and cheese. While he went off\nto get my plate and ale, I had time to look round. The booth was much\ngayer than the day before; every post was decked more or less with\nflowers and evergreens, and the flags had been brought inside. The\nwhole place was lighted with dips and flickering oil lamps, which gave\nlight enough to let one see all parts of the tent pretty clearly.\n\nThere were a good many tables ranged about; the one nearest to\nours wasn\u2019t yet occupied, but at all the others were groups of men\ndrinking beer, and some smoking, and talking eagerly over the events\nof the day. Those nearest the high table seemed under some little\nrestraint, and spoke low; but from the farther tables rose a loud hum\nof the broadest Berkshire, and an occasional scrap of a song. A few\nwomen were scattered here and there--mostly middle-aged, hard-working\nhousewives--watching their good men, and anxious to carry them off in\ngood time, and before too much of the harvest-savings had found its way\nto the landlord\u2019s till. About the entrance was a continually-changing\ncrowd, and the atmosphere of the whole was somewhat close, and redolent\nof not very fragrant tobacco.\n\nAt the supper-table where I was, were seven or eight men. The one just\nopposite me was a strong-built, middle-aged man, in a pepper-and-salt\nriding-coat and waistcoat, with an open, weather-beaten face, and keen,\ndeep-set, gray eyes, who seemed bent on making a good supper. Next\nabove him were the two Oxford scholars, but they didn\u2019t take the least\nnotice of me, which I thought they might have done, after our morning\u2019s\nride together. They had finished supper, and were smoking cigars, and\nchatting with one another, and with the pepper-and-salt man, whom they\ncalled Doctor. But my observations were soon cut short by Peter, who\ncame back with my plate and knife and fork, and a foaming pewter of\nale, and I set to work as heartily as the Doctor himself.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll find some of this lettuce and watercress eat well with your\nbeef, Sir,\u201d said he, pushing across a dish.\n\n\u201cThank you, Sir,\u201d said I; \u201cI find that watching the games makes one\nvery hungry.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe air, Sir, all the downs air,\u201d said the Doctor; \u201cI call them Doctor\nDowns. Do more for the appetite in six hours than I can in a week.\nHere, Peter, get this gentleman some of your mistress\u2019s walnut pickles.\u201d\n\nAnd then the good-natured Doctor fell to upon his beef again, and\nchatted away with the scholars and me, and soon made me feel myself\nquite at home. I own that I had done my neighbours a little injustice;\nfor they were pleasant enough when the ice was once broken, and I\ndaresay didn\u2019t mean to be rude after all.\n\nAs soon as I had finished my supper, the shorter of the scholars handed\nme a large cigar, the first whiff of which gave me a high idea of\nthe taste of my contemporaries of the upper classes in the matter of\ntobacco.\n\nJust then the verse of a song, in which two or three men were joining,\nrose from the other end of the tent, from amidst the hum of voices.\n\n\u201cI wish those fellows would sing out,\u201d said the short scholar; \u201cI can\u2019t\nmake out more than a word or two.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou wouldn\u2019t be any the wiser if you could,\u201d said the other; \u201cwe\nhave ceased to be a singing nation. The people have lost the good old\nballads, and have got nothing in their place.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow do you know?\u201d said the short scholar; \u201cI should like to hear for\nmyself, at any rate.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat sort of ballads do you mean, Sir?\u201d said I to the long scholar.\n\n\u201cWhy, those in the Robin Hood Garland, for instance,\u201d said he. \u201cSongs\nwritten for the people, about their heroes, and, I believe, by the\npeople. There\u2019s nothing of the sort now.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do you say to \u2018There\u2019s a Good Time Coming\u2019?\u201d asked the short\nscholar.\n\n\u201cWell, it\u2019s the best of them, I believe,\u201d said the other; \u201cbut you know\nit was written by Mackay, an LL.D. Besides, it\u2019s essentially a town\nsong.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a tip-top one, at any rate,\u201d said the short scholar; \u201cI wish I\ncould write such another.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat I say, is, that the popular songs now are written by\n_litterateurs_ in London, Is there any life or go in \u2018Woodman spare\nthat Tree,\u2019 or \u2018The Old Arm-Chair\u2019? and they are better than the\nslip-slop sentimental stuff most in vogue.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat a discontented old bird you are!\u201d said the short scholar; \u201cyou\u2019re\nnever pleased with any product of this enlightened century.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet the century get a character, then; when it does, we shall get some\ngood staves. I\u2019m not particular; a brave story, or a quaint story, or a\nfunny story, in good rough verse, that\u2019s all I ask for. But, where to\nfind one? Here\u2019s the Doctor for umpire. I say, Doctor, don\u2019t you agree\nwith me, now?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot quite,\u201d said the Doctor, looking up from his cold beef. \u201cI dare\nsay you wouldn\u2019t think them worth much; but there are plenty of ballads\nsung about which you never hear.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat! real modern ballads, written by some of the masses, in this\ncentury, for instance? Where did you ever hear one, Doctor? What are\nthey like, now?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, my work takes me a good deal about in queer places, and at\nqueer times, amongst the country folk, and I hear plenty of them. Will\none about Lord Nelson suit you? There\u2019s an old patient of mine at the\nnext table who owns a little coal wharf on the canal; he fell into the\nlock one night, broke his arm, and was nearly drowned, and I attended\nhim. He takes a trip in the barges now and then, which makes him fancy\nhimself half a sailor. I dare say I can set him off, if he hasn\u2019t had\ntoo much beer.\u201d\n\nSo the Doctor walked over to a lower table, and spoke to a\ngrisly-headed old man in a velveteen coat and waistcoat, and a blue\nbirdseye-neckerchief, who seemed pleased, and drew his sleeve across\nhis mouth, and cleared his throat. Then there was a rapping on the\ntable, and the old bargee began in a rumbling bass voice:--\n\nTHE DEATH OF LORD NELSON.\n\n    Come all you gallant seamen as unites a meeting,\n      Attend to these lines I be going to relate,\n    And when you have heard them \u2019twill move you with pity\n      To think how Lord Nelson he met with his fate.\n    For he was a bold and undaunted commander\n      As ever did sail on the ocean so wide;\n    He made both the French and the Spaniard surrender\n      By always a-pouring into them a broadside.\n\n    One hundred engagements \u2019twas he had been into,\n      And ne\u2019er in his life was he known to be beat,\n    Though he\u2019d lost an arm, likewise a right eye, boys,\n      No power upon earth ever could him defeat.\n    His age at his death it was forty and seven;\n      And as long as I breathe, his great praises I\u2019ll sing;\n    The whole navigation was given up to him,\n      Because he was loyal and true to his king.\n\n    Then up steps the doctor in a very great hurry,\n      And unto Lord Nelson these words did he say:\n    \u201cIndeed, then, my Lord, it is I\u2019m very sorry,\n      To see you here lying and bleeding this way.\u201d\n    \u201cNo matter, no matter whatever about me,\n      My time it is come, I\u2019m almost at the worst;\n    But here\u2019s my gallant seamen a-fighting so boldly,\n      Discharge off your duty to all of them first.\u201d\n\n    Then with a loud voice he calls out to his captain,\n      \u201cPray let me, sir, hear how the battle does go,\n    For I think our great guns do continue to rattle,\n      Though death is approaching I firmly do know.\u201d\n    \u201cThe antagonist\u2019s ship has gone down to the bottom,\n      Eighteen we have captive and brought them on board,\n    Four more we have blown quite out of the ocean,\n      And that is the news I have brought you, my Lord.\u201d\n\n    Come all you gallant seamen as unites a meeting,\n      Always let Lord Nelson\u2019s memory go round,\n    For it is your duty, when you unites a meeting,\n      Because he was loyal and true to the crownd.\n    And now to conclude and finish these verses,\n      \u201cMy time it is come; kiss me, Hardy,\u201d he cried.\n    Now thousands go with you, and ten thousand blessings\n      For gallant Lord Nelson in battle who died.\n\n          Mourn, England, mourn, mourn and complain,\n          For the loss of Lord Nelson, who died on the main.\n\nThe short scholar was in raptures; he shouted in the chorus; he banged\nthe table till he upset and broke his tumbler, which the vigilant\nlandlady from behind the casks duly noted, and scored up to him.\n\nI worked away at my note-book, and managed to get all the song, except\none verse between the second and third, which I couldn\u2019t catch.\n\n\u201cBravo, Doctor! Here, waiter, get me another tumbler, and some more\ngin-punch. What a stunning call. Couldn\u2019t the old bird give us another\nbit of history? It\u2019s as good as reading \u2018Southey\u2019s Life,\u2019 and much\nfunnier,\u201d rattled away the short scholar.\n\n\u201cWhat a quaint old grisly party it is!\u201d said the long scholar; \u201cI shall\nstand him a pot of beer.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, he won\u2019t object to that,\u201d said the Doctor, working away at the\nbeef and pickles.\n\n\u201cHere, waiter, take a pot of beer, with my compliments, over to that\ngentleman,\u201d said the long scholar, pointing to the old bargeman, \u201cand\nsay how much obliged we are to him for his song.\u201d\n\nSo Peter trotted across with the liquor, and the old man telegraphed\nhis acknowledgments.\n\n\u201cBy the way, Doctor,\u201d said the short scholar, \u201cas you seem to know a\ngood deal about these things, can you tell me what \u2018Vicar of Bray\u2019\nmeans? I saw two men quarrelling just after the games, and it was all\ntheir wives could do to keep them from fighting, and I heard it was\nbecause one had called the other \u2018Vicar of Bray.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cIt means \u2018turn-coat\u2019 in Berkshire,\u201d answered the Doctor. \u201cI didn\u2019t\nthink they used the name now; but I remember the time when it was the\ncommon term of reproach. I dare say you know Bray, gentlemen?\u201d\n\n\u201cI should think so,\u201d said the short scholar; \u201cpretty village just below\nMaidenhead. I pulled by it on my way to town last June.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, and it\u2019s hard on such a pretty village to have had such a bad\nparson,\u201d said the Doctor.\n\n\u201cI say, Doctor, give us the \u2018Vicar of Bray,\u2019 now, it will set off some\nof the singing birds at the other end of the booth; I can see they\u2019re\ngetting into prime piping order.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery good, if you like it,\u201d said the Doctor, pushing away his plate,\nand taking a finishing pull at his pewter, \u201conly the song is in print,\nI know, somewhere; so you mustn\u2019t think you\u2019ve found much of a prize,\nSir,\u201d added he to me, for my use of pencil and note-book hadn\u2019t escaped\nhim.\n\n\u201cNo, Sir,\u201d said I; \u201cbut I should like to hear it, of all things.\u201d\n\nSo the Doctor, without further preface, began in his jolly clear voice--\n\nTHE VICAR OF BRAY.\n\n    In good King Charles\u2019s golden days,\n      When loyalty had no harm in\u2019t,\n    A zealous High-Church man I was,\n      And so I gained preferment.\n    To teach my flock I never missed:\n      Kings were by God appointed;\n    And they are damned who dare resist,\n      Or touch the Lord\u2019s anointed.\n          _Chorus._--And this is law, I will maintain\n                       Until my dying day, sir,\n                     That whatsoever king shall reign,\n                       I\u2019ll be the Vicar of Bray, sir.\n\n    When Royal James obtained the throne,\n      And Popery grew in fashion,\n    The Penal Laws I hooted down,\n      And read the Declaration;\n    The Church of Rome I found would fit\n      Full well my constitution:\n    And I had been a Jesuit;\n      But for the Revolution.\n                      And this is law, &c.\n\n    When William, our deliverer, came\n      To heal the nation\u2019s grievance,\n    Then I turned cat-in-pan again,\n      And swore to him allegiance;\n    Old principles I did revoke,\n      Set conscience at a distance,\n    Passive obedience was a joke,\n      A jest was non-resistance.\n                      And this is law, &c.\n\n    When glorious Anne became our queen,\n      The Church of England\u2019s glory,\n    Another face of things was seen,\n      And I became a Tory.\n    Occasional Conformist case!\n      I damned such moderation;\n    And thought the Church in danger was\n      By such prevarication.\n                      And this is law, &c.\n\n    When George in pudding-time came o\u2019er\n      And moderate men looked big, sir,\n    My principles I changed once more,\n      And so became a Whig, sir.\n    And thus preferment I procured\n      From our Faith\u2019s great Defender;\n    And almost every day abjured\n      The Pope and the Pretender.\n                      For this is law, &c.\n\n    The illustrious House of Hanover,\n      And Protestant Succession,\n    By these I lustily will swear\n      While they can keep possession;\n    For in my faith and loyalty\n      I never once will falter,\n    But George my king shall ever be,\n      Except the times do alter.\n                      For this is law, &c.\n\nThe short scholar was right as to the effect of the Doctor\u2019s song. It\nwas hailed with rapturous applause by the lower tables, though you\nwould have said, to look at them, that scarcely a man of the audience,\nexcept those close round the singer, could have appreciated it. People\ndon\u2019t always like best what they fully understand; and I don\u2019t know\nwhich is the greatest mistake, to fancy yourself above your audience,\nor to try to come down to them. The little stiffness which the presence\nof strangers belonging to the broad-cloth classes had at first created\namongst the pastime folk was wearing off, and several songs were\nstarted at once from the distant parts of the booth, all of which,\nsave one, came to untimely ends in the course of the first verse or so,\nleaving the field clear to a ruddy-faced, smock-frocked man, who, with\nhis eyes cast up to the tent-top, droned through his nose the following\nmournful ditty:--\n\nTHE BARKSHIRE TRAGEDY.\n\n    A varmer he lived in the West Countree,\n                          Hey-down, bow-down,\n    A varmer he lived in the West Countree,\n    And he had daughters one, two, and dree.\n                          And I\u2019ll be true to my love,\n                          If my love\u2019ll be true to me.\n\n    As thay wur walking by the river\u2019s brim,\n                          Hey-down, bow-down,\n    As thay wur walking by the river\u2019s brim,\n    The eldest pushed the youngest in.\n                          And I\u2019ll be true, &c.\n\n    \u201cOh sister, oh sister, pray gee me thy hand,\n                          Hey-down, &c.\n    And I\u2019ll gee thee both house and land.\u201d\n                          And I\u2019ll, &c.\n\n    \u201cI\u2019ll neither gee thee hand nor glove,\n                          Hey-down, &c.\n    Unless thou\u2019lt gee me thine own true love.\u201d\n                          And I\u2019ll, &c.\n\n    So down she sank and away she swam,\n                          Hey-down, &c.\n    Until she came to the miller\u2019s dam.\n                          And I\u2019ll, &c.\n\n    The miller\u2019s daughter stood by the door,\n                          Hey-down, &c.\n    As fair as any gilly-flow-\u00e8r.\n                          And I\u2019ll, &c.\n\n    \u201cOh vather, oh vather, here swims a swan,\n                          Hey-down, &c.\n    Very much like a drownded gentlewom\u00e0n.\u201d\n                          And I\u2019ll, &c.\n\n    The miller he fot his pole and hook,\n                          Hey-down, &c.\n    And he fished the fair maid out of the brook.\n                          And I\u2019ll, &c.\n\n    \u201cOh miller, I\u2019ll gee thee guineas ten,\n                          Hey-down, &c.\n    If thou\u2019lt fetch me back to my vather again.\u201d\n                          And I\u2019ll, &c.\n\n    The miller he took her guineas ten,\n                          Hey-down, &c.\n    And he pushed the fair maid in again.\n                          And I\u2019ll, &c.\n\n    But the Crowner he cum, and the Justice too,\n                          Hey-down, &c.\n    With a hue and a cry and a hulla-balloo.\n                          And I\u2019ll, &c.\n\n    They hanged the miller beside his own gate,\n                          Hey-down, &c.\n    For drowning the varmer\u2019s daughter, Kate.\n                          And I\u2019ll, &c.\n\n    The sister she fled beyond the seas,\n                          Hey-down, &c.\n    And died an old maid among black savage\u00e8s.\n                          And I\u2019ll, &c.\n\n    So I\u2019ve ended my tale of the West Countree,\n    And they calls it the Barkshire Trage-d\u00e8e.\n                          And I\u2019ll, &c.\n\n\u201cThe Barkshire Tragedy, indeed! Now, Doctor, what have you to tell us\nabout this? When did it happen? Who was the lady? Was she drowned in\nthe Thames, the Kennet, or where?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I don\u2019t know. All I can say is, she was drowned before my time;\nfor I remember hearing the song when I was a little chap in petticoats.\nBut the story seems a common one. There\u2019s a north-country ballad\nfounded on it, I know, but I don\u2019t remember the name just now.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018The Bonny Mill-dams of Binnorie,\u2019 is not it?\u201d said the long scholar.\n\n\u201cAye, that\u2019s the name, I think.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, it\u2019s very odd, for we\u2019ve got the same story, all but the\nmiller, and his daughter as fair as any gilly-flower (why are millers\u2019\ndaughters always pretty, by the way?), on the Welsh marshes,\u201d said the\nlong scholar.\n\n\u201cThen, Sir, I must call on you to sing it. The call is with me at our\nend of the booth,\u201d said the Doctor. \u201cAnd, Peter, bring me a little cold\ngin-and-water, and a pipe. If I must breathe smoke-poison, I may as\nwell make it myself, at any rate.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, singing\u2019s rather more than I bargained for. However, I suppose I\nmustn\u2019t spoil sport; so here goes.\u201d\n\nTHE DROWNED LADY.\n\n_Qy. another version of the Barkshire Tragedy?_\n\n    Oh, it was not a pheasant cock,\n        Nor yet a pheasant hen,\n    But oh it was a lady fair\n        Came swimming down the stream.\n\n    An ancient harper passing by\n        Found this poor lady\u2019s body,\n    To which his pains he did apply\n        To make a sweet mel\u00f2dy.\n\n    To cat-gut dried he her inside,\n        He drew out her back-bone,\n    And made thereof a fiddle sweet\n        All for to play upon.\n\n    And all her hair so long and fair,\n        That down her back did flow,\n    Oh he did lay it up with care,\n        To string his fiddle bow.\n\n    And what did he with her fingers\n        Which were so straight and small?\n    Oh, he did cut them into pegs\n        To screw up his fid-d\u00f2ll.\n\n    Then forth went he, as it might be,\n        Upon a summer\u2019s day,\n    And met a goodly company,\n        Who asked him in to play.\n\n    Then from her bones he drew such tones\n        As made their bones to ache,\n    They sounded so like human groans,\n        Their hearts began to quake.\n\n    They ordered him in ale to swim,\n        For sorrow\u2019s mighty dry,\n    And he to share their wassail fare\n        Essayd right willingly.\n\n    He laid his fiddle on a shelf\n        In that old manor-hall,\n    It played and sung all by itself,\n        And thus sung this fid-d\u00f2ll:--\n\n    \u201cThere sits the squire, my worthy sire,\n        A-drinking hisself drunk,\n    And so did he, ah woe is me!\n        The day my body sunk.\n\n    \u201cThere sits my mother, half asleep,\n        A-taking of her ease,\n    Her mind is deep, if one might peep,\n        In her preserves and keys.\n\n    \u201cThere sits my sister, cruel Joan,\n        Who last week drownded me;\n    And there\u2019s my love, with heart of stone,\n        Sits making love to she.\n\n    \u201cThere sits the Crowner, Uncle Joe,\n        Which comforteth poor me;\n    He\u2019ll hold his Crowner\u2019s quest, I know,\n        To get his Crowner\u2019s fee.\u201d\n\n    Now when this fiddle thus had spoke\n        It fell upon the floor,\n    And into little pieces broke,\n        No word spoke never more.\n\n\u201cThank you, Sir,\u201d said the Doctor; \u201cthat\u2019s a queer tune though. I don\u2019t\nknow that I ever heard one at all like it. But I shouldn\u2019t say all that\nsong was old now.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I believe you\u2019re right. But I can say, as you said of the\nBarkshire Tragedy, it\u2019s all older than my time, for I remember my\nfather singing it just as I\u2019ve sung it to you as long as I can remember\nany thing.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what did he say of it?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, he said that five out of the first six verses were very old\nindeed. He had heard them often when he was a child, and always the\nsame words. The rest was all patch-work, he said, by different hands,\nand he hardly knew which were the old lines, and which new.\u201d\n\n\u201cI say,\u201d remarked the short scholar, \u201cthe Doctor don\u2019t seem to be a bad\nhand at making the smoke-poison.\u201d\n\nThe Doctor blew out a long white cloud, and was about to reply, when\na brawny young carter, at a distant table, took his pipe from his\nlips, and, in answer to the urgings of his neighbours, trolled out the\nfollowing little piece of sentiment:--\n\nCUPID\u2019S GARDEN.\n\n    As I wur in Cu-bit\u2019s gardin\n      Not mwoar nor haf an hour,\n    \u2019Twur ther I zeed two may-dens\n      Zittin under Cu-bit\u2019s bower,\n    A-gatherin of sweet jassa-mine,\n      The lilly and the rose.\n    These be the fairest flowers\n      As in the gardin grows.\n\n    I vondly stepped to one o\u2019 them,\n      These words to her I zays,\n    \u201cBe you engaged to arra young man,\n      Come tell to me, I prays.\u201d\n    \u201cI beant engaged to narra young man,\n      I solemnly declare;\n    I aims to live a may-den,\n      And still the lau-rel wear.\u201d\n\n    Zays I, \u201cMy stars and gar-ters!\n      This here\u2019s a pretty go,\n    Vor a vine young mayd as never wos\n      To sar\u2019 all mankind zo.\u201d\n    But the t\u2019other young may-den looked sly at me,\n      And vrom her zeat she risn,\n    Zays she, \u201cLet thee and I go our own waay,\n      And we\u2019ll let she go shis\u2019n.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I say, that beats all!\u201d said the short scholar, with a shout of\nlaughter. \u201cI must have the words somehow. Let\u2019s see, how did he begin?\nsomething about Cubit. What a rum notion to call Cupid, Cubit. What was\nit, Doctor?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou shouldn\u2019t laugh, really, Sir, at our west-country sentiment,\u201d\nsaid the Doctor, with astounding gravity. \u201cI don\u2019t think I can\nconscientiously help you to the words, when I know you\u2019ll only be\nmaking fun of them at some wine-party. They are meant for malt\ndrinkers, not for wine drinkers.\u201d\n\n\u201cFudge, Doctor. Come, now, give us the words, or I shall have to go\nover and ask the performer for them.\u201d\n\n\u201cI think I can give you them,\u201d said I, looking up from my note-book.\n\n\u201cWhat a thing it is to write shorthand!\u201d said the Doctor, glancing at\nmy hieroglyphics; \u201cwe don\u2019t learn that sort of thing down in these\nparts.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wonder we haven\u2019t had more sentimental songs,\u201d said the long\nscholar; \u201cI suppose there are plenty of love-stories going about?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh yes, plenty,\u201d said the Doctor; \u201cmostly ballads telling how rich\nyoung heiresses disdained all good matches, for the sake of a sailor\nboy with tarry trousers, or a seductive fogger, thereby provoking their\ncruel match-making parents. For instance:--\n\n    \u201cSays the daughter to the mother, \u201cYour art is all in vain,\n    For Dukes and Lords and Earls alike their riches I disdain;\n    I\u2019d rather live a humble life, and my time I would employ\n    Increasing nature\u2019s prospects, with my bonny labouring boy.\u201d\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat on earth can \u2018increasing nature\u2019s prospects\u2019 mean?\u201d asked the\nlong scholar.\n\n\u201cHow can I tell?\u201d said the Doctor, laughing; \u201cI don\u2019t pretend to\nconstrue; I only give you the words. But you must allow the moral to be\ngood. It runs:--\n\n    \u201cSuccess to every labouring boy that ploughs and hoes the ground,\n    For when his work is over, his home he will enjoy;\n    So happy is the girl that gets a bonny labouring boy.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s see,\u201d said the short scholar, \u201cwe\u2019ve had specimens of patriotic,\nlegendary, and sentimental ditties; but how about drinking songs? All\ntuneful nations, since the world began, have sung the praises of good\nliquor.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know that we have many drinking songs,\u201d said the Doctor; \u201cI\nsuppose it takes wine, or spirits at any rate, to make a man write such\nstuff as \u2018the glasses sparkle,\u2019 or \u2018a bumper of Burgundy.\u2019 The bucolic\nmuse only gets smallish beer. But we must see what we can do for\nyou.\u201d So the Doctor beckoned to Peter, and sent him off to the lower\ntables with a pot of beer, the speedy result of which mission was the\nfollowing song:--\n\nTOVEY\u2019S TAP.--AIR, \u201c_Derry down_.\u201d\n\n    Owld Tovey once brewed a barrel o\u2019 beer,\n    For he wur a man as lov\u00e8d good cheer,\n    And zays he, \u201cI\u2019ll jest ax a veaw o\u2019 my vriends\n    To come and try how the likker spends.\u201d[36]\n                                        Derry down, &c.\n\n    There\u2019s long Tom Ockle, he shall be one,\n    And little Jack Smith, who\u2019s as round as a tun,\n    And owld Gaarge Mabbutt, who\u2019s allus a-dry,\n    I\u2019ll warn\u2019d thay\u2019ll make good company.\n                                        Derry down, &c.\n\n    The barrell wur tapped, and the beer runned well,\n    How much they vour drenked I never heard tell;\n    But zome how or other they one and all\n    Did zwear as how the drenk wur small.\n                                        Derry down, &c.\n\n    Owld Tovey at this did look main scrow;[37]\n    Zays he, \u201cMy vriends, I\u2019d hev\u2019ee to kneow\n    That my beer has made \u2019ee as drunk as pegs,\n    And not one o\u2019 you dree can kip on his legs.\u201d\n                                        Derry down, &c.\n\n    They left the house, and the path they tuk,\n    Athert the meadow as leads to the bruk;\n    And you plainly med zee as every man\n    Had a pair o\u2019 crooked stockings an.\n                                        Derry down, &c.\n\n    Zays Mabbott to Ockle, \u201cOwld Tovey wur zurly;\u201d\n    Zays Ockle to Mabbott, \u201cI\u2019m uncommon purly;[38]\n    Be mindful, I zay, vor yer missuses\u2019 zakes,\n    Which o\u2019 them two narrer bridges you takes.\u201d\n                                        Derry down, &c.\n\n    \u201cThe bruk is main deep,\u201d Gaarge Mabbott then zaid,\n    As he looked at the water, and scratted his yead;\n    \u201cAnd I owns I should \u2019mazinly like for to know\n    Auver which o\u2019 thay bridges you aims vor to go.\u201d\n                                        Derry down, &c.\n\n    \u201c\u2019Tis a akkerdish place to crass in the night,\n    And to stand here till marnin\u2019 wouldn\u2019t be right;\n    \u2019T\u2019ain\u2019t a mossell o\u2019 use to bide stabbleing[39] here,\n    Zo let\u2019s go back and vinish the barrel o\u2019 beer.\u201d\n                                        Derry down, &c.\n\n\u201cA good cast, Doctor;\u201d said the long scholar; \u201cbut you\u2019ve raised the\nwrong fish. That isn\u2019t what my friend here meant by a drinking song.\nHe expects a bucolic rendering of one of Moore\u2019s songs, and you serve\nhim out a queer pot-house tale. Is there no enthusiasm for good drink\namongst you?\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish there were less,\u201d said the Doctor, with a sigh; \u201cat any rate,\nless consumption of bad drink. Tippling is our great curse, as it is\nthat of all England; but there\u2019s less of it than there used to be.\nBut for a drinking song such as you mean, I\u2019m at fault. The nearest\napproach to it that I know of is a song of which I only remember two\nlines. They run--\n\n    \u201cSartinly the sixpenny\u2019s the very best I\u2019ve see\u2019d yet,\n    I do not like the fourpenny, nor yet the intermediate.\n\n\u201cBut even here you see, though the poet was meditating on drink, it was\nin a practical rather than an enthusiastic spirit.\u201d\n\nJust then, a stout old yeoman entered the booth, dressed in a broad\nstraight-cut brown coat with metal buttons, drab breeches, and mahogany\ntops; and, marching up to the bar, ordered a glass of brandy and water;\nwhile his drink was being prepared, he stood with his back to our\ntable, talking to the landlord.\n\n\u201cWe\u2019re in luck,\u201d said the Doctor in a low voice, pointing to the\nnew-comer with the end of his pipe; \u201cif he stays, we shall have the\nbest old song in all the west country, sung as it should be.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho is he?\u201d asked the short scholar.\n\n\u201cAn old Gloucestershire farmer from Sutherup way, famous for his breed\nof sheep. He must be near seventy, and has twelve miles to ride home\nto-night, and won\u2019t think so much of it as you or I would.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe looks a tough old blade.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou may say that. But he isn\u2019t the man he was, for he has lived pretty\nhard. He used to be a famous wrestler; and one day, many years ago, an\nIlsley dealer came down to buy his flock of two-year olds. They drank\nsix bottles of port over the deal, and got it all straight out except\nthe odd sheep, but they couldn\u2019t make out, cipher it how they would,\nwho the odd sheep belonged to; so they agreed to wrestle for the odd\nsheep in the farmer\u2019s kitchen, and somehow both of them got hurt, and\nthe old boy has never gone quite right since.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat an old sponge! six bottles of port between two of them! no wonder\nthey couldn\u2019t do their sum.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, we mustn\u2019t judge of the men of his time by our rules,\u201d said the\nDoctor; \u201cit was part of a yeoman\u2019s creed in those days to send his\nfriends off drunk, and to be carried to bed himself by his fogger and\ncarter, or else to sleep under his kitchen-table. They lived hard\nenough, and misused a deal of good liquor meant to strengthen man\u2019s\nheart, following the example of their betters; but they had their good\npoints. That old man, now, is the best master in all his neighbourhood;\nand he and the parson keep up the wages in the winter, and never let a\nman go to the house who will work.\u201d\n\nThe old farmer turned round, glass in hand, and came and sat down\nat the table. \u201cYour sarvant, gen\u2019l\u2019men,\u201d said be, taking off his\nbroad-brimmed beaver. \u201cWhy, Doctor,\u201d he went on, recognizing our\nfriend, and holding out his great bony hand, \u201cbe main glad to zee \u2019ee.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you, farmer,\u201d said the Doctor, returning the grip; \u201cwe haven\u2019t\nmet this long while; I\u2019m glad to see you wearing so well.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I be pretty-feteish, thank God,\u201d said the farmer. \u201cYour health,\nsir, and gen\u2019l\u2019men.\u201d\n\nAfter a little judicious talk on the day\u2019s sport, the Doctor suddenly\nbegan, \u201cNow, farmer, you must do us a favour, and give us your famous\nold Gloucestershire song. I\u2019ve been telling all our friends here about\nit, and they\u2019re keen to hear it.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2019Spose you means Gaarge Ridler?\u201d said the farmer.\n\n\u201cOf course,\u201d said the Doctor.\n\n\u201cWell, I don\u2019t know as I\u2019ve zung these score o\u2019 months,\u201d said the\nfarmer, \u201cbut hows\u2019mever, if you wants it, here goes.\u201d So the farmer\nfinished his brandy and water, cleared his throat, balanced himself on\nthe hind legs of his chair, cast up his eyes and began--\n\n    Thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns,\n    Thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s he saying--what language?\u201d whispered the tall scholar.\n\n\u201cMad old party,\u201d murmured the short scholar.\n\n\u201cHush,\u201d whispered the Doctor; \u201cthat\u2019s the orthodox way to begin; don\u2019t\nput him out.\u201d\n\nI couldn\u2019t tell what in the world to write, but the farmer went on with\ngrowing emphasis--\n\n    Thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns,\n    Thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns, _thaay stwuns_, THAAY S, T, W, U, N, S.\n\nThere was a moment\u2019s pause, during which the Doctor had much difficulty\nin keeping order; then the farmer got fairly under weigh, and went on--\n\n    Thaay stwuns that built Gaarge Ridler\u2019s oven\n        Oh, thaay cum vrom the Blakeney Quaar,\n    And Gaarge he wur a jolly owld man,\n        And his yead did graw above his yare.\n\n    One thing in Gaarge Ridler I must commend,\n        And I hold it vor a notable thing:\n    He made his braags avoore he died,\n        As wi\u2019 any dree brothers his zons zhou\u2019d zing.\n\n    Ther\u2019 wur Dick the treble, and Jack the mean,\n        Let every mon zing in his auwn pleace,\n    And Gaarge he wur the elder brother,\n        And there-voore he would zing the base.\n\n    Droo\u2019 aal the world, owld Gaarge would bwoast,\n        Commend me to merry owld England mwoast,\n    While vools gwoes scamblin\u2019 vur and nigh,\n        We bides at whoam, my dog and I.\n\n    Ov their furrin tongues let travellers brag,\n        Wi\u2019 their vifteen neames vor a puddin\u2019 bag,\n    Two tongues I knows ne\u2019er towld a lie,\n        And their wearers be my dog and I.\n\n    My dog has got his maaster\u2019s nose,\n        To smell a knave droo silken hose;\n    But when good company I spy,\n        \u201cWelcome,\u201d quoth my dog and I.\n\n    When I hev dree sixpences under my thumb,\n        Oh then I be welcome wherever I cum;\n    But when I hev none, O then I pass by;\n        \u2019Tis poverty pearts good company.\n\n    When I gwoes dead, as it may hap,\n        My grave shall be under the good yeal-tap,\n    Wi\u2019 vaulded earmes ther\u2019 wool I lie,\n        Cheek by jowl my dog and I.\n\nJust as the farmer was finishing the song, Master George, with Joe and\none or two more behind him, came in. He took up the last verse, and\nrolled it out as he came up towards our table, and a lot of the rest\njoined in with him; even the over-worked Peter, I could see stopping\nfor a moment to shout that he would be buried under the tap; I dare say\nhe meant it, only I think he would like it to be always running.\n\nMaster George knew most of the people, and made us all merrier even\nthan we were before; and in the next half-hour or so, for which time we\nstayed in the booth, I should think there must have been a dozen more\nsongs sung. However, I shall only give the one which seemed to be the\ngreatest favourite, for I find that this chapter is running very long.\nThis song was sung by a queer little man, with a twisted face, and a\nlurcher dog between his knees, who I believe was an earth stopper. He\ncalled it\n\nBUTTERMILK JACK.\n\n    Ther wur an owld \u2019oman as had but one son,\n    And thay lived together as you med zee;\n    And they\u2019d nought but an owld hen as wanted to sett,\n    Yet somehow a landlord he fain would be.\n\n    \u201cOh, I\u2019ve been and begged me some buttermilk, mother,\n    Off of an owld \u2019oman as has girt store;\n    And I shall well rewarded be,\n    Vor she\u2019s g\u2019in me haf a gallon or mwore.\n\n    \u201cOh mother, my buttermilk I will sell,\n    And all for a penny as you med zee;\n    And with my penny then I will buy eggs,\n    Vor I shall have seven for my penn\u00e8y.\n\n    \u201cOh mother, I\u2019ll set them all under our hen,\n    And seven cock chickens might chance for to be;\n    But seven cock chickens or seven cap hens,\n    There\u2019ll be seven half-crownds for me.\n\n    \u201cOh, I\u2019ll go carry them to market, mother,\n    And nothing but vine volk shall I zee;\n    And with my money then I will buy land,\n    Zo as a landlord I med be.\u201d\n\n    \u201cOh my dear zon, wilt thee know me,\n    When thee hast gotten great store of wealth?\u201d\n    \u201cOh, my dear mother, how shall I know thee,\n    When I shall hardly know my own self?\u201d\n\n    With that the owld \u2019oman she flew in a passion,\n    And dashed her son Jack up agin the wall,\n    And his head caught the shelf where the buttermilk stood,\n    So down came the buttermilk, pitcher and all.\n\n    Zo aal you as has got an old hen for to sett,\n    Both by night and by day mind you has her well watched,\n    Lest you should be like unto Buttermilk Jack,\n    To reckon your chickens before thay are hatched.\n\n\u201cWell, I must be moving,\u201d said the Doctor at last, looking at his\nwatch; \u201chow do you get home, Mr. Hurst?\u201d\n\n\u201cBless us! near nine o\u2019clock,\u201d said Joe, following the Doctor\u2019s\nexample; \u201coh, I ride myself, and my friend here talks of going behind.\u201d\n\n\u201cBetter not ride double, the night\u2019s dark,\u201d said the Doctor, hoisting\non his overcoat with Peter\u2019s help. \u201cIf he likes to take his luck in my\ngig, I can put him down at your gate. What do you say, Sir?\u201d\n\nI thankfully accepted; for I didn\u2019t at all like the notion of riding\nbehind Joe on the chestnut, and I can\u2019t think how I could ever have\nbeen such a fool as to say I would do it. The Doctor had two bright\nlamps to his gig, which gave us glimpses of the closed booths and\ncamping places of the people who were going to stay on the hill all\nnight, as we drove out of the Castle. I suggested that it must be very\nbad for the people sleeping out up there.\n\n\u201cFor their health?\u201d said he, \u201cnot a bit of it, on a fine night like\nthis--do \u2019em good; I wish they always slept so healthily.\u201d\n\n\u201cI didn\u2019t quite mean that, Sir!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, for their morals? Well, I don\u2019t know that there\u2019s much harm done.\nI\u2019m sorry to say they\u2019re used to crowding--and, after all, very few but\nthe owners of the booths, and the regular tramps, stay up here. Didn\u2019t\nyou see how quiet every thing was?\u201d\n\nI said I had noticed this; and then he began asking me about the\nsports, for he had only got on to the hill late in the afternoon; and\nwhen we came to the wrestling and backsword play, I asked him whether\nhe thought they did any harm.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said he, \u201cthere are very few serious accidents--in fact none--now\nthat drink is not allowed on the stage. There used to be some very\nbrutal play in out-of-the-way places, where the revels were got up\nby publicans. But that is all over, at least about this part of the\ncountry.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen you wouldn\u2019t stop them, Sir?\u201d\n\n\u201cStop them! not I--I would encourage them, and make the parish clerk\nand constable perpetual umpires.\u201d And then he went on to say how\nhe should like to see the young fellows in every parish drilled in\na company, and taught all sorts of manly exercises, and shooting\nespecially; so that they would make good light troops at a day\u2019s\nnotice, in case of invasion. But he was afraid the great game\npreservers would never allow this. And in the middle of his talk,\nwhich seemed very sensible, we came to Joe\u2019s gate, and I got down, and\nwished him good night.\n\nI found the family gone to bed, and only Joe and the Parson in the\nkitchen, and there, over a last pipe, we chatted about the sports.\n\nAt last the Parson turned to me, and said, \u201cYou saw a good deal of the\nplay on the stage; now, would you stop it if you could?\u201d\n\nI thought a minute over what I had seen, and what the Doctor had said.\n\n\u201cNo, Sir,\u201d said I, \u201cI can\u2019t say that I would.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s candid,\u201d said he. \u201cAnd now I\u2019ll make an admission. There\u2019s\na good deal of the play that wants very close watching. The umpires\nshould be resolute, quick men, and stand no nonsense. I saw one or two\nbouts to-day that should have been stopped.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou see,\u201d said Joe, taking his pipe out of his mouth, \u201cthere allus\nmust be.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe don\u2019t admit your evidence, Joseph,\u201d interrupted the Parson, \u201cyou\nare a prejudiced witness.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you haven\u2019t changed your mind, Sir,\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said he, \u201cI should be sorry to hear that these sports had died\nout, but I should like to hear that people took an interest in them who\ncould manage the men thoroughly.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe Doctor,\u201d said I, \u201cas we drove home, said he would have the parish\nclerk and constable for perpetual umpires.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey wouldn\u2019t be so good as the parson or the squire,\u201d said he; \u201cif\nI were rector of one of the parishes where they are still kept up, I\nwould give prizes for them, but I would always be umpire myself.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish to goodness you was then,\u201d said Joe, as we lighted our candles.\n\n\u201cYou remember, Sir,\u201d said I, \u201cthat you promised to write a sermon about\nthe pastime.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat! _after_ the fair?\u201d said he.\n\n\u201c\u2019Twill do just as well,\u201d said Joe, \u201cI should mortally like to hear it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, it might keep you awake perhaps. He has an hereditary weakness\nfor slumber in church, you must know,\u201d said the Parson, turning to me;\n\u201cwhen we wanted to alter the sittings in the church six or seven years\nago, his father stood out for his old high box so sturdily, that I\ntook some pains to argue with him, and to find out what it was which\nmade it so dear to him. I found out at last that it was a snug corner,\nwhich just fitted his shoulders, where nobody could see him, and where,\nas soon as the text was given out, in his own words, \u201cI just watches\nmy missus wipe her spectacles, and fix herself to listen, and then I\nvaulds my arms and thenks o\u2019 nothin\u2019.\u201d\n\nI looked at Joe to see how he would take it, but he only chuckled, and\nsaid, \u201cWell, \u2019tis the parson\u2019s business to keep us awake. But a sermon\non our sports, just showing folk about the rights on it, is just what I\nshould amazingly like to have by me.\u201d\n\nThe Parson looked at Joe for a moment very curiously, and then said,\n\u201cVery well, I will write you one. Good night.\u201d\n\nAnd so we went off to bed.\n\n[36] \u201cSpend\u201d--to consume.\n\n[37] \u201cScrow\u201d--angry.\n\n[38] \u201cPurly\u201d--purblind.\n\n[39] \u201cStabble\u201d--to tread dirt about.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n\nMiss Lucy couldn\u2019t be spared to go up to the hill on the second day\nof the pastime, for there was some great operation going on in the\ncheese room, which she had to overlook. So Mr. Warton drove me up in\nthe four-wheel. I was very anxious to find out, if I could, whether\nthere was any thing more between him and Miss Lucy than friendship,\nbut it wasn\u2019t at all an easy matter. First I began speaking of the\nyoung gentleman who had taken my place in the four-wheel; for I thought\nthat would be a touchstone, and that if he were like me he would be\nglad to get a chance of abusing this Jack. But he only called him a\nforward boy, and said he was a cousin of the Hursts, who lived in\nthe next parish. Then I spoke of Miss Lucy herself, and he was quite\nready to talk about her as much as I liked, and seemed never tired\nof praising her. She was a thoroughly good specimen of an English\nyeoman\u2019s daughter; perfectly natural, and therefore perfectly well\nbred; not above making good puddings and preserves, and proud of the\nname her brother\u2019s cheeses had won in the market, yet not negligent of\nother matters, such as the schools, and her garden; never going into\nfollies of dress in imitation of weak women who ought to set better\nexamples, yet having a proper appreciation of her own good looks, and\na thorough knowledge of the colours and shapes which suited her best;\nnot particularly clever or well read, but with an open mind and a sound\njudgment--and so he went on; and the longer he went on the more I was\npuzzled, and my belief is, that on this subject the Parson got much\nmore out of me than I out of him, on that morning\u2019s drive.\n\nWe had a very pleasant day on the hill, but as the sports were all\nthe same as those of the day before (with the exception of jumping in\nsacks, which was substituted for climbing the pole, and was very good\nfun), I shall not give any further account of them; especially as the\ngentlemen who are going to publish my story seem to think already that\nI am rather too long-winded.\n\nWe got down home in capital time for tea, and Joe followed very soon\nafterwards, in the highest spirits; for, as he said, every thing had\ngone off so well, and everybody was pleased and satisfied; so we were\nall very merry, and had another charming evening. I couldn\u2019t tell what\nhad come to me when I got up stairs alone by myself, for I seemed as if\na new life were growing up in me, and I were getting all of a sudden\ninto a much bigger world, full of all sorts of work and pleasure, which\nI had never dreamt of, and of people whom I could get to love and\nhonour, though I might never see or speak to them.\n\nI had been bred up from a child never to look beyond my own narrow\nsphere. To get on in it was the purpose of my life, and I had drilled\nmyself into despising every thing which did not, as I thought, help\ntowards this end. Near relations I had none. I was really fond of my\ntwo friends, but I don\u2019t think I should ever have got to be friends\nwith them if we hadn\u2019t been in the same office; and I used often to\nbe half provoked with them, and to think myself a very wise fellow,\nbecause out of office-hours they would read poetry and novels instead\nof fagging at shorthand or accounts, as I did, and spent all their\nsalaries instead of saving. Except those two, I knew nobody; and\nthough I belonged to a debating society, it wasn\u2019t that I cared for\nthe members, or what they talked about, but that I thought it might be\nuseful to me to talk fluently if I got on in business. Sometimes, and\nespecially in my yearly holidays, I had felt as if I wanted something\nelse, and that my way of life was after all rather a one-eyed sort of\nbusiness; but I set all such misgivings down as delusions, and had\nnever allowed them long to trouble me. In short I begin to suspect that\nI must have been getting to be a very narrow, bigoted, disagreeable\nsort of fellow, and it was high time that I should find my way to\nElm Close, or some such place, to have my eyes opened a little, and\ndiscover that a man may work just as steadily and honestly--aye, much\nmore steadily and honestly--at his own business, without shutting up\nhis brains and his heart against every thing else that is going on in\nthe world around him. However, I can\u2019t be too thankful that my teaching\ncame to me in the way it did, for I might have had to learn my lesson\nin a very different school from Elm Close Farm.\n\nThere certainly never was such a pleasant school. For the next two or\nthree days after \u2018the Scouring,\u2019 Mr. Warton was my chief companion. Joe\nand Miss Lucy both had their work to attend to after breakfast, and so\nthe Parson and I were left a good deal together; and we used to start\noff to see some of the old men whom he had promised to show me, who\ncould tell me about the old pastimes. I never liked any thing so much\nas these walks--not even the walks I afterwards used to have alone with\nMiss Lucy, for they were too exciting, and half the time I was in such\na fret that I couldn\u2019t thoroughly enjoy them. But there was no drawback\nin these walks with the Parson. He was full of fun, and of all sorts of\nknowledge; and he liked talking, and I think rather took a fancy to me,\nand was pleased to see how I worked at collecting all the information I\ncould about the White Horse, for he took a great deal of pains to help\nme.\n\nOne morning though I remember he got me into a regular puzzle\nabout King Alfred, for I had been reading over my notes of the old\ngentleman\u2019s story, and couldn\u2019t make it agree with the tales which I\nhad read about Alfred\u2019s hiding away in the cowherd\u2019s hut, and burning\nthe cakes. So I asked Mr. Warton about it.\n\n\u201cI think,\u201d said he, \u201cyou will find that Alfred was in the cowherd\u2019s\ncottage in the year 878, after the battle at Chippenham.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, Sir,\u201d said I, \u201caccording to the old gentleman\u2019s story, Ashdown\nwas Alfred\u2019s greatest victory; and Ashdown was fought in 871. Now it\nseems very odd that he should have to run away and skulk about in such\nplaces after that.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said he, \u201cI\u2019m not well enough up in the history to explain it\nto you, but I\u2019m pretty sure you\u2019ll find I\u2019m right about the dates--why\nshouldn\u2019t you write and ask the old gentleman?\u201d\n\nSo I did, and I kept a copy of my letter; but I don\u2019t think I need\nprint that, because his answer will be quite enough without it. Here it\nis:--\n\n                                                  \u201c22d September, 1857.\n\n    \u201cMy Dear Sir,--I am favoured with yours of the 20th ult., which\n    came safely to hand this morning. Our post is somewhat behind\n    the times, and I know of hardly any town or village from which\n    a letter can arrive at this place under two days. I do not\n    myself complain of this state of things.\n\n    \u201cWith regard to the subject of your letter, I have to tell you\n    that your friend the clergyman is right in his dates. It was in\n    the year 878 that Alfred was deserted by his nobles and people\n    after the battle of Chippenham, which was a drawn battle. Then\n    he fled to the Island of Athelney, in Somersetshire, and the\n    incident to which you allude took place, but you have not got\n    the verses correctly; they run,--\n\n    \u201c\u2018Casn\u2019t mind the ke-aks mun, and doosn\u2019t zee \u2019em burn?\n    I\u2019ze warn thee\u2019lt yeat \u2019em vast enough, zo zoon az \u2019tiz thy turn.\u2019\n\n    \u201cBut you are not to believe from this, that the Danish army\n    ever got a hold on the kingdom of Wessex. I think that the\n    following passage from Asser\u2019s \u2018Life of Alfred\u2019 will explain a\n    good deal to you. Referring to his sojourn in Athelney, Asser\n    says:--\n\n    \u201c\u2018We may believe that this misfortune was brought upon the\n    aforesaid king, because in the beginning of his reign, when\n    he was a youth, and influenced by youthful feelings, he would\n    not listen to the petitions which his subjects made to him\n    for help in their necessities; but he drove them from him and\n    paid no heed to their requests. This particular gave much pain\n    to the holy man, St. Neot, who was his kinsman; and often\n    foretold to him in the spirit of prophecy that he would suffer\n    great adversity on this account; but Alfred neither attended\n    to the reproof of the man of God, nor listened to his true\n    prophecy--wherefore seeing that a man\u2019s sins must be corrected\n    either in this world or the next, the true and righteous Judge\n    willed that his sin should not go unpunished in this world, to\n    the end that he might spare him in the world to come. From this\n    cause, therefore, Alfred often fell into such great misery,\n    that sometimes none of his subjects knew where he was, or what\n    had become of him.\u2019\n\n    \u201cAnd Alfred learned his lesson well in the next few years,\n    for you will find that in the year 886 A.D., \u2018which was the\n    thirty-eighth year since his birth, King Alfred, after the\n    burning of cities and slaying of the people, honourably rebuilt\n    the city of London and made it again habitable, and gave it\n    into the custody of his son-in-law, \u00c6thelred, Earl of Mercia;\n    to which King Alfred, all the Angles and Saxons, who before\n    had been dispersed every where, or were in captivity with the\n    pagans, voluntarily turned and submitted themselves to his\n    rule!\u2019\n\n    \u201cYou see they had turned from his rule many of them because it\n    was an unjust one in those early years of his reign. But they\n    were never subdued by the Danes,--so that my statement which\n    you quote, \u2018that the battle of Ashdown saved England from one\n    hundred years of Paganism,\u2019 is not shaken.\n\n    \u201cI have directed my London bookseller to leave a copy of\n    Asser\u2019s \u2018Life of Alfred the Great,\u2019 for you, at Somerset\n    House, directed to the care of my friend, the secretary of\n    the Antiquaries\u2019 Society; you will find it to be well worth a\n    careful perusal. I shall be always glad to hear from you upon\n    the subjects on which we have conversed, and heartily desiring\n    that the veneration for all that is old may grow upon you, and\n    that God may have you in his good keeping, I am faithfully\n    yours,\n\n                                                            \u201c----.\u201d\n\nBut to return to my subject, from which I have been wandering for the\npleasure of putting in the old gentleman\u2019s letter. The Parson in our\nwalks set me thinking about fifty subjects which I never cared about\nbefore, because I could see that he was himself deeply interested in\nthem, and really believed whatever he said to me. We used to get home\nby about twelve o\u2019clock, and then I would go away by myself, and think\nover what we had been talking about till dinner. And, after dinner,\nMiss Lucy, and sometimes Joe, would come out and walk with us till\ntea. Sometimes we went to the village school, and I sat at the door\nand heard them teaching; and as long as Mr. Warton was with us it was\nall right, but afterwards, when he had gone, I could see that the\nschoolmistress, a young woman of about thirty, sallow-faced and rather\nprudish, used to look at me as if I had no business there.\n\nWhen he left, Mr. Warton gave me a kind invitation to go and see him\nin town, and added he had no doubt I should come, for he could see I\nshould soon want some such work as he could give me to do.\n\nAfter he was gone I tumbled fairly head over heels into the net in\nwhich I suppose every man \u201cas is a man\u201d (as old Seeley would say)\ngets enmeshed once in his life. I found it was no use to struggle any\nlonger, and gave myself up to the stream, with all sails set. Now\nthere is no easier thing than going down stream somehow, when wind and\ntide are with you; but to steer so as to make the most of wind and\ntide, isn\u2019t so easy--at least I didn\u2019t find it so.\n\nFor as often as not, I think, I did the wrong thing, and provoked,\ninstead of pleasing her. I used to get up every morning before six, to\nbe ready to wish her good morning as she went out to the dairy; but I\ndon\u2019t think she half liked it, for she was generally in a very old gown\ntucked through her pocket holes, and pattens. Then after breakfast I\nused to hanker round the kitchen, or still-room, or wherever she might\nhappen to be, like a Harry-long-legs round a candle. And again in the\nafternoon I never could keep away, but was at her side in the garden,\nor on her walks; in fact, to get rid of me, she had fairly to go up to\nher room.\n\nBut I couldn\u2019t help myself; I felt that, come what might, I must be\nnear her while I could; and on the whole, I think she was pleased, and\ndidn\u2019t at all dislike seeing me reduced to this pitiful state.\n\nWhen I was involuntarily out of her sight, I used to have a sort of\ncraving for poetry and often wished that I had spent a little more\ntime over such matters. I got Joe to lend me the key of the cupboard\nwhere he kept his library, hoping to find something to suit me there.\nBut, besides a few old folios of divinity and travel, and some cookery\nbooks, and the Farmer\u2019s Magazine, there was nothing but Watts\u2019s Hymns\nand Pollock\u2019s Course of Time, which I didn\u2019t find of any use to me.\n\nJoe used to wonder at me at first, when I refused his offers of a day\u2019s\ncoursing, or a ride with him to Farringdon or Didcot markets; but he\nsoon got used to it, and put it down to my cockney bringing up, and\ncongratulated himself that, at any rate, I was pretty good company over\na pipe in the kitchen.\n\nThe autumn days sped away all too quickly, but I made the most of them\nas they passed, and over and over again I wondered whether there were\nany but kind and hospitable and amusing people in the Vale, for the\nlonger I stayed there, the more I was astonished at the kind courtesy\nof everybody I came across, from the highest to the lowest, and I\nsuppose everybody else would find it the same as I did.\n\nIt seemed as if I were destined to leave Elm Close without a single\nunkind thought of any body I had seen while there, for even Jack made\nhis peace with me. Only two days before my departure, Miss Lucy gave\nout at breakfast that she was going to walk over to see her uncle, and\nwanted to know if her mother or Joe had any message. No, they hadn\u2019t.\nBut of course I managed to accompany her.\n\nWhen we came to her uncle\u2019s farm, he was out, and in five minutes\nMiss Lucy was away with her dear friend and cousin, one of the girls\nI had seen at the pastime, and I was left to the tender mercies of\nJack. However, Jack at his own house, with no women by to encourage\nhim to make a fool of himself, was a very decent fellow. He walked\nme about the homestead, and chatted away about the pastime, and the\naccomplishments of his terrier dog, whom he had got from the kennel of\nthe Berkshire hounds, and whose father used to run with them regularly.\nThen he began to inquire about me in a patronizing way; how I came to\nknow Joe, what I was, and where I lived. And when he had satisfied\nhis curiosity about me, he took to talking about his cousins. Joe, I\nsoon found out, was his hero; and he looked forward to the time when\nhe should be able to breed a good horse, like Joe\u2019s chestnut, and to\ngo about to all the markets and carry his head as high as any one, as\nJoe could, as the height of human happiness. As to cousin Lu, if he\nwere looking out for any thing of the sort, there was no girl within\ntwenty miles that he knew of to whom she couldn\u2019t give a stone over any\ncountry. But she wasn\u2019t likely to marry any of the young men about; she\nwas too full of fun, and laughed at them too much. \u201cI shouldn\u2019t be a\nbit surprised now, if she was to take to some town chap like you, after\nall\u2019s said and done,\u201d said Jack, in conclusion, as we returned to the\nhouse.\n\nMy last day at Elm Close came swiftly and surely, and the sun rose, and\nwent pitilessly up into the heavens, and sank down behind White Horse\nHill, and the clocks went on striking one after another, just as if it\nhad been any other day. What a number of things I had in my head that\nmorning to say to all of them, and above all to her; but one thing or\nanother interfered, and I had said not one quarter of them, and these\nnot in the way I had intended, before it was dark, and tea on the\ntable. But I did go all round the farm and the village, and took a last\nlook at every field and nook and corner where I had been so happy.\n\nThe old lady was unusually talkative at tea, and for some time\nafterwards. The fact that I was not going to leave the house till after\nmidnight, and was to be at business, in London, at nine o\u2019clock the\nnext morning, now that she had realized it, excited her very much, and\nwaked up all sorts of recollections of her own travels; particularly\nhow, when she was a child, she had been a whole day getting to Reading\nby the stage, and how, even after her marriage, she and father had had\nto sleep at Windsor, on the occasion of their one visit to London. I\nwas watching Miss Lucy at her work all the time, and thought she seemed\na little absent and sorrowful, and when our eyes met every now and\nthen, she looked away directly. We hardly said a word, and left Joe to\nkeep up the talk with the old lady.\n\nBefore long she got tired and went off to bed, and then, I thought, if\nsomething would only call Joe out--but nothing happened, and so we sat\non talking commonplaces, till prayer time; which, however, Joe did\nconsent to put off this evening, because it was my last, till past ten\no\u2019clock. The three servants came in, and knelt down as usual; and I,\nin a place where I could see her, and watch every turn of her figure,\nand hear every breath she drew. I own I didn\u2019t listen to a word that\nJoe read--I couldn\u2019t--and I don\u2019t believe any poor fellow in my state\nwill ever be hardly judged, whatever square-toed people may say, for\nnot forcing himself to attend when he hasn\u2019t the power to do it. I\nonly know that, though I couldn\u2019t listen to the prayers, I could and\ndid thank God for having brought me down there, and allowed me to see\nher and know her; and prayed, as heartily as was in me to pray, that I\nmight never do any thing which might make me unworthy of one so bright,\nand pure, and good as she.\n\nAnd too soon Joe shut the book, and got up, and the servants went out,\nand Joe dived off into the recess; and she lighted her candle and\ncame up to me, holding out her hand, but without saying any thing, or\nlooking up in my face.\n\nI took the hand which she held out to me in both mine, but somehow,\nwhen I thought it might be for the last time, I couldn\u2019t let it go.\nSo I stood holding it, my heart beating so that I couldn\u2019t speak, and\nfeeling very uncomfortable about the throat. She didn\u2019t take it away,\nand presently I got my voice again.\n\n\u201cGood bye, Miss Lucy,\u201d said I, \u201cand God bless you. I can\u2019t tell you\nwhat my holiday at Elm Close has been to me--and I can\u2019t find words to\nthank you. I\u2019m a poor lonely fellow, with nobody belonging to me, and\nleading a slave of a life in the midst of the great crowd, with all\nsorts of temptations to go wrong. You\u2019ll let me think of you, and Elm\nClose, and it will be like a little bright window with the sun shining\nthrough into our musty clerks\u2019 room. I feel it will help to keep me\nstraight for many a long day. You\u2019ll let me think of you now, won\u2019t\nyou?\u201d said I, pressing the little hand which I held in mine.\n\n\u201cWhy, you see I can\u2019t help it if I would,\u201d said she, looking up with a\nmerry light in her eyes; but she went on directly, \u201cbut, indeed, I\u2019m\nsure we shall think of you quite as often as you will of us. Joe used\nto talk so often about you that I felt quite like an old friend before\nwe met, and now you\u2019ve been here we shall feel so dull without you.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow, you two! don\u2019t stand talking there all night,\u201d said Joe, coming\nout of the recess, where he had been rummaging out the pipes and a\nblack bottle; \u201ccome, come, kiss and part.\u201d\n\nI felt the blood rush up to my face, when Joe said that, but I opened\nmy hands with a jerk, and let hers go, I hardly knew why. If I hadn\u2019t\nbeen so fond that I was afraid of her, I should have taken Joe at his\nword. But I\u2019m glad I didn\u2019t; I\u2019m sure I was right, for I stole a look\nat her, and saw that she looked vexed, and flushed up to her bright\nbrown hair. Next moment she held out her hand again, and shook mine\nheartily, and said, without looking up, \u201cGood-bye, you must come again\nsoon,\u201d and then hurried out of the room, and took away all the light\nwith her. Heigh-ho! when shall I see the light again.\n\nWell, as I followed Joe into the kitchen, what between the sinking I\nfelt at having to leave, and the doubt whether I hadn\u2019t made a fool of\nmyself at the last with Miss Lucy, I felt half mad, and the first thing\nI made up my mind to was to have a good quarrel with Joe.\n\nSo when he sat down on one side of the fire, and began lighting his\npipe, I kept standing looking at him, and thinking how I should begin.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s your pipe, Dick,\u201d said he, puffing away, \u201con the settle--why\ndon\u2019t you sit down and light up?\u201d\n\n\u201cI shan\u2019t smoke with you to-night, Joe,\u201d said I, \u201cyou ought to be\nashamed of yourself!\u201d\n\n\u201cAshamed o\u2019 myself,\u201d shouted Joe, staring up at me till I could hardly\nkeep from laughing, angry as I was; \u201cwhat, in the name o\u2019 goodness,\nhave I done to be ashamed of?\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2019Tisn\u2019t what you\u2019ve done, but what you\u2019ve said.\u201d\n\n\u201cSaid! what in the world have I said? Precious little I know, for you\nalways get all the talk to yourself.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, what you said just now to me and Miss Lucy,\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cTo you and Lu?\u201d said he, looking puzzled; and then off he went into\none of his great laughs. \u201cOh, I take--well, that\u2019s too much! To be\nblown up by _you_ for it! Why, if any one is to scold, I should say\nit\u2019s Lu.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you think I like to be made the means of giving your sister pain?\u201d\nsaid I.\n\n\u201cThere now, don\u2019t be a fool, Dick--sit down like a good fellow, and\nlight your pipe. What I said don\u2019t mean any thing down in these parts.\nWell, I\u2019m very sorry. She\u2019ll never think twice about it, bless you. And\nbesides, you know, there can\u2019t be any harm done, for you didn\u2019t take my\nadvice.\u201d\n\nWell, I began to get cool, and to think I might do something better\nthan quarrel with Joe the last night; so I took my pipe, and filled it,\nand sat down opposite him, and he began to mix two glasses of grog,\ntwisting his face about all the time to keep himself from laughing.\n\n\u201cHere\u2019s your health, old fellow,\u201d said he, when he had done, \u201cand, mind\nyou, we shall always be glad to see you here when you can come; though\nI\u2019m afraid the place must be terrible dull for a Londoner.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s the best place I\u2019ve ever been in,\u201d said I, with a sigh.\n\nThis pleased Joe; and he went off about what he would find me to do\nif I could come down in the winter or the spring; but I didn\u2019t listen\nmuch, for I was making up my mind to speak to him about his sister, and\nI was afraid how he might take it.\n\nPresently he stopped for a moment, and I thought, \u2018now or never,\u2019 and\nbegan.\n\n\u201cI want to ask you, Joe, is your sister engaged to any one?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot she,\u201d said Joe, looking up rather surprised; \u201cwhy, she\u2019s only\neighteen come Lady-day!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do you think of Mr. Warton?\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cOur Parson!\u201d laughed Joe; \u201cthat is a good \u2019un. Why he has got a\nsweetheart of his own. Let alone that he\u2019d know better than to court a\nfarmer\u2019s daughter.\u201d\n\n\u201cAre you sure?\u201d said I; \u201cyour sister isn\u2019t like most girls, I can tell\nyou.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I tell you,\u201d said Joe, \u201che\u2019s no more in love with our Lu than you\nare.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen I\u2019m over head and ears in love with her, and that\u2019s all about\nit,\u201d said I, and I looked straight across at him, though it wasn\u2019t an\neasy thing to do. But I felt I was in for it, and I should be much\nbetter for having it over.\n\nJoe gave a start, and a long whistle; and then a puff or two at his\npipe, staring at me right in the eyes till I felt my head swimming.\nBut I wasn\u2019t going to look down just then; if he had looked me right\nthrough he couldn\u2019t have found any thing I was ashamed of, so far as\nhis sister was concerned, and I felt he had a right to look as hard as\nhe pleased, and that I was bound not to shirk it.\n\nPresently he got up, and took a turn or two up and down the kitchen.\nThen he stopped--\n\n\u201cSpoke to her, yet?\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said I, \u201cI haven\u2019t.\u201d\n\n\u201cCome, give us your hand, Dick,\u201d said he, holding out his, and looking\nquite bright again; \u201cI knew you would be all on the square, let be what\nmight.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I won\u2019t deceive you, Joe,\u201d said I, \u201cI don\u2019t deserve any credit\nfor that.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow not?\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cWhy, I meant to have spoken to her half-a-dozen times, only one little\nthing or another stopped it. But I\u2019m very glad of it, for I think you\nought to know it first.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, well,\u201d said he, coming and sitting down again, and staring into\nthe fire, \u201cit\u2019s a precious bad job. Let\u2019s think a bit how we be to\ntackle it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know,\u201d said I, drawing up a bit--for I didn\u2019t feel flattered at this\nspeech--\u201cthat I\u2019m not in the same position you are in, and that you\u2019ve\na right to look for a much richer man than I am for your sister, but--\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, bother that,\u201d said Joe, beginning to smoke again, and still\nstaring into the fire; \u201cI wasn\u2019t thinking of that. \u2019Twill be just as\nbad for we, let who will take her. Here\u2019s mother getting a\u2019most blind,\nand \u2019mazing forgetful-like about every thing. Who\u2019s to read her her\nchapter, or to find her spectacles? and what in the world\u2019s to become\nof the keys? I be no use to mother by myself, you see,\u201d said Joe, \u201cand\nI couldn\u2019t abide to see the old lady put about at her time of life; let\nalone how the pickling and preserving is to go on.\u201d\n\nI was very pleased and surprised to see him taking it so coolly, and\nparticularly that he seemed not to be objecting to me, but only to\nlosing his sister at all.\n\n\u201cThen there\u2019s my dairy,\u201d said he; \u201cthat cow Daisy, as gives the richest\nmilk in all the Vale, nobody could ever get her to stand quiet till Lu\ntook to her; she\u2019ll kick down a matter o\u2019 six pail o\u2019 milk a week, I\u2019ll\nwarrant. And the poultry, too; there\u2019s that drattl\u2019d old galleeny\u2019ll be\nlearning the Spanish hens to lay astray up in the brake, as soon as\never Lu goes, and then the fox\u2019ll have \u2019em all. To think of the trouble\nI took to get that breed, and not a mossel o\u2019 use at last!\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, but Joe,\u201d said I, \u201cone would think we were going to be married\nto-morrow, to hear you talk.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, you want to be married, don\u2019t you?\u201d said he, looking up.\n\n\u201cYes, but not directly,\u201d said I; \u201cyou see, I should like to have a tidy\nplace got all ready before I should think--\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, she mayn\u2019t be agreeable after all,\u201d interrupted Joe, as if a new\nlight had suddenly struck him; and then he had a good laugh at the\nthought, in which I didn\u2019t join.\n\n\u201cThen, Joe,\u201d said I, \u201cI think you don\u2019t seem to mind my being a\ncockney, and not a rich man?\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019d sooner have had a chap that knows a horse from a handspike, and\nsomething about four-course,\u201d said he, \u201cso I won\u2019t tell a lie about it,\nDick. Put that out of the way, and I\u2019d as lief call you brother-in-law\nas any man. But you ain\u2019t in any hurry you said just now?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, no,\u201d said I; \u201cbut of course I should like to write to your\nsister directly and tell her, and I hope you won\u2019t object to that, and\nwon\u2019t hinder me if you can\u2019t help me.\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t have any of that writing,\u201d said Joe, \u201c\u2019pend upon it, a good-bred\ngirl like Lu wouldn\u2019t stand it.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s all very well,\u201d said I, \u201cbut I\u2019m going away to-night, you know,\nand if I don\u2019t write how\u2019s she ever to know any thing about it?\u201d\n\n\u201cLook here,\u201d said Joe; \u201cwill you promise, Dick, to give me and mother a\nyear to turn round in from next Christmas--that is, supposing Lu don\u2019t\nsay no?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, certainly,\u201d said I; \u201cChristmas year is the earliest time I could\nhope to be ready by.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen I\u2019ll tell you what,\u201d said he; \u201cDon\u2019t you go writing to her at\nall, and I\u2019ll bring her up with me for Christmas cattle-show, and you\ncan get us lodgings, and show us some of the sights. You can have it\nall out with her before we come home, and I shall be by to see all\nfair.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no, Joe, I couldn\u2019t say a word with you by.\u201d\n\n\u201cI didn\u2019t mean that I was to be in the room, you know, only if any\nthing goes wrong--you understand,\u201d said Joe, looking round, and nodding\nat me with a solemn face.\n\n\u201cYes, I see,\u201d said I; \u201cbut somebody else--one of the young farmers now,\nthat I saw on the hill, may be stepping in before Christmas.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot they. It\u2019s busy times with us these next two months. Besides, I\u2019ll\nlook after that. Is it a bargain, then?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said I, \u201conly mind, Joe, that you look sharp meantime.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll right,\u201d said he; and then fell to looking into the fire again;\nand I sat thinking too, and wondering at my luck, which I could hardly\nbelieve in yet.\n\n\u201cAnd now about the pot,\u201d said Joe; \u201csuppose Lu says yes, what have you\ngot to keep the pot boiling?\u201d\n\nThen I told him what my salary was, and what I had saved, and where I\nhad put it out, and he nodded away, and seemed very well satisfied.\n\n\u201cWell, Lu has got \u00a3500,\u201d said he, \u201cunder father\u2019s will. Parson and I\nare the executors. You must go and see the Parson when you get back\nto London; he\u2019s an out-and-outer, and worth more than all the chaps at\nthat jawing shop of yours put together. The money is out at interest,\nall but \u00a3200, which we\u2019ve never raised yet, but for that matter I can\npay it up whenever it\u2019s wanted.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course,\u201d said I, \u201cI should wish all her fortune to be settled on\nher.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I forgot,\u201d said he; \u201cI suppose there ought to be some sort of\ntying-up done for the children. So I\u2019ll go and see Lawyer Smith about\nit next market-day.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps you had better wait till after Christmas,\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cAye, aye,\u201d said he, \u201cI forgot. We may be running a tail scent after\nall. But, I say, Dick, if you get married, Lu can never live in those\ndirty, dark streets, and you away all day; she\u2019d mope to death without\na place for poultry, and a little bit of turf to cool her feet on.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said I, \u201cyou see I\u2019ve got a bit of ground under a freehold land\nsociety, down the Great Northern line. It\u2019s a very pretty place, and\nonly five minutes\u2019 walk from a station. I could build a house there in\nthe spring, you know, and have the garden made.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019ll do,\u201d said he; \u201cand if you want \u00a3100 or so, to finish it off as\nshould be, why you know where to come for it.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you,\u201d said I, \u201cbut I think I can manage it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall send her up those Spanish hens,\u201d said he, looking up again\npresently from his pipe; \u201cthey won\u2019t be no use here.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish, Joe,\u201d said I, \u201cyou wouldn\u2019t talk as if it was all quite\ncertain; it makes me feel uncomfortable. Your sister mayn\u2019t like me,\nafter all.\u201d\n\n\u201cMakes no odds at all,\u201d said he; \u201cif she don\u2019t have you, there\u2019ll be\nsome other chap on in no time. Once a young gal gets a follower it\u2019s\nall over, so fur as I see; though \u2019tisn\u2019t always the first as they\ntakes up with as they sticks to for better for worse.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you for nothing, Master Joe,\u201d said I to myself; and I smoked\naway opposite him for some time without saying a word, thinking what a\nqueer fellow he was, and how I had better let things rest as they were,\nfor I couldn\u2019t see how to handle him the least bit in the world; and I\ncan\u2019t tell whether I was most glad or sorry, when we heard the fogger\ncome to the kitchen door to say the trap was all ready.\n\nJoe knocked the ashes out of his last pipe, took off the last drop out\nof his tumbler, and then put out his hand and gave me one of his grips.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s got to be done,\u201d said he, \u201cthere\u2019s no mistake about that.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat?\u201d said I, \u201cwhat\u2019s to be done? Don\u2019t look so solemn, Joe, for\ngoodness\u2019 sake.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s no laughing matter, mind you,\u201d said he; and he took the candle\nand went off into the passage, and came back with his whip and two\ntop-coats. \u201cHere, you get into that,\u201d he went on, handing me one of\nthem; \u201cyou\u2019ll find the night rawish.\u201d\n\nI buttoned myself into the coat, which was a white drab one, about as\nthick as a deal board, with double seams and mother-of-pearl buttons as\nbig as cheese-plates, and followed Joe into the yard with a heavy heart.\n\n\u201cCarpet-bag and hamper in?\u201d said he, taking the reins.\n\n\u201cEes, Sir, all right.\u201d\n\n\u201cJump up, Dick.\u201d\n\nI shook hands with the honest fogger, and gave him half-a-crown, which\nhe didn\u2019t seem to know how to take; and then I got up by Joe\u2019s side,\nand we walked out of the yard at a foot\u2019s pace, on to the grass; he\nkept off the road to be more quiet. It was bright moonlight, and a\nstreak of white mist lay along the Close. I could hear nothing but the\nsoft crush of the wheels on the rich sward, and the breathing of the\ngreat cows as we passed them in the mist. But my heart was beating like\na hammer, as I looked back over my shoulder at one window of the old\nhouse, until it was hidden behind the elm-trees; and when I jumped down\nto open the gate into the road, I tore open the great coat, or I think\nI should have been suffocated.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s no laughing matter, mind you,\u201d said Joe, looking round, after we\nhad gone about half-a-mile along the road at a steady trot.\n\n\u201cNo, indeed,\u201d said I. I felt much more like crying, and I thought he\nwas trying to comfort me, in his way.\n\n\u201cCome, you button up that coat again, Dick; I won\u2019t have you getting\ninto the train at one in the morning with a chill on you. I won\u2019t turn\nmy back,\u201d he went on, \u201con any man in the county at sampling wheat, or\nbuying a horse, or a lot of heifers, or a flock of sheep. Besides,\nif a chap does get the blind side of me, it\u2019s maybe a ten-pound note\nlost, and there\u2019s an end of it. But when you come to choosing a missus,\nwhy, it seems like jumping in the dark, for all as I can see. There\u2019s\nnothing to sample \u2019em by, and you can\u2019t look in their mouths or feel\n\u2019em over. I don\u2019t take it as a man\u2019s judgment of any account when he\ncomes to that deal--and then, if he does get the wrong sort!\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you, Joe,\u201d said I, \u201cbut I\u2019m not a bit afraid about getting the\nwrong sort, if all goes well.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, but I be,\u201d said he; \u201cwhy, one would think, Dick, that nobody had\nto get a missus but you.\u201d\n\nWell, that made me laugh out, I was so tickled to find he was thinking\nof himself all the time; and for the rest of the drive we were merry\nenough, for he went on talking about his own prospects so funnily that\nit was impossible to keep sad or sentimental.\n\nWe drew up at the silent station five or six minutes nearly before the\ntrain was due, and were received by the one solitary porter.\n\n\u201cWhat luggage, Sir?\u201d said he to me, as I got down.\n\n\u201cOne carpet-bag,\u201d I answered, \u201cfor Paddington.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd a hamper,\u201d said Joe; \u201cyou\u2019ll find a hamper in behind there. And\ntake care to keep it right side up, porter, for there are some pots of\njam in it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho is it for?\u201d said I; \u201ccan I look after it, and take it any where\nfor you?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, for you, of course,\u201d said Joe; \u201cyou don\u2019t suppose the women would\nhave let you go back without some of their kickshaws; and I\u2019ve had a\nhare and a couple of chickens put in, and some bacon. You must eat the\nhare this week, mind.\u201d\n\nI was quite taken by surprise at this fresh instance of the thoughtful\nkindness of my Vale friends, and wrung Joe\u2019s hand, mumbling out\nsomething which I meant for thanks.\n\n\u201cWell, good-bye, old fellow,\u201d he said, \u201cI\u2019m very glad to think you\u2019ve\nfound your way down at last, and now, don\u2019t forget it;\u201d and he gave\nme a grip which nearly crashed all my knuckles into a jelly, and was\ngathering up his reins to drive off.\n\n\u201cBut Joe, here\u2019s your coat,\u201d I called out, and was beginning to take it\noff--\u201cyou\u2019ve forgotten your coat.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no,\u201d said he, \u201ckeep it on--\u2019twill be very cold to-night, and\nyou\u2019ll want it in the train. We\u2019ll fetch it at Christmas, and the\nhamper and the jam pots too, at the same time. Lu will be sure to look\nafter them, so mind you don\u2019t lose \u2019em--Hullo! What in the world are\nyou cutting off the direction for?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, it\u2019s nothing,\u201d said I, \u201cbut I often fancy parcels go safer with\nonly the railway label on them. Besides, I shall have it in the\ncarriage with me.\u201d\n\nThe fact was I had caught sight of the direction, which was in her\nhandwriting, and had quite forgotten Joe, as I was cutting it off to\nput it in my pocket-book.\n\n\u201cWell, that\u2019s a rum start,\u201d said Joe, \u201cbut every one has their own\nnotions about travelling;\u201d and so, with a cheery good-bye to me, off he\ndrove along the dark road; and in another minute the train came up, and\nI and my luggage were on our way to London.\n\nWe went away up through the cold night, eastward, towards the great\ncity which had been my home from childhood. I felt that another man\nwas journeying back from the one who had come down a fortnight before;\nthat he who was travelling eastward had learnt to look beyond his\nown narrow cellar in the great world-city, to believe in other things\nthan cash payments and shorthand for making his cellar liveable in,\nto have glimpses of and to sympathize with the life of other men, in\nhis own time, and in the old times before him. These thoughts crowded\non me, but all under the shadow of and subordinated to the one great\nrising hope, in which I had first found and felt my new life. Together\nthey lifted up my heart during the first stages of that night journey,\nand I opened the window and leant out into the rushing night air, for\nthe carriage was too small for me, and my grand visions and resolves.\nBut soon it began to feel cold, and I shut up the window and squeezed\nmyself into a corner with my feet up on the opposite seat, and felt\nvery thankful that I had on Joe\u2019s great coat. Then the lamp went out,\nand it got colder as the dawn came on, and my visions and resolves\nbegan to get less bright and firm. The other side of the picture rose\nup in ugly colours, and I thought of the dirty dark clerks\u2019 room, and\nthe hours of oil-lamps and bad air, and the heartless whirl and din\nof the great city. And to crown all came the more than doubt whether\nmy hope would not fade out and die in the recesses of my own heart.\nWhat was I? and what my prospects, that any one should ever give me a\nthought again of those whom I was so fast leaving behind, much more\nthat she, the flower of them all, should single me out before all\nothers? It was absurd, I should most likely never see Elm Close, or the\nVale, or the great mysterious Hill again--I had better make up my mind\nto live the next twenty years as I had the last. With some such meaning\nspoke the doleful voices, but I was never much of a hand at looking at\nthe doleful side of things, and I made good strong fight on that night\nride; and took out my pipe, and lit it, and pressed my back firmer into\nmy corner.\n\nWell, and if they don\u2019t remember me, thought I, I can remember them at\nany rate--they can\u2019t help that; and I _will_ remember them too, and\nall their kind pleasant ways, and their manlike games, and their queer\nsongs and stories--and the queen of them all, I can carry her in my\nheart, thank God for that, and every word I ever heard her speak, and\nevery smile I ever saw light up her merry eyes or dimple round her\nmouth--and the country, too, the fair rich Vale, and the glorious old\nHill, they are mine for ever, and all the memories of the slaying of\ndragons; and of great battles with the Pagan. I wonder whether I shall\never see the old gentleman again who conjured it up for me, and put\nlife into it, and made me feel as if King Alfred and his Saxons were as\nnear and dear to me as Sir Colin Campbell and the brave lads in India!\n\nJust then the train stopped at Reading, and the guard put his head in\nto say we stopped for three minutes, and I could get a glass of ale.\n\nSo I jumped out and had a glass of ale, and then another; and stamped\nabout the platform till the train started. And when I got into my\ncorner again, I was quite warm and jolly.\n\nI have been always used to a good night\u2019s rest, and I daresay the ale\nmade me more sleepy, and so I fell into a kind of doze almost directly.\nBut in my doze the same train of thought went on, and all the people\nI had been living with and hearing of flitted about in the oddest\njumbles, with Elm Close and White Horse Hill for a background. I went\nthrough the strangest scenes. One minute I was first cousin to King\nAlfred, and trying to carry his messages over the Hill to \u00c6thelred,\nonly Joe\u2019s old brown horse would run away with me along the Ridgeway;\nthen I was the leader of the Berkshire old gamesters, playing out the\nlast tie with a highwayman, for a gold-laced hat and pair of buckskin\nbreeches; then I was married--I needn\u2019t say to whom--and we were\nkeeping house under the Hill, and waiting tea for St. George, when he\nshould come down from killing the Dragon. And so it went on, till at\nlast a mist came over the Hill, and all the figures got fainter and\nfainter, and seemed to be fading away. But as they faded, I could see\none great figure coming out clearer through the mist, which I had never\nnoticed before. It was like a grand old man, with white hair and mighty\nlimbs; who looked as old as the hill itself, but yet as if he were as\nyoung now as he ever had been,--and at his feet were a pickaxe and\nspade, and at his side a scythe. But great and solemn as it looked,\nI felt that the figure was not a man, and I was angry with it,--why\nshould it come in with its great pitiful eyes and smile? why were my\nbrothers and sisters, the men and women, to fade away before it?\n\n\u201cThe labour that a man doeth under the sun, it is all vanity. Prince\nand peasant, the wise man and the fool, they all come to me at last,\nand I garner them away, and their place knows them no more!\u201d--so the\nfigure seemed to say to itself, and I felt melancholy as I watched it\nsitting there at rest, playing with the fading figures.\n\nAt last it placed one of the little figures on its knee, half in\nmockery, as it seemed to me, and half in sorrow. But then all changed;\nand the great figure began to fade, and the small man came out clearer\nand clearer. And he took no heed of his great neighbour, but rested\nthere where he was placed; and his face was quiet, and full of life, as\nhe gazed steadily and earnestly through the mist. And the other figures\ncame flitting by again, and chanted as they passed, \u201cThe work of one\ntrue man is greater than all thy work. Thou hast nought but a seeming\npower, over it, or over him. Every true man is greater than thee. Every\ntrue man shall conquer more than thee; for he shall triumph over death,\nand hell, and thee, oh, Time!\u201d\n\nAnd then I woke up, for the train stopped at the place where the\ntickets are collected; and, in another five minutes, I was in a cab,\nwith my bag and the great basket of country treasures, creeping along\nin the early November morning towards Gray\u2019s Inn Lane. And so ended my\nfortnight\u2019s holiday.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE SERMON WHICH THE PARSON SENT TO MR. JOSEPH HURST, OF ELM CLOSE\nFARM, IN FULFILMENT OF HIS PROMISE.\n\n    LEVITICUS xxiii. v. 1, 2.--And the Lord spake unto Moses,\n    saying, Speak unto the children of Israel, and say unto them,\n    Concerning the feasts of the Lord which ye shall proclaim to be\n    holy convocations, even these are my feasts.\n\n\n\u201cThese are _my_ feasts,\u201d said God to the nation He was educating; \u201ckeep\nthese feasts, for they are mine.\u201d Now, what was the nature of these\nfeasts, my brethren, which God called his? The Bible leaves us in no\ndoubt about them. They were certain seasons set apart in every year,\nand at longer intervals, during which the nation was \u201cto rejoice before\nthe Lord their God.\u201d Each feast commemorated some event in the nation\u2019s\nlife; either a solemn act of national worship, such as the dedication\nof the Temple; or some great national deliverance, such as the Exodus\ncommemorated by the feast of Passover, or the defeat of Haman\u2019s plot in\nthe reign of Ahasuerus, commemorated by the feast Purim; or the daily\ncare of God for his people, in giving them rain and fruitful seasons,\nthe harvest and vintage, the increase of corn, and wine, and oil,\ncommemorated by the feast of Pentecost.\n\nThey were _to rejoice_ before the Lord their God at all these feasts.\nWith what outward actions they were to rejoice we are not expressly\ntold; probably it was left to each generation to express their joy in\ntheir own way. In the case of the Passover we know that they were to\neat a lamb and unleavened bread; and we gather, I think, from many\nplaces, that both songs and dancing were freely used at the feasts; but\nfurther than this we do not know the outward form of their rejoicing.\n\nBut we _do_ know the spirit in which they were to keep their feasts,\nthe temper of mind in which God would have them rejoice before Him.\nThis is most fully proclaimed. They were to keep alive in themselves\nand one another the memory of the great deliverances and blessings,\nwhich had been, and were being wrought for them. They were to remember\nthat these deliverances had been wrought for ignorant despised bondmen,\nthat these blessings were being poured down on a stiffnecked sinful\npeople. Remembering these things, they were to come to their feasts,\nand rejoice before Him, with humble open hearts, thanking Him for all\nthey possessed, with love towards their brethren, ready to forgive\ndebts, to help the poor to his right, and to acknowledge and glory in\nthe bond which bound them all together in one nation.\n\nMoreover, these feasts were to be feasts for the whole nation--for\nthe rich and the poor, the free man and the slave, \u201cfor thee, and thy\nman-servant, and thy maid-servant;\u201d for those who are in trouble and\nsorrow, as well as for the prosperous and happy; \u201cfor the stranger, and\nfatherless, and widow who are within thy gates.\u201d\n\nOne thing more I wish you to notice about the Jewish feasts; they\nhad all the same character, all were God\u2019s feasts--not one or two\nreligious feasts, as we should say, and the rest national, but all\nGod\u2019s feasts, and all national also. There is no hint in the Bible of\nany distinction; all feasts ordained for the nation are God\u2019s feasts,\nand their feasts also.\n\nNow such feasts--such rejoicings before the Lord--as these, you can\nsee at once must have had no slight influence on the nation which kept\nthem. Accordingly we find them interwoven with every fibre of the\nnational life: sometimes kept as God\u2019s feasts--as He had said they\nwere to be kept--in humbleness and thankfulness, in breaking bonds and\nforgiving debts; often, as though they had been not his but the devil\u2019s\nfeasts, in persecuting prophets and slaying righteous men; and no doubt\nalso, as the natural consequence, in debauchery, gluttony, and hard\nand usurious dealings with one another; in oppression of man-servant\nand maid-servant, the widow, the fatherless, and the stranger. But in\nwhatever way the feasts were kept they were always exercising a great\npower over generation after generation.\n\nI have begun by talking to you about the Jewish feasts, my brethren,\nbecause I want to speak to you about our English feasts; and I think\nif we understand their feasts we shall very likely learn some lessons\nabout our own which may do us good. Now we English, my brethren, as a\nnation, have neglected this matter of feasts too much. We have very few\ndays on which we rejoice as a nation--in fact the Queen\u2019s birthday is\nalmost our only national holiday, and this day we keep as Englishmen,\nand not as Christians; while the feasts which we keep as Christians,\nand not as Englishmen (such as Christmas, and Easter, and Whitsuntide),\nhave for this very reason lost much of their worth for us; which we\nshall recover, when we begin to keep them again, not the less as\nChristians, but more as Englishmen.\n\nIt is my earnest hope and prayer that we may mend in this matter,\nand that the great Christian festivals and the Queen\u2019s birthday may\nso become all, and more than all, to us and our children, which the\nPassover and Pentecost were to the Jews. But that it may be so, we\nmust, in this as in all other matters, begin mending at home, in our\nown families, and our own parishes. And so, my brethren, let us to-day\nthink about the feasts which we keep who live in this parish, in the\nVale of White Horse, who worship in this church.\n\nWe all know well enough what these feasts are. First, there is our\nvillage feast, a day set apart in every year which is specially _the_\nfeast day of this parish, and of all who belong to it. Then there are\nour harvest homes, which are not parish but family festivals; when\nthe farmer and those who have worked with him, rejoice together over\nthe garnering in of the fruits which God has given. Lastly, there is\nthe feast which does not come every year, but at longer intervals,\nthe feast of Scouring the White Horse, which is not the feast of one\nparish, but of the whole country side.\n\nA few words as to the meaning of these feasts of ours. The first is the\ncommemoration of the opening of this parish church, and its dedication\nto the worship of God. Your harvest homes you know the meaning of as\nwell as I. The third is the commemoration of a great victory, won a\nthousand years ago by the king of this country against an army of\nheathen invaders. I remind you of these things because they have been\ntoo much forgotten, and we never can rightly use our feasts till we\nremember them better.\n\nWell, now, remember what I have told you about the Jewish feasts, or\nrather take your Bibles and look for yourselves, whether I tell you\nthe truth, when I say, that our feasts are just such feasts as those\nwhich you read of there. The feasts of the Jews were all either feasts\nin remembrance of the dedication of the Temple, or of thanksgiving for\nthe good gifts of God, or of commemoration for some great national\ndeliverance.\n\nAnd ours are the very same. Do not think I am dealing unfairly with\nyou in comparing our country feasts to the great national feasts\nof the Jews. It is not unfair to compare small things with great:\nfamilies, parishes, nations, must stand or fall by the same laws. A\nsociety cannot do evil or good without reaping the fruits thereof,\nwhether it be very small or very great. Do not think that I ought to\nspeak of the great Christian festivals, Christmas and Easter; they are\nbetter understood and kept, though very badly as yet. I believe I am\ntaking the right way to make you understand and keep these world-wide\nChristian feasts properly by bringing you down to these common\ninsignificant feasts of ours, which we, the members of this parish and\ncongregation, have power over; which we can make good or evil; for the\nuse or abuse of which we shall be called to account by God.\n\nFor \u201cthus saith the Lord,\u201d to us as He said to the Jews, \u201cthese are\n_my_ feasts.\u201d They are his, my brethren, whether we like it or not;\nthey are his, though we may try to make them ours, and so make them the\ndevil\u2019s. There is no neutral ground, no escape from the hard fact. Let\nus see now if we cannot accept them, and use them as his. Let us see\nwhether they will be less or more to us if we do so. We shall find the\ntrial worth making, I think, in the end.\n\nThey are his feasts: how, then, can we come to them as his\nguests--guests who will be pleasing to him, who will use his feasts as\nhe would have us? For if we go to a man\u2019s feast, the first thing we\nhave to do is to go in such a temper and such a dress as will make us\nacceptable guests; and shall we do less as the guests of God?\n\nThe first thing, then, we have to consider is the temper, the state\nof mind in which we should go to our feasts; and here, as I said\nbefore, the Bible tells us all we want to know. The temper which he\nrequired of the Jews, he will require of us. At his feasts we have\nspecially two things to do, to remember and to rejoice. To remember\nthe loving-kindness which he has shown to our fathers and to us, in\ndelivering us many a time from the hand of enemies who were stronger\nthan we; in giving us a Church, where for many hundred years the\nprayers of generation after generation had gone up to him, the God of\nall truth; in giving us the rich increase of his earth, year after\nyear. Remembering these things, then, we are to keep the feast in\nhumility, for our own unworthiness; in thankfulness, for his tender\ncare and unbounded love.\n\nAnd we are also to rejoice before him, as members of a family, of\na parish, of a country; thinking, therefore, of others, and not of\nourselves; making up quarrels, exercising hospitality to all according\nto our means, seeking to do kindnesses to all who need them, to our\ndebtors, to the oppressed and unfortunate amongst us, to the widows,\nthe fatherless, and the stranger; and in all ways strengthening and\ndeepening the bond which binds us to one another, and to him.\n\nThis, my brethren, is the temper and state of mind which he required\nof the Jews of old, and which he requires of us at these times\nespecially. Think what our feasts would be, what our whole lives would\nbe, if we tried to remember and to rejoice before the Lord thus.\n\nIf we come to his feasts in this temper, my brethren, it matters\ncomparatively little what our outward acts of rejoicing may be. If our\nhearts are right towards the Lord of the feast and to one another,\nour dress and actions are surely right also, or will soon become so.\nNevertheless, this is a matter of plain, practical importance, and I am\nnot going to shrink from it. I wish to consider with you, how we keep\nhis feasts and our feasts now; whether our method of keeping them is\na true expression of that temper and spirit in which they ought to be\nkept, whether any thing better can be suggested.\n\nOn these points, as I said above, we have not the same help which we\nhad before. We know very little of how the Jews rejoiced; we may be\nsure that we are not meant to copy the little we do know, such as the\neating of a lamb roasted whole with unleavened bread. It is left for\nus to find out, and to do, such acts as may be done by those who are\nhumble, and thankful, and loving in heart, towards God and towards each\nother.\n\nNow there is one thing which one sees at once is wanting in our\ncelebration of these feasts. In the times when they were established,\nit was the chief act of them, that which gave meaning to them, and\nkept alive that meaning. We have neglected and disused it, and so they\nhave become all but meaningless to us, mere seasons in which we are\nto enjoy more pleasures than in ordinary times. This thing which we\nhave forgotten is public fellow-worship, and it ought to be restored\nas soon as possible. At the yearly meetings of many of your benefit\nand other clubs, the members go all together to the church, and there\nworship before attending to their business and their pleasure. Why\nshould not a parish do the same? I know nothing which would so easily\nand so effectually raise the tone of our village feast as the regular\ncelebration of worship on that day, in the Church, the dedication and\nconsecration of which, to the worship of God, was the cause of the\nholiday.\n\nIn one respect I believe that we are, to some extent, still keeping\nthe feast as we ought. I believe that on that day young people who\nwere born in the parish and have left it, make a point, if possible,\nof getting back to see their fathers and mothers, and friends, and to\nrevive old associations, often bringing with them part of their wages\nor some present; that many of the silly quarrels and feuds which have\narisen during the year are then set to rest; that the residents in\nthe parish make some exertion to welcome their visitors hospitably,\nand that a general kindly feeling is common throughout the parish. I\nbelieve that this is still so, to some extent; but I fear that it is\nbecoming less and less so. My brethren, all this is right, and true,\nand honest; this is the way to keep God\u2019s feasts; you can\u2019t go too far\nin this direction (except by spending more money than you can afford,\nwhich is always wrong). But the more you can deepen old family and\nlocal ties on these occasions, the more you can heal up quarrels, and\nforgive debts (both other debts, and money debts--remember that there\nis no duty more insisted on in God\u2019s Word than this of forgiving money\ndebts at these times), and exercise hospitality one to another without\ngrudging, the more will you be keeping God\u2019s feasts as he would have\nyou keep them.\n\nThen there are the sports for which prizes are given. There is no need\nto specify them all, and I shall therefore only speak of the one which\nis considered the most objectionable--which many people think should be\nstopped altogether--I mean wrestling. Whatever I may say on this will\napply to all the rest. Now, my brethren, are wrestling matches a proper\nway of keeping God\u2019s feasts? That is the question we have to answer.\n\nThe object of wrestling and of all other athletic sports is to\nstrengthen men\u2019s bodies, and to teach them to use their strength\nreadily, to keep their tempers, to endure fatigue and pain. These are\nall noble ends, my brethren. God gives us few more valuable gifts than\nstrength of body, and courage, and endurance--to you labouring men they\nare beyond all price. We ought to cultivate them in all right ways, for\nthey are given us to protect the weak, to subdue the earth, to fight\nfor our homes and country if necessary.\n\nTherefore I say that wrestling, inasmuch as it is a severe trial of\nstrength, temper, and endurance, may be, and ought to be, one of many\nright and proper ways of rejoicing before God at these feasts. And\nI say to any man who has strength for it, and can keep his temper,\nand carries away no vain or proud thoughts if he wins, and no angry\nor revengeful thoughts if he loses, play by all means. No doubt there\nare men who ought not to play, who ought to abstain wholly from these\ngames, as some men ought to abstain wholly from drink, who cannot use\nsuch things temperately, which is the more worthy and manly way--men so\nconstituted that these sort of games rouse all that is brutal in their\nnatures, others who become braggarts and bullies from success in them.\nTo such men (and each of you can easily find out whether he is such a\nman) I say abstain wholly.\n\nHaving said this, brethren, I must add that great changes should be\nmade in the conduct or management of these games. They should never, on\nany pretence or plea whatever, be left in the hands of publicans. You\nshould always endeavour to play in sides (as is, I believe, the most\ncommon custom) for your county or your parish, and not for yourselves,\nas you are much more likely in that way to play bravely and fairly.\nMoney prizes should be if possible avoided, for money is the lowest\nmotive for which men can undertake any work or any game. And lastly,\nevery one of you should exercise his whole strength and influence in\nputting down at once all brutality and bluster and foul play.\n\nAs to the rest of the amusements, the visiting shows, the eating and\ndrinking, the dancing and music, I believe them all in themselves to be\nlawful and right in the sight of God, and fit things to do when we are\nrejoicing before Him. But, my brethren, I do _not_ think them lawful\nand right, or fit things to be done before anybody but the devil, when\nthey end in such scenes as, I fear--as I know--they often do end in at\nour feasts. No wonder that the feasts are falling off year by year;\nthat they cease to interest decent and respectable people who used to\ncare about them, when they are deliberately turned by some into scenes\nof drunkenness and profligacy, which can scarcely be surpassed amongst\nsavages and heathens.\n\nI need not dwell on this, for you all know well enough what I mean.\nYou all know, too--the voice within you tells each of you plainly\nenough--the moment you are going beyond the proper limits in these\nmatters. It is no use to lay down rules on such subjects. Every man\nand every woman must be a law to themselves. One can do safely what\nwould ruin another. And here again I say, as I said before, the use\nof these things is right and good, and what God approves of, who in\nhis infinite love has given us the power of enjoying all these things,\nand the things themselves to enjoy--music, and dancing, and pleasant\ncompany, and food and drink. The abuse of them is of the devil, and\ndestroys body and soul.\n\nI beseech you all to think of what I have said, and endeavour, each\nin your own way, to retain, or to bring back, if necessary, God\u2019s\nfeasts into your own parishes. You, old and grown-up men and women, by\nliving soberly and righteously; never making mischief, or quarrelling;\ntreating your children with forbearance and love, doing your own work,\nand helping others to do theirs. To you young men, I say, as Solomon\nsaid, rejoice in your youth; rejoice in your strength of body, and\nelasticity of spirits, and the courage which follows from these; but\nremember that for these gifts you will be judged--not condemned, mind,\nbut judged. You will have to show before a Judge who knoweth your\ninmost hearts, that you have used these his great gifts well; that you\nhave been pure, and manly, and true.\n\nAnd to you, young women, I can but say the same. Beauty, and purity,\nand youth, and merry light hearts, and all the numberless attractions\nwhich have been poured upon you, are tremendous influences for good\nor evil,--gifts for which you will have to give an account. Rejoice\nin them; use them freely; but avoid, as you would death itself, all\nrivalry with one another, all attempts to exercise power over men you\ndo not care for, every light thought, and word, and look. For the light\nword or look is but a step from the impure, and the experience of the\nwhole world is telling you\n\n    \u201cHow mirth can into folly glide,\n    And folly into sin.\u201d\n\nBut now to conclude. You may ask, how are we all to keep these things\nin mind? how, when we are all met together to enjoy ourselves, can we\nbe ever on the watch for this evil, which you say is so near us? You\ncannot, my brethren; but One is with you, is in you, who can and will,\nif you will let him.\n\nMen found this out in the old time, and have felt it and known it\never since. Three thousand years ago this truth dawned upon the old\nPsalmist, and struck him with awe. He struggled with it; he tried to\nescape from it, but in vain. \u201cWhither shall I go then,\u201d he says, \u201cfrom\nthy spirit? or whither shall I flee then from thy presence? If I go up\nto heaven, Thou art there: if I go down to hell, Thou art there also.\nIf I take the wings of the morning, and reside in the uttermost parts\nof the sea; even there also shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand\nshall hold me.\u201d\n\nIs any of us stronger or wiser than the Psalmist? Is there any place\nfor us to flee to, which was not open to him? My brethren, had we not\nbetter make up our minds to accept and acknowledge the truth, to which\nour own consciences bear witness; that, not only in heaven, and in\nhell, and in the uttermost parts of sea and earth, He is present, but\nthat in the inmost recesses of our own hearts there is no escape from\nhis Spirit--that He is there also, sustaining us, pleading with us,\npunishing us.\n\nWe know it by the regret we feel for time wasted and opportunities\nneglected; by the loathing coming back to us, time after time, for our\nevery untrue or mean thought, word, or deed; by every longing after\ntruth, and righteousness, and purity, which stirs our sluggish souls.\nBy all these things, and in a thousand other ways, we feel it, we know\nit.\n\nLet us, then, come to our feasts owning this, and giving ourselves up\nto his guidance. At first it will be hard work; our will and spirits\nwill be like a lump of ice in a man\u2019s hand, which yields but slowly\nto the warm pressure. But do not despair; throw yourselves on his\nguidance, and he will guide you, he will hide you under his wings, you\nshall be safe under his feathers, his faithfulness and truth shall be\nyour shield and buckler.\n\nThe ice will melt into water, and the water will lie there in the\nhollow of the hand, moving at the slightest motion, obeying every\nimpulse which is given to it.\n\nMy brethren, the Spirit of God which is in every one of us--the Spirit\nof truth and love unchangeable--will take possession of our spirits,\nif we will but let him, and turn not only our feasts into feasts of\nthe Lord, but our whole lives into the lives of children of God, and\njoint-heirs of heaven with his Son.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nNOTE I.\n\nThe earliest authentic historical notices of the White Horse are, so\nfar as I am aware,--\n\n1st. A Cartulary of the Abbey of Abingdon, now in the British Museum,\nof the time of Henry II., the exact date of it being, it is believed,\nA.D. 1171. It runs as follows: \u201cConsuetudinis apud Anglos tunc erat, ut\nmonachi qui vellent pecuniarum patrimoniorum qui forent susceptibiles,\nipsisque fruentes quomodo placeret dispensarent. Unde et in Abbendonia\nduo, Leofricus et Godricus Cild appellati, quorum unus Godricus,\nSpersholt juxta locum qui vulgo mons Albi Equi nuncupatur, alter\nLeofricus Hwitceorce super flumen Tamisie maneria sita patrimoniali\njure obtinebant,\u201d &c.\n\n2dly. Another Cartulary of the same Abbey, of the reign of Richard I.,\nwhich runs as follows: \u201cPrope montem ubi ad Album Equum scanditur, ab\nantiquo tempore Ecclesia ista manerium Offentum appellatum in dominio\npossidet, juxta quod villa X hidarum adjacet ex jure Ecclesi\u00e6 quam\nSperesholt nominavit,\u201d &c.\n\n3dly. An entry on the Close Rolls, 42 Ed. III., or A.D.\n1368-9:--\u201cGerard de l\u2019Isle tient en la vale de White Horse one fee,\u201d\n&c. See Arch\u00e6ologia, vol. xxxi. p. 290. Letter from William Thoms, Esq.\nto J. Y. Ackerman, Esq., Secretary.\n\nComing down to comparatively modern times, it is curious that so little\nnotice should have been taken of the White Horse by our antiquaries.\nWise, in his Letter to Dr. Mead (1738), which has been already quoted\nfrom in the text, regrets this, and then adds: \u201cLeland\u2019s journey does\nnot seem to have carried him this way, nor does Camden here go out of\nthe other\u2019s track; though he mentions, upon another occasion, and by\nthe bye, _The White Horse_; but in such a manner, that I could wish,\nfor his own sake, he had passed it over in silence with the rest. For\nhis own account is altogether so unbecoming so faithful and accurate\nan author, insinuating to his readers that it has no existence but in\nthe imagination of country people. \u2018_The Thames_,\u2019 says he, \u2018_falls\ninto a valley, which they call_ The Vale of White Horse, _from I know\nnot what shape of a Horse fancied on the side of a whitish Hill_.\u2019 Much\nnearer to the truth is Mr. Aubrey, however wide of the mark, who, in\nthe additions to the Britannia, says: \u2018I leave others to determine,\nwhether the White Horse on the Hill was made by Hengist, since the\nHorse was the arms or figure in Hengist\u2019s standard.\u2019 The author of a\n\u2018Tour through England,\u2019 is a little more particular, though he leaves\nus as much in the dark about the antiquity and design of it. \u2018Between\nthis town of Marlborow and Abingdon, is the Vale of White Horse. The\ninhabitants tell a great many fabulous stories of the original of its\nname; but there is nothing of foundation in them, that I could find.\nThe whole of the story is this: Looking south from the Vale, we see a\ntrench cut on the side of a high, green hill, in the shape of a horse,\nand not ill-shaped neither; the trench is about a yard deep, and filled\nalmost up with chalk, so that at a distance you see the exact shape\nof a White Horse, but so large, as to take up near an acre of ground,\nsome say almost two acres. From this figure, the Hill is called in our\nmaps, White Horse Hill, and the low or flat country under it the Vale\nof White Horse.\u2019 (See pp. 30, 31.)\n\n\nNOTE II.\n\nMedeshamstede, however, was restored with great splendour in the year\n963. The account in the Saxon Chronicle is so illustrative of what was\ngoing on in England at the time, that I think I may be allowed to give\nit, especially as the restoration was the work of a Vale of White Horse\nman, Ethelwold, Abbot of Abingdon, who was in this year made Bishop of\nWinchester.\n\nEdgar was king, and Dunstan Archbishop of Canterbury--Ethelwold, after\nstrong measures at Winchester, (where \u201che drove the clerks out of the\nbishopric because they would not observe any rule, and he set the monks\nthere,\u201d) \u201cwent to the king and begged of him that he would give him all\nthe minsters which heathen men had of old time broken down, because he\nwould restore them; and the king joyfully granted it.\u201d Then he restored\nEly, and \u201cafter that came Bishop Ethelwold to the minster which was\ncalled Medeshamstede, which of old time had been destroyed by heathen\nmen. He found nothing there but old walls and wild woods. There found\nhe hidden in the old walls writings that Abbot Hudda had erewhile\nwritten, how king Wulfhere and Ethelred his brother had built it, and\nhow they had freed it against king and against bishop, and against all\nsecular service, and how the pope Agatho had confirmed the same by his\nrescript, and the archbishop \u2018deo dedit.\u2019 Then caused he the minster\nto be built, and set there an abbot who was called Adulf, and caused\nmonks to be there where before was nothing. Then came he to the king\nand caused him to look at the writings which before were found, and the\nking answered then and said, I, Edgar, grant and give to-day before God\nand before the Archbishop Dunstan, freedom to St. Peter\u2019s minster, from\nking and from bishop, and all the villages that lie thereto, that is to\nsay, Eastfield, and Dodthorp, and Eye, and Paxton. And thus I free it,\nthat no bishop have there any command without the abbot of the minster.\nAnd I give the town which is called Oundle, with all which thereto\nlieth, that is to say, that which is called \u2018the eight hundreds,\u2019 and\nmarket and toll so freely that neither king, nor bishop, nor earl, nor\nsheriff have there any command, nor any man except the Abbot alone and\nhim whom he thereto appointeth\u201d--and after giving other lands to Christ\nand St. Peter through the prayer of Bishop Ethelwold, \u201cwith sack and\nsock, toll and team, and infangthief,\u201d and willing \u201cthat a market be\nin the same town, and no other be between Stamford and Huntingdon,\u201d\nthe king ends: \u201cAnd I will that all liberties and all the remissions\nthat my predecessors have given, that they stand, and I sign and\nconfirm it with Christ\u2019s rood token. \u2720\u201d \u201cThen Dunstan the Archbishop\nof Canterbury answered and said, I grant that all the things which are\nhere given and spoken of, and all the things which thy predecessors\nand mine have conceded, those will I that they stand; and whosoever\nthis breaketh, then give I him the curse of God, and of all saints, and\nof all ordained heads, and of myself, unless he come to repentance. And\nI give in acknowledgment to St. Peter my mass-hackel, and my stole, and\nmy reef, for the service of Christ.\u201d \u201cI, Oswald, Archbishop of York,\nassent to all these words, by the holy rood which Christ suffered on. \u2720\u201d\n\u201cI, Ethelwold, bless all who shall observe this, and I excommunicate\nall who shall break this, unless he come to repentance.\u201d So the minster\nat Medeshamstede was set up again under Adulf, who bought lands and\ngreatly enriched it, till Oswald died, and he was chosen Archbishop of\nYork, and was succeeded as abbot by Kenulph, who \u201cfirst made the wall\nabout the minster; then gave he that to name Peterborough which was\nbefore called Medeshamstede.\u201d--_Saxon Chronicle_ A.D. 963.\n\n\nNOTE III.\n\nSITE OF THE BATTLE OF ASHDOWN.\n\nThere are four spots in Berkshire which claim the honour of being the\n\u0152scendun of the chroniclers, where \u00c6thelred and Alfred gained their\ngreat victory; they are Ilsley, Ashamstead, Aston in the parish of\nBluberry, and Ashdown, close to White Horse Hill. Now it seems clear\nthat Ashdown was, in Saxon times, the name of a district stretching\nover a considerable portion of the Berkshire chalk range, and it is\nquite possible that all of the above sites may have been included in\nthat district; therefore, I do not insist much upon the name, though\nwhatever weight is to be attached to it, must tell in favour of the\nlatter site, that of Ashdown. Let us, however, consider the other\nqualifications of the rival sites.\n\nThat of Ilsley is supported, so far as I know, only by Hewitt in his\nantiquities of the Hundred of Compton (1844); and his argument rests\nchiefly on the fitness of the ground for the scene of a great battle.\nHe tells us that the detachments of three Waterloo regiments, marching\nthrough Ilsley in 1816, when they came to the spot, stopped and called\nout, \u201cWaterloo! Waterloo!\u201d to one another. He also states that the name\nIlsley is, in fact, \u201cHilde l\u00e6g,\u201d the field of battle; but as he has no\ntradition in his favour, and cannot, so far as I know, point to any\nremains in the neighbourhood in support of his theory, I think his case\nmust fail, and only mention it to show that I have not overlooked the\nclaim.\n\nAshamstead, situate five miles to the southeast of Ilsley, is named by\nthe Lysons in their topographical account of Berkshire as the probable\nsite of the battle, but they give no reasons, and are unsupported by\ntradition or remains.\n\nAston has a stronger case. It is situate between Wallingford and\nIlsley. The range of chalk hills rises just above it, and one detached\nhill is here thrown out into the vale, on which are still visible\nconsiderable earthworks. There is a chapel called Thorn Chapel on the\neastern slope of this hill, and I am told there is a tradition that\nthis chapel was built on the spot where some Saxon king heard mass on\nthe morning of a battle. It is suggested by Mr. Lousley and others,\nthat the Saxons occupied this outlying hill, the Danes the opposite\nrange; and that the battle was fought in the valley between, where,\nwhen the road was recently altered, a number of bones were found,\napparently thrown in together without care, as would be the case after\na battle. There are, however, no regular barrows or other remains.\nBishop Gibson is in favour of this spot, on account, as it would seem,\nof a passage in the Saxon Chronicle for the year 1006, which runs as\nfollows: \u201cThey\u201d (the Danes) \u201cdestroyed Wallingford, and passed a night\nat Cholsey.\u201d Then they \u201cturned _along Ashdown_ to Cwichelmes Low.\u201d\n\nThe bishop says, that Cwichelmes Low (the _low_ or hill of King\nCwichelm, who reigned in these parts, and died in the year 636 A.D.)\nis Cuckhamsley Hill, or Scuchamore Knob, as it is generally called;\na high hill in the same chalk range, about ten miles east of White\nHorse Hill; and he argues that, as the Danes went _from_ Wallingford,\n_by_ Ashdown, _to_ Cwichelmes Low, we must look for Ashdown between\nWallingford and Cuckhamsley Hill. Now Aston lies directly between the\ntwo, therefore Aston is Ashdown, and the site of the battle. But the\nplace now called Ashdown is on the further side of Cuckhamsley Hill\nfrom Wallingford--therefore the Danes could not have passed it in\ngetting from Wallingford to Cuckhamsley Hill--therefore the modern\nAshdown cannot be the site of the battle.\n\nTo this I answer, _First_, the Bishop _assumes_ that Cwichelmes Low is\nCuckhamsley Hill, without giving any reason.\n\n_Secondly_, assuming Cwichelmes Low and Cuckhamsley Hill to be\nidentical; yet, as Ashdown was clearly a large tract of country, the\nDanes might go from Wallingford, _along_ a part of it, _to_ Cwichelmes\nLow without passing the battle-field.\n\n_Thirdly_, the name Aston is written \u201cEstone\u201d in Domesday Book; meaning\n\u201cEast town,\u201d or enclosure, and not \u201cMons fraxini,\u201d the \u201cHill of the\nAsh-tree.\u201d\n\n_Fourthly_, \u00c6thelred and Alfred would have kept to the hills in their\nretreat, and never have allowed the Danes to push them out into the\nThames-valley, where the Pagan cavalry would have been invaluable; but\nthis must have been the case, if we suppose Aston to be the site of\nthe battle. Lastly, all the above sites are too near to Reading, the\nfarthest being only sixteen miles from that town. But \u00c6thelred and\nAlfred had been retreating three days, and would therefore much more\nprobably be found at Ashdown by White Horse Hill, which is ten miles\nfarther along the range of hills.\n\nAshdown, the remaining site, and the one which I believe to be the true\none, is the down which surrounds White Horse Hill, in the parish of\nUffington. On the highest point of the hill, which is 893 feet above\nthe level of the sea, stands Uffington Castle, a plain of more than\neight acres in extent, surrounded by earthworks, and a single deep\nditch, which Camden, and other high authorities, say are Danish.\n\nThere is another camp, with earthworks, called Hardwell Camp, about a\nmile W.N.W. of Uffington Castle, and a third smaller circular camp,\ncalled King Alfred\u2019s camp, about a mile to the S.W., which may still\nbe made out, close to the wall of Ashdown Park, Lord Craven\u2019s seat,\nalthough Aubrey says, that in his time the works were \u201calmost quite\ndefaced, by digging for the Sarsden stones to build my Lord Craven\u2019s\nhouse in the Park.\u201d Wise suggests that the Danes held Uffington Castle;\nthat \u00c6thelred was in Hardwell-camp, and Alfred in Alfred\u2019s camp. A\nmile and a half to the eastward, in which direction the battle must\nhave rolled, as the Saxons slowly gained the day, is a place called\nthe Seven Barrows, where are seven circular burial-mounds, and several\nother large irregularly-shaped mounds, full of bones; the light soil\nwhich covers the chalk is actually black around them. The site\nagrees in all points with the description in the chroniclers; it is\nthe proper distance from Reading; the name is the one used by the\nchroniclers,--\u201cAsh-down,\u201d \u201cMons Fraxini,\u201d \u201c\u00c6scendun;\u201d it is likely that\n\u00c6thelred would have fought somewhere hereabouts to protect Wantage, a\nroyal burg, and his birthplace, which would have been otherwise at the\nmercy of the enemy; and lastly, there--and not at Cuckhamsley Hill,\nor elsewhere--is carved the White Horse, which has been from time\nimmemorial held to be a monument of the great victory of Ashdown. For\nthe above reasons, I think we are justified in claiming this as the\nsite of the battle.\n\n\nNOTE IV.\n\nWAYLAND SMITH\u2019S CAVE.\n\nWise (see p. 35) says he thinks he has discovered the place of burial\nof King Basreg, Bagseeg (or whatever his name might be, for it is\ngiven in seven or eight different ways in the chroniclers), in Wayland\nSmith\u2019s cave, which place he describes as follows:--\n\n\u201cThe place is distinguished by a parcel of stones set on edge, and\nenclosing a piece of ground raised a few feet above the common level,\nwhich every one knows was the custom of the Danes, as well as of some\nother northern nations. And Wormius observes, that if any Danish chief\nwas slain in a foreign country, they took care to bury him as pompously\nas if he had died in his own. Mr. Aubrey\u2019s account of it is this:\n\u2018About a mile [or less] from the Hill [White Horse Hill] there are a\ngreat many large stones, which, though very confused, must yet be laid\nthere on purpose. Some of them are placed edgewise, but the rest are so\ndisorderly that one would imagine they were tumbled out of a cart.\u2019 The\ndisorder which Mr. Aubrey speaks of is occasioned by the people having\nthrown down some of the stones (for they all seem originally to have\nbeen set on edge), and broken them to pieces to mend their highways.\nThose that are left enclose a piece of ground of an irregular figure at\npresent, but which formerly might have been an oblong square, extending\nonly north and south.\n\n\u201cOn the east side of the southern extremity stand three squarish flat\nstones of about four or five feet over each way, set on edge, and\nsupporting a fourth of much larger dimensions, lying flat upon them.\nThese altogether form a cavern or sheltering-place, resembling pretty\nexactly those described by Wormius, Bartholine, and others, except in\nthe dimensions of the stones; for whereas this may shelter only ten or\na dozen sheep from a storm, Wormius mentions one in Denmark that would\nshelter a hundred.\n\n\u201cI know of no other monument of this sort in England; but in Wales\nand the Isle of Anglesey there are several not unlike it, called by\nthe natives _Cromlechs_. The Isle of Anglesey having been the chief\nseat of the Druids, induced its learned antiquary to ascribe them to\nthe ancient Britons; an assertion that I will not take upon me to\ncontradict, but shall only at this time observe, that I find sufficient\nauthorities to convince me that ours must be Danish.\n\n\u201cWhether this remarkable piece of antiquity ever bore the name of the\nperson here buried is not now to be learned, the true meaning of it\nbeing long since lost in ignorance and fable. All the account which the\ncountry people are able to give of it is, \u2018At this place lived formerly\nan invisible smith; and if a traveller\u2019s horse had lost a shoe upon the\nroad, he had no more to do than to bring the horse to this place, with\na piece of money, and leaving both there for some little time, he might\ncome again and find the money gone, but the horse new shod.\u2019 The stones\nstanding upon the _Rudgeway_, as it is called (which was the situation\nthat they chose for burial monuments), I suppose gave occasion to the\nwhole being called Wayland Smith, which is the name it was always known\nby to the country people.\n\n\u201cAn English antiquary might find business enough who should attempt to\nunriddle all the fabulous traditions of the vulgar, which ascribe these\nworks of unknown antiquity to demons and invisible powers.\n\n\u201cLeaving, therefore, the story of the invisible smith to be discussed\nby those who have more leisure, I only remark, that these stones are,\naccording to the best Danish antiquaries, a burial altar; that their\nbeing raised in the midst of a plain field, near the great road, seems\nto indicate some person there slain and buried, and that this person\nwas probably a chief or king; there being no monument of this sort near\nthat place, perhaps not in England, beside.\u201d (See pp. 35, 36, 37.)\n\nI have given Wise\u2019s statement of his own case, but the better opinion\namongst antiquaries seems to be that he is wrong, and that the\ncromlech, called Wayland Smith\u2019s Cave, is of much earlier date than 871\nA.D.\n\nI insert here the note from Kenilworth (note B, p. 218) in which Sir\nWalter Scott mentions Wayland Smith\u2019s Cave:--\n\n\u201cThe great defeat given by Alfred to the Danish invaders, is said\nby Mr. Gough to have taken place near Ashdown in Berkshire. The\nburial-place of B\u0153reg, the Danish chief who was slain in this fight, is\ndistinguished by a parcel of stones, less than a mile from the hill,\nset on edge, enclosing a piece of ground somewhat raised. On the east\nside of the southern extremity, stand three squarish flat stones, of\nabout four or five feet over either way, supporting a fourth, and now\ncalled by the vulgar Wayland Smith, from an idle tradition about an\ninvisible smith replacing lost horseshoes there.\u201d (Gough\u2019s edition of\nCamden\u2019s _Britannica_. Vol. I. p. 221.)\n\n\u201cThe popular belief still retains memory of this wild legend, which,\nconnected as it is with the site of a Danish sepulchre, may have arisen\nfrom some legend concerning the northern Duergar, who resided in the\nrocks, and were cunning workers in steel and iron. It was believed that\nWayland Smith\u2019s fee was sixpence, and that, unlike other workmen, he\nwas offended if more was offered. Of late his offices have been again\ncalled to memory; but fiction has in this, as in other cases, taken the\nliberty to pillage the stores of oral tradition. This monument must\nbe very ancient, for it has been kindly pointed out to me that it is\nreferred to in an ancient Saxon charter as a landmark. The monument has\nbeen of late cleared out, and made considerably more conspicuous.\u201d\n\nIt will be seen from this that Sir Walter assumes the view of Wise to\nbe correct, but he never saw the place.\n\n\nNOTE V.\n\nAs an illustration of one of the methods by which traditions are\nkept up in the country, I insert some verses written by Job Cork, an\nUffington man of two generations back, who was a shepherd on White\nHorse Hill for fifty years.\n\n    \u201cIt was early one summer\u2019s morn,\n    The weather fine and very warm,\n    A stranger to White Horse Hill did go\n    To view the plains and fields below.\n\n    \u201cAs he along the hill did ride,\n    Taking a view on every side,\n    The which he did so much enjoy\n    Till a shepherd\u2019s dog did him annoy.\n\n    \u201cAt length an aged man appeared,\n    A watching of his fleecy herd,\n    With threadbare coat and downcast eye,\n    To which the stranger did draw nigh.\n\n    \u201c\u2018O noble shepherd, can you tell\n    How long you kept sheep on this hill?\u2019\n    \u2018Zeven yeur in Zundays I have been\n    A shepherd on this hill so green.\u2019\n\n    \u201c\u2018That is a long time, I must own,\n    You have kept sheep upon this down;\n    I think that you must have been told\n    Of things that have been done of old.\u2019\n\n    \u201c\u2018Ah, Zur, I can remember well\n    The stories the old voke do tell--\n    Upon this hill which here is seen\n    Many a battle there have been.\n\n    \u201c\u2018If it is true as I heard zay,\n    King Gaarge did here the dragon slay,\n    And down below on yonder hill\n    They buried him as I heard tell.\n\n    \u201c\u2018If you along the Rudgeway go,\n    About a mile for aught I know,\n    There Wayland\u2019s Cave then you may see\n    Surrounded by a group of trees.\n\n    \u201c\u2018They say that in this cave did dwell\n    A smith that was invisible;\n    At last he was found out, they say,\n    He blew up the place and vlod away.\n\n    \u201c\u2018To Devonshire then he did go,\n    Full of sorrow, grief, and woe,\n    Never to return again,\n    So here I\u2019ll add the shepherd\u2019s name--\n\n    \u201cJOB CORK.\u2019\u201d\n\nThere is no merit in the lines beyond quaintness; but they are written\nin the sort of jingle which the poor remember; they have lived for\nfifty years and more, and will probably, in quiet corners of the Vale,\noutlive the productions of much more celebrated versemakers than Job\nCork, though probably they were never reduced into writing until\nwritten out at my request.\n\nJob Cork was a village humorist, and stories are still told of his\nsayings, some of which have a good deal of fun in them; I give one\nexample in the exact words in which it was told to me:--\n\n\u201cOne night as Job Cork came off the downs, drough-wet to his very skin,\nit happened his wife had been a baking. So, when he went to bed, his\nwife took his leather breeches, and put \u2019em in the oven to dry \u2019em.\nWhen he woke in the morning he began to feel about for his thengs,\nand he called out, and zed, \u2018Betty, where be mee thengs?\u2019 \u2018In the\noven,\u2019 zed his wife. Zo he looked in the oven and found his leather\nbreeches all cockled up together like a piece of parchment, and he\nbawled out, \u2018O Lard! O Lard! what be I to do? Was ever man plagued as\nI be?\u2019 \u2018Patience, Job, patience, Job,\u2019 zed his wife; \u2018remember thy old\nnamesake, how he was plagued.\u2019 \u2018Ah!\u2019 zed the old man, \u2018\u2019a was plagued\nsurely; but his wife never baked his breeches.\u2019\u201d\n\nOther shepherds of the Hill have been poets in a rough sort of way. I\nadd one of their home-made songs, as I am anxious to uphold the credit\nof my countrymen as a tuneful race.\n\n    \u201cCome, all you shepherds as minds for to be,\n      You must have a gallant heart,\n    You must not be down-hearted,\n      You must a-bear the smart;\n    You must a-bear the smart, my boys,\n      Let it hail or rain or snow,\n    For there is no ale to be had on the Hill\n      Where the wintry wind doth blow.\n\n    \u201cWhen I kept sheep on White Horse Hill\n      My heart began to ache,\n    My old ewes all hung down their heads,\n      And my lambs began to bleat.\n    Then I cheered up with courage bold,\n      And over the Hill did go,\n    For there is no ale to be had on the Hill\n      When the wintry wind doth blow.\n\n    \u201cI drive my sheep into the fold,\n      To keep them safe all night,\n    For drinking of good ale, my boys,\n      It is my heart\u2019s delight.\n    I drove my sheep into the fold,\n      And homeward I did go,\n    For there is no ale to be had on the Hill\n      When the wintry wind doth blow.\n\n    \u201cWe shepherds are the liveliest lads\n      As ever trod English ground,\n    If we drops into an ale-house\n      We values not a crownd.\n    We values not a crownd, my boys,\n      We\u2019ll pay before we go,\n    For there is no ale to be had on the Hill\n      When the wintry wind doth blow.\u201d\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n\nA LIST OF BOOKS PUBLISHED BY TICKNOR AND FIELDS.\n\n\ud83d\udd99 Any books in this list will be sent free of postage, on receipt of\nprice.\n\nBOSTON, 135 WASHINGTON STREET\n\nJANUARY, 1859.\n\n\nSir Walter Scott.\n\nILLUSTRATED HOUSEHOLD EDITION OF THE WAVERLEY NOVELS. 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Each 25 cents.","title":"The Scouring of the White Horse; Or, The Long Vacation Ramble of a London Clerk","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":71533}