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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c2767d6 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #53241 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53241) diff --git a/old/53241-0.txt b/old/53241-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 60c3f53..0000000 --- a/old/53241-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8618 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Scouring of the White Horse, by Thomas Hughes - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Scouring of the White Horse - Or, The Long Vacation Ramble of a London Clerk - -Author: Thomas Hughes - -Illustrator: Richard Doyle - -Release Date: October 9, 2016 [EBook #53241] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SCOURING OF THE WHITE HORSE *** - - - - -Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - -THE SCOURING OF THE WHITE HORSE. - -[Illustration] - - - - - THE - SCOURING OF THE WHITE HORSE; - OR, THE - LONG VACATION RAMBLE OF A LONDON CLERK. - - BY - THE AUTHOR OF “TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL DAYS.” - - [Illustration] - - ILLUSTRATED BY RICHARD DOYLE. - - BOSTON: - TICKNOR AND FIELDS. - MDCCCLIX. - - AUTHOR’S EDITION. - - FIFTH THOUSAND. - - RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: - STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY - H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. - - - - -OLD AND NEW. - - - See how the Autumn leaves float by, decaying, - Down the red whirls of yon rain-swollen stream; - So fleet the works of men, back to their earth again; - Ancient and holy things fade like a dream. - - Nay! see the Spring blossoms steal forth a-maying, - Clothing with tender buds orchard and glen; - So, though old forms go by, ne’er can their spirit die. - Look! England’s bare boughs show green leaf again. - - KINGSLEY. - -[Illustration] - - - - -PREFACE. - - -The great success of the festival (or “pastime,” as it is called in the -neighbourhood) which was held on White Horse Hill on the 17th and 18th -of September, 1857, to celebrate the “Scouring of the Horse,” according -to immemorial custom, led the Committee of Management to think that our -fellow-county-men at least, if not our countrymen generally, would be -glad to have some little printed memorial, which should comprise not -only an account of the doings on the Hill on the late occasion, but -should also endeavour to gather up the scattered legends and traditions -of the country side, and any authentic historical notices relating to -the old monument, of which we west-countrymen are all so fond and proud. - -I had the good or ill luck (as the case may be) to be the only member -of the Committee whose way of life had led him into the perilous paths -of literature; so the task of compiling and editing our little book was -laid on my shoulders. - -Installed as chronicler to the White Horse, I entered with no ill will -on my office, having been all my life possessed, as is the case with -so many Englishmen, by intense local attachment, love for every stone -and turf of the country where I was born and bred. But it is one -thing to have zeal, and another to have discretion; and when I came to -consider my materials, I found that the latter quality would be greatly -needed. For, what were they? One short bright gleam of history from the -writings of old monks a thousand years ago; traditions and dim legends, -which I and most Berkshire men have always faithfully believed from -our youth up, and shall go on believing to our dying day, but which -we could hardly put before general readers in serious narrative; a -dry notice here and there by some old antiquary of the seventeenth or -eighteenth century; stories floating in the memories of old men still -living; small broad-sheets from country town presses, with lists of the -competitors for prizes at rustic games, newspaper articles, remarks by -Committee-men and umpires, scraps of antiquarian lore; abuse of the -Great Western Railway for not allowing the trains to stop, bits of -vernacular dialogue, and odd rhymes. What could be done with them all? -How out of the mass could a shapely book be called out, fit to be laid -before a fastidious British public, not born in Berkshire? - -Not exactly seeing how this was to be done, the only honest course -which remained, was to follow the example of a good housewife in the -composition of that excellent food called “stir-about”--throw them -altogether into the pot, stir them round and round with a great spoon, -and trust that the look of the few great raisins, and the flavour of -the allspice, may leaven the mass, and make it pleasing to the eye and -palate; and so, though the stir-about will never stand up in a china -dish by itself, it may, we hope, make a savoury and pleasant side dish, -in a common soup tureen. - -The raisins, and those of the best quality, have been furnished by the -great artist[1] who has kindly undertaken to give us pictures; the -allspice has been contributed by the Committee and other kind friends, -and I have done the milk and meal, and the stirring. The responsibility -therefore rests with me, though the credit, whatever it may be, rests -with others. But let me insist here, at once, that if there be any -failure in the dish, it is the fault of the dresser and not of the -subject-matter. - -For, suppose an intelligent Englishman to be travelling in France, and -to find the whole population in the neighbourhood of Tours turning -out in their best clothes for a two days’ holiday on a high hill, -upon which the rude figure of a huge hammer is roughly sculptured. -On inquiry, he finds that the figure has been there long before the -memory of the oldest man living, but that it has always been carefully -preserved and kept fresh; and although there is no printed history of -how it came there, yet that all neighbouring men, of whatever degree, -associate it with the name of Charles Martel and his great victory over -the Saracens, and are ready one and all to rejoice over it, and to work -and pay that it may go down to their children looking as it does now. -Or, to come to much later times, let our traveller find an eagle cut -out on a hill in Hungary, similarly honoured, and associated with the -name of Eugene, and the memory of the day - - “When, the old black eagle flying, - All the Paynim powers defying, - On we marched, and stormed Belgrade.” - -Should we not all thank him for giving us the best account he could of -the figure, the festival, and all traditions connected with them; and -think he had fallen on a very noteworthy matter, and well worth the -telling when he got back to England? - -Well, here we have the same thing at our own doors; a rude colossal -figure cut out in the turf, and giving the name to a whole district; -legends connecting it with the name of our greatest king, and with his -great victory over the Pagans, and a festival which has been held at -very short intervals ever since the ninth century. Rich as our land is -in historical monuments, there is none more remarkable than the White -Horse; and in this belief we put forth this little book in his honour, -hoping that it may perhaps fix upon him, and the other antiquities -which surround him, the attention of some one who can bring science and -knowledge to bear upon the task to which we can only bring good will. - -For, alas! let me confess at once, that in these qualities our book -is like to be sadly deficient. The compiler has no knowledge whatever -of the Anglo-Saxon tongue, or of Saxon or other antiquities. There -is indeed of necessity a semblance of learning and research about the -chapter which tells the history of the battle of Ashdown, because the -materials for it had to be collected from a number of old chroniclers, -whose names will be found in the foot-notes. But any fifth-form -boy, with industry enough to read about 200 small pages of monkish -Latin, may master the whole for himself in the originals in a week; -and for those who cannot do this, there is the jubilee edition of -the chroniclers, put forth by the Alfred Committee in 1852, where a -translation of the old fellows will be found in parallel columns, -together with much learning concerning them and their times, in -foot-note, preface, and appendix. This translation I have followed -in all but a few passages, in which the text used by the translators -has probably differed from the one which I have seen. For the Saxon -Chronicle, I have used Ingram’s translation. - -But while we do not pretend to be antiquaries, or historians, or -learned men, we do claim to be honest average Englishmen, and will -yield to no man in our love for our own quiet corner of the land of our -birth. We do think, that whatever deeply interests us cannot fail in a -degree to interest our countrymen. We are sure that reverence for all -great Englishmen, and a loving remembrance of the great deeds done by -them in old times, will help to bring to life in us the feeling that we -are a family, bound together to work out God’s purposes in this little -island, and in the uttermost parts of the earth; to make clear to us -the noble inheritance which we have in common; and to sink into their -proper place the miserable trifles, and odds and ends, over which we -are so apt to wrangle. We do hope that our example will lead Englishmen -of other counties, to cherish every legend and story which hangs round -any nook of their neighbourhood, connecting it with the times and the -men who have gone before; to let no old custom, which has a meaning, -however rude, die out, if it can be kept alive; and not to keep either -legend or custom to themselves, but (like us) to put them in the best -shape they can, and publish them for the benefit of their countrymen; -we of the White Horse Committee, at any rate, hereby pledging ourselves -to read all such publications. - -I must here take the opportunity of specially thanking three of my -fellow Committee-men, and two other friends, for the trouble they have -taken in various ways to lighten my work. If this book at all fulfils -the objects for which it has been written, the thanks of my readers, as -well as my own, will be due to - - E. M. ATKINS, Esq., of Kingstone Lisle. - - Mr. WILLIAM WHITFIELD of Uffington. - - Mr. HEBER HUMFREY of Kingstone Farm; and to - - JOHN Y. AKERMAN, Esq., Secretary of the Society of Antiquaries; - and - - Mr. LUKE LONSLEY, of Hampsted Norris, Berks. - -And now, without further preface, we commend our “stir-about” to -Englishmen in general, and west-countrymen in particular. - -[1] Doyle. - - - - -THE SCOURING OF THE WHITE HORSE. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - - -“Richard,” said our governor, as I entered his room at five o’clock on -the afternoon of the 31st of August, 1857, running his pen down the -columns of the salary-book, “your quarter-day to-day, I think? Let -me see; you were raised to £-- a-year in February last,--so much for -quarter’s salary, and so much for extra work. I am glad to see that you -have been working so steadily; you’ll deserve your holiday, and enjoy -it all the more. You’ll find that all right, I think;” and he pushed a -small paper across the table towards me, on which my account was stated -in our cashier’s hand, and looked at me over his spectacles. - -My heart jumped at the mention of my holiday; I just ran my eye down -the figures, and was glad to find the total a pound or two higher than -I had expected. For I had lately learnt shorthand, and had been taking -notes for our firm, for which I found they allowed me extra pay. - -“Quite right, Sir,” I said; “and I’m sure I’m much obliged to you, Sir, -for letting me do the extra work, because--” - -“Well, never mind that,” said he, with a little laugh; “I shouldn’t -give you the extra work, Richard, if it didn’t suit me, or if I could -get it better done anywhere else; so the account’s all square on that -point. There’s your money.” - -And he pushed over to me a very nice sum of money. I dare say you would -like to know what it was, reader. Now, I’m not going to tell you. Why -should you know just what my income is? I don’t owe you or any one else -five shillings, and have a very tidy account at the savings’ bank, -besides having paid for all the furniture and books in my room, not -very far from Lambsconduit Street, which I reckon to be worth fifty -pounds of any man’s money; so you see my income is enough to keep me -before the world, and I wish more of you could say as much. - -“I’m very much obliged, Sir,” said I again, as I wrote a receipt over a -stamp which I took out of my pocket-book, and stuck on to the bottom of -the account. - -“No, you’re not,” said our governor, quite short; “it’s your own money, -fairly earned. You’re not obliged to any man for giving you what’s your -own.” He is such an odd fellow about these things. But mind you, I -think he’s quite right, too; for, after all, no doubt each of us earns -a good penny for him over and above what he pays us, else why should he -keep us on? but, somehow, one can’t help thanking any one who pays one -money; at least, I can’t. - -“Now, as to your holiday,” went on our governor. “There’s Jobson went -for his fortnight on the 30th; he’ll be back on the 14th of September, -at latest. You can take any time you like, after that.” - -“Then, Sir,” said I directly, “I should like it as soon as possible.” - -“Very well,” said he; “Tuesday the 16th to Tuesday the 29th of -September, both inclusive;” and he made a note in another book which -lay on his desk. “Good evening, Richard.” - -“Good evening, Sir,” said I; and away I went down to our room in as -good spirits as any young fellow in our quarter of London. - -Of course all the other clerks began shouting out at once to know how -much money I’d got, and when I was going to have my holiday. Well, I -didn’t tell them what money I had, any more than I’ve told you, because -I like to keep my own counsel about such matters. Besides, there are -several of our clerks whose ways I don’t at all like; so I don’t do any -thing I can help which might look as if I liked them. No! hands off, is -my motto with these sort of chaps. - -I’m sure there’s no pride about me, though. My name’s Easy, and always -was; and I like every fellow, whatever his coat is, who isn’t always -thinking about the cut of it, or what he has in the pocket of it. But, -goodness knows, I can’t stand a fellow who gives himself airs, and -thinks himself a chalk above everybody who can’t dress and do just as -he can. Those chaps, I always see, are just the ones to do lick-spittle -to those that they think have more in their pockets than themselves. - -But I must get on with my story, for you don’t all want to know my -opinions about the clerks in our office, I dare say. - -Well, when I got down, as I said before, we were all just on the move, -(business hours being from nine till six in our office,) taking down -coats and hats, and clearing desks for the night, so I just sidled up -to Jem Fisher, and little Neddy Baily, who are the two I like best, and -told them to come up to my room to supper at eight o’clock, which they -of course were very glad to promise to do, and then I went off to get -ready for them. - -Jem Fisher and I are very fond of a dish which I believe very few -of you ever heard of. One Sunday in May, a year or two back, he and -I had been down beyond Notting Hill, listening to the nightingales; -and coming back, we walked through Kensington Gardens, and came out -at the gate into the Notting Hill Road, close to Hyde Park. We were -late, for us, so we hailed a ’bus, and got on the box. The driver was -full of talk about all the fine people he had been seeing walking in -the gardens that afternoon, and seemed to think it hard he couldn’t -enjoy himself just as they did. “However, gentlemen,” said he at -last, “there’s some things as the haristocracy ain’t alive to. Did -you ever eat cow-heel?” Perhaps Jem, who had all his best clothes on, -didn’t mind being taken for one of the aristocracy; at least just for -a minute, for he’s too good a fellow to like being taken for anybody -but himself when he comes to think of it; at any rate, he and I took to -eating cow-heel from that time. So the first thing I did, after going -home and locking up most of my money, and speaking to my landlady, who -is the best old soul alive if you take her in her own way, was, to set -off to Clare Market, and buy some cow-heel and sausages; and on my -way back through the Turnstile, I thought, as it was so hot, I would -have some fruit too; so I bought a pottle of plums and a piece of a -pine-apple, and got home. - -They came in sharp to time, and I and my landlady had every thing -ready, and two foaming pewter pots full of bitter beer and porter. So -we had a capital supper, and then cleared it all away, and sat down to -eat the fruit and have a quiet pipe by the time it began to get dark. - -“And so,” said little Neddy, (he is only just eighteen, and hasn’t -been in our office a year yet; but he’s such a clever, industrious -little chap, that he has gone over the heads of half a dozen of our -youngsters, and hasn’t stopped yet by a long way,) “you’re off on the -15th! wish I was. Well, here’s luck any how,” said he, nodding to me, -and taking a bite out of a slice of pine-apple. - -“Gentle Shepherd, tell me where?” said Jem Fisher. (Jem is very fond of -quoting poetry; not that I think half that he quotes is real poetry, -only how is one to find him out? Jem is a tall, good-looking fellow, -as old as I am, and that’s twenty-one last birthday; we came into the -office together years ago, and have been very thick ever since, which -I sometimes wonder at, for Jem is a bit of a swell--Gentleman Jem they -call him in the office.) “Now, Dick, where are you bound for?” - -“Well, that’s more than I know myself,” said I. - -“Then,” said he, taking his pipe out of his pocket and filling it, “I -vote we settle for him, eh, Neddy?” - -“Aye, aye, Sir,” said Neddy, stretching over for the pottle; “but, I -say, Jem, you haven’t finished all those plums?” and he poked about in -the leaves with his fingers. - -“Every mother’s son of them,” said Jem, lighting a lucifer; “if you -come to that, Master Ned, hand me over some of that pine-apple. But -now, about the tour; how much money are you going to spend on it, Dick?” - -“Well, I haven’t quite settled,” said I; “but I shouldn’t mind, now, -going as high as four or five pounds, if I can suit myself.” - -“You may go pretty near to Jericho for that now-a-days,” said Neddy. -“As I came along Holborn to-night, I saw a great placard outside the -George and Blue Boar, with ‘to Llangollen and back 15_s._’ on it. What -do you think of that? You’ll be turned out at the station there with £4 -5_s._ in your pocket.” - -“Where’s Llangollen?” said I. - -“Not half-way to Jericho,” shouted Jem, with a laugh. “Where’s -Llangollen? Why didn’t you ever hear the song of Kitty Morgan, the maid -of Llangollen? You’re a pretty fellow to go touring.” - -“Yes, fifty times,” said I; “only the song don’t tell you where the -place is--where is it now?” - -“In Wales, of course,” said he, thinking he had me. - -“Yes, I know that; but whereabouts in Wales,” said I, “for Wales is a -biggish place. Is it near any thing one reads about in books, and ought -to go and see?” - -“Hanged if I know exactly,” said Jem, puffing away; “only of course -Wales is worth seeing.” - -“So is France,” struck in Neddy; “why, you may go to Paris and stay a -fortnight for I don’t know how little.” - -“Aye, or to Edinburgh or the Lakes,” said Jem. - -“I want to have the particulars though,” said I; “I’m not going to -start off to some foreign place, and find myself with no money to spend -and enjoy myself with, when I get there.” - -“I’ll tell you what,” said Neddy, jumping up, “I’ll just run round to -the Working Men’s College, and borrow a Bradshaw from the secretary. We -shall find all the cheap excursions there;” and away he went before we -could say a word. - -“I say,” said Jem to me, “how fond he is of bringing up that place; -he’s always at me to go and enter there.” - -“So he is at me,” said I, “and I think I shall, for he seems to pick -up a lot of things there. How sharp he is at figures! and he knows -more history and geography ten to one than I do. I’ll bet he knew what -county Llangollen is in, and something about it too. Let’s ask him when -he comes back.” - -“Catch me!” said Jem; “he’ll look it out on the map on his way back, or -ask one of the lecturers.” - -“Here you are! look here!” said Neddy, tumbling in with two Bradshaws -and a great atlas under his arm; “‘unprecedented attraction, pleasure -excursions,’ let me see--Return tickets for Ireland, available for a -fortnight. Waterford, 1_l._ 16_s._; Cork, 2_l._” - -“Nonsense!” cried Jem, who had got the other Bradshaw; “listen here: -‘Channel Islands, (remarkable as being the only remaining Norman -possessions of the British crown,) second class and fore cabin, 21_s._” - -“‘London to Dieppe, return tickets available for fourteen days, second -class, 21_s._,’” sung out Ned, from the other Bradshaw. - -And away they went, with Brussels, and Bangor, and the Manchester -Exhibition, and Plymouth and Glasgow, and the Isle of Man, and Margate -and Ramsgate, and the Isle of Wight; and then to Gibraltar and Malta -and New York, and all over the world. I sat and smoked my pipe, for -’twas no use trying to settle any thing; but presently, when they got -tired, we set to work and began to put down the figures. However, that -wasn’t much better, for there were such a lot of tours to go; and one -was a bit too short, and the other too long, and this cost too much, -and that too little; so all the beer was gone, and we were no nearer -settling any thing when eleven o’clock struck. - -“Well,” said Jem, getting up and knocking the ashes out of his third -pipe, “I declare it’s almost as good as going a tour one’s self, -settling it for Dick here.” - -“I just wish you had settled it,” said I; “I’m more puzzled than when -we began.” - -“Heigh-ho, fellows never know when they’re well off,” said Neddy; “now -I never get a chance. In my holiday I just go down to the old folk at -Romford, and there I stick.” - -“They don’t indeed,” said I; “I wonder to hear you talk like that, -Ned. Some folks would give all they’re worth to have old folk to go to.” - -“Well, I didn’t mean it,” said he, looking hurt. And I don’t believe he -did, for a kinder hearted fellow don’t live; and I was half sorry I had -said what I did say. - -“Further deliberation will be necessary,” said Jem, lighting his fourth -pipe; “we’ll come again to-morrow night; your bacchy’s nearly out, -Dick; lay in some bird’s eye for to-morrow; real Bristol, do you hear?” - -“Time to go, I suppose,” said Ned, getting up and gathering the -Bradshaws and atlas together; “are we to come again to-morrow, Dick?” - -“To-morrow, didst thou say? methought I heard Horatio say to-morrow. -Go to; it is a thing of naught,” and Jem clapped on his hat and began -ranting in his way; so I broke in-- - -“I wish you’d hold that noise, and talk sense,” said I. - -“Shakspeare!” said Jem, stopping short and pulling up his collar. - -“Gammon!” said Neddy, bursting out laughing. - -“That’s right, Neddy,” said I; “he’s always going off with some of his -nonsense, and calling it poetry.” - -“I didn’t say it was poetry, did I?” said Jem. - -“What is it then?” said I. - -“Blank verse,” said he. - -“What’s the difference?” said I. - -“Go up the mill-dam, fall down slam, dat poetry; go up the mill-dam, -fall down whoppo’, dat plank verse,” said he. “Go along nigger--had -him dere, nigger,” and he turned in his knees and grinned, like one of -those poor beggars who black their faces and go about the streets with -red striped trowsers, white ties, and banjos. - -“You ought to be a nigger yourself, Jem,” said I, “and I should just -like to have the driving of you. There, tumble out with you; it’s time -for steady folks to turn in.” - -So I turned them out and held the candle, while they floundered down -stairs, that wretch, Jem, singing, “There’s some ’un in de house wid -Dinah,” loud enough to be heard at the Foundling. I was glad to hear my -landlady catch him at the bottom of the stairs, and give it him well -about “a respectable house,” and “what she was used to with her gents,” -while she opened the door; only I don’t see what right she had to give -it me all over again next morning at breakfast, and call Jem Fisher a -wild young man, and bad company, because that’s just what he isn’t, -only a little noisy sometimes. And as if I’m not to have who I please -up to my room without her interfering! I pay my rent regular every -month, I know. However, I didn’t mind much what she said at breakfast -time, because I had got a letter from the country. I don’t get a letter -once a month, and it’s very odd this one should have come on this very -morning, when I was puzzling where to go for my holiday; and I dare say -you’ll think so too, when I tell you what it was about. Let’s see--here -it is in my pocket, so you shall have it whole:-- - - “Elm Close Farm, Berks, August 31, 1857. - - “DEAR DICK,--You know you owe me a visit, for you’ve never been - down here, often as I’ve asked you, since we was at school - together--and I have been up to you four or five times. Now, - why I particularly want you to come this month is, because - we’ve got some sport to show you down in these quiet parts, - which don’t happen every day. You see there’s an old White - Horse cut out in the side of the highest hill hereabouts, (a - regular break-neck place it is, and there ain’t three men in - the country as’ll ride along the hill-side under the Horse,) - and many folks sets a good deal of store by it, and seems to - think the world’d come to an end if the horse wasn’t kept all - straight. May be I’m a bit of that mind myself--anyhow you’ll - see by the paper inside what’s going on; and being a scholar, - may be you’ll know about the White Horse, and like to come down - to a scouring. And I can tell you it will be good fun; for I - remember the last, when I was quite a little chap, before I - went to school, and I’ve never seen such games since. You’ve - only got to write and say what train you’ll come by, and I’ll - meet you at the Farringdon-road station in my trap. So, as I - ain’t much of a penman, excuse mistakes, and remember me to - Fisher and the others I met at your place; and no more at - present from yours truly. - - “JOSEPH HURST. - - “P. S.--You must stay as long as you can, and I’ll mount you on - my young bay colt to see a cub killed.” - -I shouldn’t print Joe’s letter whole, (and as it is I’ve put a good -deal of the spelling right,) only I’m quite sure he’ll never read this -book, and I hope it may serve as a warning to young fellows to keep up -their learning when they go and settle down in the country. For when -Joe left the Commercial Academy at Brentford, he could write just as -good English as I, and if he had put “many folks seems to think,” or -“you’ve only got to write,” in a theme, old Hopkins would have given -him a good caning. But nothing wears out learning so quick as living -in the country and farming, and Joe came into his farm when he was -nineteen, and has been at it ever since. And after all, perhaps, it -doesn’t much signify, because nobody makes himself better understood -than Joe, in one way or another; and if he wasn’t a little behindhand -in his grammar, he wouldn’t think much of me perhaps--and one don’t -mind being taken for a scholar, even by those who are not the best -judges in the world. - -Well, thinks I to myself, as I finished my breakfast, this seems like -business. If I go down to Joe’s, and stay there all my holiday, the -fares will be only seventeen shillings; and, say a pound for expenses -down there; one pound seventeen shillings, say two pounds in all. I -shall put three pounds into my pocket, and please an old friend, which -will be much better than any thing Jem Fisher and little Neddy Baily -will hit out for me in a week from the end of Bradshaw. Besides, it -will look well to be able to talk of going to a friend in Berkshire. -I’ll write to Joe, and say I’ll be with him in good time on the 15th. - -So I went down to the office and told Jem Fisher and little Neddy, that -I had made up my mind to go and see my old friend Joe, in Berkshire, -before they had had time to get their office coats on. - -“What? that jolly fellow with the brown face and red whiskers,” said -Jem, “who came up and slept in your room last Christmas cattle-show, -and wanted to fight the cabman for a gallon of beer, who charged him -half-a-crown from Baker Street to Gray’s Inn Lane?” - -“Yes,” said I, “that’s the man.” - -“I remember him well,” said Neddy; “and I’m sure you’ll have a good -time of it if you go to see him. But, I say, how about supper to-night? -You won’t want us and the Bradshaws any more, eh?” - -“Oh, he isn’t going to get out of it like that,” said Jem, as he -settled to his desk, and got his work out. “I say, Dick, you’re not -going to be off now, are you? I know better.” - -“I never was on that I know of,” said I; “however, I don’t mind -standing supper at the Cheshire Cheese; but I won’t have you fellows -up in my room again to-night, kicking up a row on the stairs. No! just -catch me at it!” - -So I gave them a supper that night, and another the night after I came -back from my holiday. - -They seemed just the same, but how different I felt. Only two short -weeks had passed, but I was as much changed as if it had been ten -years. I had found something which I never could get rid of, day or -night, and which kept me always in a fret and a struggle. What a life -I led with it! Sometimes it cast me down and made me ready to hang -myself; and then, again, it would lift me up, and seem to fill me with -warmth and sunshine. But, somehow, even when I was at the worst, if an -enchanter had come and offered to wipe it all out, and to put me back -just where I was the night before my holiday, I should have said “No;” -and at all other times I felt that it was the most precious part of my -life. What was it? Ah, what was it? Some of you will smile, and some -of you will sneer, when you find out, as you will (if you don’t skip) -before you get to the end of my story. And I can’t see the least reason -why I should help you to it a minute sooner. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - -Now I do pity all the lords and great gentle-folk with nothing in the -world to do except to find out how to make things pleasant, and new -places to go to, and new ways of spending their money; at least, I -always pity them at the beginning of my holiday, though perhaps when -one first comes back to eleven months’ hard grind in town the feeling -isn’t quite so strong. - -At any rate, I wouldn’t have changed places with the greatest lord in -the land on Tuesday morning, September 15th. I was up as soon as it was -light, and saw the sun rise over the Gray’s Inn Lane chimney-pots; and -I declare they looked quite beautiful. I didn’t know at all before what -a fine outline they make when the rays come flat along the roofs; and -mean often to get up in time to see them by sunrise next summer; but -just now it’s very cold of mornings, and I dare say they don’t look so -well. When I put my head out of window it was quite clear and fresh, -and I thought I could smell the country. - -I hadn’t much to do, for I had packed my bag over night; but I went -over all my things again, and changed the places of some of them in my -old bureau, (which belonged to my father, who was clerk for forty years -in one of the oldest houses in Clement’s Inn,) and locked up all the -drawers; and then I set to work to lay breakfast for three, for I had -asked my two friends to come and see me off, and they had made it all -up with my landlady. So about six o’clock they came in, and we had a -capital breakfast; and then we started off to walk up to the Paddington -station, carrying my bag between us. I had settled to go by the 7.30 -train, because if I hadn’t they couldn’t have come with me; besides, it -is the first train which stops at Farringdon-road; and I was very glad -when we got into the bustle of the station, for they were rather low, -and I felt almost ashamed of being so jolly, though certainly they had -had their holiday earlier in the year. But when I saw their faces out -of the window of the second-class carriage, just as the starting-bell -rang, I should like to have paid their fares out of my own pocket, if -they could have gone with me. - -However, by the time we got past Wormwood Scrubbs, (which looked so -fresh and breezy with the gossamer lying all over it,) I could think of -nothing else but the country and my holiday. How I did enjoy the pretty -hill with the church at top and the stream at the bottom by Hanwell, -and the great old trees about half a mile off on the right before you -get to Slough, and the view of Windsor Castle, and crossing the Thames -at Maidenhead, with its splendid weeping willows, and the old Bath-road -bridge, and the reach beyond with the woods coming down to the bank, -and the great lords’ houses up above. And then all the corn-fields, -though by this time most of them were only stubble, and Reading town, -and the great lasher at Pangbourn, where the water was rushing and -dancing through in the sunlight to welcome me into Berkshire; and -the great stretches of open land about Wallingford-road and Didcot. -And after that came great green pasture-fields, and orchards, and -gray-stone farm-houses, and before I could turn round we were at -Farringdon-road station, and it was a quarter past eleven. As I got -out and gave up my ticket, I couldn’t help thinking of the two lines -Jem Fisher would go on saying when we went out walking in Combe Wood -and Richmond Park one Sunday this last May-- - - How beautiful the country do appear - At this time of the year. - -I know he was laughing, and made them out of his own head, though he -declared they were in Chaucer; but they are just as true for all that, -whether Jem Fisher or Chaucer made them, though the English isn’t as -good as the sense. - -There I found Joe waiting for me, with his trap, as he called it, at -the door, and the inn ostler standing by the head of the horse, which -was a bright chestnut, and looked very fine. I own I very much enjoyed -going off in that dark-green high-wheeled carriage. - -“In with you, Dick,” cried out Joe, as he took hold of the reins, and -patted the horse on the neck. “There, shoot your bag in behind; look -alive, she don’t stand well. That’ll do,” he shouted to the ostler, who -jumped back and touched his hat just as if Joe owned half the parish. -If the horse couldn’t stand well, at any rate she could step out, and -away we whirled down the white road; Joe red in the face with holding -on, his feet well out to the splash-board, his chest thrown forward, -and his elbows down at his side, hauling the chestnut’s head right -back, till her nose nearly touched the collar. But for all that, away -went her legs right straight out in front, shooting along so fast that -I began to feel queer, not being used to horses, and took tight hold -of the seat with my left hand, so that Joe shouldn’t see; for the cart -jumped sometimes enough to pitch you out. - -“Gently there, gently, my beauty,” said Joe, as the chestnut dropped -into a little quieter pace. “There, now, ain’t she a pictur’?” said he -to me;--“ever see a mare lay down to her work like that? Gently, my -beauty! if it wasn’t for the blaze in her face, and the white feet, -the Squir’d give me one hundred pounds for her to-morrow. And I won’t -sell her under. It’s a mortal shame to drive her. Her mouth’s like a -kitten’s.” How Joe could talk so, when he was pulling fit to burst -himself at the reins, I don’t know; I thought once or twice where we -should go to if one broke, but I didn’t say any thing. I found out -afterwards that Joe meant a great white mark, when he talked of the -blaze in her face. I suppose men can’t see any faults in their own -horses, any more than they can in their children. - -After a bit, the pace got quite steady, and then I began to enjoy -myself, and could look at the famous rich fields, and the high hedges -full of great heavy masses of clematis, and sniff up all the country -smells, as we whirled along, and listen to Joe, who was going grinding -on about, ‘how badly the parish roads were kept up; and that he had set -his mind to have them well mended with flints instead of chalk, and -to have all the thistles at the side kept down, which were sowing the -whole country round, because their vestry was so stingy they wouldn’t -put any men on the road to set it right,’ and I could see that Joe was -in the middle of a good quarrel with all the other farmers about it. - -When he had done his story, I asked him about the White Horse, and he -pointed me out the highest of the hills which ran along on our left -hand a mile or two away. There, sure enough, I saw the figure quite -plain; but he didn’t know much about it. Only, he said, he had always -heard tell that it was cut out by King Alfred the Great, who lived -in those parts; and ‘there was a main sight of strange old things up -there on the hill, besides the White Horse; and though he didn’t know -much about how they got there, he was sort of proud of them, and was -glad to pay his pound or two, or double that if it was wanted, to keep -them as they should be;’ “for, you see,” said Joe, “we’ve lived about -here, father and son, pretty nigh ever since King Alfred’s time, which -I reckon is a smartish time ago, though I forget how long.” And though -I think Joe, and parties in the counties generally, set too much store -by such things, and hold their noses much higher than they’ve any need -to do, because their families have never cared to move about, and push -on in the world, and so they know where their great-grandfathers were -born, I couldn’t help feeling there was something in it after all. - -And the more I thought of this strange old White Horse, the more it -took hold of me, and I resolved, if I could, while I was down in the -country to learn all about it. I knew, you see, that if I could only -get people to tell me about it, I should be able to carry it all away; -because, besides having a very good memory, I can take down every thing -that is said as fast as most people can speak it, and that’s what gives -me such an advantage over Jem Fisher and Neddy, who spent all the time -it took me to learn shorthand in reading poetry and other rubbish, -which will never help to get them on in the world, or do them a bit of -good that I can see. - -Presently we came in sight of a house with farm buildings behind, which -stood some way back from the road; and Joe pulled up opposite a gate -which led into the field before the house. - -“Here we are, then,” said he; “just jump out, and open the gate, Dick; -I’d do it, only I can’t trust you with the ribbons.” - -It was a beautiful great green pasture-field which we drove into, with -a score of fat sleek cows feeding in it, or lying about chewing the -cud; and Joe was very proud of them, and walked the chestnut along -slowly while he pointed out his favourites to me, especially one -short-horn, whose back he said was like a kitchen-table, though why -she should be any the handsomer for that I can’t say. The house was an -old brick building, with tall chimneys and latticed windows; in front -of it was a nice little flower-garden, with a tall, clipped holly hedge -running round it, so thick that you couldn’t see through; and beyond -that, a kitchen garden and an orchard. Outside the enclosure stood four -such elms as I never saw before, and a walnut-tree nearly as big as -they, with queer great branches drooping close to the ground, on which -some turkeys were sitting. There was only a little wicket-gate in the -holly hedge, and a gravel footpath up to the front door, so we drove -into the farm-yard at the back; and while Joe and his man took care of -the chestnut, I had time to look about, and think what a snug berth Joe -seemed to have fallen upon. - -The yard must be sixty yards across, and was full of straw where the -pigs were lying with nothing but their snouts out; lots of poultry -were scratching and pecking about before the barn-doors, and pigeons -were fluttering down amongst them, and then up again to the tops of -the barns and stables, which ran all round the yard. The rick-yard, -full of long stacks of hay, and round stacks of corn, was beyond. A -terrier and spaniel were sleeping in sunny corners, and a grayhound was -stalking about and looking at the pigs; and every thing looked sleepy -and happy, and as if life went easily along at Elm Close Farm. - -Presently Joe came out of the stable, carrying his whip, and took me -into the house, calling into the kitchen as we passed to send in dinner -directly. There was nobody in the parlour at first, but I saw that the -table was laid for three; and, before I could look round at the prints -and samples on the wall, Joe’s mother and the dinner came in. She was -a good-looking old lady, dressed in black, with a very white lawn cap -and collar, and was very kind and civil, but a little deaf. Joe bustled -about, and got out I don’t know how many bottles of home-made wine, -clary, and raisin, and ginger; all of which he made me drink, besides -beer, for he said that no one in the vale had such receipts for wine -as his mother. And what with the dairy-fed pork, and black puddings, -and a chicken almost as big as a turkey, and the cheese-cakes and tarts -afterwards, and the hearty welcome and good example which Joe gave me, -I don’t remember when I have made so good a dinner. - -The old lady went off directly after dinner, and I could see that Joe -wanted to go and see after his men; so I told him not to mind me, -for I should enjoy loitering about the place better than any thing. -And so I did; first I went into the flower-garden, and watched and -listened to the bees working away so busy in the mignonette, and the -swallows darting up into their nests under the eaves, and then diving -out again, and skimming away over the great pasture; and then round -the kitchen-garden, and into the orchard, where the trees were all -loaded with apples and pears, and so out into a stubble-field at the -back, where there were a lot of young pigs feeding and playing queer -tricks, and back through the farm-yard into the great pasture, where I -lay down on the grass, under one of the elms, and lighted my pipe; and -thought of our hot clerks’ room, and how Jem Fisher and little Neddy -were working away there; and watched a flock of little shiny starlings -hopping up on to the backs of some old south-down wethers who were -feeding near me, and flying backwards and forwards into the old elms -and walnut-trees, talking to one another all the while. - -And so the time wore on, till a stout lass in a blue cotton print came -out, and called the cows in to milking; and they all went trooping -slowly by into the farm-yard, some of them just stopping to stare at me -with their mild eyes, and smelling so sweet, that I hadn’t the heart to -go on smoking, and let my pipe out. And after a bit, I followed into -the line of sheds where they were being milked by the lass and a man, -who balanced himself on two legs of the milking-stool, and drove his -head into the cow’s side; and I thought I had never heard a sweeter -sound than the tinkling sound which the milk made in the bright, tin -pails. - -I soon got into a talk with the lass, who was very pleasant and free -spoken; and presently, when her pail was full, I lifted it out for her, -all frothing up, and looking not a bit like our London sky-blue; and I -told her I didn’t think I had ever tasted real new milk; so she got me -a long straw, and while she went on milking, I went down on my knees, -and began to suck away through the straw. But I had hardly begun, when -I heard a noise behind, and looking round, there stood Joe, laughing -all over; and by his side a young woman in a broad, straw hat and a -gray jacket; and though, for good manners, she didn’t laugh out like -Joe, I could see it was all she could do to keep from going off too. - -Why was I ashamed of being caught? I don’t know, but I was ashamed; and -as I stuck there on my knees in the deep straw with the pail before me -looking at them, the blood rushed up to my head and made my ears sing, -so that I couldn’t hear a word that Joe said. But I could see he did -say something, and then went off into another great roar of laughter; -and the lass and the man left off milking and began laughing too, till -I thought they would have dropped off the stools. Then the young woman -who was with Joe said something to him, and I thought I heard the words -“What a shame!” and “your oldest friend;” and then she caught up a -straw, and came and knelt on the opposite side of the milk-pail, and -began to suck away herself without looking at me. In another moment Joe -plumped down too, clapping me on the back. - -“I say,” said he, “start fair! Here, make room for me; you and Lucy -ain’t going to have it all to yourselves,” and he began sucking away -too; and then I recovered myself, and we all went on for a minute, when -Joe took his straw out of his mouth, and said, “This is my sister Lucy, -Dick; there, shake hands over the pail, and then let’s go in to tea.” - -So she looked up, and blushed, and gave me her hand, her merry blue -eyes twinkling with mirth, though she tried to keep grave. But I was -all right now, and went off myself, and Joe followed, and then she, -with the clearest, brightest laugh you ever heard; and then the man and -the lass, and by the time we had done, I felt as if I had known them -all for years. But as for Miss Lucy, as we walked away to the house to -tea, I felt as if I could have given her my skin, if she would only -have had a pair of shoes made out of it for her dear little feet. - -The old lady was sitting at the tea-table in great force, with plates -of buttered toast and cake, and pots of blackberry and red-currant jam, -and the great loaf all set out ready; and after tea, we three walked -out again till the sun set, and then came in to supper, at which I was -surprised to find myself eating away just as if I had had nothing all -day; country air does give one such an appetite. After supper, the old -lady sat in her chair knitting and telling stories, till she nodded -off and the spectacles fell on to the end of her nose, and her hands -into her lap, but still holding the needles; and every now and then -giving a catch with her head, and making belief to go on for a stitch -or two. And Miss Lucy sat stitching at a patch-work coverlet, fitting -in all sorts of scraps of silk in the prettiest patterns in the world, -and we on the other side of the table watching her, and talking quite -low not to disturb the old lady. But what made it so pleasant was, -that I had pretty near all the talking, for they seemed never tired -of hearing about London, and how people lived there, and what they -thought; especially Miss Lucy, who had never been out of Berkshire in -her life. I thought Joe a great fidget, when soon after nine he began -to walk about and waked his mother, and got the servants in to prayers, -and bustled them off to bed; but I believe it was all because he wanted -to have his pipe, which he wouldn’t smoke in the parlour. So we went -into the kitchen and finished the day there, under half a score of -great brown sides of bacon, and tufts of sweet herbs which hung drying -from the corners of the rack, and opposite to the dresser with its rows -of pewter plates as bright as silver, till I went to bed in sheets -smelling of lavender, and dreamt of Miss Lucy. - -I dare say that, though I should never be tired of telling about every -thing that happened to me at Elm Close, some people may get tired of -reading about it. So I shall only begin my story of the next day after -breakfast, when Joe had the trap out again, and carried me off to see -what was doing up on White Horse Hill. - -We had a very pleasant drive through the Vale to Uffington, which lies -at the foot of the hill, and here Joe put up the trap, at the Swan, -and we set off on foot to walk up. It was very hot, and the white road -glared as we tramped along it, but very soon we came to broad strips of -turf on each side, and then it was pleasant enough; so we plodded up a -gentle rise called Sour Hill, and crossed the Iceldon or Iggleton way, -which I’ve found out since was an old Roman road; and then the ascent -became quite steep, and every thing was clear hill and down before us, -not a fence to be seen, and a fresh breeze came sweeping over the hill. - -The road now became very bad, with ruts in the chalk like -water-courses. On our left hand there was a deep, narrow valley like -a little bay running up into the hill, on the opposite side of which -valley a large wood hung along the steepest part of the hill-side, -which Joe informed me was Uffington wood, a well-known meet for the -hounds; it made me giddy to look at the places which he declared the -huntsman, and any one who wanted to be sure of a good place when the -hounds broke cover, had to ride along. - -And now the great, green hill seemed to be hanging right over us, -as we came to a curious round mound on our right hand, up which Joe -scrambled, and I after him, till we both pulled up out of breath on the -flat top, some fifty yards across. - -“This is Dragon’s Hill,” said Joe, pulling off his hat and mopping his -face with his handkerchief, “where St. George killed the Dragon in the -old times. Leastways so they says about here, only they calls him King -George instead of Saint George. And this bare place is where his blood -ran out, and nothing’ll grow on it since, not so much as a thistle.” - -Of course I knew better than to believe that, but it is a beautiful -place; for just below it another little deep valley, like the one -on the left, only narrower and steeper at the sides, runs right up -into the hill-side. The road we had left winds round the head of this -gorge, for any one to drive along who isn’t particular about breaking -his neck, for the hill is like a wall up above, and down below, with -nothing but a little bank between you and the descent. - -“Those are the giants’ seats opposite,” said Joe, pointing across the -valley to a set of beautiful great green slopes, like huge ridges and -furrows, which went sweeping down into the valley one after another -as far as I could see; “and this is the Manger, this great hole in -the hill-side, because it lies right under the old Horse’s nose. Come -along, let’s get up to him; there he is, you see, right above us.” - -So we scrambled down the side of Dragon’s Hill, crossed the road, -and then started up a row of steps cut in the turf. I’m sure it must -be twice as steep as the hill in Greenwich Park, and I don’t mind -confessing that I shouldn’t have liked to look round just at first, and -wouldn’t have minded giving myself a help with my hands if I hadn’t -been afraid of Joe’s seeing me and laughing. I should think we must -have gone up two hundred steps, when all of a sudden Joe stopped just -above me, and called out, “Here we are;” and in about four steps I came -to a trench cut into the chalk about two feet deep, which ran up the -hill-side right ahead of us. The chalk in the trench was all hard and -flat, and seemed to have been scraped and brushed up quite lately. - -“This is his tail,” said Joe. “Come on; look, they’re scouring him -up above; we’re in luck--I thought they’d have done before this; and -there’s the Squire too with ’em.” - -[Illustration] - -So I looked up; and there, some way above, I saw a lot of men with -shovels, and besoms, and barrows, cleaning away at the trench, which, -now that I began to look at it, certainly came out more and more like -a horse galloping; and there amongst them, working away as hard as -any one, was a person in yellow leather gaiters, who I saw at once -must be the Squire, though I had never seen a squire before. I own I -had a great prejudice against a country squire when I went down into -Berkshire; which was natural enough, you see, because I had never been -farther from town than Twickenham (except by boat to Margate), -and had belonged to a debating society near Farringdon-market ever -since I left school, where we take in three liberal papers, and once -a week have as good speaking as they get in the House of Commons. I -haven’t been to the debates much lately, myself; but when I was an -active member, we used to have a regular go in about once a quarter -at the unpaid magistracy. How we did give it them! They were bloated -aristocrats, who by the time they were thirty had drunk out all the -little brains they ever had, and spent their time in preserving and -killing game and foxes at the expense of the farmers, and sending every -good man in their villages either to the Bastile (as we called the -workhouse), as a pauper, or to the county jail as a poacher. - -Joe and I very nearly quarrelled over one of those debates to which -I took him, like a great gaby as I was, when he came up to see me at -the time of a cattle-show. He would get up to speak, all I could do to -stop him; and began, all red in the face, pitching into one of our best -speakers who had just finished, calling him a cockney, and asking him -what right he had to jaw about squires when he talked about a fox’s -ears and tail, and didn’t know mangold-wurzel from swedes. And then all -our fellows began to shout and hiss, and Joe began to swear, and wanted -to take his coat off, and fight all who had spoken; “one down, and -t’other come on,” as he said. I got him out and took him home; but his -blood was up, and he would go on at our Society, and call us a set of -quill-driving jackanapes. And I couldn’t stand that, so I began at the -landed interest, and said all the bad of them I could think of, about -the Poor-Laws, game preserving, and the Corn-laws. Joe was very near -going off in a huff, but we shook hands over it at last, and agreed -that we neither of us knew much about the sort of life the other led, -and so had better not talk about it as if we did. - -Well, this was the first squire I had ever seen, so I looked at him -with all my eyes; and if all squires were like him, I don’t wonder -at Joe’s getting in a passion at our talk in Farringdon-market. I -should think he must be about forty-five years old, and stands not far -short of six feet high; for when he came to stand by Joe, I could see -he was the taller of the two; but he didn’t look so tall quite when -he stood by himself--I suppose because his figure was so good. For -you never saw such a clean made man; he was for all the world like a -well-rounded wedge from his shoulders down, and his neck and head put -on like a statue. He looked just as if he could have jumped the highest -five-barred gate in the Vale, and then have carried it off on his -shoulders, and run up the hill with it. And his face, which was well -browned, was so manly and frank, and his voice so cheery, and he looked -you so straight in the face, that you felt he wasn’t ashamed of any -thing, or afraid of anybody; and so you looked him back and spoke out, -and were twice as good a man at once yourself while you were talking to -him. - -Well, when the Squire saw Joe, he stopped working away with his shovel, -and called out to him; and so Joe went up and shook hands with him, and -began talking to him, and in another minute the Squire called for his -coat--a gray tweed shooting-jacket it was--and put it on, and took up -his riding-whip, and told the men to look alive and get their job done, -and then to send up to the Castle for some beer and bread and cheese -which he would order for them. - -Then Joe and the Squire walked away along the hill-side talking, -and I went and sat down on a little mound, just above the Horse’s -ears, and watched the men working, and looked at the view. How I did -enjoy myself! The turf was as soft as a feather bed, and as springy -as horsehair; and it was all covered with thistle down, which came -drifting along like snow with the south wind; and all down below the -country looked so rich and peaceful, stretching out for miles and miles -at my feet in the hazy sunshine, and the larks right up overhead sang -so sweetly, that I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I should have -liked to have had a turn at the besoms and shovels with the men, who -seemed very good-tempered, only I was too shy, and I couldn’t make out -half they said. So I took out my pipe and lighted it, and sat looking -on at the work, and thinking of nothing. - -Presently a gentleman whom I hadn’t noticed, but who was poking about -the place, came and sat down near me. He was dressed in dark clothes, -very quiet; I suppose he was a parson from some of the villages near. -And we began talking about the weather, and what chance there was of -having fine days for the pastime. He was a very grave, elderly man, but -easy and pleasant, and had a keen look in his gray eyes, and a sort of -twinkle about his mouth, which made me put my best leg foremost, and -take care what I said. - -Well, when we had done about the weather, thinks I, “This is just the -sort of gentleman to tell me what I want to know about the White Horse -and all the rest of it,” and you’ll see as you go on that I never -made a better guess in my life. So I got my note-book out quietly, so -that he shouldn’t take much notice of what I was about, and began, “I -suppose, Sir,” said I, “that it’s all right about Alfred, and that he -really did cut out this figure after winning a great battle up here?” - -“Yes,” said he, “I think so myself, because there has always been a -tradition in the country side that this was so. And where antiquaries -differ, a tradition of this sort may always be pretty safely believed. -Country folk hold on to such stories, and hand them down in a very -curious manner; but you know, I dare say, that it is claimed by some as -a Druidical, or at any rate a British monument, which would make it -several hundred years older at least.” - -I didn’t know any thing about it, but why should I tell him so. “I -shouldn’t like to think so, Sir,” said I, “because one wouldn’t care so -much about it if it wasn’t made by the Saxons and their great king. The -Druids don’t seem akin to us somehow; and then one would lose all about -the great battle, which was certainly fought up here, wasn’t it, Sir?” - -“I have no doubt about it,” said he; “there are many signs of it--above -all, graves enough to hold the harvest of many battles. You are lying -on one.” - -“No! am I really, though?” said I, sitting up and looking at the -ground; “how do you know?” - -“Well, it isn’t very hard when the eye gets used to them,” said he; -“there’s another;” and he pointed to a small mound a few yards off, -and just like the one I was sitting on. “That larger mound, too, down -below, across the road, you were on it just now--” - -“Yes, Sir,” said I, interrupting him, and pointing at it, “Dragon’s -Hill.” - -[Illustration] - -“Exactly so,” said he; “that’s another burial-place; a larger and -grander affair, you see, than these. Probably a king or other very -noble person is buried there.” - -“The people say, Sir, don’t they,” said I, “that St. George killed the -Dragon there?” - -“They do,” said he, “and that his blood made a pool on the top, and -ran down the steps on the other side, where the grass has never grown -since. This is another curious instance of the tenacity of tradition; -but here I think our good folk in the Vale have held on to the name, -or a part of it, and forgotten the meaning, just as they have in the -case of another village over there in Oxfordshire, the name of which is -Stanton Harcourt.” - -“How was that, Sir?” said I, when he paused. - -“Well,” said he, laughing, “an old man in that village told me that a -battle was fought there, which the English were very near losing, when -the general rode up to one of his captains, named Harcourt, who was in -the thick of it, and called out, ‘Stan’ to un, Harcourt, stan’ to un, -Harcourt;’ and that Harcourt won the battle, and the village has been -called Stanton Harcourt ever since. Now, as to that mound, I believe -it’s right name to be Pendragon’s Hill. Pendragon, you know, is only -a name common to those of the kings of the ancient Britons, who were -chosen leaders in the time of national distress, and means nothing more -than ‘caput regum,’ ‘the chief of kings.’ According to some, ‘Arthur’ -is the same or a like word, being ‘Ardh-reg’ or ‘Ard-heer,’ and meaning -‘summus Rex’ (whence the ‘Arviragus’ of Juvenal; but I lay no stress on -this). Now we know of at least three Pendragons. There was Cassibelan, -who was chosen Pendragon at the time of Julius Cæsar’s invasion, Uter -Pendragon, and Arthur Pendragon; which Uter and Arthur were, without -doubt, chosen to resist the Saxons, who had won already the eastern -part of the island. And if Arthur and Pendragon are the same words, -doubtless (as has been well supposed), there were many Arthurs at this -time, one of whom was probably slain in battle and buried here.[2] -For in the Saxon annals we find that Cedric, founder of the West Saxon -kingdom, slew Natan-leod and five thousand men in these parts, which -Natan-leod (as is shown by Mr. Baxter) is ‘Naud-an-ludh,’ or ‘populi -tutela,’ the people’s refuge; in fact, a kindred word to ‘Pendragon,’ -or ‘Arthur.’ You see how probable this would be _primâ facie_?” said -he, turning round to me. - -My goodness! I couldn’t make out head or tail of his long words, and -was staring at him with my mouth open; but when he turned round I shut -it pretty quick, and looked as wise as I could. “Well, Sir,” said I, -“I hardly know; but it doesn’t look unlikely, does it?” - -“Of course not,” said he, quite pleased; “and as the Britons were not -driven from these parts till the middle of the sixth century, I should -put the throwing up of Dragon’s Hill in the beginning, say the first -half, of that century. Now, in the year A.D. 520, according to Gildas -and Bede, Arthur gained his twelfth victory at ‘Mons Badonicus,’ which -might very well be Baydon Hill, which you see over there.” And he -pointed to a hill three or four miles off. - -“But then, Sir,” said I, “if he gained the victory, he wasn’t killed -there, I suppose, and so he couldn’t be buried here.” - -“But he was killed in battle at last,” said he; “and, as I told you, -there must have been many Arthurs or Pendragons just at that time, and -many battles fought between this and Bath--why, the Britons gained a -battle at Wanborough, over there, as late as A.D. 581.” - -“But, Sir,” said I, “if Pendragon was buried down there, wouldn’t -they have been very likely to cut out the horse up here just above, -as another monument, at the same time; and then what becomes of King -Alfred and the Danes?” - -“There is no instance of two such monuments over one chief,” answered -he, quite positive; but I thought I saw him give a twinkle with his -mouth, as if he felt I had been pretty near him. “Besides, as I said -before, the tradition as to the White Horse is too strong to be upset -by conjecture.” - -“I didn’t mean to conjecture, I’m sure, Sir,” said I; and I thought, -though I didn’t say so, it was he who had been conjecturing pretty -freely, if it came to that. “The battle of Ashdown, Sir, was a very -great battle then,” I went on, for I liked to hear him talk about those -old times, though I didn’t quite understand all he said. - -“The greatest battle probably in which Alfred ever was,” said he. - -“Please, Sir,” said I, “I hope you won’t think me troublesome, but if -you would only tell me about the battle I should be so much obliged to -you.” - -“Sir,” said he, looking at me rather surprised, “it is seldom that -I can get any of the youth of this day to take an interest in these -matters, the study of which would greatly benefit their manners -and morals. I shall be pleased to do what you wish. Are you a good -listener?” - -“Yes, Sir,” said I, “you will get tired of talking long before I shall -of listening. And you wouldn’t mind, I hope, my taking notes of the -story?” - -“By no means,” said he; “I see you are ready with your pen. Perhaps -I shouldn’t have told you so much about Pendragon and Natan-leod if -I had seen that you were taking me down; but now I will be careful -to give you nothing which is not to be found in the most trustworthy -chroniclers. Are you ready?” - -“Yes, Sir,” said I; and then he settled himself in the turf, and pulled -a couple of old brown books out of his long coat-tail pockets, to which -he sometimes referred, and looking out over the Vale, as if he were -travelling in his mind far away from me and every thing about us on the -hill-side, began as follows. - -[2] E. Martin Atkins, Esq., of Kingston Lisle, has lately been opening -the barrows which are nearest to the Horse; and the compiler, hearing -that he was about to examine Dragon’s Hill also, wrote to him on the -subject, and suggested how desirable it would be (if any ways possible) -to find the remains of King Bægseek there who was slain at Ashdown. To -which communication the compiler received the following reply. After -mentioning the contents of the other barrows, some clearly Saxon, -others Romano-British, his letter proceeds as to Dragon’s Hill:-- - -“As for old Bægseek, I should chuck him overboard at once, and assume -that our friend Uter Pendragon’s remains had been originally deposited -here, but that he had been disturbed in his repose by the decapitation -of the barrow, which at some unknown time has undoubtedly taken place. -It is unfortunate, however, that a Roman coin of the time of Constans -turned up from among the débris, and the fragments of pottery also -were chiefly of Roman manufacture, mixed with some of earlier date. -It will therefore perhaps be difficult to reconcile these matters one -with the other; but on turning them over in your mind, you will, I dare -say, _theorize with a very agreeable correctness_!” What is a wretched -compiler to do, who gets such letters from those who should be his -aiders and abettors? - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - -Nearly a thousand years ago, in the year of our Lord 871, the great -battle of Ashdown was fought; but, in order to give you a true idea -of its importance, I must begin my story some years earlier; that is -to say, in the year of our Lord 866. In this year Æthelbert, king of -the West Saxons, died, having ruled his kingdom for five years in -peace, with the love of his subjects; and Æthelred, his next brother, -who succeeded him, buried his body in Sherborne Minster. In this year -Alfred, the younger brother, who afterwards succeeded Æthelred, and was -called Alfred the Great, reached his seventeenth year. In the autumn a -great army of pagan Danes came over to Britain, and landed in that part -of the island which was then called East Anglia, but now Norfolk. These -were not the first Danes who had come over to vex England, but none of -them ever stayed so long, fought so many battles, or did so much harm -(as we should say, speaking according to man’s judgment) as these. - -A very curious story is told of why they came over here; and as it goes -at first sight against a good many of our notions of how the world is -governed, and so ought to make us think a little more about the matter, -I shall give it you pretty much as it is told by the old chronicler, -John Brompton. - -“There was a man of royal birth in the kingdom of Denmark, named -Lodbroc, who had two sons, Hinguar and Hubba. This man embarked one -day with his hawk in a small boat to catch ducks, and other wild-fowl -on the adjoining sea-coasts and islands. A terrible storm arose, by -which Lodbroc was carried away and tossed for several days on every -part of the ocean. After numberless perils, he was cast ashore on the -coast of Norfolk, near the village of Redham,” (at least that must be -the name, as I read it in Brompton, though I have not been able to -hear of a village of that name on the coast of Norfolk,) “where he was -found having his hawk alone for his companion, and presented to King -Edmund. That king, struck with the manliness of his form, kept him at -his court, and heard from his own mouth the history of his adventures. -He was then associated with Berne, the king’s huntsman, and indulged -in all the pleasures of the chase, for in the exercise of both hunting -and hawking he was remarkably skilful, and succeeded in capturing both -birds and beasts according as he had a mind.” In fact, Lodbroc was the -sort of man to please King Edmund, for the art of capturing birds and -beasts was, next to the art of fighting for one’s home and country, -the art most esteemed amongst the Anglo-Saxons; who acknowledged “that -skill and good fortune in this art, as in all others, are among the -gifts of God, as we also have often witnessed.” But to go on with our -story. “The skill of Lodbroc bred jealousy in the heart of Berne the -huntsman, who one day, as they went out together hunting, unawares -set upon Lodbroc, and having foully slain him, buried his body in the -thickets of the forest. But Lodbroc had a small harrier dog, which he -had bred up from its birth, and which loved him much. While Berne the -huntsman went home with the other hounds, this little dog remained -alone with his master’s body. In the morning, the king asked what had -become of Lodbroc, to which Berne answered that he had parted from him -yesterday in the woods, and had not seen him since. At that moment the -harrier came into the hall and went round wagging its tail, and fawning -on the whole company, but especially on the king; when he had eaten -his fill, he again left the hall. This happened often; until some one -at last followed the dog to see where he went, and having found the -body of the murdered Lodbroc, came and told the story to the king. The -affair was now carefully inquired into, and when the truth was at last -found out, the huntsman was exposed on the sea, without oars, in the -boat which had belonged to Lodbroc. In some days, he was cast ashore -in Denmark, and brought before the sons of Lodbroc; who, putting him -to the torture, inquired of him what had become of their father, to -whom they knew the boat belonged. To this Berne answered,” as one might -have guessed he would answer, he being a liar and cowardly murderer, -“that their father Lodbroc had fallen into the hands of Edmund, King -of East Anglia, by whose orders he had been put to death.” Now, King -Edmund was a wise and righteous man, who “devoutly undertook the -government of the East Angles, and held it with the right hand of -power, always adoring and glorifying God for all the good things which -he enjoyed;”[3] and it is a pity he did not on this occasion remember, -that having safely caught a great scoundrel, the best thing to do with -him was to see him hung out of the way himself; for, by letting him go, -you see, he gave a chance to the devil, who can’t afford to lose such -gentlemen as Berne the huntsman out of the world, and has considerable -grudges against kings like Edmund. - -Well, when Hinguar and Hubba heard the tale of Berne the huntsman, -they, like good and true sons, according to the notions of piety then -current amongst the Danes, hastened to fit out a fleet to invade -England, and avenge their father. And their three sisters wove for them -the standard, called the Raven, in one day--which flag waved over many -a bloody field, from Northumbria to Devonshire, until it was taken by -King Alfred’s men, under Odda, the Alderman of Devon, before a certain -castle in that county, which is called Cynuit by Asser, and Kenuith -elsewhere, (the situation of which castle I cannot identify, or the -name,) where were slain King Halfdene, a brother of Hinguar and Hubba, -and 840 Danish warriors. It was said, that when the Danes were about to -gain a battle, a live crow would fly before the middle of the standard; -but if they were to be beaten, it would hang motionless.[4] - -So Hinguar and Hubba, as has been said, landed in the country of the -East Angles, in the late autumn, bent on vengeance. King Edmund knew -nothing of the blood-feud between him and these Danish leaders, by -reason of Berne’s lying story, so took no more than the usual measures -for preparing to attack them; but whether it was that they found King -Edmund too strong for them at the time, or for some other reason, they -seem to have wintered there quietly, and to have bought horses, and -made some sort of truce with the East Angles.[5] But in the spring of -the year 867, they crossed the Humber, marched hastily upon York, and -took it. - -The kingdom of Northumbria was just the place for the army of Pagans -and the standard Raven at this time; for it was divided against itself. -Osbert, the rightful king, had been playing Tarquin in the house of -Bruern Brocard, one of his chief earls; so his people had cast him out, -and had taken to themselves a king Ælla, of unkingly blood, and the two -were warring against one another when the Danes took York. Late in the -autumn, however, a peace was made between Osbert and Ælla, and they -marched to York; where within the very walls of the city into which -the Northumbrians penetrated, was fought a most bloody battle. In that -fight fell almost all the Northumbrian warriors, and both the kings, -and a multitude of noble men; and the remainder who escaped made peace -with the Pagans.[6] By this time, no doubt, there was small spoil left -for Hinguar and Hubba north of the Humber. - -Accordingly, in the year 868, the pagan army, leaving Northumbria, -marched into Mercia, and surprised and took Nottingham. Then Burhred, -King of Mercia, and his witan sent to Æthelred, king of the West -Saxons, to come and help them. And Æthelred and Alfred marched to -Nottingham with the West Saxon power, and with Burhred besieged the -Pagans, there; but they could not force the wall, and there was no -great battle, and Æthelred and Alfred went home with their troops. But -the Pagans, after wintering at Nottingham, made peace with Burhred and -the Mercians; that is to say, such a peace as they loved to make--I -mean a peace till it was worth their while to come again; for in 874 -they came back, drove King Burhred over the sea, and subdued the whole -country--and Burhred went to Rome and died there, and his body lies in -St. Mary’s Church at the English School.[7] - -In the year 869, “the aforesaid army of Pagans, galloping back to -Northumbria, went to York, and there passed the winter;” or, in the -words of Huntingdon, “remained there cruelly for one year.” And what -sort of a winter was it for the poor Yorkshiremen? “There was again a -great famine, a mortality among men, and a pest among cattle.” Such -is the fate of a divided people which can only make truces with its -oppressors. - -In this winter, Hinguar and Hubba seem to have got large -reinforcements from over the sea, headed by two other kings, Bægseeg -and Halfdene their brother, for in the year 870 we find them no longer -surprising a city, and from thence defying their enemies and oppressing -the neighbourhood. Now they march openly and fearlessly across Mercia; -and, the day of vengeance having come, burst upon East Anglia, and take -up their head-quarters at Thetford. And then comes the saddest part of -a sad story. King Edmund, being a king like Josiah, who believed in God -and ruled in righteousness, was not the man to see the desolation of -any part of his people, or to shut himself up in fenced cities while -the pagan cavalry rode through East Anglia--so the aforesaid King -Edmund gathered his men, and “fought fiercely and manfully against -the army. But because the merciful God foreknew that he was to arrive -at the crown of martyrdom, he there fell gloriously. Of his passion -I would fain insert some particulars into our history, that the sons -of men may know and perceive how terrible is Christ the Son of God in -the counsels of men, and with what glorious triumph he adorns those -whom he tries here under the name of suffering, that the saying may -be fulfilled, ‘He is not crowned except he strive lawfully.’ (2 Tim. -ii. 5.)”[8] Such is the lesson which the old monk Simeon, præcentor -of the Church of Durham, gets out of the death and martyrdom of King -Edmund, and I know not where we are to look for a better. Perhaps it -may help us when we think of India[9] to remember with Simeon, how -terrible is Christ the Son of God in the counsels of men, and with -what glorious triumph he adorns those whom he tries here under the -name of suffering. For Hinguar and Hubba took the wounded king on -the field of battle, and tied him to a tree, because he chose to die -sooner than give over his people to them, and there shot him through -the body with their arrows.[10] But his people got the body and buried -it at Bradoriesunyrthe, now called St. Edmund’s Bury, or Bury St. -Edmunds;[11] and many miracles were wrought at his tomb, and he was -canonized--at which honour let all Englishmen rejoice, the earth having -as much need as ever of many such kings and saints. - -And they were rare then as now, and then as now men went their own -way, and not God’s way, and cut out their own work instead of taking -his. For “when King Edmund was slain, his brother Edwold, dreading -the pleasures of the world, and seeing that a hard lot had fallen -on himself and his brother, retired to the monastery of Carnelia in -Dorsetshire, near a clear well which St. Augustine had formerly brought -out of the earth by prayer, to baptize the people in, and there he -led a hermit’s life on only bread and water.”[12] Yes! and no doubt -thought himself righteous and despised others--and left the kingdom -which God had given him to the Pagans, who “subdued all the land and -destroyed all the ministers they came to,” which Edmund his brother had -built--“and that same time they came to Medeshamstede, and burned and -beat it down, slew abbot and monks, and all that place which before was -full rich, they reduced to nothing,”[13] while Edwold, who should have -been there with the remnant of the East Angles, to make his last stand, -like a true shepherd of his people, was eating his bread and drinking -his water in peace, by a clear well near the monastery of Carnelia in -Dorsetshire. - -And now the Pagan kings, “with a new army, very great, like a flowing -river which carries all along with it,”[14] having doubtless been -reinforced again from over the sea, where the story of their victories -had spread far and wide, were looking about for some new field for -plunder and murder. The whole north and east of England was a desolate -wilderness behind them; London was in ruins, and Kent had been harried -over and over again by their brethren the sea-kings. But some thirty -miles up the Thames was a fair kingdom, stretching far away west, -down to the distant sea. This was Wessex, the kingdom of the West -Angles, over which Æthelred, the brother of Alfred, was now ruling, and -entering on the sixth year of his reign. The kingdom had had peace for -ten years, and was full of royal burgs, and rich pastures, with cattle -and horses, and sheep. Perhaps Hinguar and Hubba remembered the leaguer -of Nottingham three years before, and how the West Angles, with their -king and his brother, had hemmed them in and watched them there through -a long summer. - -In the early years of their inroad, the Pagans would not have dared -to brave a united people with Æthelred for king; but they had now -grown bold from success, and were in numbers so great that “by reason -thereof they could not advance together, but went by different roads.” -So in an early month of the year 871, with their usual swiftness, they -marched up the Thames valley and seized on Reading, a royal burg, and -the then easternmost city of note in Wessex. Reading is situate on the -south bank of the Thames and on the north bank of the Kennet, at the -confluence of the two rivers; and, while part of the Pagan host made a -rampart between the rivers, to protect their camp and the town which -they had taken, a large force, on the third day after their arrival, -began scouring the country for plunder, under two of their earls. - -But the men of Wessex had increased and multiplied as well as their -cattle, and Æthelwulf, Alderman of Berkshire, was a man “who raged as -a lion in battle.” So Æthelwulf, with what men he could get together, -fought with the two earls at Englefield, though he had but a small -band of Christians with him. But he cheered his men, saying to them, -“though they attack us with the advantage of more men we may despise -them, for our commander Christ, is braver than they.”[15] Whereupon the -men of Wessex buckled to their work under the oaks of Englefield Chase -(afterwards beloved by the great Queen Bess), and there discomfited -the pagans very sore, and slew one of the two earls. In one of the -old chroniclers, there are a few lines which may partly account for -Æthelwulf’s victory; “their two consuls,” says Æthelwerd, “forgetting -that they were not on board their fleet, rode proudly through fields -and meadows on horseback, which nature had denied them;” possibly -therefore these were the new comers, who had just joined the Pagan army -and were not used to horses or landfighting. - -Within the next three days King Æthelred and his brother Alfred came -up from the west, each leading a strong band of West Saxon warriors, -and joined Æthelwulf; and on the fourth day they attacked the Pagans at -Reading. Those who were outside the rampart they cut to pieces, and at -first had the vantage; but the Pagans came out with all their forces, -and after great slaughter had been made on either hand, and the brave -Æthelwulf had been slain, “the Pagans had possession of the place of -death.”[16] Thus the chronicle states it; probably the men of Wessex -were grievously beaten, and went back with their king, in confusion, -along the chalk hills to the other end of Berkshire, pursued by Bægseeg -and Halfdene, the two lately arrived Danish kings, with the strength of -the Pagan host. I suppose that Hinguar and Hubba stayed at Reading, to -hold the place of safety; for neither of them were at Ashdown. - -But every mile as they fell back added strength to Æthelred and Alfred, -as bands of men came up from the rear; from the broad Wiltshire plains -over the Kennet at Hungerford, and along the chalk hills from Swindon -and Ashbury; from the vales of the Kennet and the Thames on either -flank; and a few perhaps already from Glostershire and Oxfordshire, -where the news was doubtless spreading like the wind. So Æthelred and -his host turned to bay at Ashdown, and set the battle in array against -the pagan kings. - -There is some question between antiquaries as to where the exact site -of this battle is. It must however, it seems to me, be somewhere in the -western part of Berkshire; for it is quite impossible that Æthelred and -Alfred could have fought at Reading, at Ashdown, and at Basing, as they -unquestionably did, within three weeks, if we are to look for Ashdown -battle-field either at Ashdown forest, in Essex, or at Ashendon, in -the hundred of Bernwood in Buckinghamshire, which are the only sites -out of Berkshire claiming this honour, and supported by a tittle of -authority. Besides, even supposing these three battles could have been -fought in the time, yet the battle of Reading, having gone against the -Saxons, (as to which every chronicler agrees,) is it likely that they -should have retired _past_ the town and stronghold of the Danes, either -northeast into Buckinghamshire, or southeast into Sussex, leaving the -whole of Wessex open to the enemy, instead of falling back westward -into Wessex, and so covering their own homes? It is perfectly absurd to -suppose this, Alfred being one of their generals; and how such ancient -and venerable persons as Bishops Kennet and Leland can have talked such -nonsense, is hard to say; unless, indeed, they were born, the one in -Sussex, the other in Buckinghamshire, in which case it is of course -excusable, nay, justifiable in them; but of this I know nothing. - -As to the Berkshire sites, I don’t see any reason for troubling you -with their several titles. I am myself satisfied that the battle was -fought here; but all the sites are somewhere on this range of chalk -hills, of which the old White Horse is king. So now we will turn to the -account of the great battle in the old chroniclers. - -[Illustration] - -“About four days after the battle at Reading, King Æthelred and Alfred, -his brother, fought against the whole army of the Pagans at Ashdown. -And they were in two bodies; in the one were Bægseeg and Halfdene the -Pagan kings, and in the other were the earls.” “Now the Christians -had determined that King Æthelred with his men should attack the two -Pagan kings, but that Alfred his brother with his men, should take the -chance of war against the earls. Things being so settled, the king -remained a long time in prayer, hearing the mass, and said he would -not leave it till the priest had done, nor abandon the protection of -God for that of men. And so he did, which afterwards availed him much -with the Almighty, as we shall declare more fully in the sequel. But -the Pagans came up quickly to the fight. Then Alfred, though holding a -lower authority, as I have been told by those who were there and would -not lie, could no longer support the troops of the enemy unless he -retreated or charged upon them without waiting for his brother; so he -marched out promptly with his men in a close column and gave battle.” -“He too,” as Simeon says, “knowing without a doubt that victory would -not lie with a multitude of men, but in the pity and mercy of -God,” and seeing also that, mass or no mass, the Pagans must not be -allowed to get between him and his brother. “But here I must inform -those who are ignorant of the fact, that the field of battle was not -equal for both armies. The Pagans occupied the higher ground, and the -Christians came up from below. There was also in that place a single -stunted thorn-tree, which I myself have seen with my own eyes. Around -this tree the opposing hosts came together with loud shouts from all -sides, the one to pursue their wicked course, the other to fight for -their lives, their dearest ties, and their country.” “In the midst of -the fight, and when Alfred was hard pressed,”--according to Brompton, -for the older chroniclers do not mention this,--“the king came up with -his fresh forces.” “And when both hosts had fought long and bravely, -at last the Pagans, by God’s judgment, could no longer bear the attack -of the Christians, and having lost great part of their men, took to a -disgraceful flight, and all the Pagan host pursued its flight not only -until night, but the next day, even until they reached the stronghold -from which they had come out. The Christians followed, slaying all -they could reach until it became dark.”[17] “And the flower of the -Pagan youth were there slain, so that neither before nor since was -ever such destruction known since the Saxons first gained Britain by -their arms.” “There fell in that battle King Bægseeg and these earls -with him; that old Earl Sidroc, to whom may be applied that saying ‘the -ancient of evil days,’ and Earl Sidroc the younger, and Earl Osbern, -and Earl Frœna, and Earl Harold; who, with their men, choosing the -broad and spacious way, went down into the depths of the lake;” or, let -us perhaps hope not, old monk Simeon, seeing that they died gallantly -in harness, and that, as you yourself add in the next sentence, “they -knew not the way of teaching nor understood its paths; it was kept far -away from their faces.” It is fair to add that Brompton states that -Æthelred slew Bægseeg with his spear, and another Pagan of note with -his sword, after, he got up to the fight; but the older chroniclers do -not mention this.[18] - -To finish briefly the history of the rest of the year 871, fourteen -days after the battle of Ashdown, Æthelred and Alfred fought another -battle with the Pagans (probably with that part which had remained -in garrison at Reading, with Hinguar and Hubba, and the relics of -Halfdene’s army), at Basing, which seems to have been undecided; and -two months afterwards another at Merton. After which, in the summer, -reinforcements came from beyond sea, and joined the Pagans; King -Æthelred died, and Alfred fought before the winter four more pitched -battles. So, as the Saxon Chronicle sums up, “in this year nine general -battles were fought against the army in the kingdom south of the -Thames; besides which, Alfred, the king’s brother, and single aldermen -and king’s thanes, oftentimes made attacks on them which were not -numbered, and slew of them within the year one king and nine earls.” -This was not what the Pagans reckoned on; they liked fighting very -much in reason, as an accompaniment of spoiling a country, and did it -well; but to be fighting nine pitched battles in a year, hemmed in in -one corner of a rich kingdom (for they never got farther than a few -miles into Wiltshire), and getting no spoil even there, was not to -their taste; so in the winter they made truce with Alfred, and took -themselves off to their old haunts in Mercia and Northumbria, and did -not return for five years. - -This year, A.D. 871, is a year for Berkshire men to be proud of, for -on them fell the brunt of that fiery trial; and their gallant stand -probably saved England a hundred years of Paganism. For had they -given way at Ashdown, and the reinforcements from over the sea come -to a conquering, instead of to a beaten army in the summer, there was -nothing to stop the Pagans between Reading and Exeter. The other eight -battles were skirmishes in comparison with this one; they scarcely -occupy five lines each in the chroniclers, and out of the king and nine -Pagan earls who were slain within the year, six fell at Ashdown. It was -Alfred’s crowning mercy; and so he felt it to be, and in memory of it -he caused his army (tradition says, on the day after the battle) to -carve the White Horse, the standard of Hengist, on the hill-side just -under the Castle, where it stands as you see until this day. - - * * * * * - -“Thank you, Sir,” said I, when he paused, “what a grand story it makes! -And are those the real words of the old chroniclers, as you call them, -Sir, which you used?” - -“Yes,” said he, “almost every word is simply a translation from one -or other of them, but the greater part is taken from the Chronicle of -Asser, who was a contemporary and intimate friend of Alfred, and a very -learned and pious ecclesiastic.” - -“I suppose they were; mostly priests and monks who wrote the Chronicles -then, Sir, for they don’t read at all like our modern histories. They -seem a much more religious sort of books.” - -“Don’t call them religious books,” said he, “it puts one in mind of -religious newspapers,--the greatest curse of our times. Yes, people -sneer at the old English chroniclers now-a-days, and prefer the Edda, -and all sorts of heathen stuff, to them; but they are great books, -Sir, for those who have eyes for them; godly books is the name for -them, written by God-fearing men, who were not ashamed of the faith -which was in them;--men who believed, Sir, that a living God was ruling -in England, and that in his name one of them might defy a thousand. -Your historians, now-a-days, Sir, believe that Providence (for they -dare not talk of God) is on the side of the strongest battalion. -There’s some difference, when you come to think of it, between the two -creeds, Sir.” - -The old gentleman looked at me quite fierce, so I made all the haste I -could to change the subject. - -“Don’t you think it very curious, Sir, that the figure should have -lasted all this time?” said I; “because you see, Sir, if you or I were -to cut a trench, two feet or so deep, up here, on the side of the hill, -and stamp down the chalk ever so hard, it would be all filled up and -grown over in a few years.” - -“You are not the first person who has made that remark,” said he. “In -the year 1738, an antiquary, of the name of Francis Wise, who lived -at Oxford, visited the hill, and wrote a letter on the subject to Dr. -Mead, the most learned antiquary of that day. First he speaks of the -figure of the horse as ‘being described in so masterly a manner that it -may defy the painter’s skill to give a more exact description of the -animal.’” - -“How could he talk like that, Sir?” said I; “why the figure isn’t a bit -like----” - -“You are as bad as Camden,” said he, “who talks of I know not what -shape of a horse fancied on the side of a whitish hill; but the truth -is, it is a copy of the Saxon standard, which, of course, was a rude -affair. However, Wise, whom I was telling you of, goes on:-- - -“When I saw it, the head had suffered a little and wanted reparation; -and the extremities of his hinder legs, from their unavoidable -situation, have by the fall of rains been filled up in some measure -with the washings from the upper parts; so that, in the nearest view of -him, the tail, which does not suffer the same inconvenience, and has -continued entire from the beginning, seems longer than his legs. The -supplies, which nature is continually affording, occasion the turf to -crumble and fall off into the white trench, which in many years’ time -produces small specks of turf, and not a little obscures the brightness -of the Horse; though there is no danger from hence of the whole figure -being obliterated, for the inhabitants have a custom of ‘scouring the -Horse,’ as they call it; at which time a solemn festival is celebrated, -and manlike games with prizes exhibited, which no doubt had their -original in Saxon times in memory of the victory.”[19] - -“Scouring the Horse! yes, of course,” said I, “that is what they are -doing now, and the games are to come off to-morrow.” - -“Exactly so,” said he, “but you will like to hear how Wise goes on:-- - -“If ever the genius of King Alfred exerted itself (and it never failed -him in his greatest exigencies), it did remarkably so upon account -of this trophy. The situation of his affairs would not permit him -to expend much time, nor his circumstances much cost, in effecting -one,” (truly, for he had six more pitched battles to fight between -April and November.) “His troops, though victorious, were harassed -and diminished by continual duty; nor did the country afford, to any -man’s thinking, materials proper for a work of this kind. Though he -had not therefore the opportunity of raising, like other conquerors, a -stupendous monument of brass or marble, yet he has shown an admirable -contrivance, in erecting one magnificent enough, though simple in its -design--executed, too, with little labour and no expense--that may -hereafter vie with the Pyramids in duration, and perhaps exist when -these shall be no more.” - -“But, dear me, Sir,” said I, “how can the White Horse vie with the -Pyramids in duration? Why, the Pyramids were built----” - -“Never mind when they were built,” said he; “don’t you see the old -antiquary is an enthusiast? I had hoped you were one also.” - -“Indeed, Sir, I am very anxious to hear all you can tell me,” said I, -“and I won’t interrupt again.” - -“Well, as to the scouring, Wise says:-- - -“The ceremony of scouring the Horse, from time immemorial, has been -solemnized by a numerous concourse of people from all the villages -round about. I am informed, though the Horse stands in the parish of -Uffington, yet other towns claim, by ancient custom, a share of the -duty upon this occasion. Since, therefore, this noble antiquity is now -explained, and consequently the reason of the festival, it were to -be wished that, in order to prevent for the future its falling into -oblivion, some care was taken of the regulation of the games, and -that they were restored to their ancient splendour, of which, without -question, they are fallen much short. I know that these rites are -cavilled at and maligned by the more supercilious part of mankind; -but the dislike to them seems to be founded merely upon the abuse of -them to riot and debauchery, which I intend by no means to justify -or excuse. The practice of the best and wisest states, whose maxims -we approve and profess to follow, is sufficient authority for their -use. The liberty we so justly boast, and which ought to be a common -blessing to all, pleads loudly for them. The common people, from their -daily labour, stands at least in as much need of proper intervals of -recreation as their superiors, who are exempt from it, and therefore -in all free states have been indulged in sports most suited to their -genius and capacity. And if manlike games contribute any thing -towards the support of the natural bravery of these, who are to be our -bulwark and defence in times of danger, they cannot be more seasonably -revived than at this juncture, when, through the general luxury and -dissoluteness of the age, there was never more likelihood of its -being extinguished. Besides all this, from hence a superior influence -diffuseth itself through the better sort, who are supposed to enter -further into the intention of these solemnities; for which reason it -is, that to perpetuate to posterity the remembrance of great men, and -of great actions, has been always recommended, as a proper incentive to -virtue. Customs of very trifling import, some ridiculous in themselves, -others owing to causes equally ridiculous, are oftentimes kept up by -Englishmen with much zeal and tenacity; and shall the greatest prince -that this isle was ever blessed with, and the greatest action of that -prince’s life, be in danger of being forgot, through the neglect of a -solemnity, the only one, perhaps, that was ever instituted, at least, -that is now preserved, to his honour?”[20] - -I didn’t say a word now, though he seemed to have finished. - -“Well,” said he, after a minute, “have you nothing to say? You’re very -glad that it’s over, I suppose?” - -“No, Sir, indeed I am not,” said I; “but I am very much obliged to you -for your kindness in telling me all that you have.” - -“You are a very intelligent young man, Sir,” said he; “most young -fellows of your age would have been bored to death half-an-hour ago, -even if they hadn’t managed to run off altogether, and so they would -have lost a good lesson in English history--not that they would have -cared much for that though. But now, I dare say you are getting hungry. -Let us go up and see what they are doing in the Castle, and I shall be -very glad if you will do me the honour of lunching with me.” - -“Well,” thought I, as we got up from the turf, “there are not many -better things for getting a man on than being a good listener. Here is -a very learned old gentleman who doesn’t know my name, and I have got -the length of his foot, and he has asked me to luncheon, just because I -have been listening to his old stories. I wonder where the lunch is to -be though? he spoke of a Castle, perhaps he lives in it--who knows?” - -So we strolled away together up over the brow of the hill. - -[3] See Simeon, A.D. 870. - -[4] See Chronicle of St. Neot, A.D. 878. - -[5] See Saxon Chron. and Asser, A.D. 866. - -[6] See Asser, A.D. 867. - -[7] See Saxon Chron. and Huntingdon, A.D. 874. - -[8] See Simeon, A.D. 870. - -[9] N. B. This was written in October, 1857. - -[10] Here is Robert of Gloster’s account of the martyrdom:-- - - “So that atte laste to Estangle agen hym come: - Ther hii barned and robbede and that fole to grounde slowe; - And as wolves among ssep reulych hem to drowe, - Seynt Edmond was tho her kyng, and tho he sey that delvol cas - That me morthred so that fole, and non amendement n’as, - He ches levere to deye hym-sulf, that such soreve to ysey-- - He dude hym vorth among ys ton, n’olde he nothyng fle. - Hii nome hym and scourged hym, and suthe naked hym bounde - To a tre, and to hym ssote, and made hym mony a wounde, - That the arewe were on hym tho thycke, that no stede n’as byleved. - Atte laste hii martred hym, and smyte of ys heved.” - - _Robert of Gloster’s Chronicle_, p. 263, - _apud Thomas Hearne_. Ed. 1724. - - -[11] See Saxon Chronicle, and Huntingdon, A.D. 870. - -[12] See Brompton, A.D. 870. - -[13] See Sax Chron., A.D. 870. - -[14] See Huntingdon, A.D. 871. - -[15] See Simeon, A.D. 871. - -[16] See Saxon Chronicle, A.D. 871. - -[17] See Asser, A.D. 871. - -[18] This is Robert of Gloster’s account of the Battle:-- - - “The Kyng and Alfred ys brother nome men ynowe, - Mette hem, and a batayle smyte up Assesdowne-- - Ther was mony moder chyld, that sone lay ther doune-- - The batayle ylaste vorte-nygt, and ther were aslawe - Vyf dukes of Dene-march, ar hii wolde wyth drawe, - And mony thousende of other men, and tho’ gonne hii to fle; - Ac hii adde alle ybe assend, gyf the nyght n’adde y bee. - - _Robert of Gloster, p. 263, - apud Thomas Hearne. Ed. 1724._” - - -[19] Wise’s Letter to Dr. Mead, “concerning some Antiquities in -Berkshire,” ed. 1, pp. 25, 26. - -[20] Wise’s Letter, p. 31. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - -“Well, here’s the Castle, you see,” said he, when we had walked a few -hundred yards, and were come quite to the top of the hill. - -“Where, Sir?” said I, staring about. I had half expected to see an -old stone building with a moat, and round towers and battlements, and -a great flag flying; and that the old gentleman would have walked -across the drawbridge, and cried out, “What ho! warder!” and that we -should have been waited upon at lunch by an old white-headed man in -black velvet, with a silver chain, and keys round his waist. Somehow, -the story of the battle, and all the talk about Pendragon and Arthur, -coming upon the back of the farm-house, and the out of the way country -life, which was so strange to me, had carried me into a sort of new -world; and I shouldn’t have been much surprised to see a dragon -running about the hill, though I should have been horribly frightened. - -“I can’t make up my mind about this Castle,” he went on, without -noticing me; “on two sides it looks like a regular Roman castrum, and -Roman remains are found scattered about; but then the other sides are -clearly not Roman. The best antiquaries who have noticed it call it -Danish. On the whole, I think it must have been seized and occupied in -succession by the lords of the country for the time being; and each -successive occupier has left his mark more or less plainly. But, at any -rate, you see it is a magnificent work.” - -“Yes, Sir,” said I, “no doubt;” though I own I was a good deal -disappointed. For what do you think the Castle is? Up at the very -top of the hill, above the White Horse, there is a great flat space, -about as big as Lincoln’s Inn Fields, only not the same shape, because -it is only square on two sides. All round this space, there is a -bank of earth, eight or ten feet high in some places, but lower at -others. Then, outside, there is a great, broad, deep ditch; it must be -twenty-five feet from the top of the inner bank to the bottom of the -ditch; and outside that again, is another large bank of earth, from -the foot of which the downs slope away on every side. But the banks and -ditch are all grown over with turf, just like the rest of the downs, -and there isn’t even a single stone, much less a tower, to be seen. -There are three entrances cut through the double banks, one on the -west, one on the southeast, and the third at the northeast side, which -was the one through which we entered. - -But if there were no warders and seneschals and drawbridges, there was -plenty of life in the Castle. The whole place seemed full of men and -women, and booths and beasts, and carts and long poles; and amongst -them all were the Squire and Joe, and two or three farmers, who I -afterwards found out were Committee-men, trying to get things into -some sort of order. And a troublesome job they were having of it. All -the ground was parcelled out for different purposes by the Committee, -and such parts as were not wanted for the sports, were let at small -rents to any one who wanted them. But nobody seemed to be satisfied -with his lot. Here a big gypsy, who wouldn’t pay any rent at all, was -settling his cart and family, and swinging his kettle, on a bit of -ground, which the man who owned the pink-eyed lady had paid for. There -a cheap-Jack was hustling a toyman from Wantage, and getting all his -frontage towards the streets, (as they called the broad spaces which -were to be kept clear for the people to walk along.) In another place, -a licensed publican was taking the lot of a travelling showman into his -skittle-alley. Then there were old women who had lost their donkeys -and carts, and their tins of nuts and sacks of apples; and donkeys who -had lost their old women, standing obstinately in the middle of the -streets, and getting in everybody’s way; and all round, saws and axes -and hammers were going, and booths and stalls were rising up. - -I shouldn’t have liked to have had much to do with setting them all -straight, and so I told Joe, when he came up to us, after we had been -looking on at all the confusion for a minute or two. For most of the -men were very rough-looking customers, like the costermongers about -Covent Garden and Clare Market, and I know that those huckstering, -loafing blades are mostly terrible fellows to fight; and there wasn’t -a single policeman to look like keeping order. But Joe made light -enough of it--he was always such a resolute boy, and that’s what made -me admire him so--and said, “For the matter of that, if they were ten -times as rough a lot, and twice as many, the Squire and the farmers -and their men would tackle them pretty quick, without any blue-coated -chaps to help! Aye, and nobody knows it better than they, and you’ll -see they’ll be all in nice order before sundown, without a blow struck; -except amongst themselves, perhaps, and that’s no matter, and what -they’re used to. But now, you come in,” said Joe, turning towards -one of the large publicans’ booths, which was already finished, “the -Committee have got a table here, and we must dine, for we shan’t be -home these four hours yet, I can see.” - -“Sir,” said my new friend to Joe, drawing himself up a bit, but very -politely; “this gentleman is my guest. He has done me the honour of -accepting my invitation to luncheon.” - -“Oh! beg pardon, Sir, I’m sure,” said Joe, staring; “I didn’t know that -Dick had any acquaintance down in these parts. Then,” said he to me, -“I shall take my snack with the rest presently; you’ll see me about -somewhere, when it’s time to get back.” Joe went back into the crowd, -and I followed the old gentleman. - -We went into the booth, which was a very big one, made of strong, -double sail-cloth, stretched over three rows of fir poles, the middle -row being, I should say, sixteen or eighteen feet high. Just on our -right, as we entered from the street, was the bar, which was made with -a double row of eighteen-gallon casks, full of ale, along the top of -which boards were laid, so as to make a counter. Behind the bar the -landlord and landlady, and a barmaid, were working away, and getting -every thing into order. There were more rows of large casks, marked XX -and XXX, ranged upon one another against the side of the booth, and -small casks of spirits hooped with bright copper, and cigar boxes, and -a table covered with great joints of beef and pork, and crockery and -knives and forks, and baskets full of loaves of bread, and lettuces and -potatoes. It must have cost a deal of money to get it all up the hill, -and set the booth up. Beyond the bar was a sort of inner room, partly -screened from the rest of the booth by a piece of sail-cloth, where a -long table was laid out for luncheon, or “nunching,” as the boots, who -was doing waiter for the occasion, called it. The rest of the booth, -except a space before the bar which was kept clear for casual customers -to stand about in, was set about with rough tables and forms. We got -a capital dinner; for the landlord knew my entertainer, and was very -civil, and brought us our ale himself and poured it out, making an -apology because it hadn’t had quite time to fine down, but it would be -as clear as a diamond, he said, if we would please to call in to-morrow. - -After we had done, we went round behind the booth, where some rough -planking had been put up to serve for stalls, and the boots, in his -waiter’s jacket, brought out the old gentleman’s cob. - -“Peter,” said he, when he had mounted, “here is sixpence for you; and -now mind what you are at, and don’t get drunk and disgrace yourself up -on the hill.” - -Peter, who seemed to be very much afraid of the old gentleman, kept -pulling away at his forelock, and hunching up his shoulders, till we -turned the corner of the booth. - -“Now I must be riding home,” said my friend, “but if you like just to -walk round with me, I will show you the site of the battle.” - -So I thanked him, and walked along by the side of his cob, and he -rode out of the entrance we had come in by, and then round the outer -earthwork of the castle. As we passed along, the inner bank rose high -up on our right hand, and we could just see the tops of the highest -booths above it. - -“You see what a strong place it must have been before gunpowder was -invented,” said the old gentleman; “and here, you see, is the second -entrance; and this road which we are upon is the Ridgeway, one of the -oldest roads in England. How far it once extended, or who made it, no -man knows; but you may trace it away there along the ridge of the downs -as far as you can see, and, in fact, there are still some sixty miles -of it left. But they won’t be left long, I fear, Sir, in this age which -venerates nothing.” - -“I don’t see much fear of that, Sir,” said I, “after it has lasted so -long already.” - -“No fear, Sir!” said he, “why miles of it have been ploughed up within -my memory. God meant these downs, Sir, for sheep-walks, and so our -fathers left them; but within the last twenty years would-be wise men -have found that they will grow decent turnips and not very bad oats. -Well, they plough them up, find two inches of soil only, get one crop -out of them, and spoil them for sheep. Next year, no crops. Then comes -manure, manure, manure, nothing but expense; not a turnip will trouble -himself to grow bigger than a reddish under a pennyworth of guano or -bones. The wise men grumble and swear, but the downs are spoiled.” - -“But that will all cure itself then, Sir,” said I; “they won’t plough -up any more, if it doesn’t pay; and then the Ridgeway won’t be touched!” - -“They are all mad for ploughing, Sir, these blockhead farmers; why, -half of them keep their sheep standing on boards all the year round. -They would plough and grow mangold-wurzel on their fathers’ graves. -The Tenth Legion, Sir, has probably marched along this road; Severus -and Agricola have ridden along it, Sir; Augustine’s monks have carried -the Cross along it. There is that in that old mound and ditch which -the best turnips and oats in the world (if you could get them) can’t -replace. There are higher things in this world, Sir, than indifferent -oats and d--d bad turnips.” - -The old gentleman was all in a blaze again; he brought down his cane -sharply on to the cob’s neck, which made him caper up and jump off -along the Ridgeway, and it was a hundred yards before they drew up. I -followed, thinking that he couldn’t be a clergyman after all, to be -swearing like that about nothing. When I got up to him, however, he was -quite cool again. He had stopped just below the western entrance to the -Castle, and the ground fell rapidly in front of us. - -“Now, you can’t have a better point than this,” said he; “you remember -what I told you about the armies. The Danes held the higher ground, -that is, Uffington Castle, up here, behind us. Alfred, with his -division of the Saxon army, lay over there, in that valley to the -left, where you see the great wood in the middle of the down. That is -Ashdown Park, Lord Craven’s seat, and just on the edge of it there is -a circular earthwork, which is called Alfred’s camp. Aubrey says that -in his time it was ‘almost quite defaced, by digging for the Sarsden -stones to build my Lord Craven’s house in the park;’ but you may still -find it if you look. Then, over there, on that point, a mile or more -away to the right, is a camp called Hardwell Camp, where Æthelred lay. -The crown of the slope you see along which the Ridgeway runs, is midway -between the Saxon camps. - -“In the early spring morning, the low call to arms passes round the -height; the Danish host, marshalled behind the high earthworks, breaks -over them, like an overflowing lake, and rushes down the slope. -Alfred’s division of the Saxon army is already on foot, and there he -sits, the sickly stripling on the white horse, untried save in one -luckless fight. How will he guide such a battle? See, his host is in -motion; scouts fly out, riding for life across to Æthelred’s camp. -‘Come up, my brother! the Pagan is upon us--while I live they shall -not divide us--I will hold the crest of the Ridgeway, come life, come -death.’ The vans are together with a wild shout, squadron by squadron -the hosts close up, the fight sways slowly backwards and forwards, -the life’s blood of a brave man pays for every inch won or lost. The -Saxons are but one to three, the Pagans slowly overlap them--are on -their flanks. The white horse and his rider dash from side to side, -faster and faster, as the over-matched Christians faint, reel, give -back--now here, now there, along the line. When will the mass be over? -Cut it short, as thou art Saxon man, oh priest! and get thee to sword -and buckler. - -“At last they come, Æthelred and his host--they are upon the right -flank of the Pagan, and the fight is restored; and with many an ebb and -pause, but steadily, through the long morning hours, rolls up the hill -towards the camp and the fatal thorn.” - -“Is that the old thorn-tree, then, do you think, Sir?” said I, pointing -to one which was growing by itself some way off. - -“I fear not, Sir, I fear not; the ‘unica spinosa arbor’ is gone. It -must have stood somewhere up here, on the slope just below the Castle, -the stronghold of the Danish robbers. Here the grim Pagan turns to -bay for the last time. King Bægseeg lies dead, a hundred yards below; -by his side his standard-bearer and Earl Frœna; Halfdene is still -unhurt, but near him Osbert totters under his shield; Harold can -scarce back his charger, and the life-blood trickles slowly down his -leg, and falls, drop by drop, on the trampled turf, as they still make -front against Æthelred yonder--there on the right. But here, here the -field must be won! This way, you Saxon men, kings-thane, and alderman! -Whoever hath stout heart and whole body left. - -“It is the old sea-king, Sidroc, ‘the ancient one of evil days;’ mark -him, as he bestrides his black war-horse, there by the old twisted -thorn. His heavy sword drips with blood, his sword-arm is steeped in -blood to the elbow--the dint of long and fierce battle is on horse -and man; but the straight thin lips are set like flint in the midst -of that gray beard, and the eyes glow and gleam under that fearful -brow--eyes that have never quailed before conquering foe, or softened -to the fallen--lips that have never opened to say the word ‘Spare.’ -By his side the young Sidroc, grim son of grim sire. Ashdown crows -must feast on those eyes, and Ashdown wolves pick those bones, if the -Pagans are to be beaten this day. Round them rally the Danes as they -are driven up the slope. Again and again the advancing Saxons reel -back from the stunted thorn, before the shock of the two Boersirkir. -He comes! it is the sickly prince, the stripling on the white -horse, trampling fetlock-deep in blood. Round him a chosen band of -yellow-bearded men of Wessex. One moment’s pause, and they meet in a -last death-grapple. Bite, Saxon blade; pierce, Saxon spear! Think of -your homes, my countrymen; think of the walls of Reading, of Ethelwulf -and his last war-cry, ‘Our commander, Christ, is braver than they!’ -The black horse is down; young Sidroc springs over the brute, lashing -out in death agony, and covers his father. His head is cleft to the -chin--a half-armed gaunt cowherd drives his spear through the chest of -the old sea-king. Away over their bodies up the hill go white horse, -and stripling prince, and yellow-bearded men; rushing through the camp -gate, scrambling over the banks pell-mell with the flying Pagan. The -camp is ours; now slay while light is left--for there is no shelter for -a Pagan between this and Reading. ‘Then were the horse-hoofs broken by -the means of the prancings, of the prancings of their mighty ones. Oh -my soul, thou hast trodden down strength!’” - -The old gentleman stopped at last, and took off his hat and wiped his -face, and then looked down at me as if he were half-ashamed-- - -“I see you think I’m mad--” he began. - -“Indeed, sir--” said I, stammering a little. - -“Well, well! never mind,” he said; “the fact is, I live a good deal in -those old times. I’ve been up here, and sat and gone over the fight -so often, that when I get on the hill-side, I think I saw it all. In -the autumn evenings at twilight, when the southwest wind blows wild, -and the mist comes drifting over the broad downs, many a time, as I -have stolen down the silent hill-side, I have seen the weird old Pagan -king and the five earls, sitting one on each of the giants’ seats, and -looking mournfully out over the Vale, waiting--waiting--waiting for a -thousand years, all but fourteen. It’s a long time, sir, a long time; -but you and I may have to wait for a longer over the scene of some of -our doings. Who can say?” - -I really now did begin to think the old gentleman a little crazy, so I -said nothing. Presently he went on in his old quiet voice:-- - -“There, now I have dismounted my hobby, and am sane again. I live in -a wild, lonely part of the world down west, and for the last thirty -years have read little else but the Bible, and books 200 years old -and upwards. Every man has his madness--that’s mine--I don’t get a -chance of letting it out once a-year. I have spent a very pleasant day -with you, Sir; and if you ever come down to these parts again, and -like to come on and see me, I shall be very glad. There is my name -and address;” and he gave me his card, but he didn’t say that I might -publish it. - -“Thank you, Sir,” said I, putting it into my pocket-book; “but I hope -you will be up on the hill to-morrow?” - -“Yes, I shall just ride up,” he said, “to see how they have used my old -friend; he wanted scouring sadly. The games I don’t much care about, -though I’m glad they go on. But not one man in a thousand who will be -on the hill to-morrow will know what the meaning of it all is; and that -makes it a melancholy sight to me, Sir, on the whole.” - -“But what a pity,” said I, “that they are not told. It would interest -everybody else, I’m sure, just as it has me. Why don’t you tell it -then, Sir, in a book or a newspaper?” - -“Nobody would read my old-world stuff,” said he. “No: a man must -understand and be in sympathy with his own generation to coax it into -caring about an older one. But now I must be going. If you have time to -walk down to that little clump of trees over there, towards Æthelred’s -camp, you will find an old Druidical cromlech well worth examining. It -is called Wayland Smith’s cave. Walter Scott, who should have known -better, says that the Danish king killed at Ashdown was buried there. -He was no more buried there than in Westminster Abbey. Good-bye.” And -so he put his cob into a canter, and went off along the Ridgeway. - -When he was gone I walked down to the clump of trees and went into the -cave; and then sat down on the great flat stone which covers it over, -and finished putting down all I had heard from the old gentleman; and -thought what odd people a man finds about the world, and how many -things there are which one never heard of that other folk are spending -their lives over. Then I went up to the camp again to find Joe, for -the afternoon was getting on. True enough, as he had said, when I got -back there I found it all getting into order. All along the north -side were the theatres and peep-shows, and acrobats, and the pink-eyed -lady, and the other shows. On the west side were the publicans’ booths, -some of them all ready, and others half up, but all with their places -settled; and the great street of hucksters’ stalls and cheap-Jacks was -all set out along the south side, and as more and more of them came -up they went off to the end of the line and pitched regularly. The -gypsies and people with no regular business were all got away into a -corner, behind the stalls. On the west side the county police were -pitching their large tent close away by the bank, out of the way of -everybody; and, some way in front of them, Lord Craven’s people had -put up two military-looking tents which I heard had belonged to the -42d Regiment, with a great flagstaff close by them. About the middle -of the camp stood a large stage about six feet high, roped round for -the backswording and wrestling. There was plenty of room now, and all -the people, who were not working at the booths and stalls, were sitting -about boiling kettles and getting their food. It was a very cheerful, -pretty sight, up there out of the way of every thing. - -I soon found Joe amongst a group of farmers and one or two young -gentlemen, some on horseback and some on foot, standing round the -Squire. They were talking over the arrangements before going home; and -I stood a little way off, so as not to interrupt them or to seem to be -pushing myself into their company. - -“Now I think we have done all we can to-day,” said the Squire, -gathering up his reins; “but some of us must be up early to-morrow to -get the lists made, and settle every thing about the games.” - -“About ten o’clock, Sir?” - -“Yes, that will do capitally. Now I shall just go and see how they have -done the Horse.” - -So he rode out of the camp, and we all followed over the brow of the -hill till we came to a good point for seeing the figure, which looked -as bright and clean as a new sixpence. - -“I think he’ll do very well,” said the Squire. - -“Listen to the scourers,” said one of the young gentlemen. - -They had finished their work, and were sitting in a group round a -large can of beer which the Squire had sent down to them; and one of -them was singing a rumbling sort of ditty, with a tol-de-rol chorus, in -which the rest joined lazily. - -One of these young gentlemen gave me what he said were the words they -were singing, afterwards, when I came to know him (as you will hear in -the next chapter); and it seems he had found out that I was collecting -all I could about the Horse. But I don’t quite know whether he wasn’t -cutting his jokes upon me, for he is “amazin’ found of fun,” as Joe -said; and for my part, I could never quite tell, when I was with him, -whether he was in jest or earnest. However, here are the words he gave -me:-- - -BALLAD OF THE SCOURING OF THE WHITE HORSE. - - I. - - The owld White Harse wants zettin to rights - And the Squire hev promised good cheer, - Zo we’ll gee un a scrape to kip un in zhape, - And a’ll last for many a year. - - II. - - A was made a lang lang time ago - Wi a good dale o’ labour and pains, - By King Alferd the Great when he spwiled their consate - And caddled,[21] thay wosbirds[22] the Danes. - - III. - - The Bleawin Stwun in days gone by - Wur King Alfred’s bugle harn, - And the tharnin tree you med plainly zee - As is called King Alferd’s tharn. - - IV. - - There’ll be backsword play, and climmin the powl, - And a race for a peg, and a cheese, - And us thenks as hisn’s a dummell[23] zowl - As dwont care for zich spwoorts as theze. - -When we had done looking at the Horse, some went one way and some -another, and Joe and I down the hill to the Swan Inn, where we got the -trap and started away for Elm Close. - -“Why, Dick, how did you manage to pick up the old gentleman who was -treating you at dinner?” said Joe; “I suppose he’s one of your London -folk.” - -“’Twas he who picked me up,” said I, “for I never set eyes on him -before. But I can tell you he is a very learned party, and very kind -too. He told me all about the battle of Ashdown, and ever so many -more old stories. I should think he must have been two hours and more -telling them.” - -“Sooner you than I,” said Joe. “Well, I thought I knew his face. He -must be the old gent as was poking about our parish last fall, and -sort of walking the bounds. Though there isn’t any call for that, -I’m sure, for we walk the bounds ourselves every year. The men as he -hired told me he was looking after some old stone, the play stone I -think he called it, and would have it he knew more about the names of -the fields, and why they were called so, than they as had lived there -all their lives. However, he stood ’em something handsome for their -trouble. I expect he isn’t quite right up here,” said he, touching his -forehead and looking at me. - -“Just as right as you,” said I, “and I’ve no doubt he does know more -about your parish than all of you put together. I think he must be some -great antiquary.” - -“Ah! that’s what the Squire said when I told him. A great angular Saxon -scholar he called him.” - -“Anglo-Saxon, Joe,” said I, “not angular.” - -“Well, Anglo or angular, it’s no odds,” said Joe; “I calls it -angular--that’s good English at any rate.” - -“But, Joe,” said I, “I’ve taken down all he said, and should like to -read it to you. I’m sure it would interest you.” - -“Well, after supper to-night, over a pipe, perhaps,” said Joe; “I ain’t -much of a hand at your old-world talk, you see. Or, I’ll tell you what, -you shall read it to Lu; she takes to book-learning and all that better -than I.” - -“I shall be very glad indeed to read it to your sister,” said I; “and I -daresay she can tell me something more.” - -“May be,” said Joe, drawing his whip gently over the mare’s loins; and -then he began telling me about the talk he had had with the Squire. - -He seemed to have been telling him all about his quarrel at the vestry -with the other farmers, about keeping up the parish roads; and the -Squire had smoothed him down, and given him some good advice as to -how to get the roads made and the fences kept up without losing his -temper. Joe owned to me that he was often falling out with some of -his neighbours, or his hired men, when he couldn’t get things quite -his own way (for that’s what it came to, and Joe is a warm-tempered -fellow), and that he would sooner come six miles to get the Squire -to “tackle it,” than go to any other justice who lived nearer; “for -he knows our ways, and manages one way or another to get it out all -straight without making a Sessions job of it,” said Joe, as we drove -up to his gate; and though I was looking out to catch a sight of Miss -Lucy, and hoping she might be out in the garden, I couldn’t help -allowing to myself that perhaps the country mightn’t get on so much -better after all if the unpaid magistracy were done away with. - -Joe went off to the stable to see after his precious chestnut, and -seemed to pity me because I didn’t go with him. But I was off round the -house and into the garden, to try and find Miss Lucy. When I did find -her though, I wasn’t quite pleased at first, as you may fancy when you -hear what she was doing. - -There is a trellis-work about eight feet high, between the little -flower-garden and the kitchen-garden, and in it a wicket-gate, through -which runs a nice green walk by which you get from one to the other. -The trellis-work is so covered with roses, and jessamine, and other -creepers, that you can’t see through, at least not in summer time; -and I heard merry voices on the other side, but they couldn’t hear -me on the turf. So I hurried up to the wicket-gate; and the moment I -got through, there I saw Miss Lucy, and close by her side a young man -in a black coat, dark gray trousers, and a white tie. He had a great -ribstone-pippin apple in one hand, off the best tree in the orchard, -out of which he had taken a great bite or two, which I thought rather -vulgar; and there he was, holding up his bitten apple and some of the -creepers against the trellis-work, with both hands above Miss Lucy’s -head. And she stood there in her pretty white-straw hat, with the -ribbons dangling loose over her shoulders, tying up the creepers to the -trellis-work close to his face. I could see, too, that she was very -well dressed, for she had on a pretty embroidered collar, as white as -snow, with a nice bow of fresh pink ribbon in front; and the sleeves of -her gown were loose, and fell back a little as she reached up with the -string to tie the creepers, and showed her nice, white, round arms, -which looked very pretty, only I wished she had waited for me to hold -up the creepers instead of him. At her feet lay a basket full of apples -and pears, and lavender and mignonette; so they must have been going -about together for some time, picking fruit and flowers. - -I stopped at the gate, and felt half inclined to go back; but he said -something to her, and then she turned round and called me, so I walked -up feeling rather sheepish. By the time I got up to them they had -finished tying up the creeper, and she introduced me to Mr. Warton, of -London. He held out his hand, and said he had often heard Joseph speak -of me, and was very glad to meet an old friend of his friend Hurst. So -we shook hands, and he began eating his apple again, and she picked up -her basket, and we walked together towards the house; but they were so -free and pleasant together, and laughed and joked so, that it made me -feel rather low, and I couldn’t talk easily, though I did manage to say -something about the White Horse, and how well it looked, and what a -wonderful place it was up on the hill, when they asked me about it. - -I wasn’t sorry when she went in to look after the tea, and he sat down -to write a letter. So I went round to the farm-yard to look for Joe, -that I might find out from him about this Mr. Warton. I found Joe with -his fogger,[24] as he called him, looking at some calves, and thinking -of nothing but them and the pigs. However, I stuck to him and praised -all the beasts just as if I knew all about them, and so at last got him -out of the yard; and then I told him there was a Mr. Warton come. - -“No! is he?” said he; “I’m so glad. I was afraid he couldn’t come down -as he didn’t answer my last letter.” - -“Who is he, Joe?” said I. - -“Haven’t I told you?” said he; “why, he’s a parson up somewhere in -London, and a real right sort. He was curate here for five years before -he went up to town.” - -“He seems to know you and Miss Lucy very well,” said I. - -“Bless you, yes!” said Joe; “Lu was in his school, and he prepared her -for confirmation. He’s the best company in the world, and not a bit -proud, like some parsons. When he was down here, he used to drop in of -an evening two or three times a week, and take his tea, or a bit of -supper, just like you might.” - -“He’s a good bit older than we, though,” said I. - -“Well, four or five years, maybe,” said Joe, looking rather surprised -at me; “I should say he was about thirty last grass, but I never asked -him; what does it matter?” and so we got to the front door, and I went -up-stairs to my room to wash my hands before tea. I made myself as -smart as I could, but I own I didn’t half like the way this Mr. Warton -went on. However, I thought Miss Lucy must see he was too old for her. - -As I was dressing, I turned the matter over with myself, how I was -to behave down stairs. First, I thought I would try to ride the high -horse, and be silent and vexed, and make them all uncomfortable; but -then, thought I, will Miss Lucy see why I do it? It may be all out of -love for her, and jealousy of this Mr. Warton; and they say no young -woman dislikes to see men jealous about her. But suppose she shouldn’t -see it in that light? Mightn’t she only think, perhaps, that I was -a very changeable and disagreeable sort of fellow? That would never -do. Besides, after all, thought I, I’m down here at Joe’s house, and -I owe it to him to be as pleasant as I can. How’s he to know that I -am in love with his sister already? And this Mr. Warton, too; he’s a -clergyman, and seems a very good sort, as Joe said; and then he has -known them all so well, for so long; why am I to give myself airs -because he likes talking to Miss Lucy? So I settled it in my own mind -to go down with a smiling face, and to do all I could to make all the -rest happy; and I felt much better myself when I had made up my mind. - -There never was such a tea and supper (for we had them both together -that night, as it was late) in the world; and I don’t think I could -have stood out five minutes if I had gone down in the sulks, as I -thought of doing at first. The old lady, and Joe, and Miss Lucy, were -all in great spirits at getting Mr. Warton down; and he was just like a -boy home for his holidays. He joked and rattled away about every thing; -except when they talked about any of his old parishioners or scholars, -and then he was as kind and tender as a woman, and remembered all -their names, and how many children there were in every family, and the -sort of mistakes the boys and girls used to make in school. And he -drew Miss Lucy out about the school, and Joe about the markets and the -labourers, and the old lady about the best way of pickling cabbages, -and me about London and my work, and shorthand, which he managed to -find out that I could write in no time. So we were all in the best -humour in the world, and pleased with one another and with him; and -spent half an hour in praising him after he had gone up stairs to -finish some writing which he had to do. - -Then I asked them about the pastime, and what we should see next day on -the hill. Miss Lucy began directly about the stalls and the sights, and -the racing and the music; and cold dinner on the hill-side, and seeing -all her friends in their best dresses. Joe listened to her for a bit, -and then struck in-- - -“That’s all very well for you women,” said he; “but look here, Dick. If -what I hear comes true, we shall have a fine treat on the stage; for -they tells me there’s a lot of the best old gamesters in Somersetshire -coming up, to put in for the backsword prizes.” - -“Then I’m sure I hope they won’t be allowed to play,” said Miss Lucy. - -“Not let to play!” said Joe; “who put that into your head? Why, there’s -the printed list of the sports, and £12 prize for backswording, and £10 -for wrestling.” - -“Well, it’s a great shame, then,” said Miss Lucy; “for all the -respectable people for miles round will be on the hill, and I think the -gentlemen ought to stop them.” - -“If they do, they’ll spoil the pastime; for there won’t be one man in -twenty up there who’ll care to see any thing else. Eh, old fellow?” -said Joe, turning to me. - -“I agree with Miss Lucy,” said I; “for I’m sure if the women are -against these games, they can’t be good for the men, and ought to be -put down.” - -“Dick, you’re a cockney, and know no better,” said Joe, giving me -a great spank on the back, which hurt a good deal and was very -disagreeable, only I didn’t say any thing because I knew he meant it -kindly; “but as for you, Lucy, you, a west-country yeoman’s daughter, -to talk like that! If you don’t take care, you shan’t go up the hill -to the pastime to-morrow at all; I’ll leave you at home with mother,” -and he shook his great fist at her. - -“Won’t I go up though?” said she, laughing; “we’ll see, Master Joe; -why, I can walk up by myself, if it comes to that; besides, any of the -neighbours will give me a lift--or here’s Mr. Richard, or Mr. Warton. -I’m sure--” - -“What’s that you’re saying, Miss Lucy? What am I to do, eh?” and the -parson walked in just as I was going to speak. I was vexed at his just -coming in, and taking the word out of my mouth. - -“Why I was telling Joe that you’ll stop and take me up the hill, if he -leaves me behind; won’t you now, Mr. Warton?” - -“Leave you behind, indeed! here’s a pretty to do!” said he, laughing. -“What in the world are you all talking about?” - -“About the wrestling and backsword play,” struck in Joe; “now she -says--” - -“Well, now, I’ll leave it to Mr. Warton,” said Miss Lucy, interrupting -him; “I know he won’t say it’s right for men to be fighting upon a high -stage before all the country side.” - -“Stuff and nonsense with your fighting!” said Joe; “you know, Sir, very -well that they are old English games, and we sets great store by them -down here, though some of our folk as ought to know better does set -their faces against them now-a-days.” - -“Yes, you know, Joe, that three or four clergymen have been preaching -against them only last Sunday,” said Miss Lucy. - -“Then they ain’t the right sort, or they’d know better what to preach -against. I don’t take all for Gospel that the parsons say, mind you,” -said Joe. - -Miss Lucy looked shocked, but Mr. Warton only laughed. - -“Hullo, Joseph,” said he, “speaking evil of your spiritual pastors! -However, I won’t say you’re altogether wrong. Parsons are but men.” - -“But, Sir,” said I, quite confidently, “I’m sure no clergyman can stand -up for fighting and quarrelling.” - -“Of course not,” said he; “but what then?” - -“Well, Sir, these sports, as they call them, are just fighting, and -nothing else, and lead to all sorts of quarrels and bad blood, and -so--” - -“They don’t lead to nothing of the kind,” shouted Joe; “and you know -nothing about it, Dick.” - -“Now, Joe, at our last feast,” said Miss Lucy, “didn’t Reuben Yates get -his head broken, and his arms all black and blue at backsword play?” - -“Yes, and didn’t you and mother patch him up with yards of diachylum, -and give him his supper every night for a week, to come and be doctored -and lectured? Rube liked his suppers well enough, and didn’t mind the -plastering and lecturing much; but if he don’t go in to-morrow for the -young gamesters’ prize, my name ain’t Joe Hurst.” - -“Then he’ll be a very ungrateful, wicked fellow,” said Miss Lucy. - -“And you and mother won’t give him any more suppers or diachylum,” said -Joe; “but I dare say he won’t break his heart if you don’t give him -the preaching by itself. It does seem to me plaguy hard that the women -won’t let a man get his own head broke quietly, when he has a mind to -it.” - -“And there was Simon Withers, too,” went on Miss Lucy, “he sprained his -ankle at the wrestling, and was in the house for three weeks, and his -poor old mother nearly starving.” - -“’Twasn’t at wrestling, though,” said Joe, “’twas at hurdle-racing. -He’d much better have been at backsword; for a chap can go to work with -a broken head next morning, and feel all the better for it, but he -can’t with a sprained ankle.” - -“What does Mr. Warton think?” said I; for somehow he was keeping back, -and seemed a little on Joe’s side, and if he showed that, I thought he -would lose ground with Miss Lucy. - -“Oh! I’m sure Mr. Warton is on our side, ain’t you, Sir? Do tell Joe -how wrong it is of him to go on talking as he does.” - -“No, no, Miss Lucy, I’m not going to be drawn into the quarrel as your -knight; you’re quite able to take your own part,” said Mr. Warton. - -“I’m sure Mr. Warton is against us in his heart,” said I to Miss Lucy; -“only he’s a clergyman, and doesn’t like to say so.” - -“Come, now, I can’t stand that,” said he to me; “and you and I must -have it out; only mind, Miss Lucy, you mustn’t come in; one at a time -is enough for me.” - -“I won’t say a word, Sir, if Joe won’t.” - -“Very well,” said he, “and now let’s get our ground clear. Do you -approve of the other sports, running matches, jumping matches, and all -the rest?” - -“Yes, Sir, of course I do,” said I. - -“And you see no harm in one man beating another in a race for a prize?” - -“No, Sir, no harm at all.” - -“Well, but I suppose one must have activity and endurance to win in any -of them?” - -“Yes,” said I, “and good pluck, too, Sir. It takes as much heart, I’m -sure, any day, to win a hard race as a bout at backsword.” - -“Very good,” said he. “Then putting every thing else aside, tell me -which you think the best man, he who doesn’t mind having his head -broken, or he who does?” - -“Well, Sir,” said I, beginning to fence a bit, for I thought I saw what -he was driving at, “that depends on circumstances.” - -“No, no,” said he, “I want a short answer. We’ve nothing to do with -circumstances. Suppose there were no circumstances in the world, and -only two men with heads to be broken?” - -“Well, then, Sir,” said I, “I suppose the one who doesn’t mind having -his head broken, must be the best man.” - -“Hah, hah!” laughed Joe, “that puts me in mind of old Ben Thomson last -feast. When he threw up his hat on the stage, he said he could get his -pint of beer any day for tuppence, but it wasn’t every day as he could -get his pint of beer and a broken head too for the same money.” - -“Oh, but Mr. Warton--” broke in Miss Lucy. - -“Now, you were not to say a word, you know,” said he. - -“But Joe began, Sir.” - -“Joseph, hold your tongue.” - -“Very well, Sir,” said Joe, grinning. - -“Then we come to this,” said he to me, “a man must have just the same -qualities to win at backsword as to win a race; and something else -besides, which is good in itself?” - -“But, Sir,” said I, “that doesn’t meet the point. What I say is, that -backsword is a game in which men are sure to lose their tempers and -become brutal.” - -“But don’t they sometimes lose their tempers in races?” said he. - -“Yes, sometimes, perhaps,” said I, “but not often.” - -“And sometimes they don’t lose them at backsword?” said he. - -“Well, perhaps not, Sir.” - -“Then it seems that all that can be said against backsword is, that -it is a harder trial of the temper than other games. Surely that’s no -reason for stopping it, but only for putting it under strict rules. The -harder the trial the better. I’m sure that’s good English sense.” - -I didn’t quite know what to say, but Miss Lucy broke in again. - -“Oh, but Mr. Warton, did you ever see any backsword play?” - -“Now, Miss Lucy, that is against law,” said he; “but I don’t mind -answering. I never did, and I dare say your champion never has.” - -“No, Sir,” said I; “but though you may have got the best of me, I don’t -believe you really mean that you think us wrong.” - -“Would you, really, Sir, preach a sermon now in favour of backsword -play and wrestling?” asked Miss Lucy, with a long face. - -“What’s that got to do with it, Lucy?” broke in Joe. “We’re not talking -about preaching sermons, but about what’s right for country chaps to -do at pastimes.” - -“Now, Joseph, I’m not going to ride off on any hobby of yours--besides, -your sister’s test is right. Several of your clergy about here have -preached against these games, as was their duty if they had considered -the subject well, and thought them wrong. I have never thought much -about the matter till to-night. At present I think your clergy wrong. -If I hold to that belief I would preach it; for I hope I never -seriously say any thing in the parlour which I wouldn’t say in the -pulpit.” - -Just then, the tall clock in the passage outside gave a sort of cluck, -which meant half-past nine o’clock, and Joe jumped up and opened the -door for the servants, and gave Mr. Warton the prayer-book. And then as -soon as ever prayers were over, he bustled his mother and sister off -to bed, though I could see that Miss Lucy wasn’t half satisfied in her -mind about the backsword play and wrestling, and wanted to stay and -hear something more from Mr. Warton. But Joe is always in a hurry for -his pipe when half-past nine strikes, so we all had to humour him, and -Mr. Warton and I went with him into the kitchen to smoke our pipes. - -[21] “Caddle”--to worry: from cād, strife.--The Berkshire scholiast -suggests that the modern “cad,” having regard to the peculiarities of -the class, must be the same word. - -[22] “Wosbird,” bird of woe, of evil omen. - -[23] “Dummell,” dull, stupid. - -[24] “Fogger”--quasi fodderer--he who giveth fodder to the -cattle--generally used for the farmer’s head man. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - -Now when we had fairly lighted up, and Joe had mixed us a glass of -gin and water a piece, I felt that it was a very good time for me to -have a talk about the White Horse and the scourings. I wasn’t quite -satisfied in my mind with all that the old gentleman had told me on the -hill; and, as I felt sure that Mr. Warton was a scholar, and would find -out directly if there was any thing wrong in what I had taken down, I -took out my note-book, and reminded Joe that he had promised to listen -to it over his pipe. Joe didn’t half like it, and wanted to put the -reading off, but Mr. Warton was very good-natured about it, and said he -should like to hear it--so it was agreed that I should go on, and so I -began. Joe soon was dozing, and every now and then woke up with a jerk, -and pretended he had been listening, and made some remark in broad -Berkshire. He always talks much broader when he is excited, or half -asleep, than when he is cool and has all his wits about him. But I kept -on steadily till I had got through it all, and then Mr. Warton said he -had been very much interested, and believed that all I had taken down -was quite correct. - -“What put it into your head,” said he, “to take so much interest in the -Horse?” - -“I don’t know, Sir,” said I, “but somehow I can’t think of any thing -else now I have been up there and heard about the battle.” This wasn’t -quite true, for I thought more of Miss Lucy, but I couldn’t tell him -that. - -“When I was curate down here,” said he, “I was bitten with the same -maggot. Nothing would serve me but to find out all I could about the -Horse. Now, Joe here, who’s fast asleep--” - -“No, he bean’t,” said Joe starting, and giving a pull at his pipe, -which had gone out. - -“Well, then, Joe here, who is wide awake, and the rest, who were born -within sight of him, and whose fathers fought at Ashdown, and have -helped to scour him ever since, don’t care half so much for him as we -strangers do.” - -“Oh! I dwon’t allow that, mind you,” said Joe; “I dwon’t know as I -cares about your long-tailed words and that; but for keeping the Horse -in trim, and as should be, why, I be ready to pay--” - -“Never mind how much, Joseph.” - -Joe grinned, and put his pipe in his mouth again. I think he liked -being interrupted by the Parson. - -“As I was saying, I found out all I could about the Horse, though it -was little enough, and I shall be very glad to tell you all I know.” - -“Then, Sir,” said I, “may I ask you any questions I have a mind to ask -you about it?” - -“Certainly,” said he; “but you mustn’t expect to get much out of me.” - -“Thank you, Sir,” said I. “A thousand years seems a long time, Sir, -doesn’t it? Now, how do we know that the Horse has been there all that -time?” - -“At any rate,” said he, “we know that the Hill has been called, ‘White -Horse Hill,’ and the Vale, the ‘Vale of White Horse,’ ever since the -time of Henry the First; for there are cartularies of the Abbey of -Abingdon in the British Museum which prove it. So, I think, we may -assume that they were called after the figure, and that the figure was -there before that time.” - -“I’m very glad to hear that, Sir,” said I. “And then about the -scourings and the pastime? They must have been going on ever since the -Horse was cut out?” - -“Yes, I think so,” said he. “You have got quotations there from Wise’s -letter, written in 1736. He says that the scouring was an old custom in -his time. Well, take his authority for the fact up to that time, and -I think I can put you in the way of finding out something, though not -much, about most of the Scourings which have been held since.” - -And he was as good as his word; for he took me about after the pastime -to some old men in the neighbouring parishes, from whom I found out a -good deal that I have put down in this chapter. And the Squire, too, -when Joe told him what I was about, helped me. - -Now I can’t say that I have found out all the Scourings which have been -held since 1736, but I did my best to make a correct list, and this -seems to be the proper place to set it all down. - -Well, the first Scouring, which I could find out any thing about, was -held in 1755, and all the sports then seem to have been pretty much -the same as those of the present day. But there was one thing which -happened which could not very well have happened now. A fine dashing -fellow, dressed like a gentleman, got on to the stage, held his own -against all the old gamesters, and in the end won the chief prize for -backsword-play, or cudgel-play, as they used to call it. - -While the play was going on there was plenty of talk as to who this man -could be, and some people thought they knew his face. As soon as he had -got the prize he jumped on his horse, and rode off. Presently, first -one, and then another, said it was Tim Gibbons, of Lambourn, who had -not been seen for some years, though strange stories had been afloat -about him. - -It was the Squire who told me the story about Tim Gibbons; but he took -me to see an old man who was a descendant of Tim’s, and so I think I -had better give his own account of his ancestor and his doings. We -found the old gentleman, a hale, sturdy old fellow, working away in a -field at Woolstone, and, as near as I could get it, this was what he -had to say about the Scouring of 1755:-- - -_Squire._ “Good morning, Thomas. How about the weather? Did the White -Horse smoke his pipe this morning?” - -_Thos._ “Mornin’, Sir. I didn’t zee as ’a did. I allus notices he doos -it when the wind blaws moor to th’ east’ard. I d’wont bode no rain to -day, Sir.” - -_Squire._ “How old are you, Thomas?” - -_Thos._ “Seventy year old this Christmas, Sir. I wur barn at Woolstone, -in the hard winter, when I’ve heard tell as volks had to bwile their -kettles wi’ the snaw.” - -_Squire._ “I want to know something about your family, Thomas.” - -_Thos._ “Well, Sir, I bean’t no ways ashamed of my family, I can -assure ’ee. I’ve a got two zons, and vour daaters. One on ’em, that’s -my oldest bwoy, Sir, wur all droo’ the Crimee wars, and never got a -scratch. In the Granadier Guards, Sir, he be. A uncommon sprack[25] -chap, Sir, though I says it, and as bowld as a lion; only while he wur -about our village wi’ t’other young chaps, he must allus be a fighting. -But not a bad-tempered chap, Sir, I assure ’ee. Then, Sir--” - -_Squire._ “But, Thomas, I want to know about those that came before -you. What relation was Timothy Gibbons, whom I’ve heard folks talk -about, to you?” - -_Thos._ “I suppose as you means my great-grandvather, Sir.” - -_Squire._ “Perhaps so, Thomas. Where did he live, and what trade did he -follow?” - -_Thos._ “I’ll tell ’ee, Sir, all as I knows; but somehow, vather and -mother didn’t seem to like to talk to we bwoys about ’un.” - -_Squire._ “Thank ’ee, Thomas. Mind, if he went wrong it’s all the more -credit to you, who have gone straight; for there isn’t a more honest -man in the next five parishes.” - -_Thos._ “I knows your meanings good, and thank ’ee kindly, Sir, tho’ -I be no schollard. Well, Timothy Gibbons, my great grandvather, you -see, Sir, foller’d blacksmithing at Lambourn, till he took to highway -robbin’, but I can’t give ’ee no account o’ when or wher.’ Arter -he’d been out, may be dree or vour year, he and two companions cum -to Baydon; and whilst hiding theirselves and baiting their hosses in -a barn, the constables got ropes round the barn-yard and lined ’em -in. Then all dree drawed cuts[26] who was to go out fust and face -the constables. It fell to Tim’s two companions to go fust, but their -hearts failed ’em, and they wouldn’t go. So Tim cried out as ‘he’d -shew ’em what a Englishman could do,’ and mounted his hos and drawed -his cutlash, and cut their lines a-two, and galloped off clean away; -but I understood as t’other two was took. Arter that, may be a year -or two, he cum down to a pastime on White Hos Hill, and won the prize -at backswording; and when he took his money, fearing lest he should -be knowed, he jumped on his hos under the stage, and galloped right -off, and I don’t know as he ever cum again to these parts. Then I’ve -understood as things throve wi’ ’un, as ’um will at times, Sir, wi’ -thay sort o’ chaps, and he and his companions built the Inn called ‘the -Magpies,’ on Hounslow Heath; but I dwon’t know as ever he kep’ the -house hisself, except it med ha’ been for a short while. Howsomever, at -last he was took drinking at a public-house, someweres up Hounslow way, -wi’ a companion who played a cross wi’ ’un, and I b’live ’a was hanged -at Newgate. But I never understood as he killed any body, Sir, and a’d -used to gie some o’ the money as he took to the poor, if he knowed they -was in want.” - -_Squire._ “Thank’ee, Thomas. What a pity he didn’t go soldiering; he -might have made a fine fellow then!” - -_Thos._ “Well, Sir, so t’wur, I thinks. Our fam’ly be given to that -sort o’ thing. I wur a good hand at elbow and collar wrastling myself, -afore I got married; but then I gied up all that, and ha’ stuck to work -ever sence.” - -_Squire._ “Well, Thomas, you’ve given me the story I wanted to hear, so -it’s fair I should give you a Sunday dinner.” - -_Thos._ “Lord love ’ee, Sir, I never meant nothin’ o’ that sort; our -fam’ly”-- - -We were half-way across the field, when I looked round, and saw old -Thomas still looking after us and holding the Squire’s silver in his -hand, evidently not comfortable in his mind at having failed in telling -us all he had to say about _his fam’ly_, of which he seemed as proud as -any duke can be of his, and I dare say has more reason for his pride -than many of them. At last, however, as we got over the stile, he -pocketed the affront and went on with his work. - -I could find out nothing whatever about the next Scouring; but I was -lucky enough to get the printed hand-bill which was published before -the one in 1776, which I made out to be the next but one after that at -which Tim Gibbons played. - -When I showed this old hand-bill to the Parson he was very much -tickled. He took up the one which the Committee put out this last time, -and looked at them together for a minute, and then tossed them across -to me. - -“What a queer contrast,” said he, “between those two bills.” - -“How do you mean, Sir?” said I; “why the games seem to be nearly the -same.” - -“So they are,” said he; “but look at the prizes. Our great -grandfathers, you’ll see, gave no money prizes; we scarcely any others. -The gold-laced hat and buckskin breeches have gone, and current coin -of the realm reigns supreme. Then look at the happy-go-lucky way in -which the old bill is put out. No date given, no name signed! who was -responsible for the breeches, or the shoe-buckles? And then, what -grammar! The modern bill, you see, is in the shape of resolutions, -passed at a meeting, the chairman’s name being appended as security -for the prizes.” - -“That seems much better and more business-like,” said I. - -“Then you see the horserace for a silver cup has disappeared,” he -went on. “Epsom and Ascot have swallowed up the little country races, -just as big manufacturers swallow up little ones, and big shops whole -streets of little shops, and nothing but monsters flourish in this age -of unlimited competition and general enlightenment. Not that I regret -the small country town-races, though.” - -“And I see, Sir, that ‘smocks to be run for by ladies,’ is left out in -the modern bill.” - -“A move in the right direction there, at any rate,” said he; “the bills -ought to be published side by side.” So I took his advice, and here -they are:-- - - “WHITE HORSE HILL, BERKS, 1776.[27] - - “The scowering and cleansing of the White Horse is fixed for - Monday the 27th day of May; on which day a Silver Cup will be - run for near White Horse Hill, by any horse, &c. that never run - for any thing, carrying 11 stone, the best of 3 two-mile heats, - to start at ten o’clock. - - “Between the heats will be run for by Poneys, a Saddle, Bridle, - and Whip; the best of three two-mile heats, the winner of 2 - heats will be entitled to the Saddle, the second best the - Bridle, and the third the Whip. - - “The same time a Thill harness will be run for by Cart-horses, - &c. in their harness and bells, the carters to ride in smock - frocks without saddles, crossing and jostling, but no whipping - allowed. - - “A flitch of Bacon to be run for by asses. - - “A good Hat to be run for by men in sacks, every man to bring - his own sack. - - “A Waistcoat, 10_s._ 6_d._ value, to be given to the person who - shall take a bullet out of a tub of flour with his mouth in the - shortest time. - - “A Cheese to be run for down the White Horse Manger. - - “Smocks to be run for by ladies, the second best of each prize - to be entitled to a Silk Hat. - - “_Cudgel-playing_ for a _gold-laced Hat_ and a pair of buckskin - Breeches, and _Wrestling_ for a pair of silver Buckles and a - pair of pumps. - - “The horses to be on the White Horse Hill by nine o’clock. - - “No less than four horses, &c. or asses, to start for any of - the above prizes.” - - PASTIME. - - _To be held on the occasion of the Scouring of the White Horse, - September 17th and 18th, 1857._ - - At a meeting held at the Craven Arms, Uffington, on the 20th - day of August, 1857, the following resolutions (amongst others) - were passed unanimously:-- - - First. That a pastime be held on the White Horse Hill, on - Thursday and Friday, the 17th and 18th of September, in - accordance with the old custom at the time of “The Scouring of - the Horse.” - - 2dly. That E. Martin Atkins, Esq. of Kingston Lisle, be - appointed Treasurer. - - 3dly. That prizes be awarded for the following games and - sports, That is to say-- - - Backsword Play. { Old gamesters, £8. - { Young gamesters, £4. - - Wrestling. { Old gamesters, £5. - { Young gamesters, £4. - - A jingling match. - - Foot races. - - Hurdle races. - - Race of cart-horses in Thill harness (for a new set of harness). - - Donkey race (for a flitch of bacon). - - Climbing pole (for a leg of mutton). - - Races down “the Manger,” (for cheeses.) - - A pig will be turned out on the down, to be the prize of the - man who catches him (under certain regulations); and further - prizes will be awarded for other games and sports as the funds - will allow. - - 4thly. That no person be allowed to put up or use a stall or - booth on the ground, without the previous sanction of Mr. - Spackman, of Bridgecombe Farm, [the occupier,] who is hereby - authorized to make terms with any person wishing to put up a - stall or booth. - - Signed, - E. MARTIN ATKINS, _Chairman_. - -Then came a Scouring on Whit-Monday, May 15, 1780, and of the doings on -that occasion, there is the following notice in the “Reading Mercury” -of May 22, 1780:-- - -“The ceremony of scowering and cleansing that noble monument of Saxon -antiquity, the White Horse, was celebrated on Whit-Monday, with great -joyous festivity. Besides the customary diversions of horseracing, -foot-races, &c. many uncommon rural diversions and feats of activity -were exhibited to a greater number of spectators than ever assembled -on any former occasion. Upwards of thirty thousand persons were -present, and amongst them most of the nobility and gentry of this and -the neighbouring counties; and the whole was concluded without any -material accident. The origin of this remarkable piece of antiquity -is variously related; but most authors describe it as a monument to -perpetuate some signal victory, gained near the spot, by some of our -most ancient Saxon princes. The space occupied by this figure is more -than an acre of ground.” - -I also managed to get a list of the games, which is just the same as -the one of 1776, except that in addition there was “a jingling-match -by eleven blindfolded men, and one unmasked and hung with bells, for a -pair of buckskin breeches.” - -The Parson found an old man, William Townsend by name, a carpenter at -Woolstone, whose father, one Warman Townsend, had run down the manger -after the fore-wheel of a wagon, and won the cheese at this Scouring. -He told us the story as his father had told it to him, how that “eleven -on ’em started, and amongst ’em a sweep chimley and a millurd; and the -millurd tripped up the sweep chimley and made the zoot flee a good -’un;” and how “the wheel ran pretty nigh down to the springs that -time,” which last statement the Parson seemed to think couldn’t be -true. But old Townsend knew nothing about the other sports. - -Then the next Scouring was held in 1785, and the Parson found several -old men who could remember it when they were very little. The one who -was most communicative was old William Ayres of Uffington, a very dry -old gentleman, about eighty-four years old:-- - -“When I wur a bwoy about ten years old,” said he, “I remembers I went -up White Hoss Hill wi’ my vather to a pastime. Vather’d brewed a barrel -o’ beer to sell on the Hill--a deal better times then than now, Sir!” - -“Why, William?” said the Parson. - -“Augh! bless’ee, Sir, a man medn’t brew and sell his own beer now; -and oftentimes he can’t get nothin’ fit to drink at thaay little -beer-houses as is licensed, nor at some o’ the public-houses too for -that matter. But ’twur not only for that as the times wur better then, -you see, Sir----” - -“But about the sports, William?” - -“Ees Sir, I wur gandering sure enough,” said the old man; “well now, -there wur Varmer Mifflin’s mare run for and won a new cart saddle and -thill-tugs--the mare’s name wur _Duke_. As many as a dozen or moor -horses run, and they started from Idle’s Bush, which wur a vine owld -tharnin’-tree in thay days--a very nice bush. They started from Idle’s -Bush, as I tell ’ee, Sir, and raced up to the Rudge-waay; and Varmer -Mifflin’s mare had it all one way, and beat all the t’other on ’um -holler. The pastime then wur a good ’un--a wunderful sight o’ volk of -all sorts, rich and poor. John Morse of Uffington, a queerish sort of a -man, grinned agin another chap droo’ hos collars, but John got beaat--a -fine bit of spwoort to be shure, Sir, and made the folks laaf. Another -geaam wur to bowl a cheese down the Mainger, and the first as could -catch ’un had ’un. The cheese was a tough ’un and held together.” - -“Nonsense, William, that’s impossible,” broke in the Parson. - -“Augh Sir, but a did though, I assure ’ee,” persisted William Ayres, -“but thaay as tasted ’un said a warn’t very capital arter all.” - -“I daresay,” said the Parson, “for he couldn’t have been made of any -thing less tough than ash pole.” - -“Hah, hah, hah,” chuckled the old man, and went on. - -“There wur running for a peg too, and they as could ketch ’un and hang -’un up by the tayl, had ’un. The girls, too, run races for smocks--a -deal of pastime, to be sure, Sir. There wur climmin’ a grasy pole for -a leg of mutton, too; and backsoordin’, and wrastlin’, and all that, -ye knows, Sir. A man by the name of Blackford, from the low countries, -Zummersetshire, or that waay some weres, he won the prize, and wur -counted the best hand for years arter, and no man couldn’t break -his yead; but at last, nigh about twenty years arter, I’ll warn[28] -’twur--at Shrin’um Revel, Harry Stanley, the landlord of the Blawin’ -Stwun, broke his yead, and the low-country men seemed afeard o’ Harry -round about here for long arter that. Varmer Small-bwones of Sparsholt, -a mazin’ stout man, and one as scarce no wun go where ’a would could -drow down, beaat all the low-country chaps at wrastlin’, and none -could stan’ agean ’un. And so he got the neam o’ Varmer Greaat Bwones. -’Twur only when he got a drap o’ beer a leetle too zoon, as he wur -ever drowed at wrastlin’, but they never drowed ’un twice, and he had -the best men come agean ’un for miles. This wur the first pastime as I -well remembers, but there med ha’ been some afore, for all as I knows. -I ha’ got a good memorandum, Sir, and minds things well when I wur a -bwoy, that I does. I ha’ helped to dress the White Hoss myself, and a -deal o’ work ’tis to do’t as should be, I can asshure ’ee, Sir. About -Claay Hill, ’twixt Fairford and Ziziter, I’ve many a time looked back -at ’un, and ’a looks as nat’ral as a pictur, Sir.” - -Between 1785 and 1803 there must have been at least two Scourings, but -somehow none of the old men could remember the exact years, and they -seemed to confuse them with those that came later on, and though I -looked for them in old county papers, I could not find any notice of -them. - -At the Scouring of 1803, Beckingham of Baydon won the prize at -wrestling; Flowers and Ellis from Somersetshire won the prize at -backsword play; the waiter at the Bell Inn, Farringdon, won the cheese -race, and at jumping in sacks; and Thomas Street, of Niton, won the -prize for grinning through horse collars, “but,” as my informant told -me, “a man from Woodlands would ha’ beaat, only he’d got no teeth. This -geaam made the congregation laaf ’mazinly.” - -Then came a Scouring in 1808, at which the Hanney men came down in a -strong body and made sure of winning the prize for wrestling. But all -the other gamesters leagued against them, and at last their champion, -Belcher, was thrown by Fowler of Baydon;--both these men are still -living. Two men, “with very shiny top-boots, quite gentlemen, from -London,” won the prize for backsword play, one of which gentlemen -was Shaw, the life-guardsman, a Wiltshire man himself as I was told, -who afterwards died at Waterloo after killing so many cuirassiers. A -new prize was given at this pastime and a very blackguard one, viz: -a gallon of gin or half a guinea for the woman who would smoke most -tobacco in an hour. Only two gypsy women entered, and it seems to have -been a very abominable business, but it is the only instance of the -sort that I could hear of at any Scouring. - -The old men disagree as to the date of the next Scouring, which was -either in 1812 or 1813; but I think in the latter year, because the -clerk of Kingstone Lisle, an old Peninsula man, says that he was at -home on leave in this year, and that there was to be a Scouring. And -all the people were talking about it when he had to go back to the -wars. At this Scouring there was a prize of a loaf made out of a bushel -of flour, for running up the manger, which was won by Philip New, -of Kingstone-in-the-Hole; who cut the great loaf into pieces at the -top, and sold the pieces for a penny a piece. I am sure he must have -deserved a great many pennies for running up that place, if he really -ever did it; for I would just as soon undertake to run up the front -of the houses in Holborn. The low country men won the first backsword -prize, and one Ford, of Ashbury, the second; and the Baydon men, headed -by Beckingham, Fowler, and Breakspear, won the prize for wrestling. One -Henry Giles (of Hanney, I think they said) had wrestled for the prize, -and I suppose took too much beer afterwards; at any rate, he fell into -the canal on his way home and was drowned. So the jury found, “Killed -at wrastlin’;” “though,” as my informant said, “’twur a strange thing -for a old geamster as knew all about the stage, to be gettin’ into the -water for a bout. Hows’mever, Sir, I hears as they found it as I tells -’ee, and you med see it any day as you’ve a mind to look in the parish -register.” - -Then I couldn’t find that there had been another Scouring till 1825, -but the one which took place in that year seems by all accounts to -have been the largest gathering that there has ever been. The games -were held at the Seven Barrows, which are distant two miles in a -southeasterly direction from the White Horse, instead of in Uffington -Castle; but I could not make out why. These seven barrows, I heard the -Squire say, are probably the burial-places of the principal men who -were killed at Ashdown, and near them are other long irregular mounds, -all full of bones huddled together anyhow, which are very likely the -graves of the rank and file. - -After this there was no Scouring till 1838, when, on the 19th and 20th -of September, the old custom was revived, under the patronage of Lord -Craven. The _Reading Mercury_ congratulates its readers on the fact, -and adds that no more auspicious year could have been chosen for the -revival, “than that in which our youthful and beloved Queen first wore -the British crown, and in which an heir was born to the ancient and -noble house of Craven, whom God preserve.” I asked the Parson if he -knew why it was that such a long time had been let to pass between the -1825 Scouring and the next one. - -“You see it was a transition time,” said he; “old things were passing -away. What with Catholic Emancipation, and Reform, and the new Poor -Law, even the quiet folk in the Vale had no time or heart to think -about pastimes; and machine-breaking and rick-burning took the place of -wrestling and backsword play.” - -“But then, Sir,” said I, “this last fourteen years we haven’t had any -Reform Bill (worse luck) and yet there was no Scouring between 1843 and -1857.” - -“Why can’t you be satisfied with my reason?” said he; “now you must -find one out for yourself.” - -The last Scouring, in September, 1843, Joe had been at himself, and -told me a long story about, which I should be very glad to repeat, -only I think it would rather interfere with my own story of what I -saw myself. The Berkshire and Wiltshire men, under Joe Giles of -Shrivenham, got the better of the Somersetshire men, led by Simon -Stone, at backsword play; and there were two men who came down from -London, who won the wrestling prize away from the countrymen. “What -I remember best, however,” said Joe, “was all the to-do to get the -elephant’s caravan up the hill, for Wombwell’s menagerie came down -on purpose for the Scouring. I should think they put-to a matter of -four-and-twenty horses, and then stuck fast four or five times. I was a -little chap then but I sat and laughed at ’em a good one; and I don’t -know that I’ve seen so foolish a job since.” - -“I don’t see why, Joe,” said I. - -“You don’t?” said he, “well, that’s good, too. Why didn’t they turn the -elephant out and make him pull his own caravan up? He would have been -glad to do it, poor old chap, to get a breath of fresh air, and a look -across the vale.” - - * * * * * - -But now that I have finished all that I have to tell about the old -Scourings, (at least all that I expect any body will read,) I must go -back again to the kitchen on the night of the 16th of September, 1857. -Joe, who, as I said, was half asleep while I was reading, soon waked -up afterwards, though it was past eleven o’clock, and began to settle -how we were to go up the hill the next morning. - -“Now I shall ride the chestnut up early,” said he, “’cause I may be -wanted to help the Squire and the rest, but it don’t matter for the -rest of you. I’ll have a saddle put on my old brown horse, and he’ll be -quiet enough, for he has been at harvest work, and the four-wheel must -come up with Lu somehow. Will you ride or drive, Sir?” said he, turning -to the Parson. - -“Oh, I don’t mind; whichever is most convenient,” said Mr. Warton. - -“Did’st ever drive in thy life, Dick?” said Joe to me. - -I was very near saying “yes,” for I felt ashamed of not being able to -do what they could; however, I told the truth, and said “no;” and next -minute I was very glad I had, for, besides the shame of telling a lie, -how much worse it would have been to be found out by Miss Lucy in the -morning, or to have had an upset or some accident. - -So it was settled that Mr. Warton should drive the four-wheel, and that -I should ride the old horse. I didn’t think it necessary to say that I -had never ridden any thing but the donkeys on Hampstead Heath, and the -elephant in the Zoological Gardens. And so, when all was settled, we -went to bed. - -[25] “Sprack,”--sprightly. - -[26] “Draw cuts,”--to draw lots. - -[27] This hand-bill was kindly given me by H. Godwin, Esq., of Newbury. - -[28] “Warn,”--contraction of the word “warrant.” - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - -Next morning I got up early, for I wasn’t quite easy in my mind about -riding Joe’s old horse, and so I thought I would just go round and -look at him, and ask the fogger something about his ways. It was a -splendid morning, not a cloud to be seen. I found the fogger strapping -away at the horses. Everybody had been up and about since daylight, to -get their day’s work done, so that they might get away early to the -pastime. All the cows had been milked and turned out again, and Joe was -away in the fields, looking after his men. - -I stood beating about the bush for some time, for I didn’t want to let -the man see what I was thinking of if I could help it. However, when he -brought out the old brown horse to clean him down, I went up and patted -him, and asked whether he was a good saddle horse. - -[Illustration] - -“Ees, there warn’t much fault to find wi’ un,” said the fogger, -stopping his hissing and rubbing for a moment, “leastways for them as -didn’t mind a high goer.” - -I didn’t quite know what he meant by a high goer, so I asked him if the -brown was up to my weight. - -“Lor’ bless ’ee, ees. He’d make no account o’ vivteen stun. Be you to -ride un up the hill, Sir, make so bold?” said he. - -“Yes, at least I think so,” said I. - -“Hev ’ee got arra loose tooth, Sir?” said he, grinning. - -“No,” said I, “why?” - -“’Cause he’ll be as likely as not to shake un out for ’ee, Sir, if you -lets un hev his head up on the downs.” - -I didn’t like this account of the brown horse, for as I hadn’t ridden -much, he might take his head perhaps whether I let him have it or not. -So I made up my mind not to ride. I thought I would go behind in the -four-wheel, for I didn’t like to leave Miss Lucy all alone with the -Parson for so long; but then I found out that one of the carter-boys -was to go behind to look after the horses, and I didn’t choose to be -put up side by side with him, to look ridiculous. There was a big -wagon going up, too, full of the farm servants, but that didn’t seem to -suit me any better, so I settled with myself that I would just start -and walk up. - -Joe, luckily for me, thought he had settled every thing, and so at -breakfast said nothing more about the old horse; though I was afraid -he would every minute, and then I should have had to pretend I was -going to ride, or they might have found out that I didn’t quite like -the notion. I was very glad when I saw him fairly off after breakfast, -cantering away on the chestnut; and, very soon afterwards, I took a -good stout stick of Joe’s in my hand, put my note-book in my pocket, -and started off quietly by myself. - -At first as I walked along I didn’t enjoy myself much for thinking of -the four-wheel, and I was almost getting jealous of the Parson again. -But I soon got over it, when I remembered how kind he had been the -night before. And I felt, too, that if he really was making up to her -there was very little chance for me, so I had better make up my mind -anyhow to see and enjoy every thing I could. I don’t think I was very -much in love at the time; if it had been a week later I should have -found it much harder perhaps. - -I kept along the shady side of the road, for it was getting hot -already, and crossed the canal, and kept making up towards the hills. -I wasn’t sure of the way, but I knew that if once I got up the hill I -should find the Ridgeway, and could follow it all the way up to the -Castle. After a bit I fell in with groups of people, all going the same -way; and so, following on with them, after about an hour’s walk, I came -to the foot of the hills; and found a pretty little inn, standing back -from the road, nestled into a plantation, where everybody else seemed -to be stopping; and so I stopped too, and sat down on the bench before -the door to have a glass of beer before facing the pull up to the top. - -In front of the door was an oak tree, and under the tree a big stone -with some curious holes in it, into which pieces of wood were fitted, -secured by a padlock and chain. I was wondering what it could be, when -the landlord came out with some of his guests, and pulling out a key -unlocked the padlock, and took the pieces of wood out of the holes. -Then there was some talk between the young men and their sweethearts, -and first one and then another stooped down and blew into the hole at -the top, and the stone made a dull moaning sound, unlike any thing I -had ever heard. The landlord told me that when it was well blown on a -still day, it could be heard for four or five miles, and I should think -it could; for I left them blowing away when I started again, and heard -the sound every now and then until I was close up to the Castle, though -the wind blew from the south, and down the hill. - -I should think a dozen parties, in all sorts of odd go-carts and other -vehicles, or on foot, must have passed the Blowing-Stone in the ten -minutes which I spent on the bench. So I got quite eager to be up at -the Castle, and paid for my beer and started again. It is a very long -stiff pull up Blowing-Stone Hill, and the road is not a very good -one; so I soon began to pass the gigs and carts, most of which had -to stop every hundred yards or so, to let the horses and donkeys get -their wind. Half-way up, in the worst part of the hill, I found an old -huckstering woman and a boy in great trouble. They had a little cart -laden with poles and boards for a stall, and two great sacks of nuts -and sweet-stuff; and only one donkey in the shafts, who had got one -wheel of the cart into a deep chalk rut, and stood there like a post. -The woman and boy were quite beat with dragging at his head, and trying -to lift the wheel out of the rut, and as I came up she was “fairly -giving out.” - -“Lawk-a-massy! how ever be I to scawt[29] up? Do’ee lend a help, -there’s a good soul,” said she to me. - -Well, I couldn’t go by and leave her there, though I didn’t half like -having to stop; so I helped to lift the wheel out, and then we pushed -the cart up a few yards, and the old donkey tried to sidle it into -another rut, and we had another fight with him. My blood got up at his -obstinacy; I don’t believe there ever was another such a donkey in the -world; so the more he backed and sidled, the more I and the old woman -and the boy fought. And then the people that passed us began to laugh -and joke at us, and I got very angry at them, and the old woman, and -everybody; but I set my teeth, and made up my mind to get him up to the -top if I stayed there all day. - -I should think we must have been nearly half an hour at work, and had -got on about three hundred yards or so, when a fine dog-cart on high -wheels came up. I heard the gentlemen in it talking and laughing as -they came near us; but I didn’t look up, and kept working away at the -donkey, for I was afraid they would only joke at us. - -“Oh deary me, deary me, Master Gaarge, be that you?” I heard the old -woman call out; “now do’ee stop some o’ the chaps, and tell ’em to -help. I be nigh caddled to death wi’ this drattled old jackass--oh -dear, oh dear!” - -“Why, Betty! what in the world are you after?” said a merry voice, -which I thought I had heard before; and, looking up, I saw the young -gentleman who had promised me the song. - -“Oh, you see, Master Gaarge, I thought as I might turn a honest penny -if I could only win up to the pastime wi’ some nuts and brandy-balls. -So I loaned neighbour Tharne’s cart as he fetches coals from the canal -wi’, and his ass--and if ’twas Balaam’s ass hisself he couldn’t be no -wus--and here I be; and if it hadn’t a been for this kind gentleman”-- - -“Well, stop your talk, Betty, and take hold of his head,” said he, -jumping out of his dog-cart and giving the reins to the one who was -beside him. “Ah, good morning,” nodding to me, as he came to the back -of the cart, “now then, with a will! shove away!” - -So we shoved the cart hard against the donkey’s legs. “Don’t pull, -Betty, let him have his head; just keep hold of the reins. Look out, -boy; stop him making for the ditch;” and away went Master Neddy -scrambling up hill, for he found that the cart was coming over his back -if he didn’t move on. Master George was as strong as a ballast heaver, -and the donkey seemed to find it out quick enough, for we were up the -hill in no time. - -“Bless your kind heart, Master Gaarge!” almost sobbed the old woman; “I -be all straight now. Do’ee hev summat to suck now, or some nuts, and -this kind gentleman too; you allus wur fond o’ suck;” and she began -untying the neck of one of her sacks. - -“Oh, Betty, you wicked old lone woman!” said he, “haven’t you made me -ill often enough with your nastinesses fifteen years ago?” - -“Dwont’ee, now, call ’em names, Master Gaarge.” - -“Good-bye, Betty, and make haste up to the Castle before all the small -boys are poisoned. I can give you a lift, Sir,” said he to me, “if -you’ll jump up behind.” - -I thanked him, and got up behind, by the side of one of the other young -gentlemen, who I thought didn’t seem much to like having me there; and -I felt very pleased, as we bowled along the Ridgeway, passing all the -people who had been laughing at me and the donkey, that they should see -that I was in such good company, and should be up at the Castle before -any of them. - -The whole Ridgeway was alive with holiday folk, some walking with -their coats and bonnets off, some in great wagons, some in all sorts -of strange vehicles, such as I had never seen before (many of which -Master George declared had been impressed by Alfred’s commissariat -and hospital staff, in his wars against the Danes, when they were -strong young traps); but from one and all there rose up a hum of broad -Berkshire, and merry laughter, as we shot by them. Sometimes a yeoman -in his gig, or on his stout hackney, would try to keep up with us, or -to stop us from passing him, but Master George was a reckless driver, -and somehow or another, galloping or trotting, on the right side or the -wrong, he _would_ pass; so in about ten minutes we had got over the two -miles of downs, and were close up to the Castle. - -Here the first thing I saw was Joe, with two other farmers, carrying a -lot of little white and pink flags, and measuring ground. - -“Please put me down, Sir,” said I, “there’s my friend.” - -“Ah, yes,” said Master George, pulling up, “I see--you’re staying -with Farmer Hurst. Well, I’m much obliged to you for helping poor old -Betty--she’s a good struggling old widow body in our village; I’ve -known her ever since I could walk and suck. Good morning, Mr. Hurst; -likely to be a good muster to-day.” - -“Mornin’, Sir,” said Joe, touching his hat, “I think so--there’s a -smart lot of folk in the Castle already.” - -“Well, I hope we may meet again,” said Master George to me, “I won’t -forget the song for you,”--and away he drove towards the Castle. - -“Why, Dick man, where’s the old horse?” said Joe, looking as if I had -come from the moon. - -“Oh, I walked,” said I, “I prefer it, when I have time.” - -“Come own it, Dick,” said he, “thou wast ashamed of the old horse’s -long rough coat--I didn’t think thou hadst been such a dandy.” - -“Upon my honour it was nothing of the sort,” said I, glad enough that -he wasn’t on the right scent. - -“And how did you get along with one of our young squires?” said he. - -“Oh, he offered me a lift,” said I; and then I told him my story. - -“Well, you always seem to fall on your legs,” said he; “who are they -with him?” - -“Oxford scholars, I think,” said I, “from their talk; but I didn’t get -on much with them, they’re not so free spoken as he is. But what are -you about here, Joe?” - -“Oh, helping the umpires to measure out the course for the cart-horse -race; look, there are the flags right along for half a mile, and the -finish is to be up there by the side of the Castle, for all the folk to -see. But come along, for I must be after the umpires; I see they want -me.” - -“I think,” said I, “I should like to go and see what’s going on in the -Castle.” - -“Very good,” said he, “then I’ll look after you when we’ve done this -job;” and away he went. - -I wouldn’t take time to go round by either of the entrances, but made -straight across to the nearest point of the great earthworks, and -scrambled over the outer bank, and down into the deep ditch, and up the -inner bank, and stood there on the top, looking down on all the fun -of the fair; for fair it was already, though it was very little past -eleven o’clock in the morning. - -There was the double line of booths and stalls which I had seen putting -up the day before, making a long and broad street, and all decked out -with nuts and apples, and ginger-bread, and all sorts of sucks and -food, and children’s toys, and cheap ribbons, knives, braces, straps, -and all manner of gaudy-looking articles. Opposite, on the north side, -all the shows had got their great pictures up of the wonders which -were to be seen inside, and the performers were strutting about on -the stages outside, and before one of them an acrobat was swinging -backwards and forwards on the slack rope, and turning head over heels -at the end of each swing. And every show had its own music, if it were -only a drum and pan pipes, and all the musicians were playing, as loud -as they could play, different tunes. Then, on the east side, were the -great booths of the publicans, all decked out now with flowers and -cheap flags, with their skittle-grounds behind; and lots of gypsies, -and other tramps, with their “three sticks a penny,” and other games. -The west side was only occupied, as I said before, by the great white -tent of the County Police, where the Committee were sitting, and Lord -Craven’s tents some way in front; but these looked pretty and gay now, -for they had hoisted some good flags; and there in the middle stood -the great ugly stage, and the greasy pole. The whole space was filled -with all sorts of people, from ladies looking as if they had just come -from Kensington Gardens, down to the ragged little gypsy children, with -brown faces and brick-coloured hair, all moving about, and looking very -much as if they were enjoying themselves. So after looking a minute, I -got down into the crowd, and set to work to see every thing I could. - -I hadn’t been pushing about amongst the rest above five minutes, when -two men stopped close by me, one (who was the Wantage crier, I found -out afterwards) with his hand full of papers, and the other carrying a -gong, which he began to beat loud enough to deafen one. When the crowd -had come round him, the crier began, and I should think he might have -been heard at Elm Close:-- - -“Oh yes! oh yes! by order of the Committee, all persons who mean to -play for prizes, must enter their names on the umpires’ lists. Oh yes! -oh yes! the umpires’ lists are open in the tent, and names may be -entered from now till half-past twelve. Oh yes! a list of the umpires -for the different games and sports may be seen on the board outside the -tent-door. God save the Queen!” - -As soon as he had done, he and the man with the gong went off to -another part of the Castle, but I could see some of the men and boys, -who had been standing round, sidling off towards the great tent to -enter for some of the games, as I guessed. So I followed across the -Castle to the space in front of the tent. - -I could see, through the entrance, two or three of the Committee -sitting at a table, with paper and pens and ink before them; and every -now and then, from the little groups which were standing about, some -man would make a plunge in, and go up to the table; and, after a word -or two with them, would enter his name on one or more of the lists, and -then come out, sometimes grinning, but generally looking as if he were -half ashamed of himself. I remarked more and more through the day what -a shy, shamefaced fellow the real countryman was, while the gypsies -and racing boys and tramps, who entered for the races, but not for the -backsword or wrestling prizes, were all as bold as brass, and stood -chattering away to the Committee-men, till they were almost ordered out -of the tent. - -I sat down on the turf outside the tent to watch; for I felt very -much interested in the games, and liked to see the sort of men who -came to enter. There were not many very stout or tall men amongst -them; I should say they averaged about eleven stone in weight, and -five feet eight inches in height; but they looked a very tough race; -and I could quite believe, while looking at them, what Joe told me -one day--“Though there’s plenty of quicker men, and here and there -stronger ones, scarce any man that ever comes down our way--either at -navigator’s work or loafing about, like the gypsies and tramps--can -ever come up to our chaps in _last_, whether at fighting or working.” - -There was one man amongst them who struck me particularly, I suppose -because he wore a Crimean medal with four clasps, and went quite lame -on a crutch. I found out his history. Old Mattingly, the blacksmith of -Uffington, had three sons when the Russian war broke out. They all went -for soldiers. The first was shot through the hand, as that gray, deadly -dawn broke over Inkermann, on the 5th of November, 1854. Had he gone to -the rear he would probably have lived. He fought till the last Russian -vanished along the distant road, and over the bridge heaped with slain, -like a gallant Berkshire lad--and then went to hospital and died of his -wounds within a week. The second lies before Sebastopol in the advanced -trenches of the right attack. The third, the young artilleryman, went -through the whole war, and after escaping bayonet and shot and shell, -was kicked by the horse of a wounded officer, and probably lamed for -life. According to the rules of the service, my informant seemed to -think, he was not entitled to a pension for life, “but they had given -him one for eighteen months after his discharge, so that he had almost -a year of it to run; and perhaps he might learn blacksmith-work in that -time, if he could stand at all, for that was mostly arm-work.” - -I didn’t know what the regulations as to pensions were, or how long -young Mattingly would take to learn blacksmith-work, but I did feel -rather ashamed that England couldn’t afford to do a little more for -such as he; and should be glad for my part to pay something towards it, -if the Chancellor of the Exchequer, or somebody, would find out a way -to set this right. Or perhaps if this should ever meet the eye of the -Commander-in-Chief, or of any of the gentlemen who were made K.C.B’s in -the war-time, or of any other person who has interest in the army, they -may see whether any thing more can be done for young Mattingly. - -Many of the younger ones I could see hadn’t made up their minds whether -or no they should enter, and were larking and pushing one another -about; and I saw several good trials of strength, and got an idea of -what the wrestling was like before the lists were closed. - -“Bi’st in for young geamsters prize at wrastlin’, shepherd?” asked -a young carter with his hat full of ribbons, of a tight-made, -neatly-dressed fellow, who had already won a second prize, I heard, at -his village revel. - -The shepherd nodded. - -“Mose, mun,” went on the carter, “thee shouldst go in. Thee bi’st big -enough.” - -Moses was an overgrown, raw-boned fellow, of about eighteen, in a short -smock-frock and a pair of very dilapidated militia-trousers. He had -been turning the matter over in his own mind for some time, and now, -after looking the shepherd over for a minute, pulled his great hands -out of his pockets, hunched up his shoulders, and grunted out-- - -“’Zay! Try a file[30] wi’ thee, shepherd.” - -The bystanders all cheered. Moses, the militiaman, was rather a joke to -them. The shepherd looked scornful, but was ready to try a file; but -he stipulated that Mose must borrow some shoes instead of his great, -iron-clouted high-lows, (no man is allowed to wrestle, I found, with -any iron on his shoes.) - -This seemed likely to stop the fun. Moses pulled off his high-lows, -and appeared in sinkers,[31] at which everybody roared; but no shoes -were to be had. Then he offered to wrestle without shoes; but at last -a pair were found, and Moses advanced with his great hands stretched -out towards the shepherd, who, not deigning to take one hand out of his -pocket, caught Mose’s elbow with the other. After one or two awkward -attempts, and narrowly escaping some well-meant trips, Mose bored in; -and before the shepherd could seize the militiaman’s collar with his -second hand, over he went, and Mose was proclaimed winner of a file, -amid shouts of laughter. Then they buckled to again, the shepherd doing -his best; but somehow Mose managed to keep his legs; and when they went -down, both fell on their sides, and it was only a dog-fall. - -In another minute I saw the militiaman in the tent before the table. - -“Plaze, Sur, put down Moses Tilling--young geamster--wrastlin’.” - -After watching the tent till the lists were just closing, I started -off to see if I could find Miss Lucy, who ought to have been up by -this time, and to get something to eat before the sports began. The -luncheon I managed easily enough, for I went over to the great booth in -which I had dined the day before, and sat down at the long table, where -Peter welcomed me, and soon gave me as much as I could eat and drink. -But when I had finished, and went out to look for my friends, I found -it a very difficult business, and no wonder, for there were more than -20,000 people up on the Hill. - -First I went to the outside of the Castle, where all the carriages were -drawn up in long rows, to see if I could find the four-wheel amongst -them. As I was poking about, I came close to a fine open carriage, -and hearing a shout of merry laughter, looked up. There were a party -at lunch; two ladies and some quite young girls inside, some boys on -the box, and several gentlemen standing round, holding bottles and -sandwiches; and they were all eating and drinking, and laughing at an -old gypsy woman, who was telling the fortune of one of the ladies. - -“Love’ll never break your heart, my pretty lady,” said the old woman; -“let the Norwood gypsy see your hand, my pretty lady.” - -The lady held out her right hand, and the little girls glanced at the -lady, and one another, brimming with fun. - -“It’s the other hand the gypsy ought to see. Ah, well, then, never -mind,” she went on, as the lady looked quietly in her face, without -moving a muscle, “the old Norwood gypsy can read it all in your eyes. -There’s a dark gentleman, and a light gentleman, who’ll both be coming -before long; there’ll be sore hearts over it, but the richest will win -before a year’s out--” Here the girls clapped their hands, and burst -into shouts, and the lady showed her other hand with a wedding-ring on, -and went on quietly with her lunch. - -“Ah! I never said she wasn’t married!” said the gipsy to the girls, -who only laughed the more. I had got quite close up to the carriage, -and at this moment caught the eye of the lady, who was laughing too; -then I felt awkward all at once, and as if I was where I had no right -to be. But she didn’t look the least annoyed, and I was passing on, -when I saw that Mr. Warton was amongst the gentlemen on the other side -of the carriage. “Ah,” thought I, “I wonder if he’ll know me now he’s -with his fine friends?” But the next minute I was ashamed of myself -for doubting, for I heard him wish them good-bye, and before I was ten -yards from the carriage, he put his arm in mine. - -“Well, you never rode after all,” he began. - -“No, Sir,” said I. “But where are they? I haven’t seen Joe this two -hours.” - -“Oh, not far off,” said he; “feeding, like the rest of us.” - -And further down the line we found Joe, and Miss Lucy, and several -friends of theirs, lunching on the turf by the four-wheel. So we sat -down with them, but I didn’t half like the way in which Miss Lucy was -running on with two young farmers, one on each side of her. She told -me afterwards that she had known them ever since they were children -together, but somehow that didn’t seem to me to mend the matter much. -And then again, when Joe got up, and said it was time to move, for the -sports would be just beginning, nothing would serve her but to walk -off to Wayland Smith’s cave. I wonder whether she did it a little bit -to provoke me; for she knew that I had been to see it the day before, -and that I wanted particularly to see all the sports. But I don’t think -it could have been that after all, for when I said I should stay with -Joe, she was just as pleasant as ever, and didn’t seem to mind a bit -whether I or any one else went with her or not. - -I am afraid I shall make a very poor hand at telling about the sports, -because I couldn’t be in five or six places at once; and so I was kept -running about, from the stage in the middle of the Castle out on to -the downs to see the cart-horse race, and then back again into the -Castle for the jingling match, and then out on the other side to the -manger for the cheese races, and so on backwards and forwards; seeing -the beginning of one sport, and the end of another, and the middle of -a third. I wish the Committee would let the sports begin earlier, and -then one might be able to see them all. However I must do the best I -can, and just put down what I saw myself. - -The first move for the sports was made a little before one, just as -I got back into the Castle, after seeing Miss Lucy start for Wayland -Smith’s cave. The Committee came out of their tent in a body, each -man carrying the lists of the entries for the sports over which he -was to preside. But instead of going different ways, each to his own -business, they walked across in a body to the stage, and stopped just -underneath it, in the middle of a great crowd of men and boys; and then -they shouted for silence, and the chairman spoke:-- - -“We wish to say a few words, my men, to those who are going to play -with the sticks or wrestle to-day. There has been a good deal of talk -about these sports, as you all know; and many persons think they -shouldn’t be allowed at all now-a-days--that the time for them has -gone by. They say, that men always lose their tempers and get brutal -at these sports. We have settled, however, to give the old-fashioned -games a fair trial; and it will rest with yourselves whether we shall -ever be able to offer prizes for them again. For, depend upon it, if -there is any savage work to-day, if you lose your tempers, and strike -or kick one another unfairly, you will never see any more wrestling or -backsword on White Horse Hill. But we are sure we can trust you, and -that there won’t be any thing to find fault with. Only remember again, -you are on your trial, and the stage will be cleared at once, and no -prizes given, if any thing objectionable happens. And now, you can put -to as soon as you like.” - -The Committee then marched off, leaving a very large crowd round the -stage, all eager for the play to begin. - -The two umpires got up on to the stage, and walked round, calling out, -“Two old gamesters at backsword, and two old gamesters at wrastlin’, -wanted to put to.” But I suppose the chairman’s speech had rather taken -the men by surprise, for no one came forward, though there was a crowd -twenty deep round the stage. - -“Who are the old gamesters?” I asked of the man next me. - -“Them as has won or shared a first prize at any revel,” answered he, -without looking round. - -After a minute the chairman’s brother, who didn’t seem to have much -scruple about these sports, jumped up on the stage, and blew an old -French hunting-horn, till the young ones began to laugh; and then told -the men not to be afraid to come up, for if they didn’t begin at once -there wouldn’t be light to play out the ties. - -At last there was a stir amongst the knot of Somersetshire men, who -stood together at one corner of the stage; and one of them, stepping -up, pitched on to it his stumpy black hat, and then climbed up after it -himself, spoke a word to the umpires, and began handling the sticks, to -choose one which balanced to his mind, while the umpires proclaimed, -“An old gamester wanted, to play with John Bunn of Wedmore.” - -“There he stands, you see,” said Master George, who was close by me, -though I hadn’t seen him before, “the only remaining representative of -the old challenger at tourneys ready to meet all comers. He ought to -have a herald to spout out his challenge in verse. Why not?” - -“I don’t know what he could say more than the umpire has, Sir,” said I. - -“He might blow his own trumpet at any rate,” said he; “somehow thus;” -and he repeated, after a false start or two,-- - -THE ZONG OF THE ZUMMERZETSHIRE OWLD GEAMSTER. - - I. - - “Cham[32] a Zummerzetshire mun - Coom her to hev a bit o’vun. - Oo’lt[33] try a bout? I be’ant aveard - Ov any man or mother’s zun. - - II. - - “Cham a geamster owld and tough, - Well knowed droo all the country zide, - And many a lusty Barkshire man - To break my yead hev often tried. - - III. - - “Who’s vor a bout o vriendly plaay, - As never should to anger move? - Zich spwoorts wur only meaned vor thaay - As likes their mazzards broke for love.” - -John Bunn looked by no means a safe man to play with. He stood about -five feet eleven, with spare long muscular limbs, a sallow complexion, -and thick shock head of black hair,--a good defence in itself against -any common blow of a stick. But now that the ice was broken, his -challenge was soon answered; and George Gregory, of Stratton, one of -the best mowers in the Vale, appeared to uphold the honour of Berks -and Wilts. He stood half a head shorter than his opponent, but was, -probably, the stronger man of the two, and had a sturdy and confident -look, which promised well, and was fair-haired, and, like David, -ruddy to look upon. - -[Illustration] - -While they were taking off coats and waistcoats, and choosing sticks, -two wrestlers got up on the stage, and showed the shoes in which they -were going to wrestle to the umpires, for approval; and stood at the -ropes, ready to begin as soon as the first bout at backsword was over. -The crowd drew a long breath, while Bunn and Gregory came forward, -shook hands; and then throwing up their guards, met in the middle of -the stage. - -At the first rattle of the sticks, the crowd began cheering again, -and pressed in closer to the stage; and I with them, for it was very -exciting, _that_ I felt at once. The coolness and resolution in the -faces of the two men, as they struck and parried with those heavy -sticks, trying all the points of each other’s play in a dozen rapid -exchanges; the skill and power which every turn of the wrist showed; -and the absolute indifference with which they treated any chance blow -which fell on arm or shoulder, made it really a grand sight; and with -all my prejudices I couldn’t help greatly admiring the players. “Bout,” -cried Bunn, after a minute or so, and down came their guards, and they -walked to the side of the stage to collect coppers from the crowd below -in the baskets of their sticks, while the two first wrestlers put to in -the middle. - -I suppose there are more unsettled points in wrestling, or it is harder -to see whether the men are playing fair, for the crowd was much more -excited now than at the backsword play, a hundred voices shouting to -the umpires every moment to stop this or that practice. Besides, the -kicking, which is allowed at elbow and collar wrestling, makes it look -brutal very often; and so I didn’t like it so much as the backsword -play, though the men were fine, good-tempered fellows, and, when most -excited, only seemed to want what they called “fair doos.” - -I stopped by the stage until Gregory had lost his head. How it happened -I couldn’t see, but suddenly the umpires cried out “Blood!” The men -stopped; Gregory put up his hand to his hair, found that the blood was -really coming, and then dropped his stick and got down, quite as much -surprised as I was. And two more old gamesters were called up, the -first head being to Somersetshire. - -But now I heard that the cart-horse race was just coming off, and so -following the crowd, made my way across to the east of the Castle. - -I scrambled up to the highest part of the bank, and so got a capital -view of the scene below. The course was marked out all the way down -to the starting-post by rows of little pink and white flags, and the -Committee-men were riding slowly up and down, trying to get the people -to keep back behind the flags. The line was, on the whole, pretty -well kept; but as the crowd got thicker every minute, every now and -then a woman with two or three children would wander out to escape -the pressure from behind; or a young couple keeping company would run -across, hoping to better their position; or a lot of uproarious boys -would start out for a lark, to try the tempers, and very possibly the -whips, of the Committee. - -Joe presently rode by the place where I was standing, and called out to -me to come down and see the mounting. So I slipped out of the crowd, -and ran down the back of the line to the starting-place. There I found -the Squire and the umpires, passing the men and horses. Five or six -were all ready; the great horses in their thill harness, which jingled -and rattled with every movement; and the carters perched up in the -middle of the wood and leather and brass, in their white smock-frocks, -with the brims of their break-of-days turned up in front, and a bunch -of ribbons fluttering from the side, and armed with the regular long -cart-whip. Just as I came up, Mr. Avery Whitfield’s bay horse, “King of -the Isle,” was passed, and took his place with the others. He was one -of the three favourites, I heard people say. - -“Call the next horse.” - -“Mr. Davenport’s gray mare, Dairymaid,” shouts the umpire. Here she -comes with old Joe Humphries, the jockey and horse breaker, on her -back. He is in full jockey costume--cap, jacket, and tops, with a -racing whip and spurs. The umpires look doubtfully at him, and consult -the Squire. At first they seem inclined not to let Joe ride at all, but -as the owners of the other horses don’t object, they only insist on his -taking off his spurs and changing his whip for a common long carter’s -whip. Then Dairymaid is passed, and then one other horse; eight in all. -Two of the Committee gallop down in front to clear the course for the -last time; the word “Off” is given; and away go the great steeds in -furious plunging gallop, making the whole hill shake beneath them, and -looking (as I heard one of the Oxford scholars remark) like a charge of -German knights in some old etching. Close after them came the umpires, -the Committee-men, and all the mounted farmers, cheering and shouting -pieces of advice to the riders; and the crowd, as they pass, shout and -wave their hats, and then rush after the horses. How everybody isn’t -killed, and how those men can sit those great beasts in the middle of -that rattling mass of harness, were my puzzles, as I scrambled along -after the rest. - -Meantime, in the race, Dairymaid shoots at once some yards ahead, -and improves her lead at every stride; for she is a famous mare, and -old Joe Humphries understands the tricks of the course, and can push -her and lift her in ways unknown to the honest carters and foggers, -who come lumbering behind him--Joe even has time for a contemptuous -glance over his shoulder at his pursuers. But the race is not always -to the swift, at least not to those who are swiftest at starting. -Half-way up the course, Dairymaid ceases to gain; then she shows signs -of distress, and scarcely answers to Joe’s persuasions. “King of the -Isle” is creeping up to her--the carter shakes his bridle, and begins -to ply his long cart-whip--they are crossing the Ridgeway, where -stand the carter’s fellow-servants, Mr. Whitfield’s fogger, shepherd, -ploughboys, &c. who set up a shout as he passes, which sends the bay -right up abreast of the mare. No wonder they are excited, for the -master has promised that the three guineas, the price of the new thill -harness, shall be divided between them, if the bay wins. - -In another fifty yards he is drawing ahead. All old Joe’s efforts are -in vain; his jockeyship has only done him harm, whereas the carter’s -knowledge of what his steed’s real powers are, has been the making of -him, and he rides in, brandishing his long cart-whip, an easy winner. - -Dairymaid is second, but only just before the ruck; and old Joe creeps -away, let us hope, a humbler and a wiser man. - -Of course I couldn’t see all this myself, because I was behind, but Joe -told me all about the race directly afterwards. When I got up there was -a great crowd round “King of the Isle,” from whose back the carter was -explaining something about the race. But I couldn’t stay to listen, -for I heard that the races for the “prime coated Berkshire fives” (as -they called the cheeses), were just coming off; so I hurried away to -the brow of the hill, just above the Horse, where it is steepest; for I -wanted of all things to see how men could run down this place, which I -couldn’t get up without using both hands. - -There stood Mr. William Whitfield, of Uffington, the umpire who had -to start the race, in his broad-brimmed beaver, his brown coat and -waistcoat with brass buttons, and drab breeches and gaiters. I thought -him a model yeoman to look at, but I didn’t envy him his task. Two -wild-looking gypsy women, with their elf-locks streaming from under -their red handkerchiefs, and their black eyes flashing, were rushing -about amongst the runners, trying to catch some of their relations who -were going to run; and screaming out that their men should never break -their limbs down that break-neck place. The gypsies dodged about, and -kept out of their reach, and the farmer remonstrated, but the wild -women still persevered. Then, losing all patience, he would turn and -poise the wheel, ready to push it over the brow, when a shout from the -bystanders warns him to pause, and, a little way down the hill, just in -the line of the race, appear two or three giggling lasses, hauled along -by their sweethearts, and bent on getting a very good view. Luckily at -this moment the Chairman appeared, and rode his white horse down to the -front of the line of men, where there seemed to me to be footing for -nothing but a goat. Then the course was cleared for a moment, he moved -out of the line, making a signal to the farmer, who pushed the wheel -at once over the brow, and cried, “Off.” The wheel gained the road in -three bounds, cleared it in a fourth monster bound which measured forty -yards, and hurried down far away to the bottom of the manger, where the -other two umpires were waiting to decide who is the winner of the race. - -[Illustration] - -Away go the fourteen men in hot pursuit, gypsies, shepherds, and -light-heeled fellows of all sorts, helter-skelter; some losing their -foothold at once, and rolling or slipping down; some still keeping -their footing, but tottering at every step; one or two, with their -bodies well thrown back, striking their heels firmly into the turf, -and keeping a good balance. They are all in the road together, but -here several fall on their faces, and others give in; the rest cross -it in a moment, and are away down the manger. Here the sheep-walks, -which run temptingly along the sides of the manger, but if they would -look forward will take the runners very little nearer the bottom where -the wheel lies, mislead many; and amongst the rest, the fleetest of -the gypsies, who makes off at full speed along one of them. Two or -three men go still boldly down the steep descent, falling and picking -themselves up again; and Jonathan Legg, of Childrey, is the first of -these. He has now gained the flat ground at the bottom, where after -a short stagger he brings himself up, and makes straight for the -umpires and the wheel. The gypsy now sees his error; and turning short -down the hill, comes into the flat, running some twenty yards behind -Jonathan. In another hundred yards he would pass him, for he gains at -every stride; but it is too late; and we, at the top of the hill, cheer -loudly when we see Jonathan, the man who had gone straight all the way, -touch the wheel a clear ten yards before his more active rival. - -I should have liked to have seen the boys’ races down the manger, but -was afraid of missing some other sport, so I left farmer Whitfield -at his troublesome post, shouting out the names of the boys and -trying to get them into line, and went back into the Castle, where I -found a crowd round the greased pole; and when I got up to it, saw a -heavy-looking fellow, standing some five feet up the pole, with one -foot in a noose of cord depending from a large gimlet, and the other -leg hooked round the pole. He held in his right hand another large -gimlet, which he was preparing to screw into the pole to support -a second noose, and gazed stolidly down at a Committee-man, who -was objecting “that this wasn’t fair climbing--that if gimlets and -nooses were to be allowed, he could get up himself.” I thought he was -right; but public feeling seemed to side with the climber; so the -Committee-man gave in, declaring that there would be no more legs of -mutton to climb for, if any thing but arms and legs were to be used. - -“Rather a slow bit of sport this,” I said to an old gray-headed -man, who was leaning on his stick at my side, and staring up at the -performer. - -“Ees, Zur,” answered he, “I dwon’t knaow but what it be.” - -“Do you call it fair climbing, now?” - -“Auh, bless’ee, not I. I minds seein’ the young chaps when I wur a -buoy, climin’ maypowls a deal higher nor that, dree at a time. But -now-a-days ’um be lazy, and afraid o’ spwiling their breeches wi’ the -grase.” - -“Are there any maypoles about here now?” - -“Never a one as I knows on, Zur, for twenty mile round. The last as I -remembers wur the Longcott one, and Parson Watts of Uffington had he -sawed up nigh forty year ago, for fear lest there should ha’ been some -murder done about ’un.” - -“Murder about a maypole! Why, how was that?” - -“Auh! you see, Zur, this here Longcott maypowl wur the last in all -these parts, and a wur the envy of a zight o’ villages round about. Zo, -one cluttery[34] night in November, thirty of our Ashbury chaps thay -started down to Longcott, and dug ’un up, and brought ’un cler away on -handspikes, all the waay to the Crown’d Inn at Ashbury, and ’tis quite -vour mil’d.” - -“On handspikes! Why, how big was he, then?” - -“Augh! a fyeightish sized ’un. How big? whoy a sight bigger, bless’ee, -nor that ’un, and all the bottom half on ’un solid oak. When thay cum -to put ’un up afore the bar winder of the Crown’d, a reached right -up auver the tops o’ the housen. But zoon arter a wur put up, the -Uffington chaps cum up, and tuk and carried ’un down ther’. Ther’ was a -smartish row or two about ’un at Uffington arter that, but they watched -’un night and day; and when the Lambourn chaps cum arter ’un one night, -they chucked scaldin’ water right auver’m. Zo then Parson Watts, he -tuk and sawed ’un up, and guv ’un to the owld women at Christmas for -virewood.” - -I walked away from the pole, turning over in my mind whether Parson -Watts was right or wrong in his summary method of restoring peace to -his parish, and, somehow or other, found myself again close under the -stage. Now, and throughout the day, I found no flagging there; whenever -I passed there was the crowd of men standing round, and the old and -young gamesters hard at work. So I began to believe what Joe had said, -that the countrymen thought more about these games than any thing else, -and wouldn’t care to go to the pastime if they were stopped. - -I found that the Ashbury men were carrying it all their own way in the -wrestling, and that their champion, old Richens (the rat-catcher, an -old gamester in his fiftieth year), would probably not even have to -wrestle at all; for his own men were throwing all the gamesters of the -other parishes, and of course would give up to him when it came to the -last ties. The men all wrestle in sides, at least the old gamesters do; -so that a man generally plays for his parish, and not for his own head, -which is a better thing, I think. - -As to the backsword play, the stage was strewed with splinters of -sticks and pieces of broken baskets, and many a young gamester has had -his first broken head in public. But, for the chief prize, matters are -going hard with Berks and Wilts. The Somersetshire old gamesters have -won two heads to one; and, as they have six men in, and Berks and Wilts -only four, the odds are all in favour of the cider county, and against -the beer drinkers. - -In good time up gets an old gamester, who looks like the man to do -credit to the royal county. It is Harry Seeley, of Shrivenham, the only -Berkshire man in; for there has been some difference between Berks and -Wilts, and Harry’s two mates haven’t entered at all. So he, being one -of the true bull-dog breed, is in for his own head, against all odds, -and is up to play the next Somersetshire man. - -Harry is a fine specimen of an Englishman. Five feet eight high, with -a bullet head, and light blue eye; high-couraged, cool, and with an -absolutely imperturbable temper. He plays in a blue shirt, thin from -age and wear, through which you may see the play of his splendid arms -and chest. His opponent is a much younger man, about the same size; but -a great contrast to Harry, for he has a savage and sly look about him. - -They shake hands, throw themselves into position, and the bout begins. -Harry is clearly the finer player, and his adversary feels this at -once; and the shouts of anticipated victory, in the Berkshire tongue, -rouse his temper. - -Now comes a turn of the savage play, which ought never to be seen on a -stage. The Somerset man bends far back, and strikes upper cuts at the -face and arms, and then savagely at the body. He is trying to maim and -cow, and not to win by fair brave play. The crowd soon begin to get -savage too; upper-cutting is not thought fair in Berks and Wilts; a -storm begins to brew, hard words are bandied, and a cry of “Foul,” and -“Pull him down,” is heard more than once, and the Committee man, who -watches from below, is on the point of stopping the bout. - -But nothing puts out old Harry Seeley; no upper cut can reach his face, -for his head is thrown well back, and his guard is like a rock; and -though the old blue shirt is cut through and through, he makes no more -of the welts of the heavy stick than if it were a cat’s tail. Between -the bouts his face is cheery and confident, and he tells his friends to -“hold their noise, and let him alone to tackle the chap,” as he hands -round his basket for the abounding coppers. - -Now I could see well enough why the parsons don’t like these games. -It gave me a turn, to watch the faces round the stage getting savage, -and I could see what it might soon get to if there was much of this -wild work. And there were Master George, and the two Oxford scholars, -at the opposite corner of the stage, shouting till they were hoarse -for old Seeley, and as savage and wicked-looking as any of the men -round them; setting such a bad example, too, as I thought,--whereas it -didn’t matter for a fellow like me, who was nobody,--so I shouted, and -threw my coppers to old Seeley, and felt as wild as any of them, I do -believe. Three bouts, four bouts pass; Harry’s stick gets in oftener -and oftener. Has the fellow no blood in him? There it comes at last! -In the fifth bout, Harry’s stick goes flashing in again, a fair down -blow from the wrist, which puts the matter beyond all question, as the -Somersetshire man staggers back across the stage, the blood streaming -from under his hair. Loud are the shouts which greet the fine-tempered -old gamester, as he pulls on his velveteen coat, and gets down from the -stage. - -“Why, Harry, thou’dst broke his yead second bout, mun, surely!” shout -his admirers. - -“No,” says Harry, dogmatically, “you see, mates, there’s no ’cumulation -of blood belongs to thay cider-drinking chaps, as there does to we -as drinks beer. Besides, thay drinks vinegar allus for a week afore -playin’, which dries up most o’ the blood as they _has_ got; so it -takes a ’mazin’ sight of cloutin’ to break their yeads as should be.” - -After this bout all the other play seemed to be tasteless; so, -promising myself to come back and see the ties played off, (unless -Miss Lucy turned up in the mean time, in which case I shouldn’t have -dared to go near the stage, and in fact I felt rather nervous already, -lest she should have seen or heard of me there,) I marched off, and -joined the crowd which was collecting round the jingling ring. That -crowd was one of the pleasantest sights of the whole day. The jingling -match seemed a very popular sport, especially with the women. There -they were, of all ranks--for I’m certain I saw some young ladies in -riding habits, and others in beautiful muslins, whom I, and Jem Fisher, -and little Neddy have often seen riding with very great people in -the Park, when we have managed to get down to Rotten Row on summer -evenings--seated on the grass or standing round the ring, in all sorts -of dresses, from fine silks down to cottons at 2_d._ a yard, and all -looking pleasant and good-tempered, and as if they were quite used to -being mixed up like this every day--which I’m sure I wish they were, -for my part, especially if the men were allowed to join in the crowd -too, as we were round the jingling ring. For there were gentlemen, both -parsons and others, and farmers, and ploughboys, and all manner of -other men and boys. - -I don’t know what sort of fun a jingling match is in general, but -I thought this one much the slowest game I saw. The ring must have -been forty yards across, or thereabouts, and there were only eight -blindfolded men running after the bellman. To make it good fun, there -should have been twenty-five or thirty at least. Then the bellman, who -has his hands tied behind him, ought to have the bell tied round his -neck, or somewhere where he can’t get at it to stop the ringing; but -our bellman had the bell tied to his waistband behind, so that he could -catch hold of it with his hands, and stop it when he was in danger. -Then half the men could see, I’m sure, by the way they carried their -heads up in the air, especially one gypsy, who, I think, won the prize -at last. The men who couldn’t see were worth watching, for they kept -catching and tumbling over one another. One time they made a rush to -the rope, just where some of the young ladies were sitting, and, as -nearly as could be, tumbled over among them. I thought there would have -been a great scrambling and screaming; not a bit of it--they never -flinched an inch, or made the least cry, and I was very proud to think -they were my countrywomen. After the bellman had been caught about a -minute, there was a great laugh at one of the blinded men, who made a -rush, and caught a Committee-man, who was standing in the ring, in his -arms. But on the whole, I thought the game a poor one, and was glad -when it was over. - -I hurried away directly after the jingling match, and went across the -Castle, and out on to the down where the cart-horse race had been run -to see the foot-races, which were run over the last half of the same -course, on which ten good stiff sets of hurdles, at short distances -apart, had been set up. I found a debate going on between the umpires -and some of the men as to whether they were all to start together. The -regular agricultural labourers were remonstrating as to some of the -candidates. - -“It bean’t narra mossel o’ use for we chaps to start along wi’ thay -light-heeled gentry,” said one,--“Whoy, look ’ee here, zur’s one, and -yander’s another, wi’ a kind o’ dancin’ pumps on, and that ’un at -tother end wi’ a cricketin’ waistcut.” - -“And there’s two o’ them little jockey chaps amongst ’em, sumweres, -Zur,” said another, looking about for these young gentlemen, who dodged -behind some of the bigger candidates. - -“How can we help that?” said the umpire. - -“Auh, Zur, thay be all too nimble by half for we to be of any account -to ’em,” persisted the first speaker. “If twur for the sticks now, or -wrastling--” - -“Well, but what shall we do then?” interrupted the umpire. - -“Let I pick out ten or a dozen on ’em to run by theirselves.” The -umpires proposed this to the rest, and, no one objecting, told Giles, -the protester, to pick out the ten he was most afraid of. This Giles -proceeded to do with a broad grin on his face, and generally seemed to -make a good selection. But presently he arrived at, and after a short -inspection passed over, a young fellow in his blue shirt-sleeves and a -cloth cap, who to the umpire’s eye seemed a dangerous man. - -“Why, Giles,” said he, “you’re never going to pass him over?” - -“Auh, ees, Zur,” said Giles, “let he ’bide along wi’ we chaps. Dwont’ee -zee, he’s a tipped and naayled ’un?” - -When Giles had finished his selection, the first lot were started, and -made a grand race; which was won by a Hampshire man from Kingsclere, -the second man, not two feet behind, being a young Wiltshire farmer, -who, having never been beaten in his own neighbourhood, had come to -lose his laurels honourably at the Scouring. - -The running in the second race was, of course, not so good, but much -more amusing. The “tipped and naayled ’uns” were a rushing lot, but -very bad at rising. Hurdle after hurdle went down before them with a -crash, and the most wonderful summersaults were executed. The second -hurdle finished poor Giles, who charged it manfully, and found himself -the next moment on his broad back, gazing placidly up into the evening -sky. The cloth cap, notwithstanding his shoes, went easily ahead, and -won in a canter. I heard one of the umpires rallying Giles afterwards -at his want of eyes. - -“Ees, Zur,” said Giles, hunching up his great shoulders, “I wur tuk in, -zure enough. He wur a town chap, arter all, as wouldn’t ha’ knowed a -piece o’ clumpers afore he cum across to White Hos Hill.” - -I left the umpires now to start the other races, and got back once -again into the Castle. I was now beginning to get very tired in my -legs, though not in my spirits, so I went and sat down outside the -crowd, which was thicker than ever round the stage, for the ties were -being played out. I could hear the umpires call every now and then -for some gamester who was not forthcoming to play out his tie--“John -Giles, if you beant on the stage in five minutes, to put to with James -Higgins, you shall lose your head”--through all the cheers and shouts, -which rose louder and louder now that every blow or trip might decide -the prizes. And while I was sitting, the donkey races were run outside, -and I heard were very good fun; especially the last one, in which no -man rode his own donkey, and the last donkey had the prize. I hope my -friend, the old suck-woman, entered neighbour Thorne’s beast, for if -she did, I’ll be bound he carried off the prize for her. They were the -only sports that I didn’t manage to see something of. - -It was now just five o’clock, the hour for the pig-race, which seemed -to be a most popular sport, for most of the lookers-on at the stage -went off to see it, leaving only a select crowd of old and young -gamesters, most of whom had been playing themselves, and whom nothing -could drag five yards from the posts until the ties were all played -out. I was just considering whether I should move or stay where I was, -when Master George came striding by and caught sight of me. - -“Hullo,” said he, “how is it you’re not on the move? You must see the -pig-race; come along.” So I got up and shambled along with him. - -The pig was to be started on the slope below the west entrance, where -the old gentleman had stood and lectured me the day before about Earl -Sidroc. There was the spring cart, covered with a net, with a fine -young Berkshire pig in it, just at the place where the Bersirkir (as -he called them) made their last stand. When we came up, the runners, -thirty in number, with their coats and waistcoats off, were just being -drawn up in line inside the Castle, from which place they were to be -started, and run down through the west entrance out on to the open -down, at the word “off.” It was thought that this rush down between -the double banks, covered thickly with the crowd, would be the finest -sight of the race. But the rush never came. Piggy was to have five -minutes law, and the Committee-man who went down to turn him out put -his snout towards Ashdown Park, and gave him a push in hopes that he -would take straight away over the downs, and so get a good start. Of -course, he turned right round and came trotting and grunting up towards -the Castle, to see what all the bustle could be about. Then the crowd -began to shout at him, and to press further and further down the outer -earthworks, though all the Committee were there to keep the course -clear for the regular runners; and at last, before half of the five -minutes were over, the whole line broke up with a great shout, and the -down was covered in a moment with countless men and boys in full chase -of Piggy. Then the lawful candidates could stand it no longer, and -away they went too, cleaving their way through the press, the Committee -riding after them as fast as was safe in such a crowd, to see fair play -if possible at the finish. - -In a minute or two, Piggy was mobbed, surrounded, seized first by -one of the crowd, and then by a lawful runner. These tumbled over in -their struggle without loosing their hold and more of their friends -over them, and from the middle of the mass poor Piggy sent up the most -vigorous and dismal squeals, till the Committee-men rode in, laying -about with their whips; and Farmer Whitfield, springing off, seized -Piggy, and in another minute was cantering away with him towards -Wayland Smith’s cave. Here he was turned out again for a fair race, -and was won by Charles Ebury, of Fernham; who, fearing the results of -his racing performances, sold him at once for 10_s._ to the Woolston -carrier. But I am happy to say that he wasn’t really hurt, for I went -to see him some days afterwards, and found him as hearty as pig could -be. - -Master George and I agreed, as we walked back to the Castle, that it is -a shame to have a pig-race. - -“No,” said he, “let men run any risk they like of broken heads or limbs -for themselves; they may play or not as they like. But Piggy has no -choice, and to let him run the risk of having the legs pulled out of -his body before he is wanted for pork, isn’t fair.” - -“He didn’t seem to think it was, certainly, Sir,” I said. - -“No,” said he, laughing; “did you ever hear such a song as he made? No -animal can talk like a pig. He can scold or remonstrate just as well as -a Christian. Any one who knows the language can tell you just what he -is saying. Well,” he went on, “I see you don’t believe me; now I will -go and hear what he has to say about this proceeding, and give you it -word for word.” - -[Illustration] - -This was what he gave me afterwards, with the other songs he had -promised me:-- - -THE LAY OF THE HUNTED PIG. - - “Vathers, mothers, mothers’ zons! - You as loves yer little wuns! - Happy pegs among the stubble, - Listen to a tale of trouble; - Listen, pegs in yeard and stye, - How the Barkshire chaps zard I. - - “I wur barn at Kingstone-Lisle, - Wher I vrolicked var a while, - As vine a peg as e’er wur zeen - (One of a litter o’ thirteen) - Till zome chaps wi’ cussed spite - Aimed ov I to make a zite, - And to have a ‘bit o’ vun,’ - Took I up to Uffington. - - “Up, vorights[35] the Castle mound - They did zet I on the ground; - Then a thousand chaps, or nigh, - Runned and hollered arter I-- - Ther, then, I till I wur blowed, - Runned and hollered all I knowed, - When, zo zure as pegs is pegs, - Eight chaps ketched I by the legs, - Two to each--’tis truth I tell ’ee-- - Dree more clasped I round the belly! - Under all they fellers lyin’-- - Pegs!--I thought as I wur dyin’. - - “But the Squire (I thenks I zee un), - Varmer Whitfield ridin’ wi’ un, - Fot I out o’ all thuck caddle, - Stretched athurt the varmer’s zaddle-- - Bless ’em, pegs in yeard and stye, - Them two vrends as stuck to I. - - “Barkshire men, vrom Hill and Vale, - All as ever hears this tale, - If to spwoort you be inclined, - Plaze to bear this here in mind-- - Pegs beant made no race to win, - Be zhart o’ wind, and tight o’ skin, - Dwont’ee hunt ’em, but instead - At backswyrd break each other’s yead - Cheezes down the manger rowl-- - Or try and clim the greasy powl. - - “Pegs! in stubble yeard and stye, - May you be never zard like I, - Nor druv wi greasy ears and tail, - By men and bwoys drough White Horse Vale.” - -[29] “Scawt”--to get up. - -[30] “File”--a fall. - -[31] “Sinkers”--stockings without feet. - -[32] “Cham”--“I am,” a form still used in parts of Somersetshire. - -[33] “Oo’lt”--wilt thou. - -[34] “Cluttery”--pelting with rain. - -[35] “Vorights”--opposite. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - -Master George slipped away from me somehow, after the pig-race, so I -strolled up into the Castle again. The sports were all over, so the -theatres and shows were making a greater noise than ever, but I didn’t -feel inclined to go to any of them, and kept walking slowly round the -bank on the opposite side, and looking down at the fair. In a minute -or two I heard cheering, and saw an open carriage, with postilions, -driving out of the Castle, and three or four young ladies and a -gentleman or two cantering along with it. I watched them for some way -across the downs, and thought how nice it must be to be able to ride -well, and to have nice horses to go galloping over the springy downs, -into the golden sunset, putting up the larks and beautiful little -wheatears; and, besides all that, to have all the people cheering one -too! So down I went into the crowd, to find out who they were. It was -Lord Craven and his party, the first man I came across told me; and -then I quite understood why this carriage should be the only one to -come inside the Castle, and why the people should cheer; because, you -see, the White Horse, and Dragon’s Hill, and the Manger, all belong to -him, and he is very good-natured in letting everybody go there and do -pretty much what they please. There were other carriages going off now -from the row outside, and coachmen bringing up their horses to harness, -and a few of the foot people who came from the longest distances, -starting along the Ridgeway, or down the Uffington Road. I was standing -watching all this, and thinking how I was to find my party, and whether -I should go behind in the four-wheel (which I began to feel very much -inclined to do, for I was getting tired, and it would be dark), when I -saw Joe bustling about amongst the crowd, and looking out for some one; -so I made across to him. - -“Ah, there you are,” said he, as soon as he caught sight of me, “I’ve -been hunting for you; it’s all over for to-day. Lu sent me after you -to come and have some tea. If you like, you can go home directly -afterwards with her and Mr. Warton.” - -I was much pleased to hear that Miss Lucy had sent after me, but I -didn’t want to show it. - -“What are you going to do?” said I. - -“Oh,” said Joe, “I shan’t leave till all the Committee go; I must be -at the giving away of the prizes in the tent; and then, if any thing -should happen afterwards--any row, you know, or that sort o’ thing--I -shouldn’t like to be gone.” - -I didn’t say any thing more, as I thought I might just as well leave -it open; so I followed him to the west side of the Castle, where the -police tent stood, and it was quite quiet. - -“Here they are,” said Joe, “over in the ditch;” and he scrambled up -the bank, and I after him, and in the ditch below sure enough was -a most cozy tea-party. Miss Lucy, with her bonnet off, was sitting -cutting up a cake, and generally directing. Two other young women, nice -fresh-looking girls, but not to be named with her, were setting out a -few cups and saucers and plates, which they had borrowed from some of -the stalls. Mr. Warton was on his knees with his hat off, blowing away -till he was red in the face at a little fire made of chips and pieces -of old hampers, over which the kettle, also borrowed, hung from three -sticks driven into the ground so that their tops met above the fire. -Two or three young farmers sat about looking on, or handing things as -they were wanted, except one impudent young fellow of about eighteen, -with scarcely a hair on his chin, who was almost in Miss Lucy’s pocket, -and was meddling with every thing she was doing. - -“Well, here you are, at last,” said she, looking up at us; “why, where -have you been all day?” - -“I am sure I have been hunting after you very often,” said I, which, -perhaps, was rather more than I ought to have said; “but it isn’t easy -for one who is a stranger to find people in such a crowd.” - -“I don’t know that,” said she, with a pretty little toss of her head; -“where there’s a will there’s a way. If I hadn’t found friends, I might -have been alone all day--and there are three or four of the shows I -have never seen, now.” - -I began to look as sorry as I could, while I thought what to answer, -when the young man who was close to her tried to steal some of the -cake; she turned round quickly, and rapped his fingers with the back of -her knife, and he pretended to be hurt. She only laughed, and went on -cutting up the cake, but she called him Jack, and seemed so intimate -with him that it put me out, and I sat down on the other side of the -circle, some way off. - -“It’s all right,” said the Parson, looking up from the fire; “boils -splendidly--give me the tea.” - -Miss Lucy handed him a little parcel of tea from her bag, and he put it -into the kettle. - -“I declare we have forgotten the milk,” said she; “do run and fetch it, -Jack--it’s in a bottle under the back seat of the four-wheel.” - -I jumped up before Jack, who hardly moved, and ran off to fetch the -milk; for which she gave me a pleasant smile when I came back, and I -felt better pleased, and enjoyed the tea and cake and bread and butter, -and all the talk over it, very much; except that I couldn’t stand this -Jack, who was forcing her to notice him every minute, by stealing her -teaspoon or her cake, or making some of his foolish remarks. - -The sun set splendidly before we had finished, and it began to get a -little chilly. - -“Well,” said Joe, jumping up, “I’m off to get the horse put to. You’d -better be starting, Lu; you won’t be down hill much before dark, now, -and there’s no moon--worse luck.” - -“Very well,” said she, taking up her bonnet, and putting it on; “we -shall be ready in five minutes.” - -“You’ll go behind with them, I suppose,” said Joe to me. - -“I’m to have a seat, mind,” struck in that odious Jack; “Lucy promised -me that an hour ago.” I could have given him a good kick; however, I -don’t think I showed that I was put out. - -“How can you tell such fibs, Jack?” said she; but I didn’t take any -notice of that. - -“Thank you, I wish to stay on the hill,” said I. “Besides, the -four-wheel will be full without me.” - -She didn’t seem to hear; and began talking to one of the other girls. - -“But how are you to get down?” said Joe. - -“Oh, I can walk,” said I, “or ride behind you.” - -“Very good, if you like,” said he; “the chestnut would carry six, if -her back was long enough;” and away he went to get the four-wheel ready. - -We followed; Miss Lucy sticking close to her friend, and never saying -a word to any of us. I walked with Mr. Warton, who was in the highest -spirits, looking over his shoulder, and raving about the green tints in -the sunset. - -When we got to the carriages, there was kissing and shaking of hands, -and the rest went off, while the parson and Miss Lucy packed into the -front seat, and Jack and Jem the carter-boy into the hind seat of the -four-wheel; and away they drove, wishing us “good night.” I watched -them for some time, and could see Jack leaning forward close to her -ear; and turned back with Joe into the Castle, more out of sorts than I -had been since I left London. - -Joe hurried off to the police tent, where the Committee were giving -away the prizes, saying I should find him there when I wanted him; -and I loitered away to see whatever was to be seen. At first nothing -seemed to please me. I watched the men and boys playing at three -sticks a penny, and thought I might as well have been on Primrose -Hill. Then I went and looked at the shows; and there was the fellow in -flesh-coloured tights, turning over and over on the slack rope, and -the clarionet and French horn and drum, played by the three men in -corduroys, all out of tune and louder than ever, as if they had only -just begun, instead of having been screaming and rumbling away all day; -and the man outside the pink-eyed lady’s caravan was shouting away for -the hundredth time all about her, and then playing the pan-pipes, as if -no other woman in the world had pink eyes. - -I was determined they shouldn’t have any of my money at any rate, so -I strolled further down the line, and looked into a low booth where a -fiddle was going. Here several couples were dancing, with their arms -a-kimbo, on some planks which had been put down on the grass, and all -the rest of the booth was crowded with others looking on. This pleased -me better, for the dancers seemed to enjoy themselves wonderfully, -and made a sort of clattering accompaniment to the music with their -hob-nailed shoes, which was merry and pleasant. - -When I was tired of watching them, I thought I would go and find Joe; -so I went over to the tent, and there I got all right, and began to -enjoy myself again. - -In the further corner of the tent, the Squire and another justice were -sitting, and hearing a charge of pocket-picking, of which there were -only two during the whole day, the police told me. Opposite the door, -the rest of the Committee were sitting at a table and giving away the -prizes. - -Joe beckoned me in, and I went round to the back of the table and -looked on. As the men came up from the group round the door, when their -names were called out, the umpires said a few words to each of them, -and then gave them their prizes, and most of them made some sort of -speech in answer; for they were much less shy than in the morning, I -suppose from the sense of having earned their right to hold up their -heads by winning. The owner of the successful donkey was just carrying -out the flitch of bacon when I arrived; after him the Somersetshire -backsword players were called in to take the first three prizes for -that sport, they having beaten all the Wiltshire men; while old -Seeley, the only Berkshire man entered, to everybody’s surprise had -not played out his tie, but had given his head (as they said) to his -second opponent. Therefore, although entitled to the last prize for -having won his first bout, he had not done all his duty in the eyes of -the umpires, who gently complained, while handing him over his four -half-crowns, and wondered that so gallant an old gamester, and a Yale -man, should not have played out his ties for the honour of the county. - -“Well, gen’l’men,” said old Seeley, giving a hitch with his shoulders, -“I’ll just tell you how it was. You see, ther wur six Somersetshire -old gamesters come up to play, and ther wur six of our side to play -’em; dree Wiltshire and dree Barkshire, if so be as we could have -made a party. But the dree from Wiltshire they wouldn’t go in along -wi’ we, and turned their backs on me and my two mates; so my two -mates wouldn’t go in at all, and wanted me to give out too. But you -see, gen’l’men, I’d a spent a matter of a pound over getting myself -a little better food, and making myself lissom; so thinks I, I must -go up and have a bout, let it be how t’wool. And you saw, gen’l’men, -as I played a good stick. When it cum’ to playing off the ties, there -wur dree Somersetshire tiers, and two of our side, that’s Slade and -me. But when a man turns his back on me, gen’l’men, why I turns my -back on him; so I guv my head to young Mapstone, and left Slade to -win if he could. Though I thinks, if thay Wiltshire chaps had behaved -theirselves as thay should, we might ha’ had the prize, for I knows as -I never played freer in my life. And I hopes, gen’l’men, as you don’t -think I wur afeard of any man as ever got on that stage. Bless you!” -said old Seeley, warming up, “I be that fond o’ thay sticks, I assure -you, gen’l’men, I’d as lief meet a man as is a man for a bout wi’ thay -sticks, as I would--a joint of roast beef.” - -Old Seeley’s speech carried conviction, for there could be no mistake -about the tone in which he drew his last comparison, after a moment’s -pause to think of the thing he liked best, and he retired from the tent -in high favour, as I think he deserved to be. - -After watching these doings for some time, I began to feel very hungry, -for I had eaten hardly any thing at tea, so I told Joe that he would -find me over in the great booth getting some supper, and went out. -It was getting quite dark, and the stage and poles looked black and -melancholy as I passed by them. But the publicans’ booths were all -lighted up inside, and looked very cheerful, and were full of holiday -folk, fortifying themselves with all sorts of meat and drink before -starting for the descent of the hill, and the walk home in the dark. - -I pushed my way through the crowd round the door, and reached the -bar, where the landlord recognized me directly, and handed me over to -Peter, who soon landed me at the table in the recess, which was still -well supplied with cold joints and bread and cheese. While he went off -to get my plate and ale, I had time to look round. The booth was much -gayer than the day before; every post was decked more or less with -flowers and evergreens, and the flags had been brought inside. The -whole place was lighted with dips and flickering oil lamps, which gave -light enough to let one see all parts of the tent pretty clearly. - -There were a good many tables ranged about; the one nearest to -ours wasn’t yet occupied, but at all the others were groups of men -drinking beer, and some smoking, and talking eagerly over the events -of the day. Those nearest the high table seemed under some little -restraint, and spoke low; but from the farther tables rose a loud hum -of the broadest Berkshire, and an occasional scrap of a song. A few -women were scattered here and there--mostly middle-aged, hard-working -housewives--watching their good men, and anxious to carry them off in -good time, and before too much of the harvest-savings had found its way -to the landlord’s till. About the entrance was a continually-changing -crowd, and the atmosphere of the whole was somewhat close, and redolent -of not very fragrant tobacco. - -At the supper-table where I was, were seven or eight men. The one just -opposite me was a strong-built, middle-aged man, in a pepper-and-salt -riding-coat and waistcoat, with an open, weather-beaten face, and keen, -deep-set, gray eyes, who seemed bent on making a good supper. Next -above him were the two Oxford scholars, but they didn’t take the least -notice of me, which I thought they might have done, after our morning’s -ride together. They had finished supper, and were smoking cigars, and -chatting with one another, and with the pepper-and-salt man, whom they -called Doctor. But my observations were soon cut short by Peter, who -came back with my plate and knife and fork, and a foaming pewter of -ale, and I set to work as heartily as the Doctor himself. - -“You’ll find some of this lettuce and watercress eat well with your -beef, Sir,” said he, pushing across a dish. - -“Thank you, Sir,” said I; “I find that watching the games makes one -very hungry.” - -“The air, Sir, all the downs air,” said the Doctor; “I call them Doctor -Downs. Do more for the appetite in six hours than I can in a week. -Here, Peter, get this gentleman some of your mistress’s walnut pickles.” - -And then the good-natured Doctor fell to upon his beef again, and -chatted away with the scholars and me, and soon made me feel myself -quite at home. I own that I had done my neighbours a little injustice; -for they were pleasant enough when the ice was once broken, and I -daresay didn’t mean to be rude after all. - -As soon as I had finished my supper, the shorter of the scholars handed -me a large cigar, the first whiff of which gave me a high idea of -the taste of my contemporaries of the upper classes in the matter of -tobacco. - -Just then the verse of a song, in which two or three men were joining, -rose from the other end of the tent, from amidst the hum of voices. - -“I wish those fellows would sing out,” said the short scholar; “I can’t -make out more than a word or two.” - -“You wouldn’t be any the wiser if you could,” said the other; “we -have ceased to be a singing nation. The people have lost the good old -ballads, and have got nothing in their place.” - -“How do you know?” said the short scholar; “I should like to hear for -myself, at any rate.” - -“What sort of ballads do you mean, Sir?” said I to the long scholar. - -“Why, those in the Robin Hood Garland, for instance,” said he. “Songs -written for the people, about their heroes, and, I believe, by the -people. There’s nothing of the sort now.” - -“What do you say to ‘There’s a Good Time Coming’?” asked the short -scholar. - -“Well, it’s the best of them, I believe,” said the other; “but you know -it was written by Mackay, an LL.D. Besides, it’s essentially a town -song.” - -“It’s a tip-top one, at any rate,” said the short scholar; “I wish I -could write such another.” - -“What I say, is, that the popular songs now are written by -_litterateurs_ in London, Is there any life or go in ‘Woodman spare -that Tree,’ or ‘The Old Arm-Chair’? and they are better than the -slip-slop sentimental stuff most in vogue.” - -“What a discontented old bird you are!” said the short scholar; “you’re -never pleased with any product of this enlightened century.” - -“Let the century get a character, then; when it does, we shall get some -good staves. I’m not particular; a brave story, or a quaint story, or a -funny story, in good rough verse, that’s all I ask for. But, where to -find one? Here’s the Doctor for umpire. I say, Doctor, don’t you agree -with me, now?” - -“Not quite,” said the Doctor, looking up from his cold beef. “I dare -say you wouldn’t think them worth much; but there are plenty of ballads -sung about which you never hear.” - -“What! real modern ballads, written by some of the masses, in this -century, for instance? Where did you ever hear one, Doctor? What are -they like, now?” - -“Well, my work takes me a good deal about in queer places, and at -queer times, amongst the country folk, and I hear plenty of them. Will -one about Lord Nelson suit you? There’s an old patient of mine at the -next table who owns a little coal wharf on the canal; he fell into the -lock one night, broke his arm, and was nearly drowned, and I attended -him. He takes a trip in the barges now and then, which makes him fancy -himself half a sailor. I dare say I can set him off, if he hasn’t had -too much beer.” - -So the Doctor walked over to a lower table, and spoke to a -grisly-headed old man in a velveteen coat and waistcoat, and a blue -birdseye-neckerchief, who seemed pleased, and drew his sleeve across -his mouth, and cleared his throat. Then there was a rapping on the -table, and the old bargee began in a rumbling bass voice:-- - -THE DEATH OF LORD NELSON. - - Come all you gallant seamen as unites a meeting, - Attend to these lines I be going to relate, - And when you have heard them ’twill move you with pity - To think how Lord Nelson he met with his fate. - For he was a bold and undaunted commander - As ever did sail on the ocean so wide; - He made both the French and the Spaniard surrender - By always a-pouring into them a broadside. - - One hundred engagements ’twas he had been into, - And ne’er in his life was he known to be beat, - Though he’d lost an arm, likewise a right eye, boys, - No power upon earth ever could him defeat. - His age at his death it was forty and seven; - And as long as I breathe, his great praises I’ll sing; - The whole navigation was given up to him, - Because he was loyal and true to his king. - - Then up steps the doctor in a very great hurry, - And unto Lord Nelson these words did he say: - “Indeed, then, my Lord, it is I’m very sorry, - To see you here lying and bleeding this way.” - “No matter, no matter whatever about me, - My time it is come, I’m almost at the worst; - But here’s my gallant seamen a-fighting so boldly, - Discharge off your duty to all of them first.” - - Then with a loud voice he calls out to his captain, - “Pray let me, sir, hear how the battle does go, - For I think our great guns do continue to rattle, - Though death is approaching I firmly do know.” - “The antagonist’s ship has gone down to the bottom, - Eighteen we have captive and brought them on board, - Four more we have blown quite out of the ocean, - And that is the news I have brought you, my Lord.” - - Come all you gallant seamen as unites a meeting, - Always let Lord Nelson’s memory go round, - For it is your duty, when you unites a meeting, - Because he was loyal and true to the crownd. - And now to conclude and finish these verses, - “My time it is come; kiss me, Hardy,” he cried. - Now thousands go with you, and ten thousand blessings - For gallant Lord Nelson in battle who died. - - Mourn, England, mourn, mourn and complain, - For the loss of Lord Nelson, who died on the main. - -The short scholar was in raptures; he shouted in the chorus; he banged -the table till he upset and broke his tumbler, which the vigilant -landlady from behind the casks duly noted, and scored up to him. - -I worked away at my note-book, and managed to get all the song, except -one verse between the second and third, which I couldn’t catch. - -“Bravo, Doctor! Here, waiter, get me another tumbler, and some more -gin-punch. What a stunning call. Couldn’t the old bird give us another -bit of history? It’s as good as reading ‘Southey’s Life,’ and much -funnier,” rattled away the short scholar. - -“What a quaint old grisly party it is!” said the long scholar; “I shall -stand him a pot of beer.” - -“Well, he won’t object to that,” said the Doctor, working away at the -beef and pickles. - -“Here, waiter, take a pot of beer, with my compliments, over to that -gentleman,” said the long scholar, pointing to the old bargeman, “and -say how much obliged we are to him for his song.” - -So Peter trotted across with the liquor, and the old man telegraphed -his acknowledgments. - -“By the way, Doctor,” said the short scholar, “as you seem to know a -good deal about these things, can you tell me what ‘Vicar of Bray’ -means? I saw two men quarrelling just after the games, and it was all -their wives could do to keep them from fighting, and I heard it was -because one had called the other ‘Vicar of Bray.’” - -“It means ‘turn-coat’ in Berkshire,” answered the Doctor. “I didn’t -think they used the name now; but I remember the time when it was the -common term of reproach. I dare say you know Bray, gentlemen?” - -“I should think so,” said the short scholar; “pretty village just below -Maidenhead. I pulled by it on my way to town last June.” - -“Yes, and it’s hard on such a pretty village to have had such a bad -parson,” said the Doctor. - -“I say, Doctor, give us the ‘Vicar of Bray,’ now, it will set off some -of the singing birds at the other end of the booth; I can see they’re -getting into prime piping order.” - -“Very good, if you like it,” said the Doctor, pushing away his plate, -and taking a finishing pull at his pewter, “only the song is in print, -I know, somewhere; so you mustn’t think you’ve found much of a prize, -Sir,” added he to me, for my use of pencil and note-book hadn’t escaped -him. - -“No, Sir,” said I; “but I should like to hear it, of all things.” - -So the Doctor, without further preface, began in his jolly clear voice-- - -THE VICAR OF BRAY. - - In good King Charles’s golden days, - When loyalty had no harm in’t, - A zealous High-Church man I was, - And so I gained preferment. - To teach my flock I never missed: - Kings were by God appointed; - And they are damned who dare resist, - Or touch the Lord’s anointed. - _Chorus._--And this is law, I will maintain - Until my dying day, sir, - That whatsoever king shall reign, - I’ll be the Vicar of Bray, sir. - - When Royal James obtained the throne, - And Popery grew in fashion, - The Penal Laws I hooted down, - And read the Declaration; - The Church of Rome I found would fit - Full well my constitution: - And I had been a Jesuit; - But for the Revolution. - And this is law, &c. - - When William, our deliverer, came - To heal the nation’s grievance, - Then I turned cat-in-pan again, - And swore to him allegiance; - Old principles I did revoke, - Set conscience at a distance, - Passive obedience was a joke, - A jest was non-resistance. - And this is law, &c. - - When glorious Anne became our queen, - The Church of England’s glory, - Another face of things was seen, - And I became a Tory. - Occasional Conformist case! - I damned such moderation; - And thought the Church in danger was - By such prevarication. - And this is law, &c. - - When George in pudding-time came o’er - And moderate men looked big, sir, - My principles I changed once more, - And so became a Whig, sir. - And thus preferment I procured - From our Faith’s great Defender; - And almost every day abjured - The Pope and the Pretender. - For this is law, &c. - - The illustrious House of Hanover, - And Protestant Succession, - By these I lustily will swear - While they can keep possession; - For in my faith and loyalty - I never once will falter, - But George my king shall ever be, - Except the times do alter. - For this is law, &c. - -The short scholar was right as to the effect of the Doctor’s song. It -was hailed with rapturous applause by the lower tables, though you -would have said, to look at them, that scarcely a man of the audience, -except those close round the singer, could have appreciated it. People -don’t always like best what they fully understand; and I don’t know -which is the greatest mistake, to fancy yourself above your audience, -or to try to come down to them. The little stiffness which the presence -of strangers belonging to the broad-cloth classes had at first created -amongst the pastime folk was wearing off, and several songs were -started at once from the distant parts of the booth, all of which, -save one, came to untimely ends in the course of the first verse or so, -leaving the field clear to a ruddy-faced, smock-frocked man, who, with -his eyes cast up to the tent-top, droned through his nose the following -mournful ditty:-- - -THE BARKSHIRE TRAGEDY. - - A varmer he lived in the West Countree, - Hey-down, bow-down, - A varmer he lived in the West Countree, - And he had daughters one, two, and dree. - And I’ll be true to my love, - If my love’ll be true to me. - - As thay wur walking by the river’s brim, - Hey-down, bow-down, - As thay wur walking by the river’s brim, - The eldest pushed the youngest in. - And I’ll be true, &c. - - “Oh sister, oh sister, pray gee me thy hand, - Hey-down, &c. - And I’ll gee thee both house and land.” - And I’ll, &c. - - “I’ll neither gee thee hand nor glove, - Hey-down, &c. - Unless thou’lt gee me thine own true love.” - And I’ll, &c. - - So down she sank and away she swam, - Hey-down, &c. - Until she came to the miller’s dam. - And I’ll, &c. - - The miller’s daughter stood by the door, - Hey-down, &c. - As fair as any gilly-flow-èr. - And I’ll, &c. - - “Oh vather, oh vather, here swims a swan, - Hey-down, &c. - Very much like a drownded gentlewomàn.” - And I’ll, &c. - - The miller he fot his pole and hook, - Hey-down, &c. - And he fished the fair maid out of the brook. - And I’ll, &c. - - “Oh miller, I’ll gee thee guineas ten, - Hey-down, &c. - If thou’lt fetch me back to my vather again.” - And I’ll, &c. - - The miller he took her guineas ten, - Hey-down, &c. - And he pushed the fair maid in again. - And I’ll, &c. - - But the Crowner he cum, and the Justice too, - Hey-down, &c. - With a hue and a cry and a hulla-balloo. - And I’ll, &c. - - They hanged the miller beside his own gate, - Hey-down, &c. - For drowning the varmer’s daughter, Kate. - And I’ll, &c. - - The sister she fled beyond the seas, - Hey-down, &c. - And died an old maid among black savageès. - And I’ll, &c. - - So I’ve ended my tale of the West Countree, - And they calls it the Barkshire Trage-dèe. - And I’ll, &c. - -“The Barkshire Tragedy, indeed! Now, Doctor, what have you to tell us -about this? When did it happen? Who was the lady? Was she drowned in -the Thames, the Kennet, or where?” - -“Oh, I don’t know. All I can say is, she was drowned before my time; -for I remember hearing the song when I was a little chap in petticoats. -But the story seems a common one. There’s a north-country ballad -founded on it, I know, but I don’t remember the name just now.” - -“‘The Bonny Mill-dams of Binnorie,’ is not it?” said the long scholar. - -“Aye, that’s the name, I think.” - -“Well, it’s very odd, for we’ve got the same story, all but the -miller, and his daughter as fair as any gilly-flower (why are millers’ -daughters always pretty, by the way?), on the Welsh marshes,” said the -long scholar. - -“Then, Sir, I must call on you to sing it. The call is with me at our -end of the booth,” said the Doctor. “And, Peter, bring me a little cold -gin-and-water, and a pipe. If I must breathe smoke-poison, I may as -well make it myself, at any rate.” - -“Well, singing’s rather more than I bargained for. However, I suppose I -mustn’t spoil sport; so here goes.” - -THE DROWNED LADY. - -_Qy. another version of the Barkshire Tragedy?_ - - Oh, it was not a pheasant cock, - Nor yet a pheasant hen, - But oh it was a lady fair - Came swimming down the stream. - - An ancient harper passing by - Found this poor lady’s body, - To which his pains he did apply - To make a sweet melòdy. - - To cat-gut dried he her inside, - He drew out her back-bone, - And made thereof a fiddle sweet - All for to play upon. - - And all her hair so long and fair, - That down her back did flow, - Oh he did lay it up with care, - To string his fiddle bow. - - And what did he with her fingers - Which were so straight and small? - Oh, he did cut them into pegs - To screw up his fid-dòll. - - Then forth went he, as it might be, - Upon a summer’s day, - And met a goodly company, - Who asked him in to play. - - Then from her bones he drew such tones - As made their bones to ache, - They sounded so like human groans, - Their hearts began to quake. - - They ordered him in ale to swim, - For sorrow’s mighty dry, - And he to share their wassail fare - Essayd right willingly. - - He laid his fiddle on a shelf - In that old manor-hall, - It played and sung all by itself, - And thus sung this fid-dòll:-- - - “There sits the squire, my worthy sire, - A-drinking hisself drunk, - And so did he, ah woe is me! - The day my body sunk. - - “There sits my mother, half asleep, - A-taking of her ease, - Her mind is deep, if one might peep, - In her preserves and keys. - - “There sits my sister, cruel Joan, - Who last week drownded me; - And there’s my love, with heart of stone, - Sits making love to she. - - “There sits the Crowner, Uncle Joe, - Which comforteth poor me; - He’ll hold his Crowner’s quest, I know, - To get his Crowner’s fee.” - - Now when this fiddle thus had spoke - It fell upon the floor, - And into little pieces broke, - No word spoke never more. - -“Thank you, Sir,” said the Doctor; “that’s a queer tune though. I don’t -know that I ever heard one at all like it. But I shouldn’t say all that -song was old now.” - -“Well, I believe you’re right. But I can say, as you said of the -Barkshire Tragedy, it’s all older than my time, for I remember my -father singing it just as I’ve sung it to you as long as I can remember -any thing.” - -“And what did he say of it?” - -“Well, he said that five out of the first six verses were very old -indeed. He had heard them often when he was a child, and always the -same words. The rest was all patch-work, he said, by different hands, -and he hardly knew which were the old lines, and which new.” - -“I say,” remarked the short scholar, “the Doctor don’t seem to be a bad -hand at making the smoke-poison.” - -The Doctor blew out a long white cloud, and was about to reply, when -a brawny young carter, at a distant table, took his pipe from his -lips, and, in answer to the urgings of his neighbours, trolled out the -following little piece of sentiment:-- - -CUPID’S GARDEN. - - As I wur in Cu-bit’s gardin - Not mwoar nor haf an hour, - ’Twur ther I zeed two may-dens - Zittin under Cu-bit’s bower, - A-gatherin of sweet jassa-mine, - The lilly and the rose. - These be the fairest flowers - As in the gardin grows. - - I vondly stepped to one o’ them, - These words to her I zays, - “Be you engaged to arra young man, - Come tell to me, I prays.” - “I beant engaged to narra young man, - I solemnly declare; - I aims to live a may-den, - And still the lau-rel wear.” - - Zays I, “My stars and gar-ters! - This here’s a pretty go, - Vor a vine young mayd as never wos - To sar’ all mankind zo.” - But the t’other young may-den looked sly at me, - And vrom her zeat she risn, - Zays she, “Let thee and I go our own waay, - And we’ll let she go shis’n.” - -“Oh, I say, that beats all!” said the short scholar, with a shout of -laughter. “I must have the words somehow. Let’s see, how did he begin? -something about Cubit. What a rum notion to call Cupid, Cubit. What was -it, Doctor?” - -“You shouldn’t laugh, really, Sir, at our west-country sentiment,” -said the Doctor, with astounding gravity. “I don’t think I can -conscientiously help you to the words, when I know you’ll only be -making fun of them at some wine-party. They are meant for malt -drinkers, not for wine drinkers.” - -“Fudge, Doctor. Come, now, give us the words, or I shall have to go -over and ask the performer for them.” - -“I think I can give you them,” said I, looking up from my note-book. - -“What a thing it is to write shorthand!” said the Doctor, glancing at -my hieroglyphics; “we don’t learn that sort of thing down in these -parts.” - -“I wonder we haven’t had more sentimental songs,” said the long -scholar; “I suppose there are plenty of love-stories going about?” - -“Oh yes, plenty,” said the Doctor; “mostly ballads telling how rich -young heiresses disdained all good matches, for the sake of a sailor -boy with tarry trousers, or a seductive fogger, thereby provoking their -cruel match-making parents. For instance:-- - - “Says the daughter to the mother, “Your art is all in vain, - For Dukes and Lords and Earls alike their riches I disdain; - I’d rather live a humble life, and my time I would employ - Increasing nature’s prospects, with my bonny labouring boy.”” - -“What on earth can ‘increasing nature’s prospects’ mean?” asked the -long scholar. - -“How can I tell?” said the Doctor, laughing; “I don’t pretend to -construe; I only give you the words. But you must allow the moral to be -good. It runs:-- - - “Success to every labouring boy that ploughs and hoes the ground, - For when his work is over, his home he will enjoy; - So happy is the girl that gets a bonny labouring boy.” - -“Let’s see,” said the short scholar, “we’ve had specimens of patriotic, -legendary, and sentimental ditties; but how about drinking songs? All -tuneful nations, since the world began, have sung the praises of good -liquor.” - -“I don’t know that we have many drinking songs,” said the Doctor; “I -suppose it takes wine, or spirits at any rate, to make a man write such -stuff as ‘the glasses sparkle,’ or ‘a bumper of Burgundy.’ The bucolic -muse only gets smallish beer. But we must see what we can do for -you.” So the Doctor beckoned to Peter, and sent him off to the lower -tables with a pot of beer, the speedy result of which mission was the -following song:-- - -TOVEY’S TAP.--AIR, “_Derry down_.” - - Owld Tovey once brewed a barrel o’ beer, - For he wur a man as lovèd good cheer, - And zays he, “I’ll jest ax a veaw o’ my vriends - To come and try how the likker spends.”[36] - Derry down, &c. - - There’s long Tom Ockle, he shall be one, - And little Jack Smith, who’s as round as a tun, - And owld Gaarge Mabbutt, who’s allus a-dry, - I’ll warn’d thay’ll make good company. - Derry down, &c. - - The barrell wur tapped, and the beer runned well, - How much they vour drenked I never heard tell; - But zome how or other they one and all - Did zwear as how the drenk wur small. - Derry down, &c. - - Owld Tovey at this did look main scrow;[37] - Zays he, “My vriends, I’d hev’ee to kneow - That my beer has made ’ee as drunk as pegs, - And not one o’ you dree can kip on his legs.” - Derry down, &c. - - They left the house, and the path they tuk, - Athert the meadow as leads to the bruk; - And you plainly med zee as every man - Had a pair o’ crooked stockings an. - Derry down, &c. - - Zays Mabbott to Ockle, “Owld Tovey wur zurly;” - Zays Ockle to Mabbott, “I’m uncommon purly;[38] - Be mindful, I zay, vor yer missuses’ zakes, - Which o’ them two narrer bridges you takes.” - Derry down, &c. - - “The bruk is main deep,” Gaarge Mabbott then zaid, - As he looked at the water, and scratted his yead; - “And I owns I should ’mazinly like for to know - Auver which o’ thay bridges you aims vor to go.” - Derry down, &c. - - “’Tis a akkerdish place to crass in the night, - And to stand here till marnin’ wouldn’t be right; - ’T’ain’t a mossell o’ use to bide stabbleing[39] here, - Zo let’s go back and vinish the barrel o’ beer.” - Derry down, &c. - -“A good cast, Doctor;” said the long scholar; “but you’ve raised the -wrong fish. That isn’t what my friend here meant by a drinking song. -He expects a bucolic rendering of one of Moore’s songs, and you serve -him out a queer pot-house tale. Is there no enthusiasm for good drink -amongst you?” - -“I wish there were less,” said the Doctor, with a sigh; “at any rate, -less consumption of bad drink. Tippling is our great curse, as it is -that of all England; but there’s less of it than there used to be. -But for a drinking song such as you mean, I’m at fault. The nearest -approach to it that I know of is a song of which I only remember two -lines. They run-- - - “Sartinly the sixpenny’s the very best I’ve see’d yet, - I do not like the fourpenny, nor yet the intermediate. - -“But even here you see, though the poet was meditating on drink, it was -in a practical rather than an enthusiastic spirit.” - -Just then, a stout old yeoman entered the booth, dressed in a broad -straight-cut brown coat with metal buttons, drab breeches, and mahogany -tops; and, marching up to the bar, ordered a glass of brandy and water; -while his drink was being prepared, he stood with his back to our -table, talking to the landlord. - -“We’re in luck,” said the Doctor in a low voice, pointing to the -new-comer with the end of his pipe; “if he stays, we shall have the -best old song in all the west country, sung as it should be.” - -“Who is he?” asked the short scholar. - -“An old Gloucestershire farmer from Sutherup way, famous for his breed -of sheep. He must be near seventy, and has twelve miles to ride home -to-night, and won’t think so much of it as you or I would.” - -“He looks a tough old blade.” - -“You may say that. But he isn’t the man he was, for he has lived pretty -hard. He used to be a famous wrestler; and one day, many years ago, an -Ilsley dealer came down to buy his flock of two-year olds. They drank -six bottles of port over the deal, and got it all straight out except -the odd sheep, but they couldn’t make out, cipher it how they would, -who the odd sheep belonged to; so they agreed to wrestle for the odd -sheep in the farmer’s kitchen, and somehow both of them got hurt, and -the old boy has never gone quite right since.” - -“What an old sponge! six bottles of port between two of them! no wonder -they couldn’t do their sum.” - -“Ah, we mustn’t judge of the men of his time by our rules,” said the -Doctor; “it was part of a yeoman’s creed in those days to send his -friends off drunk, and to be carried to bed himself by his fogger and -carter, or else to sleep under his kitchen-table. They lived hard -enough, and misused a deal of good liquor meant to strengthen man’s -heart, following the example of their betters; but they had their good -points. That old man, now, is the best master in all his neighbourhood; -and he and the parson keep up the wages in the winter, and never let a -man go to the house who will work.” - -The old farmer turned round, glass in hand, and came and sat down -at the table. “Your sarvant, gen’l’men,” said be, taking off his -broad-brimmed beaver. “Why, Doctor,” he went on, recognizing our -friend, and holding out his great bony hand, “be main glad to zee ’ee.” - -“Thank you, farmer,” said the Doctor, returning the grip; “we haven’t -met this long while; I’m glad to see you wearing so well.” - -“Yes, I be pretty-feteish, thank God,” said the farmer. “Your health, -sir, and gen’l’men.” - -After a little judicious talk on the day’s sport, the Doctor suddenly -began, “Now, farmer, you must do us a favour, and give us your famous -old Gloucestershire song. I’ve been telling all our friends here about -it, and they’re keen to hear it.” - -“’Spose you means Gaarge Ridler?” said the farmer. - -“Of course,” said the Doctor. - -“Well, I don’t know as I’ve zung these score o’ months,” said the -farmer, “but hows’mever, if you wants it, here goes.” So the farmer -finished his brandy and water, cleared his throat, balanced himself on -the hind legs of his chair, cast up his eyes and began-- - - Thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns, - Thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns. - -“What’s he saying--what language?” whispered the tall scholar. - -“Mad old party,” murmured the short scholar. - -“Hush,” whispered the Doctor; “that’s the orthodox way to begin; don’t -put him out.” - -I couldn’t tell what in the world to write, but the farmer went on with -growing emphasis-- - - Thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns, - Thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns, _thaay stwuns_, THAAY S, T, W, U, N, S. - -There was a moment’s pause, during which the Doctor had much difficulty -in keeping order; then the farmer got fairly under weigh, and went on-- - - Thaay stwuns that built Gaarge Ridler’s oven - Oh, thaay cum vrom the Blakeney Quaar, - And Gaarge he wur a jolly owld man, - And his yead did graw above his yare. - - One thing in Gaarge Ridler I must commend, - And I hold it vor a notable thing: - He made his braags avoore he died, - As wi’ any dree brothers his zons zhou’d zing. - - Ther’ wur Dick the treble, and Jack the mean, - Let every mon zing in his auwn pleace, - And Gaarge he wur the elder brother, - And there-voore he would zing the base. - - Droo’ aal the world, owld Gaarge would bwoast, - Commend me to merry owld England mwoast, - While vools gwoes scamblin’ vur and nigh, - We bides at whoam, my dog and I. - - Ov their furrin tongues let travellers brag, - Wi’ their vifteen neames vor a puddin’ bag, - Two tongues I knows ne’er towld a lie, - And their wearers be my dog and I. - - My dog has got his maaster’s nose, - To smell a knave droo silken hose; - But when good company I spy, - “Welcome,” quoth my dog and I. - - When I hev dree sixpences under my thumb, - Oh then I be welcome wherever I cum; - But when I hev none, O then I pass by; - ’Tis poverty pearts good company. - - When I gwoes dead, as it may hap, - My grave shall be under the good yeal-tap, - Wi’ vaulded earmes ther’ wool I lie, - Cheek by jowl my dog and I. - -Just as the farmer was finishing the song, Master George, with Joe and -one or two more behind him, came in. He took up the last verse, and -rolled it out as he came up towards our table, and a lot of the rest -joined in with him; even the over-worked Peter, I could see stopping -for a moment to shout that he would be buried under the tap; I dare say -he meant it, only I think he would like it to be always running. - -Master George knew most of the people, and made us all merrier even -than we were before; and in the next half-hour or so, for which time we -stayed in the booth, I should think there must have been a dozen more -songs sung. However, I shall only give the one which seemed to be the -greatest favourite, for I find that this chapter is running very long. -This song was sung by a queer little man, with a twisted face, and a -lurcher dog between his knees, who I believe was an earth stopper. He -called it - -BUTTERMILK JACK. - - Ther wur an owld ’oman as had but one son, - And thay lived together as you med zee; - And they’d nought but an owld hen as wanted to sett, - Yet somehow a landlord he fain would be. - - “Oh, I’ve been and begged me some buttermilk, mother, - Off of an owld ’oman as has girt store; - And I shall well rewarded be, - Vor she’s g’in me haf a gallon or mwore. - - “Oh mother, my buttermilk I will sell, - And all for a penny as you med zee; - And with my penny then I will buy eggs, - Vor I shall have seven for my pennèy. - - “Oh mother, I’ll set them all under our hen, - And seven cock chickens might chance for to be; - But seven cock chickens or seven cap hens, - There’ll be seven half-crownds for me. - - “Oh, I’ll go carry them to market, mother, - And nothing but vine volk shall I zee; - And with my money then I will buy land, - Zo as a landlord I med be.” - - “Oh my dear zon, wilt thee know me, - When thee hast gotten great store of wealth?” - “Oh, my dear mother, how shall I know thee, - When I shall hardly know my own self?” - - With that the owld ’oman she flew in a passion, - And dashed her son Jack up agin the wall, - And his head caught the shelf where the buttermilk stood, - So down came the buttermilk, pitcher and all. - - Zo aal you as has got an old hen for to sett, - Both by night and by day mind you has her well watched, - Lest you should be like unto Buttermilk Jack, - To reckon your chickens before thay are hatched. - -“Well, I must be moving,” said the Doctor at last, looking at his -watch; “how do you get home, Mr. Hurst?” - -“Bless us! near nine o’clock,” said Joe, following the Doctor’s -example; “oh, I ride myself, and my friend here talks of going behind.” - -“Better not ride double, the night’s dark,” said the Doctor, hoisting -on his overcoat with Peter’s help. “If he likes to take his luck in my -gig, I can put him down at your gate. What do you say, Sir?” - -I thankfully accepted; for I didn’t at all like the notion of riding -behind Joe on the chestnut, and I can’t think how I could ever have -been such a fool as to say I would do it. The Doctor had two bright -lamps to his gig, which gave us glimpses of the closed booths and -camping places of the people who were going to stay on the hill all -night, as we drove out of the Castle. I suggested that it must be very -bad for the people sleeping out up there. - -“For their health?” said he, “not a bit of it, on a fine night like -this--do ’em good; I wish they always slept so healthily.” - -“I didn’t quite mean that, Sir!” - -“Oh, for their morals? Well, I don’t know that there’s much harm done. -I’m sorry to say they’re used to crowding--and, after all, very few but -the owners of the booths, and the regular tramps, stay up here. Didn’t -you see how quiet every thing was?” - -I said I had noticed this; and then he began asking me about the -sports, for he had only got on to the hill late in the afternoon; and -when we came to the wrestling and backsword play, I asked him whether -he thought they did any harm. - -“No,” said he, “there are very few serious accidents--in fact none--now -that drink is not allowed on the stage. There used to be some very -brutal play in out-of-the-way places, where the revels were got up -by publicans. But that is all over, at least about this part of the -country.” - -“Then you wouldn’t stop them, Sir?” - -“Stop them! not I--I would encourage them, and make the parish clerk -and constable perpetual umpires.” And then he went on to say how -he should like to see the young fellows in every parish drilled in -a company, and taught all sorts of manly exercises, and shooting -especially; so that they would make good light troops at a day’s -notice, in case of invasion. But he was afraid the great game -preservers would never allow this. And in the middle of his talk, -which seemed very sensible, we came to Joe’s gate, and I got down, and -wished him good night. - -I found the family gone to bed, and only Joe and the Parson in the -kitchen, and there, over a last pipe, we chatted about the sports. - -At last the Parson turned to me, and said, “You saw a good deal of the -play on the stage; now, would you stop it if you could?” - -I thought a minute over what I had seen, and what the Doctor had said. - -“No, Sir,” said I, “I can’t say that I would.” - -“That’s candid,” said he. “And now I’ll make an admission. There’s -a good deal of the play that wants very close watching. The umpires -should be resolute, quick men, and stand no nonsense. I saw one or two -bouts to-day that should have been stopped.” - -“You see,” said Joe, taking his pipe out of his mouth, “there allus -must be.” - -“We don’t admit your evidence, Joseph,” interrupted the Parson, “you -are a prejudiced witness.” - -“But you haven’t changed your mind, Sir,” said I. - -“No,” said he, “I should be sorry to hear that these sports had died -out, but I should like to hear that people took an interest in them who -could manage the men thoroughly.” - -“The Doctor,” said I, “as we drove home, said he would have the parish -clerk and constable for perpetual umpires.” - -“They wouldn’t be so good as the parson or the squire,” said he; “if -I were rector of one of the parishes where they are still kept up, I -would give prizes for them, but I would always be umpire myself.” - -“I wish to goodness you was then,” said Joe, as we lighted our candles. - -“You remember, Sir,” said I, “that you promised to write a sermon about -the pastime.” - -“What! _after_ the fair?” said he. - -“’Twill do just as well,” said Joe, “I should mortally like to hear it.” - -“Well, it might keep you awake perhaps. He has an hereditary weakness -for slumber in church, you must know,” said the Parson, turning to me; -“when we wanted to alter the sittings in the church six or seven years -ago, his father stood out for his old high box so sturdily, that I -took some pains to argue with him, and to find out what it was which -made it so dear to him. I found out at last that it was a snug corner, -which just fitted his shoulders, where nobody could see him, and where, -as soon as the text was given out, in his own words, “I just watches -my missus wipe her spectacles, and fix herself to listen, and then I -vaulds my arms and thenks o’ nothin’.” - -I looked at Joe to see how he would take it, but he only chuckled, and -said, “Well, ’tis the parson’s business to keep us awake. But a sermon -on our sports, just showing folk about the rights on it, is just what I -should amazingly like to have by me.” - -The Parson looked at Joe for a moment very curiously, and then said, -“Very well, I will write you one. Good night.” - -And so we went off to bed. - -[36] “Spend”--to consume. - -[37] “Scrow”--angry. - -[38] “Purly”--purblind. - -[39] “Stabble”--to tread dirt about. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - -Miss Lucy couldn’t be spared to go up to the hill on the second day -of the pastime, for there was some great operation going on in the -cheese room, which she had to overlook. So Mr. Warton drove me up in -the four-wheel. I was very anxious to find out, if I could, whether -there was any thing more between him and Miss Lucy than friendship, -but it wasn’t at all an easy matter. First I began speaking of the -young gentleman who had taken my place in the four-wheel; for I thought -that would be a touchstone, and that if he were like me he would be -glad to get a chance of abusing this Jack. But he only called him a -forward boy, and said he was a cousin of the Hursts, who lived in -the next parish. Then I spoke of Miss Lucy herself, and he was quite -ready to talk about her as much as I liked, and seemed never tired -of praising her. She was a thoroughly good specimen of an English -yeoman’s daughter; perfectly natural, and therefore perfectly well -bred; not above making good puddings and preserves, and proud of the -name her brother’s cheeses had won in the market, yet not negligent of -other matters, such as the schools, and her garden; never going into -follies of dress in imitation of weak women who ought to set better -examples, yet having a proper appreciation of her own good looks, and -a thorough knowledge of the colours and shapes which suited her best; -not particularly clever or well read, but with an open mind and a sound -judgment--and so he went on; and the longer he went on the more I was -puzzled, and my belief is, that on this subject the Parson got much -more out of me than I out of him, on that morning’s drive. - -We had a very pleasant day on the hill, but as the sports were all -the same as those of the day before (with the exception of jumping in -sacks, which was substituted for climbing the pole, and was very good -fun), I shall not give any further account of them; especially as the -gentlemen who are going to publish my story seem to think already that -I am rather too long-winded. - -We got down home in capital time for tea, and Joe followed very soon -afterwards, in the highest spirits; for, as he said, every thing had -gone off so well, and everybody was pleased and satisfied; so we were -all very merry, and had another charming evening. I couldn’t tell what -had come to me when I got up stairs alone by myself, for I seemed as if -a new life were growing up in me, and I were getting all of a sudden -into a much bigger world, full of all sorts of work and pleasure, which -I had never dreamt of, and of people whom I could get to love and -honour, though I might never see or speak to them. - -I had been bred up from a child never to look beyond my own narrow -sphere. To get on in it was the purpose of my life, and I had drilled -myself into despising every thing which did not, as I thought, help -towards this end. Near relations I had none. I was really fond of my -two friends, but I don’t think I should ever have got to be friends -with them if we hadn’t been in the same office; and I used often to -be half provoked with them, and to think myself a very wise fellow, -because out of office-hours they would read poetry and novels instead -of fagging at shorthand or accounts, as I did, and spent all their -salaries instead of saving. Except those two, I knew nobody; and -though I belonged to a debating society, it wasn’t that I cared for -the members, or what they talked about, but that I thought it might be -useful to me to talk fluently if I got on in business. Sometimes, and -especially in my yearly holidays, I had felt as if I wanted something -else, and that my way of life was after all rather a one-eyed sort of -business; but I set all such misgivings down as delusions, and had -never allowed them long to trouble me. In short I begin to suspect that -I must have been getting to be a very narrow, bigoted, disagreeable -sort of fellow, and it was high time that I should find my way to -Elm Close, or some such place, to have my eyes opened a little, and -discover that a man may work just as steadily and honestly--aye, much -more steadily and honestly--at his own business, without shutting up -his brains and his heart against every thing else that is going on in -the world around him. However, I can’t be too thankful that my teaching -came to me in the way it did, for I might have had to learn my lesson -in a very different school from Elm Close Farm. - -There certainly never was such a pleasant school. For the next two or -three days after ‘the Scouring,’ Mr. Warton was my chief companion. Joe -and Miss Lucy both had their work to attend to after breakfast, and so -the Parson and I were left a good deal together; and we used to start -off to see some of the old men whom he had promised to show me, who -could tell me about the old pastimes. I never liked any thing so much -as these walks--not even the walks I afterwards used to have alone with -Miss Lucy, for they were too exciting, and half the time I was in such -a fret that I couldn’t thoroughly enjoy them. But there was no drawback -in these walks with the Parson. He was full of fun, and of all sorts of -knowledge; and he liked talking, and I think rather took a fancy to me, -and was pleased to see how I worked at collecting all the information I -could about the White Horse, for he took a great deal of pains to help -me. - -One morning though I remember he got me into a regular puzzle -about King Alfred, for I had been reading over my notes of the old -gentleman’s story, and couldn’t make it agree with the tales which I -had read about Alfred’s hiding away in the cowherd’s hut, and burning -the cakes. So I asked Mr. Warton about it. - -“I think,” said he, “you will find that Alfred was in the cowherd’s -cottage in the year 878, after the battle at Chippenham.” - -“But, Sir,” said I, “according to the old gentleman’s story, Ashdown -was Alfred’s greatest victory; and Ashdown was fought in 871. Now it -seems very odd that he should have to run away and skulk about in such -places after that.” - -“Well,” said he, “I’m not well enough up in the history to explain it -to you, but I’m pretty sure you’ll find I’m right about the dates--why -shouldn’t you write and ask the old gentleman?” - -So I did, and I kept a copy of my letter; but I don’t think I need -print that, because his answer will be quite enough without it. Here it -is:-- - - “22d September, 1857. - - “My Dear Sir,--I am favoured with yours of the 20th ult., which - came safely to hand this morning. Our post is somewhat behind - the times, and I know of hardly any town or village from which - a letter can arrive at this place under two days. I do not - myself complain of this state of things. - - “With regard to the subject of your letter, I have to tell you - that your friend the clergyman is right in his dates. It was in - the year 878 that Alfred was deserted by his nobles and people - after the battle of Chippenham, which was a drawn battle. Then - he fled to the Island of Athelney, in Somersetshire, and the - incident to which you allude took place, but you have not got - the verses correctly; they run,-- - - “‘Casn’t mind the ke-aks mun, and doosn’t zee ’em burn? - I’ze warn thee’lt yeat ’em vast enough, zo zoon az ’tiz thy turn.’ - - “But you are not to believe from this, that the Danish army - ever got a hold on the kingdom of Wessex. I think that the - following passage from Asser’s ‘Life of Alfred’ will explain a - good deal to you. Referring to his sojourn in Athelney, Asser - says:-- - - “‘We may believe that this misfortune was brought upon the - aforesaid king, because in the beginning of his reign, when - he was a youth, and influenced by youthful feelings, he would - not listen to the petitions which his subjects made to him - for help in their necessities; but he drove them from him and - paid no heed to their requests. This particular gave much pain - to the holy man, St. Neot, who was his kinsman; and often - foretold to him in the spirit of prophecy that he would suffer - great adversity on this account; but Alfred neither attended - to the reproof of the man of God, nor listened to his true - prophecy--wherefore seeing that a man’s sins must be corrected - either in this world or the next, the true and righteous Judge - willed that his sin should not go unpunished in this world, to - the end that he might spare him in the world to come. From this - cause, therefore, Alfred often fell into such great misery, - that sometimes none of his subjects knew where he was, or what - had become of him.’ - - “And Alfred learned his lesson well in the next few years, - for you will find that in the year 886 A.D., ‘which was the - thirty-eighth year since his birth, King Alfred, after the - burning of cities and slaying of the people, honourably rebuilt - the city of London and made it again habitable, and gave it - into the custody of his son-in-law, Æthelred, Earl of Mercia; - to which King Alfred, all the Angles and Saxons, who before - had been dispersed every where, or were in captivity with the - pagans, voluntarily turned and submitted themselves to his - rule!’ - - “You see they had turned from his rule many of them because it - was an unjust one in those early years of his reign. But they - were never subdued by the Danes,--so that my statement which - you quote, ‘that the battle of Ashdown saved England from one - hundred years of Paganism,’ is not shaken. - - “I have directed my London bookseller to leave a copy of - Asser’s ‘Life of Alfred the Great,’ for you, at Somerset - House, directed to the care of my friend, the secretary of - the Antiquaries’ Society; you will find it to be well worth a - careful perusal. I shall be always glad to hear from you upon - the subjects on which we have conversed, and heartily desiring - that the veneration for all that is old may grow upon you, and - that God may have you in his good keeping, I am faithfully - yours, - - “----.” - -But to return to my subject, from which I have been wandering for the -pleasure of putting in the old gentleman’s letter. The Parson in our -walks set me thinking about fifty subjects which I never cared about -before, because I could see that he was himself deeply interested in -them, and really believed whatever he said to me. We used to get home -by about twelve o’clock, and then I would go away by myself, and think -over what we had been talking about till dinner. And, after dinner, -Miss Lucy, and sometimes Joe, would come out and walk with us till -tea. Sometimes we went to the village school, and I sat at the door -and heard them teaching; and as long as Mr. Warton was with us it was -all right, but afterwards, when he had gone, I could see that the -schoolmistress, a young woman of about thirty, sallow-faced and rather -prudish, used to look at me as if I had no business there. - -When he left, Mr. Warton gave me a kind invitation to go and see him -in town, and added he had no doubt I should come, for he could see I -should soon want some such work as he could give me to do. - -After he was gone I tumbled fairly head over heels into the net in -which I suppose every man “as is a man” (as old Seeley would say) -gets enmeshed once in his life. I found it was no use to struggle any -longer, and gave myself up to the stream, with all sails set. Now -there is no easier thing than going down stream somehow, when wind and -tide are with you; but to steer so as to make the most of wind and -tide, isn’t so easy--at least I didn’t find it so. - -For as often as not, I think, I did the wrong thing, and provoked, -instead of pleasing her. I used to get up every morning before six, to -be ready to wish her good morning as she went out to the dairy; but I -don’t think she half liked it, for she was generally in a very old gown -tucked through her pocket holes, and pattens. Then after breakfast I -used to hanker round the kitchen, or still-room, or wherever she might -happen to be, like a Harry-long-legs round a candle. And again in the -afternoon I never could keep away, but was at her side in the garden, -or on her walks; in fact, to get rid of me, she had fairly to go up to -her room. - -But I couldn’t help myself; I felt that, come what might, I must be -near her while I could; and on the whole, I think she was pleased, and -didn’t at all dislike seeing me reduced to this pitiful state. - -When I was involuntarily out of her sight, I used to have a sort of -craving for poetry and often wished that I had spent a little more -time over such matters. I got Joe to lend me the key of the cupboard -where he kept his library, hoping to find something to suit me there. -But, besides a few old folios of divinity and travel, and some cookery -books, and the Farmer’s Magazine, there was nothing but Watts’s Hymns -and Pollock’s Course of Time, which I didn’t find of any use to me. - -Joe used to wonder at me at first, when I refused his offers of a day’s -coursing, or a ride with him to Farringdon or Didcot markets; but he -soon got used to it, and put it down to my cockney bringing up, and -congratulated himself that, at any rate, I was pretty good company over -a pipe in the kitchen. - -The autumn days sped away all too quickly, but I made the most of them -as they passed, and over and over again I wondered whether there were -any but kind and hospitable and amusing people in the Vale, for the -longer I stayed there, the more I was astonished at the kind courtesy -of everybody I came across, from the highest to the lowest, and I -suppose everybody else would find it the same as I did. - -It seemed as if I were destined to leave Elm Close without a single -unkind thought of any body I had seen while there, for even Jack made -his peace with me. Only two days before my departure, Miss Lucy gave -out at breakfast that she was going to walk over to see her uncle, and -wanted to know if her mother or Joe had any message. No, they hadn’t. -But of course I managed to accompany her. - -When we came to her uncle’s farm, he was out, and in five minutes -Miss Lucy was away with her dear friend and cousin, one of the girls -I had seen at the pastime, and I was left to the tender mercies of -Jack. However, Jack at his own house, with no women by to encourage -him to make a fool of himself, was a very decent fellow. He walked -me about the homestead, and chatted away about the pastime, and the -accomplishments of his terrier dog, whom he had got from the kennel of -the Berkshire hounds, and whose father used to run with them regularly. -Then he began to inquire about me in a patronizing way; how I came to -know Joe, what I was, and where I lived. And when he had satisfied -his curiosity about me, he took to talking about his cousins. Joe, I -soon found out, was his hero; and he looked forward to the time when -he should be able to breed a good horse, like Joe’s chestnut, and to -go about to all the markets and carry his head as high as any one, as -Joe could, as the height of human happiness. As to cousin Lu, if he -were looking out for any thing of the sort, there was no girl within -twenty miles that he knew of to whom she couldn’t give a stone over any -country. But she wasn’t likely to marry any of the young men about; she -was too full of fun, and laughed at them too much. “I shouldn’t be a -bit surprised now, if she was to take to some town chap like you, after -all’s said and done,” said Jack, in conclusion, as we returned to the -house. - -My last day at Elm Close came swiftly and surely, and the sun rose, and -went pitilessly up into the heavens, and sank down behind White Horse -Hill, and the clocks went on striking one after another, just as if it -had been any other day. What a number of things I had in my head that -morning to say to all of them, and above all to her; but one thing or -another interfered, and I had said not one quarter of them, and these -not in the way I had intended, before it was dark, and tea on the -table. But I did go all round the farm and the village, and took a last -look at every field and nook and corner where I had been so happy. - -The old lady was unusually talkative at tea, and for some time -afterwards. The fact that I was not going to leave the house till after -midnight, and was to be at business, in London, at nine o’clock the -next morning, now that she had realized it, excited her very much, and -waked up all sorts of recollections of her own travels; particularly -how, when she was a child, she had been a whole day getting to Reading -by the stage, and how, even after her marriage, she and father had had -to sleep at Windsor, on the occasion of their one visit to London. I -was watching Miss Lucy at her work all the time, and thought she seemed -a little absent and sorrowful, and when our eyes met every now and -then, she looked away directly. We hardly said a word, and left Joe to -keep up the talk with the old lady. - -Before long she got tired and went off to bed, and then, I thought, if -something would only call Joe out--but nothing happened, and so we sat -on talking commonplaces, till prayer time; which, however, Joe did -consent to put off this evening, because it was my last, till past ten -o’clock. The three servants came in, and knelt down as usual; and I, -in a place where I could see her, and watch every turn of her figure, -and hear every breath she drew. I own I didn’t listen to a word that -Joe read--I couldn’t--and I don’t believe any poor fellow in my state -will ever be hardly judged, whatever square-toed people may say, for -not forcing himself to attend when he hasn’t the power to do it. I -only know that, though I couldn’t listen to the prayers, I could and -did thank God for having brought me down there, and allowed me to see -her and know her; and prayed, as heartily as was in me to pray, that I -might never do any thing which might make me unworthy of one so bright, -and pure, and good as she. - -And too soon Joe shut the book, and got up, and the servants went out, -and Joe dived off into the recess; and she lighted her candle and -came up to me, holding out her hand, but without saying any thing, or -looking up in my face. - -I took the hand which she held out to me in both mine, but somehow, -when I thought it might be for the last time, I couldn’t let it go. -So I stood holding it, my heart beating so that I couldn’t speak, and -feeling very uncomfortable about the throat. She didn’t take it away, -and presently I got my voice again. - -“Good bye, Miss Lucy,” said I, “and God bless you. I can’t tell you -what my holiday at Elm Close has been to me--and I can’t find words to -thank you. I’m a poor lonely fellow, with nobody belonging to me, and -leading a slave of a life in the midst of the great crowd, with all -sorts of temptations to go wrong. You’ll let me think of you, and Elm -Close, and it will be like a little bright window with the sun shining -through into our musty clerks’ room. I feel it will help to keep me -straight for many a long day. You’ll let me think of you now, won’t -you?” said I, pressing the little hand which I held in mine. - -“Why, you see I can’t help it if I would,” said she, looking up with a -merry light in her eyes; but she went on directly, “but, indeed, I’m -sure we shall think of you quite as often as you will of us. Joe used -to talk so often about you that I felt quite like an old friend before -we met, and now you’ve been here we shall feel so dull without you.” - -“Now, you two! don’t stand talking there all night,” said Joe, coming -out of the recess, where he had been rummaging out the pipes and a -black bottle; “come, come, kiss and part.” - -I felt the blood rush up to my face, when Joe said that, but I opened -my hands with a jerk, and let hers go, I hardly knew why. If I hadn’t -been so fond that I was afraid of her, I should have taken Joe at his -word. But I’m glad I didn’t; I’m sure I was right, for I stole a look -at her, and saw that she looked vexed, and flushed up to her bright -brown hair. Next moment she held out her hand again, and shook mine -heartily, and said, without looking up, “Good-bye, you must come again -soon,” and then hurried out of the room, and took away all the light -with her. Heigh-ho! when shall I see the light again. - -Well, as I followed Joe into the kitchen, what between the sinking I -felt at having to leave, and the doubt whether I hadn’t made a fool of -myself at the last with Miss Lucy, I felt half mad, and the first thing -I made up my mind to was to have a good quarrel with Joe. - -So when he sat down on one side of the fire, and began lighting his -pipe, I kept standing looking at him, and thinking how I should begin. - -“There’s your pipe, Dick,” said he, puffing away, “on the settle--why -don’t you sit down and light up?” - -“I shan’t smoke with you to-night, Joe,” said I, “you ought to be -ashamed of yourself!” - -“Ashamed o’ myself,” shouted Joe, staring up at me till I could hardly -keep from laughing, angry as I was; “what, in the name o’ goodness, -have I done to be ashamed of?” - -“’Tisn’t what you’ve done, but what you’ve said.” - -“Said! what in the world have I said? Precious little I know, for you -always get all the talk to yourself.” - -“Why, what you said just now to me and Miss Lucy,” said I. - -“To you and Lu?” said he, looking puzzled; and then off he went into -one of his great laughs. “Oh, I take--well, that’s too much! To be -blown up by _you_ for it! Why, if any one is to scold, I should say -it’s Lu.” - -“Do you think I like to be made the means of giving your sister pain?” -said I. - -“There now, don’t be a fool, Dick--sit down like a good fellow, and -light your pipe. What I said don’t mean any thing down in these parts. -Well, I’m very sorry. She’ll never think twice about it, bless you. And -besides, you know, there can’t be any harm done, for you didn’t take my -advice.” - -Well, I began to get cool, and to think I might do something better -than quarrel with Joe the last night; so I took my pipe, and filled it, -and sat down opposite him, and he began to mix two glasses of grog, -twisting his face about all the time to keep himself from laughing. - -“Here’s your health, old fellow,” said he, when he had done, “and, mind -you, we shall always be glad to see you here when you can come; though -I’m afraid the place must be terrible dull for a Londoner.” - -“It’s the best place I’ve ever been in,” said I, with a sigh. - -This pleased Joe; and he went off about what he would find me to do -if I could come down in the winter or the spring; but I didn’t listen -much, for I was making up my mind to speak to him about his sister, and -I was afraid how he might take it. - -Presently he stopped for a moment, and I thought, ‘now or never,’ and -began. - -“I want to ask you, Joe, is your sister engaged to any one?” - -“Not she,” said Joe, looking up rather surprised; “why, she’s only -eighteen come Lady-day!” - -“What do you think of Mr. Warton?” said I. - -“Our Parson!” laughed Joe; “that is a good ’un. Why he has got a -sweetheart of his own. Let alone that he’d know better than to court a -farmer’s daughter.” - -“Are you sure?” said I; “your sister isn’t like most girls, I can tell -you.” - -“Yes, I tell you,” said Joe, “he’s no more in love with our Lu than you -are.” - -“Then I’m over head and ears in love with her, and that’s all about -it,” said I, and I looked straight across at him, though it wasn’t an -easy thing to do. But I felt I was in for it, and I should be much -better for having it over. - -Joe gave a start, and a long whistle; and then a puff or two at his -pipe, staring at me right in the eyes till I felt my head swimming. -But I wasn’t going to look down just then; if he had looked me right -through he couldn’t have found any thing I was ashamed of, so far as -his sister was concerned, and I felt he had a right to look as hard as -he pleased, and that I was bound not to shirk it. - -Presently he got up, and took a turn or two up and down the kitchen. -Then he stopped-- - -“Spoke to her, yet?” said he. - -“No,” said I, “I haven’t.” - -“Come, give us your hand, Dick,” said he, holding out his, and looking -quite bright again; “I knew you would be all on the square, let be what -might.” - -“Well, I won’t deceive you, Joe,” said I, “I don’t deserve any credit -for that.” - -“How not?” said he. - -“Why, I meant to have spoken to her half-a-dozen times, only one little -thing or another stopped it. But I’m very glad of it, for I think you -ought to know it first.” - -“Well, well,” said he, coming and sitting down again, and staring into -the fire, “it’s a precious bad job. Let’s think a bit how we be to -tackle it.” - -“I know,” said I, drawing up a bit--for I didn’t feel flattered at this -speech--“that I’m not in the same position you are in, and that you’ve -a right to look for a much richer man than I am for your sister, but--” - -“Oh, bother that,” said Joe, beginning to smoke again, and still -staring into the fire; “I wasn’t thinking of that. ’Twill be just as -bad for we, let who will take her. Here’s mother getting a’most blind, -and ’mazing forgetful-like about every thing. Who’s to read her her -chapter, or to find her spectacles? and what in the world’s to become -of the keys? I be no use to mother by myself, you see,” said Joe, “and -I couldn’t abide to see the old lady put about at her time of life; let -alone how the pickling and preserving is to go on.” - -I was very pleased and surprised to see him taking it so coolly, and -particularly that he seemed not to be objecting to me, but only to -losing his sister at all. - -“Then there’s my dairy,” said he; “that cow Daisy, as gives the richest -milk in all the Vale, nobody could ever get her to stand quiet till Lu -took to her; she’ll kick down a matter o’ six pail o’ milk a week, I’ll -warrant. And the poultry, too; there’s that drattl’d old galleeny’ll be -learning the Spanish hens to lay astray up in the brake, as soon as -ever Lu goes, and then the fox’ll have ’em all. To think of the trouble -I took to get that breed, and not a mossel o’ use at last!” - -“Well, but Joe,” said I, “one would think we were going to be married -to-morrow, to hear you talk.” - -“Well, you want to be married, don’t you?” said he, looking up. - -“Yes, but not directly,” said I; “you see, I should like to have a tidy -place got all ready before I should think--” - -“Why, she mayn’t be agreeable after all,” interrupted Joe, as if a new -light had suddenly struck him; and then he had a good laugh at the -thought, in which I didn’t join. - -“Then, Joe,” said I, “I think you don’t seem to mind my being a -cockney, and not a rich man?” - -“I’d sooner have had a chap that knows a horse from a handspike, and -something about four-course,” said he, “so I won’t tell a lie about it, -Dick. Put that out of the way, and I’d as lief call you brother-in-law -as any man. But you ain’t in any hurry you said just now?” - -“Well, no,” said I; “but of course I should like to write to your -sister directly and tell her, and I hope you won’t object to that, and -won’t hinder me if you can’t help me.” - -“Don’t have any of that writing,” said Joe, “’pend upon it, a good-bred -girl like Lu wouldn’t stand it.” - -“That’s all very well,” said I, “but I’m going away to-night, you know, -and if I don’t write how’s she ever to know any thing about it?” - -“Look here,” said Joe; “will you promise, Dick, to give me and mother a -year to turn round in from next Christmas--that is, supposing Lu don’t -say no?” - -“Yes, certainly,” said I; “Christmas year is the earliest time I could -hope to be ready by.” - -“Then I’ll tell you what,” said he; “Don’t you go writing to her at -all, and I’ll bring her up with me for Christmas cattle-show, and you -can get us lodgings, and show us some of the sights. You can have it -all out with her before we come home, and I shall be by to see all -fair.” - -“No, no, Joe, I couldn’t say a word with you by.” - -“I didn’t mean that I was to be in the room, you know, only if any -thing goes wrong--you understand,” said Joe, looking round, and nodding -at me with a solemn face. - -“Yes, I see,” said I; “but somebody else--one of the young farmers now, -that I saw on the hill, may be stepping in before Christmas.” - -“Not they. It’s busy times with us these next two months. Besides, I’ll -look after that. Is it a bargain, then?” - -“Yes,” said I, “only mind, Joe, that you look sharp meantime.” - -“All right,” said he; and then fell to looking into the fire again; -and I sat thinking too, and wondering at my luck, which I could hardly -believe in yet. - -“And now about the pot,” said Joe; “suppose Lu says yes, what have you -got to keep the pot boiling?” - -Then I told him what my salary was, and what I had saved, and where I -had put it out, and he nodded away, and seemed very well satisfied. - -“Well, Lu has got £500,” said he, “under father’s will. Parson and I -are the executors. You must go and see the Parson when you get back -to London; he’s an out-and-outer, and worth more than all the chaps at -that jawing shop of yours put together. The money is out at interest, -all but £200, which we’ve never raised yet, but for that matter I can -pay it up whenever it’s wanted.” - -“Of course,” said I, “I should wish all her fortune to be settled on -her.” - -“Yes, I forgot,” said he; “I suppose there ought to be some sort of -tying-up done for the children. So I’ll go and see Lawyer Smith about -it next market-day.” - -“Perhaps you had better wait till after Christmas,” said I. - -“Aye, aye,” said he, “I forgot. We may be running a tail scent after -all. But, I say, Dick, if you get married, Lu can never live in those -dirty, dark streets, and you away all day; she’d mope to death without -a place for poultry, and a little bit of turf to cool her feet on.” - -“Well,” said I, “you see I’ve got a bit of ground under a freehold land -society, down the Great Northern line. It’s a very pretty place, and -only five minutes’ walk from a station. I could build a house there in -the spring, you know, and have the garden made.” - -“That’ll do,” said he; “and if you want £100 or so, to finish it off as -should be, why you know where to come for it.” - -“Thank you,” said I, “but I think I can manage it.” - -“I shall send her up those Spanish hens,” said he, looking up again -presently from his pipe; “they won’t be no use here.” - -“I wish, Joe,” said I, “you wouldn’t talk as if it was all quite -certain; it makes me feel uncomfortable. Your sister mayn’t like me, -after all.” - -“Makes no odds at all,” said he; “if she don’t have you, there’ll be -some other chap on in no time. Once a young gal gets a follower it’s -all over, so fur as I see; though ’tisn’t always the first as they -takes up with as they sticks to for better for worse.” - -“Thank you for nothing, Master Joe,” said I to myself; and I smoked -away opposite him for some time without saying a word, thinking what a -queer fellow he was, and how I had better let things rest as they were, -for I couldn’t see how to handle him the least bit in the world; and I -can’t tell whether I was most glad or sorry, when we heard the fogger -come to the kitchen door to say the trap was all ready. - -Joe knocked the ashes out of his last pipe, took off the last drop out -of his tumbler, and then put out his hand and gave me one of his grips. - -“It’s got to be done,” said he, “there’s no mistake about that.” - -“What?” said I, “what’s to be done? Don’t look so solemn, Joe, for -goodness’ sake.” - -“It’s no laughing matter, mind you,” said he; and he took the candle -and went off into the passage, and came back with his whip and two -top-coats. “Here, you get into that,” he went on, handing me one of -them; “you’ll find the night rawish.” - -I buttoned myself into the coat, which was a white drab one, about as -thick as a deal board, with double seams and mother-of-pearl buttons as -big as cheese-plates, and followed Joe into the yard with a heavy heart. - -“Carpet-bag and hamper in?” said he, taking the reins. - -“Ees, Sir, all right.” - -“Jump up, Dick.” - -I shook hands with the honest fogger, and gave him half-a-crown, which -he didn’t seem to know how to take; and then I got up by Joe’s side, -and we walked out of the yard at a foot’s pace, on to the grass; he -kept off the road to be more quiet. It was bright moonlight, and a -streak of white mist lay along the Close. I could hear nothing but the -soft crush of the wheels on the rich sward, and the breathing of the -great cows as we passed them in the mist. But my heart was beating like -a hammer, as I looked back over my shoulder at one window of the old -house, until it was hidden behind the elm-trees; and when I jumped down -to open the gate into the road, I tore open the great coat, or I think -I should have been suffocated. - -“It’s no laughing matter, mind you,” said Joe, looking round, after we -had gone about half-a-mile along the road at a steady trot. - -“No, indeed,” said I. I felt much more like crying, and I thought he -was trying to comfort me, in his way. - -“Come, you button up that coat again, Dick; I won’t have you getting -into the train at one in the morning with a chill on you. I won’t turn -my back,” he went on, “on any man in the county at sampling wheat, or -buying a horse, or a lot of heifers, or a flock of sheep. Besides, -if a chap does get the blind side of me, it’s maybe a ten-pound note -lost, and there’s an end of it. But when you come to choosing a missus, -why, it seems like jumping in the dark, for all as I can see. There’s -nothing to sample ’em by, and you can’t look in their mouths or feel -’em over. I don’t take it as a man’s judgment of any account when he -comes to that deal--and then, if he does get the wrong sort!” - -“Thank you, Joe,” said I, “but I’m not a bit afraid about getting the -wrong sort, if all goes well.” - -“No, but I be,” said he; “why, one would think, Dick, that nobody had -to get a missus but you.” - -Well, that made me laugh out, I was so tickled to find he was thinking -of himself all the time; and for the rest of the drive we were merry -enough, for he went on talking about his own prospects so funnily that -it was impossible to keep sad or sentimental. - -We drew up at the silent station five or six minutes nearly before the -train was due, and were received by the one solitary porter. - -“What luggage, Sir?” said he to me, as I got down. - -“One carpet-bag,” I answered, “for Paddington.” - -“And a hamper,” said Joe; “you’ll find a hamper in behind there. And -take care to keep it right side up, porter, for there are some pots of -jam in it.” - -“Who is it for?” said I; “can I look after it, and take it any where -for you?” - -“Why, for you, of course,” said Joe; “you don’t suppose the women would -have let you go back without some of their kickshaws; and I’ve had a -hare and a couple of chickens put in, and some bacon. You must eat the -hare this week, mind.” - -I was quite taken by surprise at this fresh instance of the thoughtful -kindness of my Vale friends, and wrung Joe’s hand, mumbling out -something which I meant for thanks. - -“Well, good-bye, old fellow,” he said, “I’m very glad to think you’ve -found your way down at last, and now, don’t forget it;” and he gave -me a grip which nearly crashed all my knuckles into a jelly, and was -gathering up his reins to drive off. - -“But Joe, here’s your coat,” I called out, and was beginning to take it -off--“you’ve forgotten your coat.” - -“No, no,” said he, “keep it on--’twill be very cold to-night, and -you’ll want it in the train. We’ll fetch it at Christmas, and the -hamper and the jam pots too, at the same time. Lu will be sure to look -after them, so mind you don’t lose ’em--Hullo! What in the world are -you cutting off the direction for?” - -“Oh, it’s nothing,” said I, “but I often fancy parcels go safer with -only the railway label on them. Besides, I shall have it in the -carriage with me.” - -The fact was I had caught sight of the direction, which was in her -handwriting, and had quite forgotten Joe, as I was cutting it off to -put it in my pocket-book. - -“Well, that’s a rum start,” said Joe, “but every one has their own -notions about travelling;” and so, with a cheery good-bye to me, off he -drove along the dark road; and in another minute the train came up, and -I and my luggage were on our way to London. - -We went away up through the cold night, eastward, towards the great -city which had been my home from childhood. I felt that another man -was journeying back from the one who had come down a fortnight before; -that he who was travelling eastward had learnt to look beyond his -own narrow cellar in the great world-city, to believe in other things -than cash payments and shorthand for making his cellar liveable in, -to have glimpses of and to sympathize with the life of other men, in -his own time, and in the old times before him. These thoughts crowded -on me, but all under the shadow of and subordinated to the one great -rising hope, in which I had first found and felt my new life. Together -they lifted up my heart during the first stages of that night journey, -and I opened the window and leant out into the rushing night air, for -the carriage was too small for me, and my grand visions and resolves. -But soon it began to feel cold, and I shut up the window and squeezed -myself into a corner with my feet up on the opposite seat, and felt -very thankful that I had on Joe’s great coat. Then the lamp went out, -and it got colder as the dawn came on, and my visions and resolves -began to get less bright and firm. The other side of the picture rose -up in ugly colours, and I thought of the dirty dark clerks’ room, and -the hours of oil-lamps and bad air, and the heartless whirl and din -of the great city. And to crown all came the more than doubt whether -my hope would not fade out and die in the recesses of my own heart. -What was I? and what my prospects, that any one should ever give me a -thought again of those whom I was so fast leaving behind, much more -that she, the flower of them all, should single me out before all -others? It was absurd, I should most likely never see Elm Close, or the -Vale, or the great mysterious Hill again--I had better make up my mind -to live the next twenty years as I had the last. With some such meaning -spoke the doleful voices, but I was never much of a hand at looking at -the doleful side of things, and I made good strong fight on that night -ride; and took out my pipe, and lit it, and pressed my back firmer into -my corner. - -Well, and if they don’t remember me, thought I, I can remember them at -any rate--they can’t help that; and I _will_ remember them too, and -all their kind pleasant ways, and their manlike games, and their queer -songs and stories--and the queen of them all, I can carry her in my -heart, thank God for that, and every word I ever heard her speak, and -every smile I ever saw light up her merry eyes or dimple round her -mouth--and the country, too, the fair rich Vale, and the glorious old -Hill, they are mine for ever, and all the memories of the slaying of -dragons; and of great battles with the Pagan. I wonder whether I shall -ever see the old gentleman again who conjured it up for me, and put -life into it, and made me feel as if King Alfred and his Saxons were as -near and dear to me as Sir Colin Campbell and the brave lads in India! - -Just then the train stopped at Reading, and the guard put his head in -to say we stopped for three minutes, and I could get a glass of ale. - -So I jumped out and had a glass of ale, and then another; and stamped -about the platform till the train started. And when I got into my -corner again, I was quite warm and jolly. - -I have been always used to a good night’s rest, and I daresay the ale -made me more sleepy, and so I fell into a kind of doze almost directly. -But in my doze the same train of thought went on, and all the people -I had been living with and hearing of flitted about in the oddest -jumbles, with Elm Close and White Horse Hill for a background. I went -through the strangest scenes. One minute I was first cousin to King -Alfred, and trying to carry his messages over the Hill to Æthelred, -only Joe’s old brown horse would run away with me along the Ridgeway; -then I was the leader of the Berkshire old gamesters, playing out the -last tie with a highwayman, for a gold-laced hat and pair of buckskin -breeches; then I was married--I needn’t say to whom--and we were -keeping house under the Hill, and waiting tea for St. George, when he -should come down from killing the Dragon. And so it went on, till at -last a mist came over the Hill, and all the figures got fainter and -fainter, and seemed to be fading away. But as they faded, I could see -one great figure coming out clearer through the mist, which I had never -noticed before. It was like a grand old man, with white hair and mighty -limbs; who looked as old as the hill itself, but yet as if he were as -young now as he ever had been,--and at his feet were a pickaxe and -spade, and at his side a scythe. But great and solemn as it looked, -I felt that the figure was not a man, and I was angry with it,--why -should it come in with its great pitiful eyes and smile? why were my -brothers and sisters, the men and women, to fade away before it? - -“The labour that a man doeth under the sun, it is all vanity. Prince -and peasant, the wise man and the fool, they all come to me at last, -and I garner them away, and their place knows them no more!”--so the -figure seemed to say to itself, and I felt melancholy as I watched it -sitting there at rest, playing with the fading figures. - -At last it placed one of the little figures on its knee, half in -mockery, as it seemed to me, and half in sorrow. But then all changed; -and the great figure began to fade, and the small man came out clearer -and clearer. And he took no heed of his great neighbour, but rested -there where he was placed; and his face was quiet, and full of life, as -he gazed steadily and earnestly through the mist. And the other figures -came flitting by again, and chanted as they passed, “The work of one -true man is greater than all thy work. Thou hast nought but a seeming -power, over it, or over him. Every true man is greater than thee. Every -true man shall conquer more than thee; for he shall triumph over death, -and hell, and thee, oh, Time!” - -And then I woke up, for the train stopped at the place where the -tickets are collected; and, in another five minutes, I was in a cab, -with my bag and the great basket of country treasures, creeping along -in the early November morning towards Gray’s Inn Lane. And so ended my -fortnight’s holiday. - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE SERMON WHICH THE PARSON SENT TO MR. JOSEPH HURST, OF ELM CLOSE -FARM, IN FULFILMENT OF HIS PROMISE. - - LEVITICUS xxiii. v. 1, 2.--And the Lord spake unto Moses, - saying, Speak unto the children of Israel, and say unto them, - Concerning the feasts of the Lord which ye shall proclaim to be - holy convocations, even these are my feasts. - - -“These are _my_ feasts,” said God to the nation He was educating; “keep -these feasts, for they are mine.” Now, what was the nature of these -feasts, my brethren, which God called his? The Bible leaves us in no -doubt about them. They were certain seasons set apart in every year, -and at longer intervals, during which the nation was “to rejoice before -the Lord their God.” Each feast commemorated some event in the nation’s -life; either a solemn act of national worship, such as the dedication -of the Temple; or some great national deliverance, such as the Exodus -commemorated by the feast of Passover, or the defeat of Haman’s plot in -the reign of Ahasuerus, commemorated by the feast Purim; or the daily -care of God for his people, in giving them rain and fruitful seasons, -the harvest and vintage, the increase of corn, and wine, and oil, -commemorated by the feast of Pentecost. - -They were _to rejoice_ before the Lord their God at all these feasts. -With what outward actions they were to rejoice we are not expressly -told; probably it was left to each generation to express their joy in -their own way. In the case of the Passover we know that they were to -eat a lamb and unleavened bread; and we gather, I think, from many -places, that both songs and dancing were freely used at the feasts; but -further than this we do not know the outward form of their rejoicing. - -But we _do_ know the spirit in which they were to keep their feasts, -the temper of mind in which God would have them rejoice before Him. -This is most fully proclaimed. They were to keep alive in themselves -and one another the memory of the great deliverances and blessings, -which had been, and were being wrought for them. They were to remember -that these deliverances had been wrought for ignorant despised bondmen, -that these blessings were being poured down on a stiffnecked sinful -people. Remembering these things, they were to come to their feasts, -and rejoice before Him, with humble open hearts, thanking Him for all -they possessed, with love towards their brethren, ready to forgive -debts, to help the poor to his right, and to acknowledge and glory in -the bond which bound them all together in one nation. - -Moreover, these feasts were to be feasts for the whole nation--for -the rich and the poor, the free man and the slave, “for thee, and thy -man-servant, and thy maid-servant;” for those who are in trouble and -sorrow, as well as for the prosperous and happy; “for the stranger, and -fatherless, and widow who are within thy gates.” - -One thing more I wish you to notice about the Jewish feasts; they -had all the same character, all were God’s feasts--not one or two -religious feasts, as we should say, and the rest national, but all -God’s feasts, and all national also. There is no hint in the Bible of -any distinction; all feasts ordained for the nation are God’s feasts, -and their feasts also. - -Now such feasts--such rejoicings before the Lord--as these, you can -see at once must have had no slight influence on the nation which kept -them. Accordingly we find them interwoven with every fibre of the -national life: sometimes kept as God’s feasts--as He had said they -were to be kept--in humbleness and thankfulness, in breaking bonds and -forgiving debts; often, as though they had been not his but the devil’s -feasts, in persecuting prophets and slaying righteous men; and no doubt -also, as the natural consequence, in debauchery, gluttony, and hard -and usurious dealings with one another; in oppression of man-servant -and maid-servant, the widow, the fatherless, and the stranger. But in -whatever way the feasts were kept they were always exercising a great -power over generation after generation. - -I have begun by talking to you about the Jewish feasts, my brethren, -because I want to speak to you about our English feasts; and I think -if we understand their feasts we shall very likely learn some lessons -about our own which may do us good. Now we English, my brethren, as a -nation, have neglected this matter of feasts too much. We have very few -days on which we rejoice as a nation--in fact the Queen’s birthday is -almost our only national holiday, and this day we keep as Englishmen, -and not as Christians; while the feasts which we keep as Christians, -and not as Englishmen (such as Christmas, and Easter, and Whitsuntide), -have for this very reason lost much of their worth for us; which we -shall recover, when we begin to keep them again, not the less as -Christians, but more as Englishmen. - -It is my earnest hope and prayer that we may mend in this matter, -and that the great Christian festivals and the Queen’s birthday may -so become all, and more than all, to us and our children, which the -Passover and Pentecost were to the Jews. But that it may be so, we -must, in this as in all other matters, begin mending at home, in our -own families, and our own parishes. And so, my brethren, let us to-day -think about the feasts which we keep who live in this parish, in the -Vale of White Horse, who worship in this church. - -We all know well enough what these feasts are. First, there is our -village feast, a day set apart in every year which is specially _the_ -feast day of this parish, and of all who belong to it. Then there are -our harvest homes, which are not parish but family festivals; when -the farmer and those who have worked with him, rejoice together over -the garnering in of the fruits which God has given. Lastly, there is -the feast which does not come every year, but at longer intervals, -the feast of Scouring the White Horse, which is not the feast of one -parish, but of the whole country side. - -A few words as to the meaning of these feasts of ours. The first is the -commemoration of the opening of this parish church, and its dedication -to the worship of God. Your harvest homes you know the meaning of as -well as I. The third is the commemoration of a great victory, won a -thousand years ago by the king of this country against an army of -heathen invaders. I remind you of these things because they have been -too much forgotten, and we never can rightly use our feasts till we -remember them better. - -Well, now, remember what I have told you about the Jewish feasts, or -rather take your Bibles and look for yourselves, whether I tell you -the truth, when I say, that our feasts are just such feasts as those -which you read of there. The feasts of the Jews were all either feasts -in remembrance of the dedication of the Temple, or of thanksgiving for -the good gifts of God, or of commemoration for some great national -deliverance. - -And ours are the very same. Do not think I am dealing unfairly with -you in comparing our country feasts to the great national feasts -of the Jews. It is not unfair to compare small things with great: -families, parishes, nations, must stand or fall by the same laws. A -society cannot do evil or good without reaping the fruits thereof, -whether it be very small or very great. Do not think that I ought to -speak of the great Christian festivals, Christmas and Easter; they are -better understood and kept, though very badly as yet. I believe I am -taking the right way to make you understand and keep these world-wide -Christian feasts properly by bringing you down to these common -insignificant feasts of ours, which we, the members of this parish and -congregation, have power over; which we can make good or evil; for the -use or abuse of which we shall be called to account by God. - -For “thus saith the Lord,” to us as He said to the Jews, “these are -_my_ feasts.” They are his, my brethren, whether we like it or not; -they are his, though we may try to make them ours, and so make them the -devil’s. There is no neutral ground, no escape from the hard fact. Let -us see now if we cannot accept them, and use them as his. Let us see -whether they will be less or more to us if we do so. We shall find the -trial worth making, I think, in the end. - -They are his feasts: how, then, can we come to them as his -guests--guests who will be pleasing to him, who will use his feasts as -he would have us? For if we go to a man’s feast, the first thing we -have to do is to go in such a temper and such a dress as will make us -acceptable guests; and shall we do less as the guests of God? - -The first thing, then, we have to consider is the temper, the state -of mind in which we should go to our feasts; and here, as I said -before, the Bible tells us all we want to know. The temper which he -required of the Jews, he will require of us. At his feasts we have -specially two things to do, to remember and to rejoice. To remember -the loving-kindness which he has shown to our fathers and to us, in -delivering us many a time from the hand of enemies who were stronger -than we; in giving us a Church, where for many hundred years the -prayers of generation after generation had gone up to him, the God of -all truth; in giving us the rich increase of his earth, year after -year. Remembering these things, then, we are to keep the feast in -humility, for our own unworthiness; in thankfulness, for his tender -care and unbounded love. - -And we are also to rejoice before him, as members of a family, of -a parish, of a country; thinking, therefore, of others, and not of -ourselves; making up quarrels, exercising hospitality to all according -to our means, seeking to do kindnesses to all who need them, to our -debtors, to the oppressed and unfortunate amongst us, to the widows, -the fatherless, and the stranger; and in all ways strengthening and -deepening the bond which binds us to one another, and to him. - -This, my brethren, is the temper and state of mind which he required -of the Jews of old, and which he requires of us at these times -especially. Think what our feasts would be, what our whole lives would -be, if we tried to remember and to rejoice before the Lord thus. - -If we come to his feasts in this temper, my brethren, it matters -comparatively little what our outward acts of rejoicing may be. If our -hearts are right towards the Lord of the feast and to one another, -our dress and actions are surely right also, or will soon become so. -Nevertheless, this is a matter of plain, practical importance, and I am -not going to shrink from it. I wish to consider with you, how we keep -his feasts and our feasts now; whether our method of keeping them is -a true expression of that temper and spirit in which they ought to be -kept, whether any thing better can be suggested. - -On these points, as I said above, we have not the same help which we -had before. We know very little of how the Jews rejoiced; we may be -sure that we are not meant to copy the little we do know, such as the -eating of a lamb roasted whole with unleavened bread. It is left for -us to find out, and to do, such acts as may be done by those who are -humble, and thankful, and loving in heart, towards God and towards each -other. - -Now there is one thing which one sees at once is wanting in our -celebration of these feasts. In the times when they were established, -it was the chief act of them, that which gave meaning to them, and -kept alive that meaning. We have neglected and disused it, and so they -have become all but meaningless to us, mere seasons in which we are -to enjoy more pleasures than in ordinary times. This thing which we -have forgotten is public fellow-worship, and it ought to be restored -as soon as possible. At the yearly meetings of many of your benefit -and other clubs, the members go all together to the church, and there -worship before attending to their business and their pleasure. Why -should not a parish do the same? I know nothing which would so easily -and so effectually raise the tone of our village feast as the regular -celebration of worship on that day, in the Church, the dedication and -consecration of which, to the worship of God, was the cause of the -holiday. - -In one respect I believe that we are, to some extent, still keeping -the feast as we ought. I believe that on that day young people who -were born in the parish and have left it, make a point, if possible, -of getting back to see their fathers and mothers, and friends, and to -revive old associations, often bringing with them part of their wages -or some present; that many of the silly quarrels and feuds which have -arisen during the year are then set to rest; that the residents in -the parish make some exertion to welcome their visitors hospitably, -and that a general kindly feeling is common throughout the parish. I -believe that this is still so, to some extent; but I fear that it is -becoming less and less so. My brethren, all this is right, and true, -and honest; this is the way to keep God’s feasts; you can’t go too far -in this direction (except by spending more money than you can afford, -which is always wrong). But the more you can deepen old family and -local ties on these occasions, the more you can heal up quarrels, and -forgive debts (both other debts, and money debts--remember that there -is no duty more insisted on in God’s Word than this of forgiving money -debts at these times), and exercise hospitality one to another without -grudging, the more will you be keeping God’s feasts as he would have -you keep them. - -Then there are the sports for which prizes are given. There is no need -to specify them all, and I shall therefore only speak of the one which -is considered the most objectionable--which many people think should be -stopped altogether--I mean wrestling. Whatever I may say on this will -apply to all the rest. Now, my brethren, are wrestling matches a proper -way of keeping God’s feasts? That is the question we have to answer. - -The object of wrestling and of all other athletic sports is to -strengthen men’s bodies, and to teach them to use their strength -readily, to keep their tempers, to endure fatigue and pain. These are -all noble ends, my brethren. God gives us few more valuable gifts than -strength of body, and courage, and endurance--to you labouring men they -are beyond all price. We ought to cultivate them in all right ways, for -they are given us to protect the weak, to subdue the earth, to fight -for our homes and country if necessary. - -Therefore I say that wrestling, inasmuch as it is a severe trial of -strength, temper, and endurance, may be, and ought to be, one of many -right and proper ways of rejoicing before God at these feasts. And -I say to any man who has strength for it, and can keep his temper, -and carries away no vain or proud thoughts if he wins, and no angry -or revengeful thoughts if he loses, play by all means. No doubt there -are men who ought not to play, who ought to abstain wholly from these -games, as some men ought to abstain wholly from drink, who cannot use -such things temperately, which is the more worthy and manly way--men so -constituted that these sort of games rouse all that is brutal in their -natures, others who become braggarts and bullies from success in them. -To such men (and each of you can easily find out whether he is such a -man) I say abstain wholly. - -Having said this, brethren, I must add that great changes should be -made in the conduct or management of these games. They should never, on -any pretence or plea whatever, be left in the hands of publicans. You -should always endeavour to play in sides (as is, I believe, the most -common custom) for your county or your parish, and not for yourselves, -as you are much more likely in that way to play bravely and fairly. -Money prizes should be if possible avoided, for money is the lowest -motive for which men can undertake any work or any game. And lastly, -every one of you should exercise his whole strength and influence in -putting down at once all brutality and bluster and foul play. - -As to the rest of the amusements, the visiting shows, the eating and -drinking, the dancing and music, I believe them all in themselves to be -lawful and right in the sight of God, and fit things to do when we are -rejoicing before Him. But, my brethren, I do _not_ think them lawful -and right, or fit things to be done before anybody but the devil, when -they end in such scenes as, I fear--as I know--they often do end in at -our feasts. No wonder that the feasts are falling off year by year; -that they cease to interest decent and respectable people who used to -care about them, when they are deliberately turned by some into scenes -of drunkenness and profligacy, which can scarcely be surpassed amongst -savages and heathens. - -I need not dwell on this, for you all know well enough what I mean. -You all know, too--the voice within you tells each of you plainly -enough--the moment you are going beyond the proper limits in these -matters. It is no use to lay down rules on such subjects. Every man -and every woman must be a law to themselves. One can do safely what -would ruin another. And here again I say, as I said before, the use -of these things is right and good, and what God approves of, who in -his infinite love has given us the power of enjoying all these things, -and the things themselves to enjoy--music, and dancing, and pleasant -company, and food and drink. The abuse of them is of the devil, and -destroys body and soul. - -I beseech you all to think of what I have said, and endeavour, each -in your own way, to retain, or to bring back, if necessary, God’s -feasts into your own parishes. You, old and grown-up men and women, by -living soberly and righteously; never making mischief, or quarrelling; -treating your children with forbearance and love, doing your own work, -and helping others to do theirs. To you young men, I say, as Solomon -said, rejoice in your youth; rejoice in your strength of body, and -elasticity of spirits, and the courage which follows from these; but -remember that for these gifts you will be judged--not condemned, mind, -but judged. You will have to show before a Judge who knoweth your -inmost hearts, that you have used these his great gifts well; that you -have been pure, and manly, and true. - -And to you, young women, I can but say the same. Beauty, and purity, -and youth, and merry light hearts, and all the numberless attractions -which have been poured upon you, are tremendous influences for good -or evil,--gifts for which you will have to give an account. Rejoice -in them; use them freely; but avoid, as you would death itself, all -rivalry with one another, all attempts to exercise power over men you -do not care for, every light thought, and word, and look. For the light -word or look is but a step from the impure, and the experience of the -whole world is telling you - - “How mirth can into folly glide, - And folly into sin.” - -But now to conclude. You may ask, how are we all to keep these things -in mind? how, when we are all met together to enjoy ourselves, can we -be ever on the watch for this evil, which you say is so near us? You -cannot, my brethren; but One is with you, is in you, who can and will, -if you will let him. - -Men found this out in the old time, and have felt it and known it -ever since. Three thousand years ago this truth dawned upon the old -Psalmist, and struck him with awe. He struggled with it; he tried to -escape from it, but in vain. “Whither shall I go then,” he says, “from -thy spirit? or whither shall I flee then from thy presence? If I go up -to heaven, Thou art there: if I go down to hell, Thou art there also. -If I take the wings of the morning, and reside in the uttermost parts -of the sea; even there also shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand -shall hold me.” - -Is any of us stronger or wiser than the Psalmist? Is there any place -for us to flee to, which was not open to him? My brethren, had we not -better make up our minds to accept and acknowledge the truth, to which -our own consciences bear witness; that, not only in heaven, and in -hell, and in the uttermost parts of sea and earth, He is present, but -that in the inmost recesses of our own hearts there is no escape from -his Spirit--that He is there also, sustaining us, pleading with us, -punishing us. - -We know it by the regret we feel for time wasted and opportunities -neglected; by the loathing coming back to us, time after time, for our -every untrue or mean thought, word, or deed; by every longing after -truth, and righteousness, and purity, which stirs our sluggish souls. -By all these things, and in a thousand other ways, we feel it, we know -it. - -Let us, then, come to our feasts owning this, and giving ourselves up -to his guidance. At first it will be hard work; our will and spirits -will be like a lump of ice in a man’s hand, which yields but slowly -to the warm pressure. But do not despair; throw yourselves on his -guidance, and he will guide you, he will hide you under his wings, you -shall be safe under his feathers, his faithfulness and truth shall be -your shield and buckler. - -The ice will melt into water, and the water will lie there in the -hollow of the hand, moving at the slightest motion, obeying every -impulse which is given to it. - -My brethren, the Spirit of God which is in every one of us--the Spirit -of truth and love unchangeable--will take possession of our spirits, -if we will but let him, and turn not only our feasts into feasts of -the Lord, but our whole lives into the lives of children of God, and -joint-heirs of heaven with his Son. - -[Illustration] - - - - -APPENDIX. - -[Illustration] - - -NOTE I. - -The earliest authentic historical notices of the White Horse are, so -far as I am aware,-- - -1st. A Cartulary of the Abbey of Abingdon, now in the British Museum, -of the time of Henry II., the exact date of it being, it is believed, -A.D. 1171. It runs as follows: “Consuetudinis apud Anglos tunc erat, ut -monachi qui vellent pecuniarum patrimoniorum qui forent susceptibiles, -ipsisque fruentes quomodo placeret dispensarent. Unde et in Abbendonia -duo, Leofricus et Godricus Cild appellati, quorum unus Godricus, -Spersholt juxta locum qui vulgo mons Albi Equi nuncupatur, alter -Leofricus Hwitceorce super flumen Tamisie maneria sita patrimoniali -jure obtinebant,” &c. - -2dly. Another Cartulary of the same Abbey, of the reign of Richard I., -which runs as follows: “Prope montem ubi ad Album Equum scanditur, ab -antiquo tempore Ecclesia ista manerium Offentum appellatum in dominio -possidet, juxta quod villa X hidarum adjacet ex jure Ecclesiæ quam -Speresholt nominavit,” &c. - -3dly. An entry on the Close Rolls, 42 Ed. III., or A.D. -1368-9:--“Gerard de l’Isle tient en la vale de White Horse one fee,” -&c. See Archæologia, vol. xxxi. p. 290. Letter from William Thoms, Esq. -to J. Y. Ackerman, Esq., Secretary. - -Coming down to comparatively modern times, it is curious that so little -notice should have been taken of the White Horse by our antiquaries. -Wise, in his Letter to Dr. Mead (1738), which has been already quoted -from in the text, regrets this, and then adds: “Leland’s journey does -not seem to have carried him this way, nor does Camden here go out of -the other’s track; though he mentions, upon another occasion, and by -the bye, _The White Horse_; but in such a manner, that I could wish, -for his own sake, he had passed it over in silence with the rest. For -his own account is altogether so unbecoming so faithful and accurate -an author, insinuating to his readers that it has no existence but in -the imagination of country people. ‘_The Thames_,’ says he, ‘_falls -into a valley, which they call_ The Vale of White Horse, _from I know -not what shape of a Horse fancied on the side of a whitish Hill_.’ Much -nearer to the truth is Mr. Aubrey, however wide of the mark, who, in -the additions to the Britannia, says: ‘I leave others to determine, -whether the White Horse on the Hill was made by Hengist, since the -Horse was the arms or figure in Hengist’s standard.’ The author of a -‘Tour through England,’ is a little more particular, though he leaves -us as much in the dark about the antiquity and design of it. ‘Between -this town of Marlborow and Abingdon, is the Vale of White Horse. The -inhabitants tell a great many fabulous stories of the original of its -name; but there is nothing of foundation in them, that I could find. -The whole of the story is this: Looking south from the Vale, we see a -trench cut on the side of a high, green hill, in the shape of a horse, -and not ill-shaped neither; the trench is about a yard deep, and filled -almost up with chalk, so that at a distance you see the exact shape -of a White Horse, but so large, as to take up near an acre of ground, -some say almost two acres. From this figure, the Hill is called in our -maps, White Horse Hill, and the low or flat country under it the Vale -of White Horse.’ (See pp. 30, 31.) - - -NOTE II. - -Medeshamstede, however, was restored with great splendour in the year -963. The account in the Saxon Chronicle is so illustrative of what was -going on in England at the time, that I think I may be allowed to give -it, especially as the restoration was the work of a Vale of White Horse -man, Ethelwold, Abbot of Abingdon, who was in this year made Bishop of -Winchester. - -Edgar was king, and Dunstan Archbishop of Canterbury--Ethelwold, after -strong measures at Winchester, (where “he drove the clerks out of the -bishopric because they would not observe any rule, and he set the monks -there,”) “went to the king and begged of him that he would give him all -the minsters which heathen men had of old time broken down, because he -would restore them; and the king joyfully granted it.” Then he restored -Ely, and “after that came Bishop Ethelwold to the minster which was -called Medeshamstede, which of old time had been destroyed by heathen -men. He found nothing there but old walls and wild woods. There found -he hidden in the old walls writings that Abbot Hudda had erewhile -written, how king Wulfhere and Ethelred his brother had built it, and -how they had freed it against king and against bishop, and against all -secular service, and how the pope Agatho had confirmed the same by his -rescript, and the archbishop ‘deo dedit.’ Then caused he the minster -to be built, and set there an abbot who was called Adulf, and caused -monks to be there where before was nothing. Then came he to the king -and caused him to look at the writings which before were found, and the -king answered then and said, I, Edgar, grant and give to-day before God -and before the Archbishop Dunstan, freedom to St. Peter’s minster, from -king and from bishop, and all the villages that lie thereto, that is to -say, Eastfield, and Dodthorp, and Eye, and Paxton. And thus I free it, -that no bishop have there any command without the abbot of the minster. -And I give the town which is called Oundle, with all which thereto -lieth, that is to say, that which is called ‘the eight hundreds,’ and -market and toll so freely that neither king, nor bishop, nor earl, nor -sheriff have there any command, nor any man except the Abbot alone and -him whom he thereto appointeth”--and after giving other lands to Christ -and St. Peter through the prayer of Bishop Ethelwold, “with sack and -sock, toll and team, and infangthief,” and willing “that a market be -in the same town, and no other be between Stamford and Huntingdon,” -the king ends: “And I will that all liberties and all the remissions -that my predecessors have given, that they stand, and I sign and -confirm it with Christ’s rood token. ✠” “Then Dunstan the Archbishop -of Canterbury answered and said, I grant that all the things which are -here given and spoken of, and all the things which thy predecessors -and mine have conceded, those will I that they stand; and whosoever -this breaketh, then give I him the curse of God, and of all saints, and -of all ordained heads, and of myself, unless he come to repentance. And -I give in acknowledgment to St. Peter my mass-hackel, and my stole, and -my reef, for the service of Christ.” “I, Oswald, Archbishop of York, -assent to all these words, by the holy rood which Christ suffered on. ✠” -“I, Ethelwold, bless all who shall observe this, and I excommunicate -all who shall break this, unless he come to repentance.” So the minster -at Medeshamstede was set up again under Adulf, who bought lands and -greatly enriched it, till Oswald died, and he was chosen Archbishop of -York, and was succeeded as abbot by Kenulph, who “first made the wall -about the minster; then gave he that to name Peterborough which was -before called Medeshamstede.”--_Saxon Chronicle_ A.D. 963. - - -NOTE III. - -SITE OF THE BATTLE OF ASHDOWN. - -There are four spots in Berkshire which claim the honour of being the -Œscendun of the chroniclers, where Æthelred and Alfred gained their -great victory; they are Ilsley, Ashamstead, Aston in the parish of -Bluberry, and Ashdown, close to White Horse Hill. Now it seems clear -that Ashdown was, in Saxon times, the name of a district stretching -over a considerable portion of the Berkshire chalk range, and it is -quite possible that all of the above sites may have been included in -that district; therefore, I do not insist much upon the name, though -whatever weight is to be attached to it, must tell in favour of the -latter site, that of Ashdown. Let us, however, consider the other -qualifications of the rival sites. - -That of Ilsley is supported, so far as I know, only by Hewitt in his -antiquities of the Hundred of Compton (1844); and his argument rests -chiefly on the fitness of the ground for the scene of a great battle. -He tells us that the detachments of three Waterloo regiments, marching -through Ilsley in 1816, when they came to the spot, stopped and called -out, “Waterloo! Waterloo!” to one another. He also states that the name -Ilsley is, in fact, “Hilde læg,” the field of battle; but as he has no -tradition in his favour, and cannot, so far as I know, point to any -remains in the neighbourhood in support of his theory, I think his case -must fail, and only mention it to show that I have not overlooked the -claim. - -Ashamstead, situate five miles to the southeast of Ilsley, is named by -the Lysons in their topographical account of Berkshire as the probable -site of the battle, but they give no reasons, and are unsupported by -tradition or remains. - -Aston has a stronger case. It is situate between Wallingford and -Ilsley. The range of chalk hills rises just above it, and one detached -hill is here thrown out into the vale, on which are still visible -considerable earthworks. There is a chapel called Thorn Chapel on the -eastern slope of this hill, and I am told there is a tradition that -this chapel was built on the spot where some Saxon king heard mass on -the morning of a battle. It is suggested by Mr. Lousley and others, -that the Saxons occupied this outlying hill, the Danes the opposite -range; and that the battle was fought in the valley between, where, -when the road was recently altered, a number of bones were found, -apparently thrown in together without care, as would be the case after -a battle. There are, however, no regular barrows or other remains. -Bishop Gibson is in favour of this spot, on account, as it would seem, -of a passage in the Saxon Chronicle for the year 1006, which runs as -follows: “They” (the Danes) “destroyed Wallingford, and passed a night -at Cholsey.” Then they “turned _along Ashdown_ to Cwichelmes Low.” - -The bishop says, that Cwichelmes Low (the _low_ or hill of King -Cwichelm, who reigned in these parts, and died in the year 636 A.D.) -is Cuckhamsley Hill, or Scuchamore Knob, as it is generally called; -a high hill in the same chalk range, about ten miles east of White -Horse Hill; and he argues that, as the Danes went _from_ Wallingford, -_by_ Ashdown, _to_ Cwichelmes Low, we must look for Ashdown between -Wallingford and Cuckhamsley Hill. Now Aston lies directly between the -two, therefore Aston is Ashdown, and the site of the battle. But the -place now called Ashdown is on the further side of Cuckhamsley Hill -from Wallingford--therefore the Danes could not have passed it in -getting from Wallingford to Cuckhamsley Hill--therefore the modern -Ashdown cannot be the site of the battle. - -To this I answer, _First_, the Bishop _assumes_ that Cwichelmes Low is -Cuckhamsley Hill, without giving any reason. - -_Secondly_, assuming Cwichelmes Low and Cuckhamsley Hill to be -identical; yet, as Ashdown was clearly a large tract of country, the -Danes might go from Wallingford, _along_ a part of it, _to_ Cwichelmes -Low without passing the battle-field. - -_Thirdly_, the name Aston is written “Estone” in Domesday Book; meaning -“East town,” or enclosure, and not “Mons fraxini,” the “Hill of the -Ash-tree.” - -_Fourthly_, Æthelred and Alfred would have kept to the hills in their -retreat, and never have allowed the Danes to push them out into the -Thames-valley, where the Pagan cavalry would have been invaluable; but -this must have been the case, if we suppose Aston to be the site of -the battle. Lastly, all the above sites are too near to Reading, the -farthest being only sixteen miles from that town. But Æthelred and -Alfred had been retreating three days, and would therefore much more -probably be found at Ashdown by White Horse Hill, which is ten miles -farther along the range of hills. - -Ashdown, the remaining site, and the one which I believe to be the true -one, is the down which surrounds White Horse Hill, in the parish of -Uffington. On the highest point of the hill, which is 893 feet above -the level of the sea, stands Uffington Castle, a plain of more than -eight acres in extent, surrounded by earthworks, and a single deep -ditch, which Camden, and other high authorities, say are Danish. - -There is another camp, with earthworks, called Hardwell Camp, about a -mile W.N.W. of Uffington Castle, and a third smaller circular camp, -called King Alfred’s camp, about a mile to the S.W., which may still -be made out, close to the wall of Ashdown Park, Lord Craven’s seat, -although Aubrey says, that in his time the works were “almost quite -defaced, by digging for the Sarsden stones to build my Lord Craven’s -house in the Park.” Wise suggests that the Danes held Uffington Castle; -that Æthelred was in Hardwell-camp, and Alfred in Alfred’s camp. A -mile and a half to the eastward, in which direction the battle must -have rolled, as the Saxons slowly gained the day, is a place called -the Seven Barrows, where are seven circular burial-mounds, and several -other large irregularly-shaped mounds, full of bones; the light soil -which covers the chalk is actually black around them. The site -agrees in all points with the description in the chroniclers; it is -the proper distance from Reading; the name is the one used by the -chroniclers,--“Ash-down,” “Mons Fraxini,” “Æscendun;” it is likely that -Æthelred would have fought somewhere hereabouts to protect Wantage, a -royal burg, and his birthplace, which would have been otherwise at the -mercy of the enemy; and lastly, there--and not at Cuckhamsley Hill, -or elsewhere--is carved the White Horse, which has been from time -immemorial held to be a monument of the great victory of Ashdown. For -the above reasons, I think we are justified in claiming this as the -site of the battle. - - -NOTE IV. - -WAYLAND SMITH’S CAVE. - -Wise (see p. 35) says he thinks he has discovered the place of burial -of King Basreg, Bagseeg (or whatever his name might be, for it is -given in seven or eight different ways in the chroniclers), in Wayland -Smith’s cave, which place he describes as follows:-- - -“The place is distinguished by a parcel of stones set on edge, and -enclosing a piece of ground raised a few feet above the common level, -which every one knows was the custom of the Danes, as well as of some -other northern nations. And Wormius observes, that if any Danish chief -was slain in a foreign country, they took care to bury him as pompously -as if he had died in his own. Mr. Aubrey’s account of it is this: -‘About a mile [or less] from the Hill [White Horse Hill] there are a -great many large stones, which, though very confused, must yet be laid -there on purpose. Some of them are placed edgewise, but the rest are so -disorderly that one would imagine they were tumbled out of a cart.’ The -disorder which Mr. Aubrey speaks of is occasioned by the people having -thrown down some of the stones (for they all seem originally to have -been set on edge), and broken them to pieces to mend their highways. -Those that are left enclose a piece of ground of an irregular figure at -present, but which formerly might have been an oblong square, extending -only north and south. - -“On the east side of the southern extremity stand three squarish flat -stones of about four or five feet over each way, set on edge, and -supporting a fourth of much larger dimensions, lying flat upon them. -These altogether form a cavern or sheltering-place, resembling pretty -exactly those described by Wormius, Bartholine, and others, except in -the dimensions of the stones; for whereas this may shelter only ten or -a dozen sheep from a storm, Wormius mentions one in Denmark that would -shelter a hundred. - -“I know of no other monument of this sort in England; but in Wales -and the Isle of Anglesey there are several not unlike it, called by -the natives _Cromlechs_. The Isle of Anglesey having been the chief -seat of the Druids, induced its learned antiquary to ascribe them to -the ancient Britons; an assertion that I will not take upon me to -contradict, but shall only at this time observe, that I find sufficient -authorities to convince me that ours must be Danish. - -“Whether this remarkable piece of antiquity ever bore the name of the -person here buried is not now to be learned, the true meaning of it -being long since lost in ignorance and fable. All the account which the -country people are able to give of it is, ‘At this place lived formerly -an invisible smith; and if a traveller’s horse had lost a shoe upon the -road, he had no more to do than to bring the horse to this place, with -a piece of money, and leaving both there for some little time, he might -come again and find the money gone, but the horse new shod.’ The stones -standing upon the _Rudgeway_, as it is called (which was the situation -that they chose for burial monuments), I suppose gave occasion to the -whole being called Wayland Smith, which is the name it was always known -by to the country people. - -“An English antiquary might find business enough who should attempt to -unriddle all the fabulous traditions of the vulgar, which ascribe these -works of unknown antiquity to demons and invisible powers. - -“Leaving, therefore, the story of the invisible smith to be discussed -by those who have more leisure, I only remark, that these stones are, -according to the best Danish antiquaries, a burial altar; that their -being raised in the midst of a plain field, near the great road, seems -to indicate some person there slain and buried, and that this person -was probably a chief or king; there being no monument of this sort near -that place, perhaps not in England, beside.” (See pp. 35, 36, 37.) - -I have given Wise’s statement of his own case, but the better opinion -amongst antiquaries seems to be that he is wrong, and that the -cromlech, called Wayland Smith’s Cave, is of much earlier date than 871 -A.D. - -I insert here the note from Kenilworth (note B, p. 218) in which Sir -Walter Scott mentions Wayland Smith’s Cave:-- - -“The great defeat given by Alfred to the Danish invaders, is said -by Mr. Gough to have taken place near Ashdown in Berkshire. The -burial-place of Bœreg, the Danish chief who was slain in this fight, is -distinguished by a parcel of stones, less than a mile from the hill, -set on edge, enclosing a piece of ground somewhat raised. On the east -side of the southern extremity, stand three squarish flat stones, of -about four or five feet over either way, supporting a fourth, and now -called by the vulgar Wayland Smith, from an idle tradition about an -invisible smith replacing lost horseshoes there.” (Gough’s edition of -Camden’s _Britannica_. Vol. I. p. 221.) - -“The popular belief still retains memory of this wild legend, which, -connected as it is with the site of a Danish sepulchre, may have arisen -from some legend concerning the northern Duergar, who resided in the -rocks, and were cunning workers in steel and iron. It was believed that -Wayland Smith’s fee was sixpence, and that, unlike other workmen, he -was offended if more was offered. Of late his offices have been again -called to memory; but fiction has in this, as in other cases, taken the -liberty to pillage the stores of oral tradition. This monument must -be very ancient, for it has been kindly pointed out to me that it is -referred to in an ancient Saxon charter as a landmark. The monument has -been of late cleared out, and made considerably more conspicuous.” - -It will be seen from this that Sir Walter assumes the view of Wise to -be correct, but he never saw the place. - - -NOTE V. - -As an illustration of one of the methods by which traditions are -kept up in the country, I insert some verses written by Job Cork, an -Uffington man of two generations back, who was a shepherd on White -Horse Hill for fifty years. - - “It was early one summer’s morn, - The weather fine and very warm, - A stranger to White Horse Hill did go - To view the plains and fields below. - - “As he along the hill did ride, - Taking a view on every side, - The which he did so much enjoy - Till a shepherd’s dog did him annoy. - - “At length an aged man appeared, - A watching of his fleecy herd, - With threadbare coat and downcast eye, - To which the stranger did draw nigh. - - “‘O noble shepherd, can you tell - How long you kept sheep on this hill?’ - ‘Zeven yeur in Zundays I have been - A shepherd on this hill so green.’ - - “‘That is a long time, I must own, - You have kept sheep upon this down; - I think that you must have been told - Of things that have been done of old.’ - - “‘Ah, Zur, I can remember well - The stories the old voke do tell-- - Upon this hill which here is seen - Many a battle there have been. - - “‘If it is true as I heard zay, - King Gaarge did here the dragon slay, - And down below on yonder hill - They buried him as I heard tell. - - “‘If you along the Rudgeway go, - About a mile for aught I know, - There Wayland’s Cave then you may see - Surrounded by a group of trees. - - “‘They say that in this cave did dwell - A smith that was invisible; - At last he was found out, they say, - He blew up the place and vlod away. - - “‘To Devonshire then he did go, - Full of sorrow, grief, and woe, - Never to return again, - So here I’ll add the shepherd’s name-- - - “JOB CORK.’” - -There is no merit in the lines beyond quaintness; but they are written -in the sort of jingle which the poor remember; they have lived for -fifty years and more, and will probably, in quiet corners of the Vale, -outlive the productions of much more celebrated versemakers than Job -Cork, though probably they were never reduced into writing until -written out at my request. - -Job Cork was a village humorist, and stories are still told of his -sayings, some of which have a good deal of fun in them; I give one -example in the exact words in which it was told to me:-- - -“One night as Job Cork came off the downs, drough-wet to his very skin, -it happened his wife had been a baking. So, when he went to bed, his -wife took his leather breeches, and put ’em in the oven to dry ’em. -When he woke in the morning he began to feel about for his thengs, -and he called out, and zed, ‘Betty, where be mee thengs?’ ‘In the -oven,’ zed his wife. Zo he looked in the oven and found his leather -breeches all cockled up together like a piece of parchment, and he -bawled out, ‘O Lard! O Lard! what be I to do? Was ever man plagued as -I be?’ ‘Patience, Job, patience, Job,’ zed his wife; ‘remember thy old -namesake, how he was plagued.’ ‘Ah!’ zed the old man, ‘’a was plagued -surely; but his wife never baked his breeches.’” - -Other shepherds of the Hill have been poets in a rough sort of way. I -add one of their home-made songs, as I am anxious to uphold the credit -of my countrymen as a tuneful race. - - “Come, all you shepherds as minds for to be, - You must have a gallant heart, - You must not be down-hearted, - You must a-bear the smart; - You must a-bear the smart, my boys, - Let it hail or rain or snow, - For there is no ale to be had on the Hill - Where the wintry wind doth blow. - - “When I kept sheep on White Horse Hill - My heart began to ache, - My old ewes all hung down their heads, - And my lambs began to bleat. - Then I cheered up with courage bold, - And over the Hill did go, - For there is no ale to be had on the Hill - When the wintry wind doth blow. - - “I drive my sheep into the fold, - To keep them safe all night, - For drinking of good ale, my boys, - It is my heart’s delight. - I drove my sheep into the fold, - And homeward I did go, - For there is no ale to be had on the Hill - When the wintry wind doth blow. - - “We shepherds are the liveliest lads - As ever trod English ground, - If we drops into an ale-house - We values not a crownd. - We values not a crownd, my boys, - We’ll pay before we go, - For there is no ale to be had on the Hill - When the wintry wind doth blow.” - -THE END. - - - - -A LIST OF BOOKS PUBLISHED BY TICKNOR AND FIELDS. - -🖙 Any books in this list will be sent free of postage, on receipt of -price. - -BOSTON, 135 WASHINGTON STREET - -JANUARY, 1859. - - -Sir Walter Scott. - -ILLUSTRATED HOUSEHOLD EDITION OF THE WAVERLEY NOVELS. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Scouring of the White Horse - Or, The Long Vacation Ramble of a London Clerk - -Author: Thomas Hughes - -Illustrator: Richard Doyle - -Release Date: October 9, 2016 [EBook #53241] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SCOURING OF THE WHITE HORSE *** - - - - -Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span></p> - -<p class="center larger">THE SCOURING<br /> -<span class="smaller">OF THE</span><br /> -WHITE HORSE.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/frontis.jpg" width="500" height="400" alt="Battle scene" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="titlepage">THE<br /> -<span class="larger">SCOURING OF THE WHITE HORSE;</span><br /> -<span class="smaller">OR, THE</span><br /> -LONG VACATION RAMBLE OF A LONDON CLERK.</p> - -<p class="titlepage">BY<br /> -THE AUTHOR OF “TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL DAYS.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> -<img src="images/titlepage.jpg" width="300" height="265" alt="(decorative)" /> -</div> - -<p class="center">ILLUSTRATED BY RICHARD DOYLE.</p> - -<p class="titlepage">BOSTON:<br /> -TICKNOR AND FIELDS.<br /> -MDCCCLIX.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></p> - -<p class="titlepage">AUTHOR’S EDITION.</p> - -<p class="titlepage">FIFTH THOUSAND.</p> - -<p class="titlepage">RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE:<br /> -STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY<br /> -H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="OLD_AND_NEW">OLD AND NEW.</h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">See how the Autumn leaves float by, decaying,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Down the red whirls of yon rain-swollen stream;</div> -<div class="verse">So fleet the works of men, back to their earth again;</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Ancient and holy things fade like a dream.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Nay! see the Spring blossoms steal forth a-maying,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Clothing with tender buds orchard and glen;</div> -<div class="verse">So, though old forms go by, ne’er can their spirit die.</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Look! England’s bare boughs show green leaf again.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse attribution"><span class="smcap">Kingsley.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 225px;"> -<img src="images/vi.jpg" width="225" height="300" alt="Older man talking to younger" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="PREFACE">PREFACE.</h2> - -<p>The great success of the festival (or “pastime,” -as it is called in the neighbourhood) -which was held on White Horse Hill on the 17th -and 18th of September, 1857, to celebrate the -“Scouring of the Horse,” according to immemorial -custom, led the Committee of Management to -think that our fellow-county-men at least, if not -our countrymen generally, would be glad to have -some little printed memorial, which should comprise -not only an account of the doings on the Hill -on the late occasion, but should also endeavour to -gather up the scattered legends and traditions of the -country side, and any authentic historical notices relating -to the old monument, of which we west-countrymen -are all so fond and proud.</p> - -<p>I had the good or ill luck (as the case may be) -to be the only member of the Committee whose -way of life had led him into the perilous paths of -literature; so the task of compiling and editing our -little book was laid on my shoulders.</p> - -<p>Installed as chronicler to the White Horse, I -entered with no ill will on my office, having been -all my life possessed, as is the case with so many -Englishmen, by intense local attachment, love for -every stone and turf of the country where I was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span> -born and bred. But it is one thing to have zeal, -and another to have discretion; and when I came -to consider my materials, I found that the latter -quality would be greatly needed. For, what were -they? One short bright gleam of history from the -writings of old monks a thousand years ago; traditions -and dim legends, which I and most Berkshire -men have always faithfully believed from our youth -up, and shall go on believing to our dying day, but -which we could hardly put before general readers in -serious narrative; a dry notice here and there by -some old antiquary of the seventeenth or eighteenth -century; stories floating in the memories of old men -still living; small broad-sheets from country town -presses, with lists of the competitors for prizes at -rustic games, newspaper articles, remarks by Committee-men -and umpires, scraps of antiquarian lore; -abuse of the Great Western Railway for not allowing -the trains to stop, bits of vernacular dialogue, -and odd rhymes. What could be done with them -all? How out of the mass could a shapely book be -called out, fit to be laid before a fastidious British -public, not born in Berkshire?</p> - -<p>Not exactly seeing how this was to be done, the -only honest course which remained, was to follow -the example of a good housewife in the composition -of that excellent food called “stir-about”—throw -them altogether into the pot, stir them round and -round with a great spoon, and trust that the look -of the few great raisins, and the flavour of the allspice,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span> -may leaven the mass, and make it pleasing -to the eye and palate; and so, though the stir-about -will never stand up in a china dish by itself, it -may, we hope, make a savoury and pleasant side -dish, in a common soup tureen.</p> - -<p>The raisins, and those of the best quality, have -been furnished by the great artist<a name="FNanchor_1" id="FNanchor_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> who has kindly -undertaken to give us pictures; the allspice has -been contributed by the Committee and other kind -friends, and I have done the milk and meal, and -the stirring. The responsibility therefore rests with -me, though the credit, whatever it may be, rests -with others. But let me insist here, at once, that -if there be any failure in the dish, it is the fault of -the dresser and not of the subject-matter.</p> - -<p>For, suppose an intelligent Englishman to be -travelling in France, and to find the whole population -in the neighbourhood of Tours turning out in -their best clothes for a two days’ holiday on a high -hill, upon which the rude figure of a huge hammer -is roughly sculptured. On inquiry, he finds that the -figure has been there long before the memory of the -oldest man living, but that it has always been carefully -preserved and kept fresh; and although there is no -printed history of how it came there, yet that all -neighbouring men, of whatever degree, associate it -with the name of Charles Martel and his great victory -over the Saracens, and are ready one and all to -rejoice over it, and to work and pay that it may go -down to their children looking as it does now. Or,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span> -to come to much later times, let our traveller find -an eagle cut out on a hill in Hungary, similarly honoured, -and associated with the name of Eugene, -and the memory of the day</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“When, the old black eagle flying,</div> -<div class="verse">All the Paynim powers defying,</div> -<div class="verse">On we marched, and stormed Belgrade.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Should we not all thank him for giving us the best -account he could of the figure, the festival, and all -traditions connected with them; and think he had -fallen on a very noteworthy matter, and well worth -the telling when he got back to England?</p> - -<p>Well, here we have the same thing at our own -doors; a rude colossal figure cut out in the turf, and -giving the name to a whole district; legends connecting -it with the name of our greatest king, and -with his great victory over the Pagans, and a festival -which has been held at very short intervals ever -since the ninth century. Rich as our land is in -historical monuments, there is none more remarkable -than the White Horse; and in this belief we -put forth this little book in his honour, hoping that -it may perhaps fix upon him, and the other antiquities -which surround him, the attention of some one -who can bring science and knowledge to bear upon -the task to which we can only bring good will.</p> - -<p>For, alas! let me confess at once, that in these -qualities our book is like to be sadly deficient. The -compiler has no knowledge whatever of the Anglo-Saxon -tongue, or of Saxon or other antiquities.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span> -There is indeed of necessity a semblance of learning -and research about the chapter which tells the -history of the battle of Ashdown, because the materials -for it had to be collected from a number of -old chroniclers, whose names will be found in the -foot-notes. But any fifth-form boy, with industry -enough to read about 200 small pages of monkish -Latin, may master the whole for himself in the -originals in a week; and for those who cannot do -this, there is the jubilee edition of the chroniclers, -put forth by the Alfred Committee in 1852, where -a translation of the old fellows will be found in -parallel columns, together with much learning concerning -them and their times, in foot-note, preface, -and appendix. This translation I have followed -in all but a few passages, in which the text used by -the translators has probably differed from the one -which I have seen. For the Saxon Chronicle, I -have used Ingram’s translation.</p> - -<p>But while we do not pretend to be antiquaries, -or historians, or learned men, we do claim to be -honest average Englishmen, and will yield to no -man in our love for our own quiet corner of the -land of our birth. We do think, that whatever -deeply interests us cannot fail in a degree to interest -our countrymen. We are sure that reverence for -all great Englishmen, and a loving remembrance -of the great deeds done by them in old times, will -help to bring to life in us the feeling that we are a -family, bound together to work out God’s purposes -in this little island, and in the uttermost parts of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</a></span> -earth; to make clear to us the noble inheritance -which we have in common; and to sink into their -proper place the miserable trifles, and odds and -ends, over which we are so apt to wrangle. We -do hope that our example will lead Englishmen of -other counties, to cherish every legend and story -which hangs round any nook of their neighbourhood, -connecting it with the times and the men -who have gone before; to let no old custom, which -has a meaning, however rude, die out, if it can be -kept alive; and not to keep either legend or custom -to themselves, but (like us) to put them in the -best shape they can, and publish them for the benefit -of their countrymen; we of the White Horse -Committee, at any rate, hereby pledging ourselves -to read all such publications.</p> - -<p>I must here take the opportunity of specially -thanking three of my fellow Committee-men, and -two other friends, for the trouble they have taken -in various ways to lighten my work. If this book -at all fulfils the objects for which it has been written, -the thanks of my readers, as well as my own, -will be due to</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p><span class="smcap">E. M. Atkins</span>, Esq., of Kingstone Lisle.</p> - -<p>Mr. <span class="smcap">William Whitfield</span> of Uffington.</p> - -<p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Heber Humfrey</span> of Kingstone Farm; and to</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">John Y. Akerman</span>, Esq., Secretary of the Society of Antiquaries; -and</p> - -<p>Mr. <span class="smcap">Luke Lonsley</span>, of Hampsted Norris, Berks.</p> - -</div> - -<p>And now, without further preface, we commend -our “stir-about” to Englishmen in general, and -west-countrymen in particular.</p> - -<div class="footnotes"> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1" id="Footnote_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Doyle.</p> - -</div> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> - -<h1>THE SCOURING<br /> -<span class="smaller">OF</span><br /> -THE WHITE HORSE.</h1> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</h2> - -<p>“Richard,” said our governor, as I entered his -room at five o’clock on the afternoon of the -31st of August, 1857, running his pen down -the columns of the salary-book, “your quarter-day -to-day, I think? Let me see; you were -raised to £— a-year in February last,—so much -for quarter’s salary, and so much for extra work. -I am glad to see that you have been working so -steadily; you’ll deserve your holiday, and enjoy -it all the more. You’ll find that all right, I -think;” and he pushed a small paper across -the table towards me, on which my account was -stated in our cashier’s hand, and looked at me -over his spectacles.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p> - -<p>My heart jumped at the mention of my holiday; -I just ran my eye down the figures, and -was glad to find the total a pound or two higher -than I had expected. For I had lately learnt -shorthand, and had been taking notes for our -firm, for which I found they allowed me extra -pay.</p> - -<p>“Quite right, Sir,” I said; “and I’m sure I’m -much obliged to you, Sir, for letting me do the -extra work, because—”</p> - -<p>“Well, never mind that,” said he, with a little -laugh; “I shouldn’t give you the extra work, -Richard, if it didn’t suit me, or if I could get it -better done anywhere else; so the account’s all -square on that point. There’s your money.”</p> - -<p>And he pushed over to me a very nice sum -of money. I dare say you would like to know -what it was, reader. Now, I’m not going to tell -you. Why should you know just what my income -is? I don’t owe you or any one else five -shillings, and have a very tidy account at the -savings’ bank, besides having paid for all the -furniture and books in my room, not very far -from Lambsconduit Street, which I reckon to -be worth fifty pounds of any man’s money; so -you see my income is enough to keep me before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> -the world, and I wish more of you could say as -much.</p> - -<p>“I’m very much obliged, Sir,” said I again, -as I wrote a receipt over a stamp which I took -out of my pocket-book, and stuck on to the -bottom of the account.</p> - -<p>“No, you’re not,” said our governor, quite -short; “it’s your own money, fairly earned. -You’re not obliged to any man for giving you -what’s your own.” He is such an odd fellow -about these things. But mind you, I think he’s -quite right, too; for, after all, no doubt each of -us earns a good penny for him over and above -what he pays us, else why should he keep us -on? but, somehow, one can’t help thanking any -one who pays one money; at least, I can’t.</p> - -<p>“Now, as to your holiday,” went on our governor. -“There’s Jobson went for his fortnight -on the 30th; he’ll be back on the 14th of September, -at latest. You can take any time you -like, after that.”</p> - -<p>“Then, Sir,” said I directly, “I should like -it as soon as possible.”</p> - -<p>“Very well,” said he; “Tuesday the 16th to -Tuesday the 29th of September, both inclusive;” -and he made a note in another book<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> -which lay on his desk. “Good evening, -Richard.”</p> - -<p>“Good evening, Sir,” said I; and away I -went down to our room in as good spirits as -any young fellow in our quarter of London.</p> - -<p>Of course all the other clerks began shouting -out at once to know how much money I’d got, -and when I was going to have my holiday. -Well, I didn’t tell them what money I had, any -more than I’ve told you, because I like to keep -my own counsel about such matters. Besides, -there are several of our clerks whose ways I -don’t at all like; so I don’t do any thing I can -help which might look as if I liked them. No! -hands off, is my motto with these sort of chaps.</p> - -<p>I’m sure there’s no pride about me, though. -My name’s Easy, and always was; and I like -every fellow, whatever his coat is, who isn’t -always thinking about the cut of it, or what he -has in the pocket of it. But, goodness knows, -I can’t stand a fellow who gives himself airs, -and thinks himself a chalk above everybody -who can’t dress and do just as he can. Those -chaps, I always see, are just the ones to do lick-spittle -to those that they think have more in -their pockets than themselves.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> - -<p>But I must get on with my story, for you -don’t all want to know my opinions about the -clerks in our office, I dare say.</p> - -<p>Well, when I got down, as I said before, we -were all just on the move, (business hours being -from nine till six in our office,) taking down -coats and hats, and clearing desks for the night, -so I just sidled up to Jem Fisher, and little -Neddy Baily, who are the two I like best, and -told them to come up to my room to supper at -eight o’clock, which they of course were very -glad to promise to do, and then I went off to -get ready for them.</p> - -<p>Jem Fisher and I are very fond of a dish -which I believe very few of you ever heard of. -One Sunday in May, a year or two back, he -and I had been down beyond Notting Hill, -listening to the nightingales; and coming back, -we walked through Kensington Gardens, and -came out at the gate into the Notting Hill -Road, close to Hyde Park. We were late, for -us, so we hailed a ’bus, and got on the box. -The driver was full of talk about all the fine -people he had been seeing walking in the gardens -that afternoon, and seemed to think it hard -he couldn’t enjoy himself just as they did.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> -“However, gentlemen,” said he at last, “there’s -some things as the haristocracy ain’t alive to. -Did you ever eat cow-heel?” Perhaps Jem, -who had all his best clothes on, didn’t mind -being taken for one of the aristocracy; at least -just for a minute, for he’s too good a fellow to -like being taken for anybody but himself when -he comes to think of it; at any rate, he and I -took to eating cow-heel from that time. So the -first thing I did, after going home and locking -up most of my money, and speaking to my -landlady, who is the best old soul alive if you -take her in her own way, was, to set off to -Clare Market, and buy some cow-heel and sausages; -and on my way back through the Turnstile, -I thought, as it was so hot, I would have -some fruit too; so I bought a pottle of plums -and a piece of a pine-apple, and got home.</p> - -<p>They came in sharp to time, and I and my -landlady had every thing ready, and two foaming -pewter pots full of bitter beer and porter. -So we had a capital supper, and then cleared -it all away, and sat down to eat the fruit and -have a quiet pipe by the time it began to get -dark.</p> - -<p>“And so,” said little Neddy, (he is only just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> -eighteen, and hasn’t been in our office a year -yet; but he’s such a clever, industrious little -chap, that he has gone over the heads of half -a dozen of our youngsters, and hasn’t stopped -yet by a long way,) “you’re off on the 15th! -wish I was. Well, here’s luck any how,” said -he, nodding to me, and taking a bite out of a -slice of pine-apple.</p> - -<p>“Gentle Shepherd, tell me where?” said Jem -Fisher. (Jem is very fond of quoting poetry; -not that I think half that he quotes is real -poetry, only how is one to find him out? Jem -is a tall, good-looking fellow, as old as I am, -and that’s twenty-one last birthday; we came -into the office together years ago, and have -been very thick ever since, which I sometimes -wonder at, for Jem is a bit of a swell—Gentleman -Jem they call him in the office.) “Now, -Dick, where are you bound for?”</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s more than I know myself,” -said I.</p> - -<p>“Then,” said he, taking his pipe out of his -pocket and filling it, “I vote we settle for him, -eh, Neddy?”</p> - -<p>“Aye, aye, Sir,” said Neddy, stretching over -for the pottle; “but, I say, Jem, you haven’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> -finished all those plums?” and he poked -about in the leaves with his fingers.</p> - -<p>“Every mother’s son of them,” said Jem, -lighting a lucifer; “if you come to that, Master -Ned, hand me over some of that pine-apple. -But now, about the tour; how much -money are you going to spend on it, Dick?”</p> - -<p>“Well, I haven’t quite settled,” said I; “but -I shouldn’t mind, now, going as high as four -or five pounds, if I can suit myself.”</p> - -<p>“You may go pretty near to Jericho for that -now-a-days,” said Neddy. “As I came along -Holborn to-night, I saw a great placard outside -the George and Blue Boar, with ‘to Llangollen -and back 15<i>s.</i>’ on it. What do you -think of that? You’ll be turned out at the -station there with £4 5<i>s.</i> in your pocket.”</p> - -<p>“Where’s Llangollen?” said I.</p> - -<p>“Not half-way to Jericho,” shouted Jem, with -a laugh. “Where’s Llangollen? Why didn’t -you ever hear the song of Kitty Morgan, the -maid of Llangollen? You’re a pretty fellow -to go touring.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, fifty times,” said I; “only the song -don’t tell you where the place is—where is it -now?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> - -<p>“In Wales, of course,” said he, thinking he -had me.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I know that; but whereabouts in -Wales,” said I, “for Wales is a biggish place. -Is it near any thing one reads about in books, -and ought to go and see?”</p> - -<p>“Hanged if I know exactly,” said Jem, puffing -away; “only of course Wales is worth -seeing.”</p> - -<p>“So is France,” struck in Neddy; “why, you -may go to Paris and stay a fortnight for I don’t -know how little.”</p> - -<p>“Aye, or to Edinburgh or the Lakes,” said -Jem.</p> - -<p>“I want to have the particulars though,” -said I; “I’m not going to start off to some -foreign place, and find myself with no money -to spend and enjoy myself with, when I get -there.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll tell you what,” said Neddy, jumping -up, “I’ll just run round to the Working Men’s -College, and borrow a Bradshaw from the secretary. -We shall find all the cheap excursions -there;” and away he went before we could say -a word.</p> - -<p>“I say,” said Jem to me, “how fond he is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> -of bringing up that place; he’s always at me -to go and enter there.”</p> - -<p>“So he is at me,” said I, “and I think I shall, -for he seems to pick up a lot of things there. -How sharp he is at figures! and he knows -more history and geography ten to one than I -do. I’ll bet he knew what county Llangollen -is in, and something about it too. Let’s ask -him when he comes back.”</p> - -<p>“Catch me!” said Jem; “he’ll look it out -on the map on his way back, or ask one of -the lecturers.”</p> - -<p>“Here you are! look here!” said Neddy, -tumbling in with two Bradshaws and a great -atlas under his arm; “‘unprecedented attraction, -pleasure excursions,’ let me see—Return -tickets for Ireland, available for a fortnight. -Waterford, 1<i>l.</i> 16<i>s.</i>; Cork, 2<i>l.</i>”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense!” cried Jem, who had got the -other Bradshaw; “listen here: ‘Channel Islands, -(remarkable as being the only remaining -Norman possessions of the British crown,) second -class and fore cabin, 21<i>s.</i>”</p> - -<p>“‘London to Dieppe, return tickets available -for fourteen days, second class, 21<i>s.</i>,’” sung out -Ned, from the other Bradshaw.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p> - -<p>And away they went, with Brussels, and -Bangor, and the Manchester Exhibition, and -Plymouth and Glasgow, and the Isle of Man, -and Margate and Ramsgate, and the Isle of -Wight; and then to Gibraltar and Malta and -New York, and all over the world. I sat and -smoked my pipe, for ’twas no use trying to settle -any thing; but presently, when they got -tired, we set to work and began to put down -the figures. However, that wasn’t much better, -for there were such a lot of tours to go; and one -was a bit too short, and the other too long, and -this cost too much, and that too little; so all the -beer was gone, and we were no nearer settling -any thing when eleven o’clock struck.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Jem, getting up and knocking -the ashes out of his third pipe, “I declare it’s -almost as good as going a tour one’s self, settling -it for Dick here.”</p> - -<p>“I just wish you had settled it,” said I; “I’m -more puzzled than when we began.”</p> - -<p>“Heigh-ho, fellows never know when they’re -well off,” said Neddy; “now I never get a -chance. In my holiday I just go down to the -old folk at Romford, and there I stick.”</p> - -<p>“They don’t indeed,” said I; “I wonder to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> -hear you talk like that, Ned. Some folks would -give all they’re worth to have old folk to go to.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I didn’t mean it,” said he, looking -hurt. And I don’t believe he did, for a kinder -hearted fellow don’t live; and I was half sorry I -had said what I did say.</p> - -<p>“Further deliberation will be necessary,” said -Jem, lighting his fourth pipe; “we’ll come again -to-morrow night; your bacchy’s nearly out, -Dick; lay in some bird’s eye for to-morrow; -real Bristol, do you hear?”</p> - -<p>“Time to go, I suppose,” said Ned, getting -up and gathering the Bradshaws and atlas -together; “are we to come again to-morrow, -Dick?”</p> - -<p>“To-morrow, didst thou say? methought I -heard Horatio say to-morrow. Go to; it is a -thing of naught,” and Jem clapped on his hat -and began ranting in his way; so I broke -in—</p> - -<p>“I wish you’d hold that noise, and talk -sense,” said I.</p> - -<p>“Shakspeare!” said Jem, stopping short and -pulling up his collar.</p> - -<p>“Gammon!” said Neddy, bursting out -laughing.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p> - -<p>“That’s right, Neddy,” said I; “he’s always -going off with some of his nonsense, and calling -it poetry.”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t say it was poetry, did I?” said -Jem.</p> - -<p>“What is it then?” said I.</p> - -<p>“Blank verse,” said he.</p> - -<p>“What’s the difference?” said I.</p> - -<p>“Go up the mill-dam, fall down slam, dat -poetry; go up the mill-dam, fall down whoppo’, -dat plank verse,” said he. “Go along -nigger—had him dere, nigger,” and he turned -in his knees and grinned, like one of those -poor beggars who black their faces and go -about the streets with red striped trowsers, -white ties, and banjos.</p> - -<p>“You ought to be a nigger yourself, Jem,” -said I, “and I should just like to have the -driving of you. There, tumble out with you; -it’s time for steady folks to turn in.”</p> - -<p>So I turned them out and held the candle, -while they floundered down stairs, that wretch, -Jem, singing, “There’s some ’un in de house -wid Dinah,” loud enough to be heard at the -Foundling. I was glad to hear my landlady -catch him at the bottom of the stairs, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> -give it him well about “a respectable house,” -and “what she was used to with her gents,” -while she opened the door; only I don’t see -what right she had to give it me all over -again next morning at breakfast, and call Jem -Fisher a wild young man, and bad company, -because that’s just what he isn’t, only a little -noisy sometimes. And as if I’m not to have -who I please up to my room without her interfering! -I pay my rent regular every month, -I know. However, I didn’t mind much what -she said at breakfast time, because I had got -a letter from the country. I don’t get a letter -once a month, and it’s very odd this one -should have come on this very morning, when I -was puzzling where to go for my holiday; and -I dare say you’ll think so too, when I tell you -what it was about. Let’s see—here it is in -my pocket, so you shall have it whole:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right">“Elm Close Farm, Berks, August 31, 1857.</p> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Dick</span>,—You know you owe me a -visit, for you’ve never been down here, often -as I’ve asked you, since we was at school together—and -I have been up to you four or -five times. Now, why I particularly want you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> -to come this month is, because we’ve got some -sport to show you down in these quiet parts, -which don’t happen every day. You see there’s -an old White Horse cut out in the side of the -highest hill hereabouts, (a regular break-neck -place it is, and there ain’t three men in the -country as’ll ride along the hill-side under the -Horse,) and many folks sets a good deal of -store by it, and seems to think the world’d -come to an end if the horse wasn’t kept all -straight. May be I’m a bit of that mind myself—anyhow -you’ll see by the paper inside -what’s going on; and being a scholar, may -be you’ll know about the White Horse, and -like to come down to a scouring. And I can -tell you it will be good fun; for I remember -the last, when I was quite a little chap, before -I went to school, and I’ve never seen such -games since. You’ve only got to write and -say what train you’ll come by, and I’ll meet -you at the Farringdon-road station in my trap. -So, as I ain’t much of a penman, excuse mistakes, -and remember me to Fisher and the -others I met at your place; and no more at -present from yours truly.</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Joseph Hurst.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></span></p> - -<p>“P. S.—You must stay as long as you can, -and I’ll mount you on my young bay colt to -see a cub killed.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>I shouldn’t print Joe’s letter whole, (and as -it is I’ve put a good deal of the spelling right,) -only I’m quite sure he’ll never read this book, -and I hope it may serve as a warning to young -fellows to keep up their learning when they -go and settle down in the country. For when -Joe left the Commercial Academy at Brentford, -he could write just as good English as I, and -if he had put “many folks seems to think,” or -“you’ve only got to write,” in a theme, old -Hopkins would have given him a good caning. -But nothing wears out learning so quick as -living in the country and farming, and Joe -came into his farm when he was nineteen, and -has been at it ever since. And after all, perhaps, -it doesn’t much signify, because nobody -makes himself better understood than Joe, in -one way or another; and if he wasn’t a little -behindhand in his grammar, he wouldn’t think -much of me perhaps—and one don’t mind being -taken for a scholar, even by those who are -not the best judges in the world.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p> - -<p>Well, thinks I to myself, as I finished my -breakfast, this seems like business. If I go -down to Joe’s, and stay there all my holiday, -the fares will be only seventeen shillings; and, -say a pound for expenses down there; one -pound seventeen shillings, say two pounds in -all. I shall put three pounds into my pocket, -and please an old friend, which will be much -better than any thing Jem Fisher and little -Neddy Baily will hit out for me in a week -from the end of Bradshaw. Besides, it will -look well to be able to talk of going to a -friend in Berkshire. I’ll write to Joe, and say -I’ll be with him in good time on the 15th.</p> - -<p>So I went down to the office and told Jem -Fisher and little Neddy, that I had made up -my mind to go and see my old friend Joe, -in Berkshire, before they had had time to get -their office coats on.</p> - -<p>“What? that jolly fellow with the brown -face and red whiskers,” said Jem, “who came -up and slept in your room last Christmas cattle-show, -and wanted to fight the cabman for a -gallon of beer, who charged him half-a-crown -from Baker Street to Gray’s Inn Lane?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said I, “that’s the man.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I remember him well,” said Neddy; “and -I’m sure you’ll have a good time of it if you -go to see him. But, I say, how about supper -to-night? You won’t want us and the Bradshaws -any more, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, he isn’t going to get out of it like -that,” said Jem, as he settled to his desk, and -got his work out. “I say, Dick, you’re not -going to be off now, are you? I know better.”</p> - -<p>“I never was on that I know of,” said I; -“however, I don’t mind standing supper at the -Cheshire Cheese; but I won’t have you fellows -up in my room again to-night, kicking -up a row on the stairs. No! just catch me -at it!”</p> - -<p>So I gave them a supper that night, and -another the night after I came back from my -holiday.</p> - -<p>They seemed just the same, but how different -I felt. Only two short weeks had passed, -but I was as much changed as if it had been -ten years. I had found something which I -never could get rid of, day or night, and which -kept me always in a fret and a struggle. What -a life I led with it! Sometimes it cast me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> -down and made me ready to hang myself; and -then, again, it would lift me up, and seem to -fill me with warmth and sunshine. But, somehow, -even when I was at the worst, if an enchanter -had come and offered to wipe it all out, -and to put me back just where I was the night -before my holiday, I should have said “No;” -and at all other times I felt that it was the most -precious part of my life. What was it? Ah, -what was it? Some of you will smile, and -some of you will sneer, when you find out, as -you will (if you don’t skip) before you get to -the end of my story. And I can’t see the least -reason why I should help you to it a minute -sooner.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</h2> - -<p>Now I do pity all the lords and great gentle-folk -with nothing in the world to do except to -find out how to make things pleasant, and new -places to go to, and new ways of spending their -money; at least, I always pity them at the beginning -of my holiday, though perhaps when -one first comes back to eleven months’ hard -grind in town the feeling isn’t quite so strong.</p> - -<p>At any rate, I wouldn’t have changed places -with the greatest lord in the land on Tuesday -morning, September 15th. I was up as soon as -it was light, and saw the sun rise over the -Gray’s Inn Lane chimney-pots; and I declare -they looked quite beautiful. I didn’t know at -all before what a fine outline they make when -the rays come flat along the roofs; and mean -often to get up in time to see them by sunrise -next summer; but just now it’s very cold of -mornings, and I dare say they don’t look so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> -well. When I put my head out of window it -was quite clear and fresh, and I thought I could -smell the country.</p> - -<p>I hadn’t much to do, for I had packed my -bag over night; but I went over all my things -again, and changed the places of some of them -in my old bureau, (which belonged to my -father, who was clerk for forty years in one of -the oldest houses in Clement’s Inn,) and locked -up all the drawers; and then I set to work to -lay breakfast for three, for I had asked my two -friends to come and see me off, and they had -made it all up with my landlady. So about six -o’clock they came in, and we had a capital -breakfast; and then we started off to walk up -to the Paddington station, carrying my bag -between us. I had settled to go by the 7.30 -train, because if I hadn’t they couldn’t have -come with me; besides, it is the first train -which stops at Farringdon-road; and I was -very glad when we got into the bustle of the -station, for they were rather low, and I felt almost -ashamed of being so jolly, though certainly -they had had their holiday earlier in the -year. But when I saw their faces out of the -window of the second-class carriage, just as the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> -starting-bell rang, I should like to have paid -their fares out of my own pocket, if they could -have gone with me.</p> - -<p>However, by the time we got past Wormwood -Scrubbs, (which looked so fresh and breezy -with the gossamer lying all over it,) I could -think of nothing else but the country and my -holiday. How I did enjoy the pretty hill with -the church at top and the stream at the bottom -by Hanwell, and the great old trees about half -a mile off on the right before you get to Slough, -and the view of Windsor Castle, and crossing -the Thames at Maidenhead, with its splendid -weeping willows, and the old Bath-road bridge, -and the reach beyond with the woods coming -down to the bank, and the great lords’ houses -up above. And then all the corn-fields, though -by this time most of them were only stubble, -and Reading town, and the great lasher at -Pangbourn, where the water was rushing and -dancing through in the sunlight to welcome me -into Berkshire; and the great stretches of open -land about Wallingford-road and Didcot. And -after that came great green pasture-fields, and -orchards, and gray-stone farm-houses, and before -I could turn round we were at Farringdon-road<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> -station, and it was a quarter past eleven. As I -got out and gave up my ticket, I couldn’t help -thinking of the two lines Jem Fisher would go -on saying when we went out walking in Combe -Wood and Richmond Park one Sunday this -last May—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">How beautiful the country do appear</div> -<div class="verse">At this time of the year.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>I know he was laughing, and made them out -of his own head, though he declared they were -in Chaucer; but they are just as true for all -that, whether Jem Fisher or Chaucer made -them, though the English isn’t as good as the -sense.</p> - -<p>There I found Joe waiting for me, with his -trap, as he called it, at the door, and the inn -ostler standing by the head of the horse, which -was a bright chestnut, and looked very fine. I -own I very much enjoyed going off in that -dark-green high-wheeled carriage.</p> - -<p>“In with you, Dick,” cried out Joe, as he -took hold of the reins, and patted the horse on -the neck. “There, shoot your bag in behind; -look alive, she don’t stand well. That’ll do,” -he shouted to the ostler, who jumped back and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> -touched his hat just as if Joe owned half the -parish. If the horse couldn’t stand well, at any -rate she could step out, and away we whirled -down the white road; Joe red in the face with -holding on, his feet well out to the splash-board, -his chest thrown forward, and his elbows down -at his side, hauling the chestnut’s head right -back, till her nose nearly touched the collar. -But for all that, away went her legs right -straight out in front, shooting along so fast -that I began to feel queer, not being used to -horses, and took tight hold of the seat with my -left hand, so that Joe shouldn’t see; for the cart -jumped sometimes enough to pitch you out.</p> - -<p>“Gently there, gently, my beauty,” said Joe, -as the chestnut dropped into a little quieter pace. -“There, now, ain’t she a pictur’?” said he to -me;—“ever see a mare lay down to her work -like that? Gently, my beauty! if it wasn’t for -the blaze in her face, and the white feet, the -Squir’d give me one hundred pounds for her -to-morrow. And I won’t sell her under. It’s a -mortal shame to drive her. Her mouth’s like -a kitten’s.” How Joe could talk so, when he -was pulling fit to burst himself at the reins, I -don’t know; I thought once or twice where we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> -should go to if one broke, but I didn’t say any -thing. I found out afterwards that Joe meant -a great white mark, when he talked of the blaze -in her face. I suppose men can’t see any faults -in their own horses, any more than they can in -their children.</p> - -<p>After a bit, the pace got quite steady, and -then I began to enjoy myself, and could look at -the famous rich fields, and the high hedges full -of great heavy masses of clematis, and sniff -up all the country smells, as we whirled along, -and listen to Joe, who was going grinding on -about, ‘how badly the parish roads were kept -up; and that he had set his mind to have them -well mended with flints instead of chalk, and -to have all the thistles at the side kept down, -which were sowing the whole country round, -because their vestry was so stingy they wouldn’t -put any men on the road to set it right,’ and I -could see that Joe was in the middle of a good -quarrel with all the other farmers about it.</p> - -<p>When he had done his story, I asked him -about the White Horse, and he pointed me out -the highest of the hills which ran along on our -left hand a mile or two away. There, sure -enough, I saw the figure quite plain; but he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> -didn’t know much about it. Only, he said, he -had always heard tell that it was cut out by -King Alfred the Great, who lived in those parts; -and ‘there was a main sight of strange old -things up there on the hill, besides the White -Horse; and though he didn’t know much about -how they got there, he was sort of proud of -them, and was glad to pay his pound or two, -or double that if it was wanted, to keep them -as they should be;’ “for, you see,” said Joe, -“we’ve lived about here, father and son, pretty -nigh ever since King Alfred’s time, which I -reckon is a smartish time ago, though I forget -how long.” And though I think Joe, and parties -in the counties generally, set too much -store by such things, and hold their noses much -higher than they’ve any need to do, because -their families have never cared to move about, -and push on in the world, and so they know -where their great-grandfathers were born, I -couldn’t help feeling there was something in -it after all.</p> - -<p>And the more I thought of this strange old -White Horse, the more it took hold of me, and -I resolved, if I could, while I was down in the -country to learn all about it. I knew, you see,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> -that if I could only get people to tell me about -it, I should be able to carry it all away; because, -besides having a very good memory, I -can take down every thing that is said as fast -as most people can speak it, and that’s what -gives me such an advantage over Jem Fisher -and Neddy, who spent all the time it took me -to learn shorthand in reading poetry and other -rubbish, which will never help to get them on -in the world, or do them a bit of good that I -can see.</p> - -<p>Presently we came in sight of a house with -farm buildings behind, which stood some way -back from the road; and Joe pulled up opposite -a gate which led into the field before the -house.</p> - -<p>“Here we are, then,” said he; “just jump out, -and open the gate, Dick; I’d do it, only I can’t -trust you with the ribbons.”</p> - -<p>It was a beautiful great green pasture-field -which we drove into, with a score of fat sleek -cows feeding in it, or lying about chewing the -cud; and Joe was very proud of them, and -walked the chestnut along slowly while he -pointed out his favourites to me, especially one -short-horn, whose back he said was like a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> -kitchen-table, though why she should be any -the handsomer for that I can’t say. The house -was an old brick building, with tall chimneys -and latticed windows; in front of it was a nice -little flower-garden, with a tall, clipped holly -hedge running round it, so thick that you -couldn’t see through; and beyond that, a kitchen -garden and an orchard. Outside the enclosure -stood four such elms as I never saw before, -and a walnut-tree nearly as big as they, with -queer great branches drooping close to the -ground, on which some turkeys were sitting. -There was only a little wicket-gate in the holly -hedge, and a gravel footpath up to the front -door, so we drove into the farm-yard at the -back; and while Joe and his man took care of -the chestnut, I had time to look about, and -think what a snug berth Joe seemed to have -fallen upon.</p> - -<p>The yard must be sixty yards across, and -was full of straw where the pigs were lying -with nothing but their snouts out; lots of poultry -were scratching and pecking about before -the barn-doors, and pigeons were fluttering -down amongst them, and then up again to -the tops of the barns and stables, which ran<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> -all round the yard. The rick-yard, full of long -stacks of hay, and round stacks of corn, was -beyond. A terrier and spaniel were sleeping in -sunny corners, and a grayhound was stalking -about and looking at the pigs; and every thing -looked sleepy and happy, and as if life went -easily along at Elm Close Farm.</p> - -<p>Presently Joe came out of the stable, carrying -his whip, and took me into the house, calling -into the kitchen as we passed to send in dinner -directly. There was nobody in the parlour at -first, but I saw that the table was laid for three; -and, before I could look round at the prints and -samples on the wall, Joe’s mother and the dinner -came in. She was a good-looking old lady, -dressed in black, with a very white lawn cap -and collar, and was very kind and civil, but a -little deaf. Joe bustled about, and got out I -don’t know how many bottles of home-made -wine, clary, and raisin, and ginger; all of which -he made me drink, besides beer, for he said that -no one in the vale had such receipts for wine as -his mother. And what with the dairy-fed pork, -and black puddings, and a chicken almost as -big as a turkey, and the cheese-cakes and tarts -afterwards, and the hearty welcome and good<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> -example which Joe gave me, I don’t remember -when I have made so good a dinner.</p> - -<p>The old lady went off directly after dinner, -and I could see that Joe wanted to go and see -after his men; so I told him not to mind me, -for I should enjoy loitering about the place better -than any thing. And so I did; first I went -into the flower-garden, and watched and listened -to the bees working away so busy in the -mignonette, and the swallows darting up into -their nests under the eaves, and then diving out -again, and skimming away over the great pasture; -and then round the kitchen-garden, and -into the orchard, where the trees were all loaded -with apples and pears, and so out into a stubble-field -at the back, where there were a lot of -young pigs feeding and playing queer tricks, -and back through the farm-yard into the great -pasture, where I lay down on the grass, under -one of the elms, and lighted my pipe; and -thought of our hot clerks’ room, and how Jem -Fisher and little Neddy were working away -there; and watched a flock of little shiny starlings -hopping up on to the backs of some old -south-down wethers who were feeding near me, -and flying backwards and forwards into the old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> -elms and walnut-trees, talking to one another -all the while.</p> - -<p>And so the time wore on, till a stout lass in a -blue cotton print came out, and called the cows -in to milking; and they all went trooping slowly -by into the farm-yard, some of them just stopping -to stare at me with their mild eyes, and -smelling so sweet, that I hadn’t the heart to go -on smoking, and let my pipe out. And after a -bit, I followed into the line of sheds where they -were being milked by the lass and a man, who -balanced himself on two legs of the milking-stool, -and drove his head into the cow’s side; -and I thought I had never heard a sweeter -sound than the tinkling sound which the milk -made in the bright, tin pails.</p> - -<p>I soon got into a talk with the lass, who was -very pleasant and free spoken; and presently, -when her pail was full, I lifted it out for her, all -frothing up, and looking not a bit like our London -sky-blue; and I told her I didn’t think I -had ever tasted real new milk; so she got -me a long straw, and while she went on -milking, I went down on my knees, and began -to suck away through the straw. But I -had hardly begun, when I heard a noise behind,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> -and looking round, there stood Joe, laughing all -over; and by his side a young woman in a -broad, straw hat and a gray jacket; and though, -for good manners, she didn’t laugh out like Joe, -I could see it was all she could do to keep from -going off too.</p> - -<p>Why was I ashamed of being caught? I -don’t know, but I was ashamed; and as I stuck -there on my knees in the deep straw with the -pail before me looking at them, the blood rushed -up to my head and made my ears sing, so that -I couldn’t hear a word that Joe said. But I -could see he did say something, and then went -off into another great roar of laughter; and the -lass and the man left off milking and began -laughing too, till I thought they would have -dropped off the stools. Then the young woman -who was with Joe said something to him, and I -thought I heard the words “What a shame!” -and “your oldest friend;” and then she caught -up a straw, and came and knelt on the opposite -side of the milk-pail, and began to suck away -herself without looking at me. In another moment -Joe plumped down too, clapping me on -the back.</p> - -<p>“I say,” said he, “start fair! Here, make<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> -room for me; you and Lucy ain’t going to have -it all to yourselves,” and he began sucking -away too; and then I recovered myself, and we -all went on for a minute, when Joe took his -straw out of his mouth, and said, “This is my -sister Lucy, Dick; there, shake hands over the -pail, and then let’s go in to tea.”</p> - -<p>So she looked up, and blushed, and gave me -her hand, her merry blue eyes twinkling with -mirth, though she tried to keep grave. But I -was all right now, and went off myself, and Joe -followed, and then she, with the clearest, brightest -laugh you ever heard; and then the man -and the lass, and by the time we had done, I -felt as if I had known them all for years. But as -for Miss Lucy, as we walked away to the house -to tea, I felt as if I could have given her my -skin, if she would only have had a pair of shoes -made out of it for her dear little feet.</p> - -<p>The old lady was sitting at the tea-table in -great force, with plates of buttered toast and -cake, and pots of blackberry and red-currant -jam, and the great loaf all set out ready; and -after tea, we three walked out again till the sun -set, and then came in to supper, at which I was -surprised to find myself eating away just as if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> -I had had nothing all day; country air does give -one such an appetite. After supper, the old -lady sat in her chair knitting and telling stories, -till she nodded off and the spectacles fell on to -the end of her nose, and her hands into her lap, -but still holding the needles; and every now -and then giving a catch with her head, and -making belief to go on for a stitch or two. And -Miss Lucy sat stitching at a patch-work coverlet, -fitting in all sorts of scraps of silk in the -prettiest patterns in the world, and we on the -other side of the table watching her, and talking -quite low not to disturb the old lady. But what -made it so pleasant was, that I had pretty near -all the talking, for they seemed never tired of -hearing about London, and how people lived -there, and what they thought; especially Miss -Lucy, who had never been out of Berkshire in -her life. I thought Joe a great fidget, when soon -after nine he began to walk about and waked -his mother, and got the servants in to prayers, -and bustled them off to bed; but I believe it -was all because he wanted to have his pipe, -which he wouldn’t smoke in the parlour. So -we went into the kitchen and finished the day -there, under half a score of great brown sides of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> -bacon, and tufts of sweet herbs which hung -drying from the corners of the rack, and opposite -to the dresser with its rows of pewter plates -as bright as silver, till I went to bed in sheets -smelling of lavender, and dreamt of Miss Lucy.</p> - -<p>I dare say that, though I should never be -tired of telling about every thing that happened -to me at Elm Close, some people may get tired -of reading about it. So I shall only begin my -story of the next day after breakfast, when Joe -had the trap out again, and carried me off to -see what was doing up on White Horse Hill.</p> - -<p>We had a very pleasant drive through the -Vale to Uffington, which lies at the foot of the -hill, and here Joe put up the trap, at the Swan, -and we set off on foot to walk up. It was very -hot, and the white road glared as we tramped -along it, but very soon we came to broad strips -of turf on each side, and then it was pleasant -enough; so we plodded up a gentle rise called -Sour Hill, and crossed the Iceldon or Iggleton -way, which I’ve found out since was an old -Roman road; and then the ascent became quite -steep, and every thing was clear hill and down -before us, not a fence to be seen, and a fresh -breeze came sweeping over the hill.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p> - -<p>The road now became very bad, with ruts in -the chalk like water-courses. On our left hand -there was a deep, narrow valley like a little bay -running up into the hill, on the opposite side of -which valley a large wood hung along the steepest -part of the hill-side, which Joe informed me -was Uffington wood, a well-known meet for the -hounds; it made me giddy to look at the places -which he declared the huntsman, and any one -who wanted to be sure of a good place when -the hounds broke cover, had to ride along.</p> - -<p>And now the great, green hill seemed to be -hanging right over us, as we came to a curious -round mound on our right hand, up which Joe -scrambled, and I after him, till we both pulled -up out of breath on the flat top, some fifty yards -across.</p> - -<p>“This is Dragon’s Hill,” said Joe, pulling off -his hat and mopping his face with his handkerchief, -“where St. George killed the Dragon in -the old times. Leastways so they says about -here, only they calls him King George instead -of Saint George. And this bare place is where -his blood ran out, and nothing’ll grow on it -since, not so much as a thistle.”</p> - -<p>Of course I knew better than to believe that,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> -but it is a beautiful place; for just below it another -little deep valley, like the one on the left, -only narrower and steeper at the sides, runs -right up into the hill-side. The road we had -left winds round the head of this gorge, for any -one to drive along who isn’t particular about -breaking his neck, for the hill is like a wall up -above, and down below, with nothing but a -little bank between you and the descent.</p> - -<p>“Those are the giants’ seats opposite,” said -Joe, pointing across the valley to a set of beautiful -great green slopes, like huge ridges and -furrows, which went sweeping down into the -valley one after another as far as I could see; -“and this is the Manger, this great hole in the -hill-side, because it lies right under the old -Horse’s nose. Come along, let’s get up to -him; there he is, you see, right above us.”</p> - -<p>So we scrambled down the side of Dragon’s -Hill, crossed the road, and then started up a -row of steps cut in the turf. I’m sure it must -be twice as steep as the hill in Greenwich Park, -and I don’t mind confessing that I shouldn’t -have liked to look round just at first, and -wouldn’t have minded giving myself a help -with my hands if I hadn’t been afraid of Joe’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> -seeing me and laughing. I should think we -must have gone up two hundred steps, when all -of a sudden Joe stopped just above me, and -called out, “Here we are;” and in about four -steps I came to a trench cut into the chalk -about two feet deep, which ran up the hill-side -right ahead of us. The chalk in the trench -was all hard and flat, and seemed to have been -scraped and brushed up quite lately.</p> - -<p>“This is his tail,” said Joe. “Come on; -look, they’re scouring him up above; we’re in -luck—I thought they’d have done before this; -and there’s the Squire too with ’em.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/i038.jpg" width="500" height="350" alt="They look up the hill at the scouring" /> -</div> - -<p>So I looked up; and there, some way above, -I saw a lot of men with shovels, and besoms, -and barrows, cleaning away at the trench, -which, now that I began to look at it, certainly -came out more and more like a horse galloping; -and there amongst them, working away as hard -as any one, was a person in yellow leather -gaiters, who I saw at once must be the Squire, -though I had never seen a squire before. I own -I had a great prejudice against a country squire -when I went down into Berkshire; which was -natural enough, you see, because I had never -been farther from town than Twickenham (except<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> -by boat to Margate), and had belonged to -a debating society near Farringdon-market ever -since I left school, where we take in three liberal -papers, and once a week have as good speaking -as they get in the House of Commons. I -haven’t been to the debates much lately, myself; -but when I was an active member, we -used to have a regular go in about once a quarter -at the unpaid magistracy. How we did -give it them! They were bloated aristocrats, -who by the time they were thirty had drunk -out all the little brains they ever had, and spent -their time in preserving and killing game and -foxes at the expense of the farmers, and sending -every good man in their villages either to -the Bastile (as we called the workhouse), as a -pauper, or to the county jail as a poacher.</p> - -<p>Joe and I very nearly quarrelled over one of -those debates to which I took him, like a great -gaby as I was, when he came up to see me at -the time of a cattle-show. He would get up to -speak, all I could do to stop him; and began, -all red in the face, pitching into one of our best -speakers who had just finished, calling him a -cockney, and asking him what right he had to -jaw about squires when he talked about a fox’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> -ears and tail, and didn’t know mangold-wurzel -from swedes. And then all our fellows began -to shout and hiss, and Joe began to swear, and -wanted to take his coat off, and fight all who -had spoken; “one down, and t’other come on,” -as he said. I got him out and took him home; -but his blood was up, and he would go on at -our Society, and call us a set of quill-driving -jackanapes. And I couldn’t stand that, so I -began at the landed interest, and said all the -bad of them I could think of, about the Poor-Laws, -game preserving, and the Corn-laws. -Joe was very near going off in a huff, but we -shook hands over it at last, and agreed that we -neither of us knew much about the sort of life -the other led, and so had better not talk about -it as if we did.</p> - -<p>Well, this was the first squire I had ever seen, -so I looked at him with all my eyes; and if all -squires were like him, I don’t wonder at Joe’s -getting in a passion at our talk in Farringdon-market. -I should think he must be about forty-five -years old, and stands not far short of six -feet high; for when he came to stand by Joe, I -could see he was the taller of the two; but -he didn’t look so tall quite when he stood by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> -himself—I suppose because his figure was so -good. For you never saw such a clean made -man; he was for all the world like a well-rounded -wedge from his shoulders down, and -his neck and head put on like a statue. He -looked just as if he could have jumped the -highest five-barred gate in the Vale, and then -have carried it off on his shoulders, and run -up the hill with it. And his face, which was -well browned, was so manly and frank, and his -voice so cheery, and he looked you so straight -in the face, that you felt he wasn’t ashamed of -any thing, or afraid of anybody; and so you -looked him back and spoke out, and were twice -as good a man at once yourself while you were -talking to him.</p> - -<p>Well, when the Squire saw Joe, he stopped -working away with his shovel, and called out -to him; and so Joe went up and shook hands -with him, and began talking to him, and in -another minute the Squire called for his coat—a -gray tweed shooting-jacket it was—and -put it on, and took up his riding-whip, and -told the men to look alive and get their job -done, and then to send up to the Castle for -some beer and bread and cheese which he -would order for them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p> - -<p>Then Joe and the Squire walked away along -the hill-side talking, and I went and sat down -on a little mound, just above the Horse’s ears, -and watched the men working, and looked at -the view. How I did enjoy myself! The turf -was as soft as a feather bed, and as springy -as horsehair; and it was all covered with thistle -down, which came drifting along like snow -with the south wind; and all down below the -country looked so rich and peaceful, stretching -out for miles and miles at my feet in the hazy -sunshine, and the larks right up overhead sang -so sweetly, that I didn’t know whether to laugh -or cry. I should have liked to have had a turn -at the besoms and shovels with the men, who -seemed very good-tempered, only I was too shy, -and I couldn’t make out half they said. So -I took out my pipe and lighted it, and sat -looking on at the work, and thinking of -nothing.</p> - -<p>Presently a gentleman whom I hadn’t noticed, -but who was poking about the place, came and -sat down near me. He was dressed in dark -clothes, very quiet; I suppose he was a parson -from some of the villages near. And we began -talking about the weather, and what chance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> -there was of having fine days for the pastime. -He was a very grave, elderly man, but easy -and pleasant, and had a keen look in his gray -eyes, and a sort of twinkle about his mouth, -which made me put my best leg foremost, and -take care what I said.</p> - -<p>Well, when we had done about the weather, -thinks I, “This is just the sort of gentleman -to tell me what I want to know about the -White Horse and all the rest of it,” and you’ll -see as you go on that I never made a better -guess in my life. So I got my note-book out -quietly, so that he shouldn’t take much notice -of what I was about, and began, “I suppose, -Sir,” said I, “that it’s all right about Alfred, -and that he really did cut out this figure after -winning a great battle up here?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said he, “I think so myself, because -there has always been a tradition in the country -side that this was so. And where antiquaries -differ, a tradition of this sort may always be -pretty safely believed. Country folk hold on -to such stories, and hand them down in a -very curious manner; but you know, I dare -say, that it is claimed by some as a Druidical, -or at any rate a British monument, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> -would make it several hundred years older at -least.”</p> - -<p>I didn’t know any thing about it, but why -should I tell him so. “I shouldn’t like to think -so, Sir,” said I, “because one wouldn’t care so -much about it if it wasn’t made by the Saxons -and their great king. The Druids don’t seem -akin to us somehow; and then one would lose -all about the great battle, which was certainly -fought up here, wasn’t it, Sir?”</p> - -<p>“I have no doubt about it,” said he; “there -are many signs of it—above all, graves enough -to hold the harvest of many battles. You are -lying on one.”</p> - -<p>“No! am I really, though?” said I, sitting -up and looking at the ground; “how do you -know?”</p> - -<p>“Well, it isn’t very hard when the eye gets -used to them,” said he; “there’s another;” and -he pointed to a small mound a few yards off, -and just like the one I was sitting on. “That -larger mound, too, down below, across the road, -you were on it just now—”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Sir,” said I, interrupting him, and -pointing at it, “Dragon’s Hill.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/i044.jpg" width="500" height="350" alt="St. George killing the dragon, on the hill" /> -</div> - -<p>“Exactly so,” said he; “that’s another burial-place;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> -a larger and grander affair, you see, than -these. Probably a king or other very noble -person is buried there.”</p> - -<p>“The people say, Sir, don’t they,” said I, -“that St. George killed the Dragon there?”</p> - -<p>“They do,” said he, “and that his blood -made a pool on the top, and ran down the -steps on the other side, where the grass has -never grown since. This is another curious -instance of the tenacity of tradition; but here -I think our good folk in the Vale have held -on to the name, or a part of it, and forgotten -the meaning, just as they have in the case of -another village over there in Oxfordshire, the -name of which is Stanton Harcourt.”</p> - -<p>“How was that, Sir?” said I, when he -paused.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said he, laughing, “an old man in -that village told me that a battle was fought -there, which the English were very near losing, -when the general rode up to one of his captains, -named Harcourt, who was in the thick of -it, and called out, ‘Stan’ to un, Harcourt, -stan’ to un, Harcourt;’ and that Harcourt won -the battle, and the village has been called -Stanton Harcourt ever since. Now, as to that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> -mound, I believe it’s right name to be Pendragon’s -Hill. Pendragon, you know, is only -a name common to those of the kings of the -ancient Britons, who were chosen leaders in -the time of national distress, and means nothing -more than ‘caput regum,’ ‘the chief of -kings.’ According to some, ‘Arthur’ is the -same or a like word, being ‘Ardh-reg’ or ‘Ard-heer,’ -and meaning ‘summus Rex’ (whence -the ‘Arviragus’ of Juvenal; but I lay no stress -on this). Now we know of at least three Pendragons. -There was Cassibelan, who was -chosen Pendragon at the time of Julius Cæsar’s -invasion, Uter Pendragon, and Arthur Pendragon; -which Uter and Arthur were, without -doubt, chosen to resist the Saxons, who had -won already the eastern part of the island. And -if Arthur and Pendragon are the same words, -doubtless (as has been well supposed), there -were many Arthurs at this time, one of whom -was probably slain in battle and buried here.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span><a name="FNanchor_2" id="FNanchor_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> -For in the Saxon annals we find that Cedric, -founder of the West Saxon kingdom, slew -Natan-leod and five thousand men in these -parts, which Natan-leod (as is shown by Mr. -Baxter) is ‘Naud-an-ludh,’ or ‘populi tutela,’ -the people’s refuge; in fact, a kindred word to -‘Pendragon,’ or ‘Arthur.’ You see how probable -this would be <i>primâ facie</i>?” said he, turning -round to me.</p> - -<p>My goodness! I couldn’t make out head or -tail of his long words, and was staring at him -with my mouth open; but when he turned -round I shut it pretty quick, and looked as wise<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> -as I could. “Well, Sir,” said I, “I hardly -know; but it doesn’t look unlikely, does it?”</p> - -<p>“Of course not,” said he, quite pleased; -“and as the Britons were not driven from -these parts till the middle of the sixth century, -I should put the throwing up of Dragon’s -Hill in the beginning, say the first half, of that -century. Now, in the year <span class="smcapuc">A.D.</span> 520, according -to Gildas and Bede, Arthur gained his twelfth -victory at ‘Mons Badonicus,’ which might very -well be Baydon Hill, which you see over there.” -And he pointed to a hill three or four miles off.</p> - -<p>“But then, Sir,” said I, “if he gained the -victory, he wasn’t killed there, I suppose, and so -he couldn’t be buried here.”</p> - -<p>“But he was killed in battle at last,” said he; -“and, as I told you, there must have been -many Arthurs or Pendragons just at that time, -and many battles fought between this and -Bath—why, the Britons gained a battle at -Wanborough, over there, as late as <span class="smcapuc">A.D.</span> 581.”</p> - -<p>“But, Sir,” said I, “if Pendragon was buried -down there, wouldn’t they have been very likely -to cut out the horse up here just above, as another -monument, at the same time; and then -what becomes of King Alfred and the Danes?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p> - -<p>“There is no instance of two such monuments -over one chief,” answered he, quite positive; -but I thought I saw him give a twinkle -with his mouth, as if he felt I had been pretty -near him. “Besides, as I said before, the tradition -as to the White Horse is too strong to be -upset by conjecture.”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t mean to conjecture, I’m sure, Sir,” -said I; and I thought, though I didn’t say so, -it was he who had been conjecturing pretty -freely, if it came to that. “The battle of Ashdown, -Sir, was a very great battle then,” I went -on, for I liked to hear him talk about those old -times, though I didn’t quite understand all he -said.</p> - -<p>“The greatest battle probably in which Alfred -ever was,” said he.</p> - -<p>“Please, Sir,” said I, “I hope you won’t -think me troublesome, but if you would only -tell me about the battle I should be so much -obliged to you.”</p> - -<p>“Sir,” said he, looking at me rather surprised, -“it is seldom that I can get any of the youth -of this day to take an interest in these matters, -the study of which would greatly benefit their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> -manners and morals. I shall be pleased to do -what you wish. Are you a good listener?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Sir,” said I, “you will get tired of talking -long before I shall of listening. And you -wouldn’t mind, I hope, my taking notes of the -story?”</p> - -<p>“By no means,” said he; “I see you are -ready with your pen. Perhaps I shouldn’t have -told you so much about Pendragon and Natan-leod -if I had seen that you were taking me -down; but now I will be careful to give you -nothing which is not to be found in the most -trustworthy chroniclers. Are you ready?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Sir,” said I; and then he settled himself -in the turf, and pulled a couple of old -brown books out of his long coat-tail pockets, -to which he sometimes referred, and looking out -over the Vale, as if he were travelling in his -mind far away from me and every thing about -us on the hill-side, began as follows.</p> - -<div class="footnotes"> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2" id="Footnote_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> E. Martin Atkins, Esq., of Kingston Lisle, has lately been opening -the barrows which are nearest to the Horse; and the compiler, -hearing that he was about to examine Dragon’s Hill also, wrote to -him on the subject, and suggested how desirable it would be (if -any ways possible) to find the remains of King Bægseek there -who was slain at Ashdown. To which communication the compiler -received the following reply. After mentioning the contents -of the other barrows, some clearly Saxon, others Romano-British, -his letter proceeds as to Dragon’s Hill:— -</p> - -<p>“As for old Bægseek, I should chuck him overboard at once, -and assume that our friend Uter Pendragon’s remains had been -originally deposited here, but that he had been disturbed in his -repose by the decapitation of the barrow, which at some unknown -time has undoubtedly taken place. It is unfortunate, however, -that a Roman coin of the time of Constans turned up from among -the débris, and the fragments of pottery also were chiefly of Roman -manufacture, mixed with some of earlier date. It will therefore -perhaps be difficult to reconcile these matters one with the other; -but on turning them over in your mind, you will, I dare say, -<em>theorize with a very agreeable correctness</em>!” What is a wretched -compiler to do, who gets such letters from those who should be -his aiders and abettors?</p> - -</div> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</h2> - -<p>Nearly a thousand years ago, in the year of -our Lord 871, the great battle of Ashdown was -fought; but, in order to give you a true idea of -its importance, I must begin my story some -years earlier; that is to say, in the year of our -Lord 866. In this year Æthelbert, king of the -West Saxons, died, having ruled his kingdom -for five years in peace, with the love of his -subjects; and Æthelred, his next brother, who -succeeded him, buried his body in Sherborne -Minster. In this year Alfred, the younger -brother, who afterwards succeeded Æthelred, -and was called Alfred the Great, reached his -seventeenth year. In the autumn a great army -of pagan Danes came over to Britain, and -landed in that part of the island which was -then called East Anglia, but now Norfolk. -These were not the first Danes who had come -over to vex England, but none of them ever<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> -stayed so long, fought so many battles, or did -so much harm (as we should say, speaking according -to man’s judgment) as these.</p> - -<p>A very curious story is told of why they came -over here; and as it goes at first sight against a -good many of our notions of how the world is -governed, and so ought to make us think a little -more about the matter, I shall give it you pretty -much as it is told by the old chronicler, John -Brompton.</p> - -<p>“There was a man of royal birth in the -kingdom of Denmark, named Lodbroc, who had -two sons, Hinguar and Hubba. This man embarked -one day with his hawk in a small boat -to catch ducks, and other wild-fowl on the adjoining -sea-coasts and islands. A terrible storm -arose, by which Lodbroc was carried away and -tossed for several days on every part of the -ocean. After numberless perils, he was cast -ashore on the coast of Norfolk, near the village -of Redham,” (at least that must be the name, as -I read it in Brompton, though I have not been -able to hear of a village of that name on the -coast of Norfolk,) “where he was found having -his hawk alone for his companion, and presented -to King Edmund. That king, struck<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> -with the manliness of his form, kept him at his -court, and heard from his own mouth the history -of his adventures. He was then associated -with Berne, the king’s huntsman, and indulged -in all the pleasures of the chase, for in the exercise -of both hunting and hawking he was remarkably -skilful, and succeeded in capturing -both birds and beasts according as he had a -mind.” In fact, Lodbroc was the sort of man -to please King Edmund, for the art of capturing -birds and beasts was, next to the art of -fighting for one’s home and country, the art -most esteemed amongst the Anglo-Saxons; -who acknowledged “that skill and good fortune -in this art, as in all others, are among the gifts -of God, as we also have often witnessed.” But -to go on with our story. “The skill of Lodbroc -bred jealousy in the heart of Berne the huntsman, -who one day, as they went out together -hunting, unawares set upon Lodbroc, and having -foully slain him, buried his body in the -thickets of the forest. But Lodbroc had a small -harrier dog, which he had bred up from its birth, -and which loved him much. While Berne the -huntsman went home with the other hounds, -this little dog remained alone with his master’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> -body. In the morning, the king asked what had -become of Lodbroc, to which Berne answered -that he had parted from him yesterday in the -woods, and had not seen him since. At that -moment the harrier came into the hall and went -round wagging its tail, and fawning on the -whole company, but especially on the king; -when he had eaten his fill, he again left the hall. -This happened often; until some one at last -followed the dog to see where he went, and -having found the body of the murdered Lodbroc, -came and told the story to the king. The -affair was now carefully inquired into, and -when the truth was at last found out, the huntsman -was exposed on the sea, without oars, in -the boat which had belonged to Lodbroc. In -some days, he was cast ashore in Denmark, and -brought before the sons of Lodbroc; who, putting -him to the torture, inquired of him what -had become of their father, to whom they knew -the boat belonged. To this Berne answered,” -as one might have guessed he would answer, he -being a liar and cowardly murderer, “that their -father Lodbroc had fallen into the hands of -Edmund, King of East Anglia, by whose orders -he had been put to death.” Now, King Edmund<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> -was a wise and righteous man, who -“devoutly undertook the government of the -East Angles, and held it with the right hand of -power, always adoring and glorifying God for -all the good things which he enjoyed;”<a name="FNanchor_3" id="FNanchor_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> and it -is a pity he did not on this occasion remember, -that having safely caught a great scoundrel, the -best thing to do with him was to see him hung -out of the way himself; for, by letting him go, -you see, he gave a chance to the devil, who -can’t afford to lose such gentlemen as Berne the -huntsman out of the world, and has considerable -grudges against kings like Edmund.</p> - -<p>Well, when Hinguar and Hubba heard the -tale of Berne the huntsman, they, like good and -true sons, according to the notions of piety then -current amongst the Danes, hastened to fit out -a fleet to invade England, and avenge their -father. And their three sisters wove for them -the standard, called the Raven, in one day—which -flag waved over many a bloody field, -from Northumbria to Devonshire, until it was -taken by King Alfred’s men, under Odda, the -Alderman of Devon, before a certain castle in -that county, which is called Cynuit by Asser,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> -and Kenuith elsewhere, (the situation of which -castle I cannot identify, or the name,) where -were slain King Halfdene, a brother of Hinguar -and Hubba, and 840 Danish warriors. It was -said, that when the Danes were about to gain a -battle, a live crow would fly before the middle -of the standard; but if they were to be beaten, -it would hang motionless.<a name="FNanchor_4" id="FNanchor_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></p> - -<p>So Hinguar and Hubba, as has been said, -landed in the country of the East Angles, in -the late autumn, bent on vengeance. King -Edmund knew nothing of the blood-feud between -him and these Danish leaders, by reason -of Berne’s lying story, so took no more than the -usual measures for preparing to attack them; -but whether it was that they found King Edmund -too strong for them at the time, or for -some other reason, they seem to have wintered -there quietly, and to have bought horses, and -made some sort of truce with the East Angles.<a name="FNanchor_5" id="FNanchor_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> -But in the spring of the year 867, they crossed -the Humber, marched hastily upon York, and -took it.</p> - -<p>The kingdom of Northumbria was just the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> -place for the army of Pagans and the standard -Raven at this time; for it was divided against -itself. Osbert, the rightful king, had been playing -Tarquin in the house of Bruern Brocard, -one of his chief earls; so his people had cast -him out, and had taken to themselves a king -Ælla, of unkingly blood, and the two were -warring against one another when the Danes -took York. Late in the autumn, however, a -peace was made between Osbert and Ælla, and -they marched to York; where within the very -walls of the city into which the Northumbrians -penetrated, was fought a most bloody battle. -In that fight fell almost all the Northumbrian -warriors, and both the kings, and a multitude -of noble men; and the remainder who escaped -made peace with the Pagans.<a name="FNanchor_6" id="FNanchor_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> By this time, no -doubt, there was small spoil left for Hinguar -and Hubba north of the Humber.</p> - -<p>Accordingly, in the year 868, the pagan army, -leaving Northumbria, marched into Mercia, and -surprised and took Nottingham. Then Burhred, -King of Mercia, and his witan sent to Æthelred, -king of the West Saxons, to come and help -them. And Æthelred and Alfred marched to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> -Nottingham with the West Saxon power, and -with Burhred besieged the Pagans, there; but -they could not force the wall, and there was no -great battle, and Æthelred and Alfred went -home with their troops. But the Pagans, after -wintering at Nottingham, made peace with -Burhred and the Mercians; that is to say, such -a peace as they loved to make—I mean a peace -till it was worth their while to come again; for -in 874 they came back, drove King Burhred -over the sea, and subdued the whole country—and -Burhred went to Rome and died there, and -his body lies in St. Mary’s Church at the English -School.<a name="FNanchor_7" id="FNanchor_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></p> - -<p>In the year 869, “the aforesaid army of -Pagans, galloping back to Northumbria, went -to York, and there passed the winter;” or, -in the words of Huntingdon, “remained there -cruelly for one year.” And what sort of a winter -was it for the poor Yorkshiremen? “There -was again a great famine, a mortality among -men, and a pest among cattle.” Such is the -fate of a divided people which can only make -truces with its oppressors.</p> - -<p>In this winter, Hinguar and Hubba seem to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> -have got large reinforcements from over the sea, -headed by two other kings, Bægseeg and Halfdene -their brother, for in the year 870 we find -them no longer surprising a city, and from -thence defying their enemies and oppressing the -neighbourhood. Now they march openly and -fearlessly across Mercia; and, the day of vengeance -having come, burst upon East Anglia, -and take up their head-quarters at Thetford. -And then comes the saddest part of a sad story. -King Edmund, being a king like Josiah, who -believed in God and ruled in righteousness, was -not the man to see the desolation of any part -of his people, or to shut himself up in fenced -cities while the pagan cavalry rode through -East Anglia—so the aforesaid King Edmund -gathered his men, and “fought fiercely and -manfully against the army. But because the -merciful God foreknew that he was to arrive at -the crown of martyrdom, he there fell gloriously. -Of his passion I would fain insert some particulars -into our history, that the sons of men -may know and perceive how terrible is Christ -the Son of God in the counsels of men, and -with what glorious triumph he adorns those -whom he tries here under the name of suffering,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> -that the saying may be fulfilled, ‘He is not -crowned except he strive lawfully.’ (2 Tim. -ii. 5.)”<a name="FNanchor_8" id="FNanchor_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> Such is the lesson which the old -monk Simeon, præcentor of the Church of Durham, -gets out of the death and martyrdom of -King Edmund, and I know not where we are -to look for a better. Perhaps it may help us -when we think of India<a name="FNanchor_9" id="FNanchor_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> to remember with -Simeon, how terrible is Christ the Son of God -in the counsels of men, and with what glorious -triumph he adorns those whom he tries -here under the name of suffering. For Hinguar -and Hubba took the wounded king on -the field of battle, and tied him to a tree, because -he chose to die sooner than give over his -people to them, and there shot him through the -body with their arrows.<a name="FNanchor_10" id="FNanchor_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> But his people got<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> -the body and buried it at Bradoriesunyrthe, -now called St. Edmund’s Bury, or Bury St. -Edmunds;<a name="FNanchor_11" id="FNanchor_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> and many miracles were wrought -at his tomb, and he was canonized—at which -honour let all Englishmen rejoice, the earth -having as much need as ever of many such -kings and saints.</p> - -<p>And they were rare then as now, and then -as now men went their own way, and not God’s -way, and cut out their own work instead of -taking his. For “when King Edmund was -slain, his brother Edwold, dreading the pleasures -of the world, and seeing that a hard lot -had fallen on himself and his brother, retired -to the monastery of Carnelia in Dorsetshire, -near a clear well which St. Augustine had formerly -brought out of the earth by prayer, to -baptize the people in, and there he led a hermit’s -life on only bread and water.”<a name="FNanchor_12" id="FNanchor_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> Yes!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> -and no doubt thought himself righteous and -despised others—and left the kingdom which -God had given him to the Pagans, who “subdued -all the land and destroyed all the ministers -they came to,” which Edmund his brother had -built—“and that same time they came to Medeshamstede, -and burned and beat it down, slew -abbot and monks, and all that place which before -was full rich, they reduced to nothing,”<a name="FNanchor_13" id="FNanchor_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> -while Edwold, who should have been there with -the remnant of the East Angles, to make his -last stand, like a true shepherd of his people, -was eating his bread and drinking his water in -peace, by a clear well near the monastery of -Carnelia in Dorsetshire.</p> - -<p>And now the Pagan kings, “with a new -army, very great, like a flowing river which -carries all along with it,”<a name="FNanchor_14" id="FNanchor_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> having doubtless -been reinforced again from over the sea, where -the story of their victories had spread far and -wide, were looking about for some new field -for plunder and murder. The whole north and -east of England was a desolate wilderness -behind them; London was in ruins, and Kent -had been harried over and over again by their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> -brethren the sea-kings. But some thirty miles -up the Thames was a fair kingdom, stretching -far away west, down to the distant sea. This -was Wessex, the kingdom of the West Angles, -over which Æthelred, the brother of Alfred, -was now ruling, and entering on the sixth year -of his reign. The kingdom had had peace for -ten years, and was full of royal burgs, and rich -pastures, with cattle and horses, and sheep. -Perhaps Hinguar and Hubba remembered the -leaguer of Nottingham three years before, and -how the West Angles, with their king and his -brother, had hemmed them in and watched -them there through a long summer.</p> - -<p>In the early years of their inroad, the Pagans -would not have dared to brave a united people -with Æthelred for king; but they had now -grown bold from success, and were in numbers -so great that “by reason thereof they could not -advance together, but went by different roads.” -So in an early month of the year 871, with -their usual swiftness, they marched up the -Thames valley and seized on Reading, a royal -burg, and the then easternmost city of note in -Wessex. Reading is situate on the south bank -of the Thames and on the north bank of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> -Kennet, at the confluence of the two rivers; -and, while part of the Pagan host made a -rampart between the rivers, to protect their camp -and the town which they had taken, a large -force, on the third day after their arrival, began -scouring the country for plunder, under -two of their earls.</p> - -<p>But the men of Wessex had increased and -multiplied as well as their cattle, and Æthelwulf, -Alderman of Berkshire, was a man “who -raged as a lion in battle.” So Æthelwulf, with -what men he could get together, fought with -the two earls at Englefield, though he had but -a small band of Christians with him. But he -cheered his men, saying to them, “though they -attack us with the advantage of more men we -may despise them, for our commander Christ, -is braver than they.”<a name="FNanchor_15" id="FNanchor_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> Whereupon the men of -Wessex buckled to their work under the oaks -of Englefield Chase (afterwards beloved by the -great Queen Bess), and there discomfited the -pagans very sore, and slew one of the two -earls. In one of the old chroniclers, there are -a few lines which may partly account for -Æthelwulf’s victory; “their two consuls,” says<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> -Æthelwerd, “forgetting that they were not on -board their fleet, rode proudly through fields and -meadows on horseback, which nature had denied -them;” possibly therefore these were the new -comers, who had just joined the Pagan army -and were not used to horses or landfighting.</p> - -<p>Within the next three days King Æthelred -and his brother Alfred came up from the west, -each leading a strong band of West Saxon -warriors, and joined Æthelwulf; and on the -fourth day they attacked the Pagans at Reading. -Those who were outside the rampart they -cut to pieces, and at first had the vantage; but -the Pagans came out with all their forces, and -after great slaughter had been made on either -hand, and the brave Æthelwulf had been slain, -“the Pagans had possession of the place of -death.”<a name="FNanchor_16" id="FNanchor_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> Thus the chronicle states it; probably -the men of Wessex were grievously beaten, -and went back with their king, in confusion, -along the chalk hills to the other end of Berkshire, -pursued by Bægseeg and Halfdene, the -two lately arrived Danish kings, with the -strength of the Pagan host. I suppose that -Hinguar and Hubba stayed at Reading, to hold<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> -the place of safety; for neither of them were -at Ashdown.</p> - -<p>But every mile as they fell back added -strength to Æthelred and Alfred, as bands of -men came up from the rear; from the broad -Wiltshire plains over the Kennet at Hungerford, -and along the chalk hills from Swindon -and Ashbury; from the vales of the Kennet -and the Thames on either flank; and a few -perhaps already from Glostershire and Oxfordshire, -where the news was doubtless spreading -like the wind. So Æthelred and his host turned -to bay at Ashdown, and set the battle in array -against the pagan kings.</p> - -<p>There is some question between antiquaries -as to where the exact site of this battle is. -It must however, it seems to me, be somewhere -in the western part of Berkshire; for it -is quite impossible that Æthelred and Alfred -could have fought at Reading, at Ashdown, -and at Basing, as they unquestionably -did, within three weeks, if we are to look for -Ashdown battle-field either at Ashdown forest, -in Essex, or at Ashendon, in the hundred of -Bernwood in Buckinghamshire, which are the -only sites out of Berkshire claiming this honour,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> -and supported by a tittle of authority. Besides, -even supposing these three battles could have -been fought in the time, yet the battle of Reading, -having gone against the Saxons, (as to -which every chronicler agrees,) is it likely that -they should have retired <em>past</em> the town and -stronghold of the Danes, either northeast into -Buckinghamshire, or southeast into Sussex, -leaving the whole of Wessex open to the enemy, -instead of falling back westward into Wessex, -and so covering their own homes? It is perfectly -absurd to suppose this, Alfred being one -of their generals; and how such ancient and -venerable persons as Bishops Kennet and Leland -can have talked such nonsense, is hard to -say; unless, indeed, they were born, the one in -Sussex, the other in Buckinghamshire, in which -case it is of course excusable, nay, justifiable -in them; but of this I know nothing.</p> - -<p>As to the Berkshire sites, I don’t see any -reason for troubling you with their several titles. -I am myself satisfied that the battle was -fought here; but all the sites are somewhere on -this range of chalk hills, of which the old White -Horse is king. So now we will turn to the account -of the great battle in the old chroniclers.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/i068.jpg" width="500" height="300" alt="An army heading into battle" /> -</div> - -<p>“About four days after the battle at Reading, -King Æthelred and Alfred, his brother, fought -against the whole army of the Pagans at Ashdown. -And they were in two bodies; in the -one were Bægseeg and Halfdene the Pagan -kings, and in the other were the earls.” “Now -the Christians had determined that King Æthelred -with his men should attack the two Pagan -kings, but that Alfred his brother with his men, -should take the chance of war against the earls. -Things being so settled, the king remained a -long time in prayer, hearing the mass, and said -he would not leave it till the priest had done, -nor abandon the protection of God for that of -men. And so he did, which afterwards availed -him much with the Almighty, as we shall declare -more fully in the sequel. But the Pagans -came up quickly to the fight. Then Alfred, -though holding a lower authority, as I have been -told by those who were there and would not lie, -could no longer support the troops of the enemy -unless he retreated or charged upon them without -waiting for his brother; so he marched out -promptly with his men in a close column and -gave battle.” “He too,” as Simeon says, “knowing -without a doubt that victory would not lie<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> -with a multitude of men, but in the pity and -mercy of God,” and seeing also that, mass or -no mass, the Pagans must not be allowed to -get between him and his brother. “But here -I must inform those who are ignorant of the -fact, that the field of battle was not equal for -both armies. The Pagans occupied the higher -ground, and the Christians came up from below. -There was also in that place a single stunted -thorn-tree, which I myself have seen with my -own eyes. Around this tree the opposing hosts -came together with loud shouts from all sides, -the one to pursue their wicked course, the other -to fight for their lives, their dearest ties, and -their country.” “In the midst of the fight, and -when Alfred was hard pressed,”—according to -Brompton, for the older chroniclers do not mention -this,—“the king came up with his fresh -forces.” “And when both hosts had fought -long and bravely, at last the Pagans, by God’s -judgment, could no longer bear the attack of -the Christians, and having lost great part of -their men, took to a disgraceful flight, and all -the Pagan host pursued its flight not only until -night, but the next day, even until they reached -the stronghold from which they had come out.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> -The Christians followed, slaying all they could -reach until it became dark.”<a name="FNanchor_17" id="FNanchor_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> “And the flower of -the Pagan youth were there slain, so that neither -before nor since was ever such destruction -known since the Saxons first gained Britain by -their arms.” “There fell in that battle King -Bægseeg and these earls with him; that old -Earl Sidroc, to whom may be applied that saying -‘the ancient of evil days,’ and Earl Sidroc -the younger, and Earl Osbern, and Earl Frœna, -and Earl Harold; who, with their men, choosing -the broad and spacious way, went down -into the depths of the lake;” or, let us perhaps -hope not, old monk Simeon, seeing that they -died gallantly in harness, and that, as you yourself -add in the next sentence, “they knew not -the way of teaching nor understood its paths; -it was kept far away from their faces.” It is -fair to add that Brompton states that Æthelred -slew Bægseeg with his spear, and another -Pagan of note with his sword, after, he got up -to the fight; but the older chroniclers do not -mention this.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span><a name="FNanchor_18" id="FNanchor_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a></p> - -<p>To finish briefly the history of the rest of the -year 871, fourteen days after the battle of Ashdown, -Æthelred and Alfred fought another battle -with the Pagans (probably with that part -which had remained in garrison at Reading, -with Hinguar and Hubba, and the relics of -Halfdene’s army), at Basing, which seems to -have been undecided; and two months afterwards -another at Merton. After which, in the -summer, reinforcements came from beyond sea, -and joined the Pagans; King Æthelred died, -and Alfred fought before the winter four more -pitched battles. So, as the Saxon Chronicle -sums up, “in this year nine general battles were -fought against the army in the kingdom south -of the Thames; besides which, Alfred, the king’s -brother, and single aldermen and king’s thanes, -oftentimes made attacks on them which were -not numbered, and slew of them within the -year one king and nine earls.” This was not -what the Pagans reckoned on; they liked fighting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> -very much in reason, as an accompaniment -of spoiling a country, and did it well; but -to be fighting nine pitched battles in a year, -hemmed in in one corner of a rich kingdom -(for they never got farther than a few miles into -Wiltshire), and getting no spoil even there, was -not to their taste; so in the winter they made -truce with Alfred, and took themselves off to -their old haunts in Mercia and Northumbria, -and did not return for five years.</p> - -<p>This year, <span class="smcapuc">A.D.</span> 871, is a year for Berkshire -men to be proud of, for on them fell the brunt -of that fiery trial; and their gallant stand probably -saved England a hundred years of Paganism. -For had they given way at Ashdown, -and the reinforcements from over the sea come -to a conquering, instead of to a beaten army in -the summer, there was nothing to stop the -Pagans between Reading and Exeter. The -other eight battles were skirmishes in comparison -with this one; they scarcely occupy five -lines each in the chroniclers, and out of the -king and nine Pagan earls who were slain -within the year, six fell at Ashdown. It was -Alfred’s crowning mercy; and so he felt it to -be, and in memory of it he caused his army<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> -(tradition says, on the day after the battle) to -carve the White Horse, the standard of Hengist, -on the hill-side just under the Castle, where it -stands as you see until this day.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>“Thank you, Sir,” said I, when he paused, -“what a grand story it makes! And are those -the real words of the old chroniclers, as you -call them, Sir, which you used?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said he, “almost every word is simply -a translation from one or other of them, but -the greater part is taken from the Chronicle of -Asser, who was a contemporary and intimate -friend of Alfred, and a very learned and pious -ecclesiastic.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose they were; mostly priests and -monks who wrote the Chronicles then, Sir, for -they don’t read at all like our modern histories. -They seem a much more religious sort -of books.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t call them religious books,” said he, -“it puts one in mind of religious newspapers,—the -greatest curse of our times. Yes, people -sneer at the old English chroniclers now-a-days, -and prefer the Edda, and all sorts of heathen -stuff, to them; but they are great books, Sir,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> -for those who have eyes for them; godly books -is the name for them, written by God-fearing -men, who were not ashamed of the faith which -was in them;—men who believed, Sir, that a -living God was ruling in England, and that in -his name one of them might defy a thousand. -Your historians, now-a-days, Sir, believe that -Providence (for they dare not talk of God) is -on the side of the strongest battalion. There’s -some difference, when you come to think of it, -between the two creeds, Sir.”</p> - -<p>The old gentleman looked at me quite fierce, -so I made all the haste I could to change the -subject.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you think it very curious, Sir, that -the figure should have lasted all this time?” -said I; “because you see, Sir, if you or I were -to cut a trench, two feet or so deep, up here, -on the side of the hill, and stamp down the -chalk ever so hard, it would be all filled up -and grown over in a few years.”</p> - -<p>“You are not the first person who has made -that remark,” said he. “In the year 1738, an -antiquary, of the name of Francis Wise, who -lived at Oxford, visited the hill, and wrote a -letter on the subject to Dr. Mead, the most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> -learned antiquary of that day. First he speaks -of the figure of the horse as ‘being described -in so masterly a manner that it may defy the -painter’s skill to give a more exact description -of the animal.’”</p> - -<p>“How could he talk like that, Sir?” said I; -“why the figure isn’t a bit like——”</p> - -<p>“You are as bad as Camden,” said he, “who -talks of I know not what shape of a horse -fancied on the side of a whitish hill; but the -truth is, it is a copy of the Saxon standard, -which, of course, was a rude affair. However, -Wise, whom I was telling you of, goes -on:—</p> - -<p>“When I saw it, the head had suffered a -little and wanted reparation; and the extremities -of his hinder legs, from their unavoidable -situation, have by the fall of rains been filled -up in some measure with the washings from -the upper parts; so that, in the nearest view of -him, the tail, which does not suffer the same -inconvenience, and has continued entire from -the beginning, seems longer than his legs. The -supplies, which nature is continually affording, -occasion the turf to crumble and fall off into -the white trench, which in many years’ time<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> -produces small specks of turf, and not a little -obscures the brightness of the Horse; though -there is no danger from hence of the whole -figure being obliterated, for the inhabitants have -a custom of ‘scouring the Horse,’ as they call -it; at which time a solemn festival is celebrated, -and manlike games with prizes exhibited, which -no doubt had their original in Saxon times -in memory of the victory.”<a name="FNanchor_19" id="FNanchor_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a></p> - -<p>“Scouring the Horse! yes, of course,” said -I, “that is what they are doing now, and the -games are to come off to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>“Exactly so,” said he, “but you will like to -hear how Wise goes on:—</p> - -<p>“If ever the genius of King Alfred exerted -itself (and it never failed him in his greatest -exigencies), it did remarkably so upon account -of this trophy. The situation of his affairs -would not permit him to expend much time, -nor his circumstances much cost, in effecting -one,” (truly, for he had six more pitched battles -to fight between April and November.) “His -troops, though victorious, were harassed and -diminished by continual duty; nor did the country<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> -afford, to any man’s thinking, materials -proper for a work of this kind. Though he -had not therefore the opportunity of raising, -like other conquerors, a stupendous monument -of brass or marble, yet he has shown an admirable -contrivance, in erecting one magnificent -enough, though simple in its design—executed, -too, with little labour and no expense—that -may hereafter vie with the Pyramids in duration, -and perhaps exist when these shall be no -more.”</p> - -<p>“But, dear me, Sir,” said I, “how can the -White Horse vie with the Pyramids in duration? -Why, the Pyramids were built——”</p> - -<p>“Never mind when they were built,” said he; -“don’t you see the old antiquary is an enthusiast? -I had hoped you were one also.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed, Sir, I am very anxious to hear all -you can tell me,” said I, “and I won’t interrupt -again.”</p> - -<p>“Well, as to the scouring, Wise says:—</p> - -<p>“The ceremony of scouring the Horse, from -time immemorial, has been solemnized by a -numerous concourse of people from all the villages -round about. I am informed, though the -Horse stands in the parish of Uffington, yet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> -other towns claim, by ancient custom, a share -of the duty upon this occasion. Since, therefore, -this noble antiquity is now explained, -and consequently the reason of the festival, it -were to be wished that, in order to prevent for -the future its falling into oblivion, some care -was taken of the regulation of the games, and -that they were restored to their ancient splendour, -of which, without question, they are fallen -much short. I know that these rites are cavilled -at and maligned by the more supercilious part -of mankind; but the dislike to them seems to -be founded merely upon the abuse of them to -riot and debauchery, which I intend by no -means to justify or excuse. The practice of -the best and wisest states, whose maxims we -approve and profess to follow, is sufficient authority -for their use. The liberty we so justly -boast, and which ought to be a common blessing -to all, pleads loudly for them. The common -people, from their daily labour, stands at -least in as much need of proper intervals of -recreation as their superiors, who are exempt -from it, and therefore in all free states have -been indulged in sports most suited to their -genius and capacity. And if manlike games<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> -contribute any thing towards the support of the -natural bravery of these, who are to be our -bulwark and defence in times of danger, they -cannot be more seasonably revived than at this -juncture, when, through the general luxury and -dissoluteness of the age, there was never more -likelihood of its being extinguished. Besides -all this, from hence a superior influence diffuseth -itself through the better sort, who are -supposed to enter further into the intention of -these solemnities; for which reason it is, that -to perpetuate to posterity the remembrance of -great men, and of great actions, has been always -recommended, as a proper incentive to -virtue. Customs of very trifling import, some -ridiculous in themselves, others owing to causes -equally ridiculous, are oftentimes kept up by -Englishmen with much zeal and tenacity; and -shall the greatest prince that this isle was ever -blessed with, and the greatest action of that -prince’s life, be in danger of being forgot, -through the neglect of a solemnity, the only -one, perhaps, that was ever instituted, at least, -that is now preserved, to his honour?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span><a name="FNanchor_20" id="FNanchor_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a></p> - -<p>I didn’t say a word now, though he seemed -to have finished.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said he, after a minute, “have you -nothing to say? You’re very glad that it’s -over, I suppose?”</p> - -<p>“No, Sir, indeed I am not,” said I; “but I -am very much obliged to you for your kindness -in telling me all that you have.”</p> - -<p>“You are a very intelligent young man, Sir,” -said he; “most young fellows of your age -would have been bored to death half-an-hour -ago, even if they hadn’t managed to run off -altogether, and so they would have lost a good -lesson in English history—not that they would -have cared much for that though. But now, I -dare say you are getting hungry. Let us go -up and see what they are doing in the Castle, -and I shall be very glad if you will do me the -honour of lunching with me.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” thought I, as we got up from the -turf, “there are not many better things for getting -a man on than being a good listener. Here -is a very learned old gentleman who doesn’t -know my name, and I have got the length of -his foot, and he has asked me to luncheon, just -because I have been listening to his old stories.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> -I wonder where the lunch is to be though? he -spoke of a Castle, perhaps he lives in it—who -knows?”</p> - -<p>So we strolled away together up over the -brow of the hill.</p> - -<div class="footnotes"> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3" id="Footnote_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> See Simeon, <span class="smcapuc">A.D.</span> 870.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4" id="Footnote_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> See Chronicle of St. Neot, <span class="smcapuc">A.D.</span> 878.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5" id="Footnote_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> See Saxon Chron. and Asser, <span class="smcapuc">A.D.</span> 866.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6" id="Footnote_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> See Asser, <span class="smcapuc">A.D.</span> 867.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_7" id="Footnote_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> See Saxon Chron. and Huntingdon, <span class="smcapuc">A.D.</span> 874.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_8" id="Footnote_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> See Simeon, <span class="smcapuc">A.D.</span> 870.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_9" id="Footnote_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> N. B. This was written in October, 1857.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_10" id="Footnote_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> Here is Robert of Gloster’s account of the martyrdom:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“So that atte laste to Estangle agen hym come:</div> -<div class="verse">Ther hii barned and robbede and that fole to grounde slowe;</div> -<div class="verse">And as wolves among ssep reulych hem to drowe,</div> -<div class="verse">Seynt Edmond was tho her kyng, and tho he sey that delvol cas</div> -<div class="verse">That me morthred so that fole, and non amendement n’as,</div> -<div class="verse">He ches levere to deye hym-sulf, that such soreve to ysey—</div> -<div class="verse">He dude hym vorth among ys ton, n’olde he nothyng fle.</div> -<div class="verse">Hii nome hym and scourged hym, and suthe naked hym bounde</div> -<div class="verse">To a tre, and to hym ssote, and made hym mony a wounde,</div> -<div class="verse">That the arewe were on hym tho thycke, that no stede n’as byleved.</div> -<div class="verse">Atte laste hii martred hym, and smyte of ys heved.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse attribution"><i>Robert of Gloster’s Chronicle</i>, p. 263, <i>apud Thomas Hearne</i>. Ed. 1724.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_11" id="Footnote_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> See Saxon Chronicle, and Huntingdon, <span class="smcapuc">A.D.</span> 870.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_12" id="Footnote_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> See Brompton, <span class="smcapuc">A.D.</span> 870.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_13" id="Footnote_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> See Sax Chron., <span class="smcapuc">A.D.</span> 870.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_14" id="Footnote_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> See Huntingdon, <span class="smcapuc">A.D.</span> 871.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_15" id="Footnote_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> See Simeon, <span class="smcapuc">A.D.</span> 871.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_16" id="Footnote_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> See Saxon Chronicle, <span class="smcapuc">A.D.</span> 871.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_17" id="Footnote_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> See Asser, <span class="smcapuc">A.D.</span> 871.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_18" id="Footnote_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> This is Robert of Gloster’s account of the Battle:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“The Kyng and Alfred ys brother nome men ynowe,</div> -<div class="verse">Mette hem, and a batayle smyte up Assesdowne—</div> -<div class="verse">Ther was mony moder chyld, that sone lay ther doune—</div> -<div class="verse">The batayle ylaste vorte-nygt, and ther were aslawe</div> -<div class="verse">Vyf dukes of Dene-march, ar hii wolde wyth drawe,</div> -<div class="verse">And mony thousende of other men, and tho’ gonne hii to fle;</div> -<div class="verse">Ac hii adde alle ybe assend, gyf the nyght n’adde y bee.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse attribution"><i>Robert of Gloster, p. 263, apud Thomas Hearne. Ed. 1724.</i>”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_19" id="Footnote_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> Wise’s Letter to Dr. Mead, “concerning some Antiquities in -Berkshire,” ed. 1, pp. 25, 26.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_20" id="Footnote_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> Wise’s Letter, p. 31.</p> - -</div> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</h2> - -<p>“Well, here’s the Castle, you see,” said he, -when we had walked a few hundred yards, and -were come quite to the top of the hill.</p> - -<p>“Where, Sir?” said I, staring about. I had -half expected to see an old stone building with -a moat, and round towers and battlements, and -a great flag flying; and that the old gentleman -would have walked across the drawbridge, and -cried out, “What ho! warder!” and that we -should have been waited upon at lunch by an -old white-headed man in black velvet, with a -silver chain, and keys round his waist. Somehow, -the story of the battle, and all the talk -about Pendragon and Arthur, coming upon the -back of the farm-house, and the out of the way -country life, which was so strange to me, had -carried me into a sort of new world; and I -shouldn’t have been much surprised to see a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> -dragon running about the hill, though I should -have been horribly frightened.</p> - -<p>“I can’t make up my mind about this Castle,” -he went on, without noticing me; “on two -sides it looks like a regular Roman castrum, -and Roman remains are found scattered about; -but then the other sides are clearly not Roman. -The best antiquaries who have noticed it call it -Danish. On the whole, I think it must have -been seized and occupied in succession by the -lords of the country for the time being; and -each successive occupier has left his mark more -or less plainly. But, at any rate, you see it is a -magnificent work.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Sir,” said I, “no doubt;” though I -own I was a good deal disappointed. For what -do you think the Castle is? Up at the very top -of the hill, above the White Horse, there is a -great flat space, about as big as Lincoln’s Inn -Fields, only not the same shape, because it is -only square on two sides. All round this space, -there is a bank of earth, eight or ten feet high -in some places, but lower at others. Then, outside, -there is a great, broad, deep ditch; it must -be twenty-five feet from the top of the inner -bank to the bottom of the ditch; and outside<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> -that again, is another large bank of earth, from -the foot of which the downs slope away on -every side. But the banks and ditch are all -grown over with turf, just like the rest of the -downs, and there isn’t even a single stone, much -less a tower, to be seen. There are three entrances -cut through the double banks, one on -the west, one on the southeast, and the third at -the northeast side, which was the one through -which we entered.</p> - -<p>But if there were no warders and seneschals -and drawbridges, there was plenty of life in the -Castle. The whole place seemed full of men -and women, and booths and beasts, and carts -and long poles; and amongst them all were the -Squire and Joe, and two or three farmers, who I -afterwards found out were Committee-men, trying -to get things into some sort of order. And -a troublesome job they were having of it. All -the ground was parcelled out for different purposes -by the Committee, and such parts as were -not wanted for the sports, were let at small rents -to any one who wanted them. But nobody -seemed to be satisfied with his lot. Here a big -gypsy, who wouldn’t pay any rent at all, was -settling his cart and family, and swinging his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> -kettle, on a bit of ground, which the man who -owned the pink-eyed lady had paid for. There -a cheap-Jack was hustling a toyman from -Wantage, and getting all his frontage towards -the streets, (as they called the broad spaces -which were to be kept clear for the people to -walk along.) In another place, a licensed publican -was taking the lot of a travelling showman -into his skittle-alley. Then there were old -women who had lost their donkeys and carts, -and their tins of nuts and sacks of apples; and -donkeys who had lost their old women, standing -obstinately in the middle of the streets, and -getting in everybody’s way; and all round, -saws and axes and hammers were going, and -booths and stalls were rising up.</p> - -<p>I shouldn’t have liked to have had much to -do with setting them all straight, and so I told -Joe, when he came up to us, after we had been -looking on at all the confusion for a minute or -two. For most of the men were very rough-looking -customers, like the costermongers about -Covent Garden and Clare Market, and I know -that those huckstering, loafing blades are mostly -terrible fellows to fight; and there wasn’t a -single policeman to look like keeping order.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> -But Joe made light enough of it—he was -always such a resolute boy, and that’s what -made me admire him so—and said, “For the -matter of that, if they were ten times as rough -a lot, and twice as many, the Squire and the -farmers and their men would tackle them pretty -quick, without any blue-coated chaps to help! -Aye, and nobody knows it better than they, and -you’ll see they’ll be all in nice order before sundown, -without a blow struck; except amongst -themselves, perhaps, and that’s no matter, and -what they’re used to. But now, you come in,” -said Joe, turning towards one of the large publicans’ -booths, which was already finished, “the -Committee have got a table here, and we must -dine, for we shan’t be home these four hours -yet, I can see.”</p> - -<p>“Sir,” said my new friend to Joe, drawing -himself up a bit, but very politely; “this gentleman -is my guest. He has done me the honour -of accepting my invitation to luncheon.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! beg pardon, Sir, I’m sure,” said Joe, -staring; “I didn’t know that Dick had any -acquaintance down in these parts. Then,” said -he to me, “I shall take my snack with the -rest presently; you’ll see me about somewhere,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> -when it’s time to get back.” Joe went back -into the crowd, and I followed the old gentleman.</p> - -<p>We went into the booth, which was a very big -one, made of strong, double sail-cloth, stretched -over three rows of fir poles, the middle row -being, I should say, sixteen or eighteen feet -high. Just on our right, as we entered from -the street, was the bar, which was made with -a double row of eighteen-gallon casks, full of -ale, along the top of which boards were laid, so -as to make a counter. Behind the bar the landlord -and landlady, and a barmaid, were working -away, and getting every thing into order. There -were more rows of large casks, marked XX and -XXX, ranged upon one another against the side -of the booth, and small casks of spirits hooped -with bright copper, and cigar boxes, and a table -covered with great joints of beef and pork, and -crockery and knives and forks, and baskets full -of loaves of bread, and lettuces and potatoes. -It must have cost a deal of money to get it all -up the hill, and set the booth up. Beyond the -bar was a sort of inner room, partly screened -from the rest of the booth by a piece of sail-cloth, -where a long table was laid out for luncheon,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> -or “nunching,” as the boots, who was -doing waiter for the occasion, called it. The -rest of the booth, except a space before the bar -which was kept clear for casual customers to -stand about in, was set about with rough tables -and forms. We got a capital dinner; for the -landlord knew my entertainer, and was very -civil, and brought us our ale himself and poured -it out, making an apology because it hadn’t had -quite time to fine down, but it would be as clear -as a diamond, he said, if we would please to -call in to-morrow.</p> - -<p>After we had done, we went round behind -the booth, where some rough planking had been -put up to serve for stalls, and the boots, in his -waiter’s jacket, brought out the old gentleman’s -cob.</p> - -<p>“Peter,” said he, when he had mounted, -“here is sixpence for you; and now mind what -you are at, and don’t get drunk and disgrace -yourself up on the hill.”</p> - -<p>Peter, who seemed to be very much afraid of -the old gentleman, kept pulling away at his -forelock, and hunching up his shoulders, till we -turned the corner of the booth.</p> - -<p>“Now I must be riding home,” said my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> -friend, “but if you like just to walk round with -me, I will show you the site of the battle.”</p> - -<p>So I thanked him, and walked along by the -side of his cob, and he rode out of the entrance -we had come in by, and then round the outer -earthwork of the castle. As we passed along, -the inner bank rose high up on our right hand, -and we could just see the tops of the highest -booths above it.</p> - -<p>“You see what a strong place it must have -been before gunpowder was invented,” said the -old gentleman; “and here, you see, is the second -entrance; and this road which we are upon -is the Ridgeway, one of the oldest roads in England. -How far it once extended, or who made -it, no man knows; but you may trace it away -there along the ridge of the downs as far as -you can see, and, in fact, there are still some -sixty miles of it left. But they won’t be left -long, I fear, Sir, in this age which venerates -nothing.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t see much fear of that, Sir,” said I, -“after it has lasted so long already.”</p> - -<p>“No fear, Sir!” said he, “why miles of it -have been ploughed up within my memory. -God meant these downs, Sir, for sheep-walks,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> -and so our fathers left them; but within the -last twenty years would-be wise men have -found that they will grow decent turnips and -not very bad oats. Well, they plough them up, -find two inches of soil only, get one crop out -of them, and spoil them for sheep. Next year, -no crops. Then comes manure, manure, manure, -nothing but expense; not a turnip will -trouble himself to grow bigger than a reddish -under a pennyworth of guano or bones. The -wise men grumble and swear, but the downs -are spoiled.”</p> - -<p>“But that will all cure itself then, Sir,” said -I; “they won’t plough up any more, if it -doesn’t pay; and then the Ridgeway won’t be -touched!”</p> - -<p>“They are all mad for ploughing, Sir, these -blockhead farmers; why, half of them keep -their sheep standing on boards all the year -round. They would plough and grow mangold-wurzel -on their fathers’ graves. The Tenth -Legion, Sir, has probably marched along this -road; Severus and Agricola have ridden along -it, Sir; Augustine’s monks have carried the -Cross along it. There is that in that old -mound and ditch which the best turnips and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> -oats in the world (if you could get them) can’t -replace. There are higher things in this world, -Sir, than indifferent oats and d—d bad turnips.”</p> - -<p>The old gentleman was all in a blaze again; -he brought down his cane sharply on to the -cob’s neck, which made him caper up and jump -off along the Ridgeway, and it was a hundred -yards before they drew up. I followed, thinking -that he couldn’t be a clergyman after all, -to be swearing like that about nothing. When -I got up to him, however, he was quite cool -again. He had stopped just below the western -entrance to the Castle, and the ground fell rapidly -in front of us.</p> - -<p>“Now, you can’t have a better point than -this,” said he; “you remember what I told -you about the armies. The Danes held the -higher ground, that is, Uffington Castle, up here, -behind us. Alfred, with his division of the -Saxon army, lay over there, in that valley to -the left, where you see the great wood in the -middle of the down. That is Ashdown Park, -Lord Craven’s seat, and just on the edge of it -there is a circular earthwork, which is called -Alfred’s camp. Aubrey says that in his time -it was ‘almost quite defaced, by digging for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> -the Sarsden stones to build my Lord Craven’s -house in the park;’ but you may still find it -if you look. Then, over there, on that point, -a mile or more away to the right, is a camp -called Hardwell Camp, where Æthelred lay. -The crown of the slope you see along which -the Ridgeway runs, is midway between the -Saxon camps.</p> - -<p>“In the early spring morning, the low call -to arms passes round the height; the Danish -host, marshalled behind the high earthworks, -breaks over them, like an overflowing lake, and -rushes down the slope. Alfred’s division of the -Saxon army is already on foot, and there he sits, -the sickly stripling on the white horse, untried -save in one luckless fight. How will he guide -such a battle? See, his host is in motion; -scouts fly out, riding for life across to Æthelred’s -camp. ‘Come up, my brother! the Pagan -is upon us—while I live they shall not divide -us—I will hold the crest of the Ridgeway, -come life, come death.’ The vans are together -with a wild shout, squadron by squadron the -hosts close up, the fight sways slowly backwards -and forwards, the life’s blood of a brave -man pays for every inch won or lost. The Saxons<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> -are but one to three, the Pagans slowly -overlap them—are on their flanks. The white -horse and his rider dash from side to side, faster -and faster, as the over-matched Christians faint, -reel, give back—now here, now there, along the -line. When will the mass be over? Cut it -short, as thou art Saxon man, oh priest! and -get thee to sword and buckler.</p> - -<p>“At last they come, Æthelred and his host—they -are upon the right flank of the Pagan, -and the fight is restored; and with many an -ebb and pause, but steadily, through the long -morning hours, rolls up the hill towards the -camp and the fatal thorn.”</p> - -<p>“Is that the old thorn-tree, then, do you -think, Sir?” said I, pointing to one which was -growing by itself some way off.</p> - -<p>“I fear not, Sir, I fear not; the ‘unica spinosa -arbor’ is gone. It must have stood somewhere -up here, on the slope just below the -Castle, the stronghold of the Danish robbers. -Here the grim Pagan turns to bay for the last -time. King Bægseeg lies dead, a hundred -yards below; by his side his standard-bearer -and Earl Frœna; Halfdene is still unhurt, but -near him Osbert totters under his shield; Harold<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> -can scarce back his charger, and the life-blood -trickles slowly down his leg, and falls, -drop by drop, on the trampled turf, as they -still make front against Æthelred yonder—there -on the right. But here, here the field -must be won! This way, you Saxon men, -kings-thane, and alderman! Whoever hath stout -heart and whole body left.</p> - -<p>“It is the old sea-king, Sidroc, ‘the ancient -one of evil days;’ mark him, as he bestrides -his black war-horse, there by the old twisted -thorn. His heavy sword drips with blood, his -sword-arm is steeped in blood to the elbow—the -dint of long and fierce battle is on horse -and man; but the straight thin lips are set -like flint in the midst of that gray beard, and -the eyes glow and gleam under that fearful -brow—eyes that have never quailed before conquering -foe, or softened to the fallen—lips that -have never opened to say the word ‘Spare.’ By -his side the young Sidroc, grim son of grim -sire. Ashdown crows must feast on those eyes, -and Ashdown wolves pick those bones, if the -Pagans are to be beaten this day. Round them -rally the Danes as they are driven up the slope. -Again and again the advancing Saxons reel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> -back from the stunted thorn, before the shock -of the two Boersirkir. He comes! it is the -sickly prince, the stripling on the white horse, -trampling fetlock-deep in blood. Round him a -chosen band of yellow-bearded men of Wessex. -One moment’s pause, and they meet in -a last death-grapple. Bite, Saxon blade; pierce, -Saxon spear! Think of your homes, my countrymen; -think of the walls of Reading, of Ethelwulf -and his last war-cry, ‘Our commander, -Christ, is braver than they!’ The black horse -is down; young Sidroc springs over the brute, -lashing out in death agony, and covers his -father. His head is cleft to the chin—a half-armed -gaunt cowherd drives his spear through -the chest of the old sea-king. Away over their -bodies up the hill go white horse, and stripling -prince, and yellow-bearded men; rushing -through the camp gate, scrambling over the -banks pell-mell with the flying Pagan. The -camp is ours; now slay while light is left—for -there is no shelter for a Pagan between this and -Reading. ‘Then were the horse-hoofs broken -by the means of the prancings, of the prancings -of their mighty ones. Oh my soul, thou -hast trodden down strength!’”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p> - -<p>The old gentleman stopped at last, and took -off his hat and wiped his face, and then looked -down at me as if he were half-ashamed—</p> - -<p>“I see you think I’m mad—” he began.</p> - -<p>“Indeed, sir—” said I, stammering a little.</p> - -<p>“Well, well! never mind,” he said; “the -fact is, I live a good deal in those old times. -I’ve been up here, and sat and gone over the -fight so often, that when I get on the hill-side, I -think I saw it all. In the autumn evenings at -twilight, when the southwest wind blows wild, -and the mist comes drifting over the broad -downs, many a time, as I have stolen down the -silent hill-side, I have seen the weird old Pagan -king and the five earls, sitting one on each of -the giants’ seats, and looking mournfully out -over the Vale, waiting—waiting—waiting for a -thousand years, all but fourteen. It’s a long -time, sir, a long time; but you and I may have -to wait for a longer over the scene of some of -our doings. Who can say?”</p> - -<p>I really now did begin to think the old gentleman -a little crazy, so I said nothing. Presently -he went on in his old quiet voice:—</p> - -<p>“There, now I have dismounted my hobby, -and am sane again. I live in a wild, lonely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> -part of the world down west, and for the last -thirty years have read little else but the Bible, -and books 200 years old and upwards. Every -man has his madness—that’s mine—I don’t get -a chance of letting it out once a-year. I have -spent a very pleasant day with you, Sir; and if -you ever come down to these parts again, and -like to come on and see me, I shall be very -glad. There is my name and address;” and -he gave me his card, but he didn’t say that I -might publish it.</p> - -<p>“Thank you, Sir,” said I, putting it into my -pocket-book; “but I hope you will be up on -the hill to-morrow?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I shall just ride up,” he said, “to see -how they have used my old friend; he wanted -scouring sadly. The games I don’t much care -about, though I’m glad they go on. But not -one man in a thousand who will be on the hill -to-morrow will know what the meaning of it -all is; and that makes it a melancholy sight to -me, Sir, on the whole.”</p> - -<p>“But what a pity,” said I, “that they are not -told. It would interest everybody else, I’m -sure, just as it has me. Why don’t you tell -it then, Sir, in a book or a newspaper?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Nobody would read my old-world stuff,” -said he. “No: a man must understand and be -in sympathy with his own generation to coax -it into caring about an older one. But now I -must be going. If you have time to walk -down to that little clump of trees over there, -towards Æthelred’s camp, you will find an old -Druidical cromlech well worth examining. It -is called Wayland Smith’s cave. Walter Scott, -who should have known better, says that the -Danish king killed at Ashdown was buried -there. He was no more buried there than in -Westminster Abbey. Good-bye.” And so he -put his cob into a canter, and went off along -the Ridgeway.</p> - -<p>When he was gone I walked down to the -clump of trees and went into the cave; and -then sat down on the great flat stone which -covers it over, and finished putting down all I -had heard from the old gentleman; and thought -what odd people a man finds about the world, -and how many things there are which one never -heard of that other folk are spending their lives -over. Then I went up to the camp again to -find Joe, for the afternoon was getting on. -True enough, as he had said, when I got back<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> -there I found it all getting into order. All -along the north side were the theatres and peep-shows, -and acrobats, and the pink-eyed lady, -and the other shows. On the west side were -the publicans’ booths, some of them all ready, -and others half up, but all with their places settled; -and the great street of hucksters’ stalls and -cheap-Jacks was all set out along the south -side, and as more and more of them came up -they went off to the end of the line and pitched -regularly. The gypsies and people with no -regular business were all got away into a corner, -behind the stalls. On the west side the -county police were pitching their large tent -close away by the bank, out of the way of -everybody; and, some way in front of them, -Lord Craven’s people had put up two military-looking -tents which I heard had belonged to -the 42d Regiment, with a great flagstaff close -by them. About the middle of the camp stood -a large stage about six feet high, roped round -for the backswording and wrestling. There -was plenty of room now, and all the people, -who were not working at the booths and stalls, -were sitting about boiling kettles and getting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> -their food. It was a very cheerful, pretty sight, -up there out of the way of every thing.</p> - -<p>I soon found Joe amongst a group of farmers -and one or two young gentlemen, some on -horseback and some on foot, standing round the -Squire. They were talking over the arrangements -before going home; and I stood a little -way off, so as not to interrupt them or to seem -to be pushing myself into their company.</p> - -<p>“Now I think we have done all we can -to-day,” said the Squire, gathering up his reins; -“but some of us must be up early to-morrow to -get the lists made, and settle every thing about -the games.”</p> - -<p>“About ten o’clock, Sir?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, that will do capitally. Now I shall -just go and see how they have done the -Horse.”</p> - -<p>So he rode out of the camp, and we all followed -over the brow of the hill till we came to -a good point for seeing the figure, which looked -as bright and clean as a new sixpence.</p> - -<p>“I think he’ll do very well,” said the Squire.</p> - -<p>“Listen to the scourers,” said one of the -young gentlemen.</p> - -<p>They had finished their work, and were sitting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> -in a group round a large can of beer which -the Squire had sent down to them; and one of -them was singing a rumbling sort of ditty, with -a tol-de-rol chorus, in which the rest joined -lazily.</p> - -<p>One of these young gentlemen gave me what -he said were the words they were singing, afterwards, -when I came to know him (as you will -hear in the next chapter); and it seems he -had found out that I was collecting all I could -about the Horse. But I don’t quite know -whether he wasn’t cutting his jokes upon me, -for he is “amazin’ found of fun,” as Joe said; -and for my part, I could never quite tell, when -I was with him, whether he was in jest or -earnest. However, here are the words he gave -me:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem-title">BALLAD OF THE SCOURING OF THE WHITE HORSE.</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse number">I.</div> -<div class="verse">The owld White Harse wants zettin to rights</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And the Squire hev promised good cheer,</div> -<div class="verse">Zo we’ll gee un a scrape to kip un in zhape,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And a’ll last for many a year.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse number">II.</div> -<div class="verse">A was made a lang lang time ago</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Wi a good dale o’ labour and pains,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> -<div class="verse">By King Alferd the Great when he spwiled their consate</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And caddled,<a name="FNanchor_21" id="FNanchor_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> thay wosbirds<a name="FNanchor_22" id="FNanchor_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> the Danes.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse number">III.</div> -<div class="verse">The Bleawin Stwun in days gone by</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Wur King Alfred’s bugle harn,</div> -<div class="verse">And the tharnin tree you med plainly zee</div> -<div class="verse indent1">As is called King Alferd’s tharn.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse number">IV.</div> -<div class="verse">There’ll be backsword play, and climmin the powl,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And a race for a peg, and a cheese,</div> -<div class="verse">And us thenks as hisn’s a dummell<a name="FNanchor_23" id="FNanchor_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> zowl</div> -<div class="verse indent1">As dwont care for zich spwoorts as theze.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>When we had done looking at the Horse, -some went one way and some another, and -Joe and I down the hill to the Swan Inn, -where we got the trap and started away for -Elm Close.</p> - -<p>“Why, Dick, how did you manage to pick -up the old gentleman who was treating you -at dinner?” said Joe; “I suppose he’s one of -your London folk.”</p> - -<p>“’Twas he who picked me up,” said I, “for -I never set eyes on him before. But I can tell<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> -you he is a very learned party, and very kind -too. He told me all about the battle of Ashdown, -and ever so many more old stories. I -should think he must have been two hours -and more telling them.”</p> - -<p>“Sooner you than I,” said Joe. “Well, I -thought I knew his face. He must be the old -gent as was poking about our parish last fall, -and sort of walking the bounds. Though there -isn’t any call for that, I’m sure, for we walk -the bounds ourselves every year. The men as -he hired told me he was looking after some old -stone, the play stone I think he called it, and -would have it he knew more about the names -of the fields, and why they were called so, than -they as had lived there all their lives. However, -he stood ’em something handsome for -their trouble. I expect he isn’t quite right up -here,” said he, touching his forehead and looking -at me.</p> - -<p>“Just as right as you,” said I, “and I’ve no -doubt he does know more about your parish -than all of you put together. I think he must -be some great antiquary.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! that’s what the Squire said when I -told him. A great angular Saxon scholar he -called him.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Anglo-Saxon, Joe,” said I, “not angular.”</p> - -<p>“Well, Anglo or angular, it’s no odds,” said -Joe; “I calls it angular—that’s good English -at any rate.”</p> - -<p>“But, Joe,” said I, “I’ve taken down all he -said, and should like to read it to you. I’m -sure it would interest you.”</p> - -<p>“Well, after supper to-night, over a pipe, perhaps,” -said Joe; “I ain’t much of a hand at -your old-world talk, you see. Or, I’ll tell you -what, you shall read it to Lu; she takes to -book-learning and all that better than I.”</p> - -<p>“I shall be very glad indeed to read it to -your sister,” said I; “and I daresay she can -tell me something more.”</p> - -<p>“May be,” said Joe, drawing his whip gently -over the mare’s loins; and then he began telling -me about the talk he had had with the Squire.</p> - -<p>He seemed to have been telling him all about -his quarrel at the vestry with the other farmers, -about keeping up the parish roads; and the -Squire had smoothed him down, and given him -some good advice as to how to get the roads -made and the fences kept up without losing -his temper. Joe owned to me that he was -often falling out with some of his neighbours,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> -or his hired men, when he couldn’t get things -quite his own way (for that’s what it came to, -and Joe is a warm-tempered fellow), and that -he would sooner come six miles to get the -Squire to “tackle it,” than go to any other justice -who lived nearer; “for he knows our ways, -and manages one way or another to get it out -all straight without making a Sessions job of -it,” said Joe, as we drove up to his gate; and -though I was looking out to catch a sight of -Miss Lucy, and hoping she might be out in -the garden, I couldn’t help allowing to myself -that perhaps the country mightn’t get on so -much better after all if the unpaid magistracy -were done away with.</p> - -<p>Joe went off to the stable to see after his -precious chestnut, and seemed to pity me because -I didn’t go with him. But I was off -round the house and into the garden, to try -and find Miss Lucy. When I did find her -though, I wasn’t quite pleased at first, as you -may fancy when you hear what she was doing.</p> - -<p>There is a trellis-work about eight feet high, -between the little flower-garden and the kitchen-garden, -and in it a wicket-gate, through which -runs a nice green walk by which you get from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> -one to the other. The trellis-work is so covered -with roses, and jessamine, and other creepers, -that you can’t see through, at least not -in summer time; and I heard merry voices -on the other side, but they couldn’t hear me -on the turf. So I hurried up to the wicket-gate; -and the moment I got through, there I -saw Miss Lucy, and close by her side a young -man in a black coat, dark gray trousers, and -a white tie. He had a great ribstone-pippin -apple in one hand, off the best tree in the -orchard, out of which he had taken a great -bite or two, which I thought rather vulgar; -and there he was, holding up his bitten apple -and some of the creepers against the trellis-work, -with both hands above Miss Lucy’s head. -And she stood there in her pretty white-straw -hat, with the ribbons dangling loose over her -shoulders, tying up the creepers to the trellis-work -close to his face. I could see, too, that -she was very well dressed, for she had on a -pretty embroidered collar, as white as snow, -with a nice bow of fresh pink ribbon in front; -and the sleeves of her gown were loose, and -fell back a little as she reached up with the -string to tie the creepers, and showed her nice,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> -white, round arms, which looked very pretty, -only I wished she had waited for me to hold -up the creepers instead of him. At her feet -lay a basket full of apples and pears, and lavender -and mignonette; so they must have been -going about together for some time, picking -fruit and flowers.</p> - -<p>I stopped at the gate, and felt half inclined to -go back; but he said something to her, and -then she turned round and called me, so I -walked up feeling rather sheepish. By the -time I got up to them they had finished tying -up the creeper, and she introduced me to Mr. -Warton, of London. He held out his hand, -and said he had often heard Joseph speak of -me, and was very glad to meet an old friend of -his friend Hurst. So we shook hands, and he -began eating his apple again, and she picked up -her basket, and we walked together towards the -house; but they were so free and pleasant -together, and laughed and joked so, that it -made me feel rather low, and I couldn’t talk -easily, though I did manage to say something -about the White Horse, and how well it looked, -and what a wonderful place it was up on the -hill, when they asked me about it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p> - -<p>I wasn’t sorry when she went in to look after -the tea, and he sat down to write a letter. So -I went round to the farm-yard to look for Joe, -that I might find out from him about this Mr. -Warton. I found Joe with his fogger,<a name="FNanchor_24" id="FNanchor_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a> as he -called him, looking at some calves, and thinking -of nothing but them and the pigs. However, I -stuck to him and praised all the beasts just as -if I knew all about them, and so at last got -him out of the yard; and then I told him -there was a Mr. Warton come.</p> - -<p>“No! is he?” said he; “I’m so glad. I was -afraid he couldn’t come down as he didn’t answer -my last letter.”</p> - -<p>“Who is he, Joe?” said I.</p> - -<p>“Haven’t I told you?” said he; “why, he’s a -parson up somewhere in London, and a real -right sort. He was curate here for five years -before he went up to town.”</p> - -<p>“He seems to know you and Miss Lucy very -well,” said I.</p> - -<p>“Bless you, yes!” said Joe; “Lu was in his -school, and he prepared her for confirmation. -He’s the best company in the world, and not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> -a bit proud, like some parsons. When he was -down here, he used to drop in of an evening -two or three times a week, and take his tea, -or a bit of supper, just like you might.”</p> - -<p>“He’s a good bit older than we, though,” -said I.</p> - -<p>“Well, four or five years, maybe,” said Joe, -looking rather surprised at me; “I should say -he was about thirty last grass, but I never asked -him; what does it matter?” and so we got to -the front door, and I went up-stairs to my room -to wash my hands before tea. I made myself -as smart as I could, but I own I didn’t half like -the way this Mr. Warton went on. However, -I thought Miss Lucy must see he was too old -for her.</p> - -<p>As I was dressing, I turned the matter over -with myself, how I was to behave down stairs. -First, I thought I would try to ride the high -horse, and be silent and vexed, and make them -all uncomfortable; but then, thought I, will -Miss Lucy see why I do it? It may be all out -of love for her, and jealousy of this Mr. Warton; -and they say no young woman dislikes to -see men jealous about her. But suppose she -shouldn’t see it in that light? Mightn’t she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> -only think, perhaps, that I was a very changeable -and disagreeable sort of fellow? That -would never do. Besides, after all, thought I, -I’m down here at Joe’s house, and I owe it to -him to be as pleasant as I can. How’s he to -know that I am in love with his sister already? -And this Mr. Warton, too; he’s a clergyman, -and seems a very good sort, as Joe said; and -then he has known them all so well, for so long; -why am I to give myself airs because he likes -talking to Miss Lucy? So I settled it in my -own mind to go down with a smiling face, and -to do all I could to make all the rest happy; -and I felt much better myself when I had made -up my mind.</p> - -<p>There never was such a tea and supper (for -we had them both together that night, as it was -late) in the world; and I don’t think I could -have stood out five minutes if I had gone down -in the sulks, as I thought of doing at first. The -old lady, and Joe, and Miss Lucy, were all in -great spirits at getting Mr. Warton down; and -he was just like a boy home for his holidays. -He joked and rattled away about every thing; -except when they talked about any of his old -parishioners or scholars, and then he was as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> -kind and tender as a woman, and remembered -all their names, and how many children there -were in every family, and the sort of mistakes -the boys and girls used to make in school. -And he drew Miss Lucy out about the school, -and Joe about the markets and the labourers, -and the old lady about the best way of pickling -cabbages, and me about London and my -work, and shorthand, which he managed to find -out that I could write in no time. So we were -all in the best humour in the world, and pleased -with one another and with him; and spent half -an hour in praising him after he had gone -up stairs to finish some writing which he had -to do.</p> - -<p>Then I asked them about the pastime, and -what we should see next day on the hill. Miss -Lucy began directly about the stalls and the -sights, and the racing and the music; and cold -dinner on the hill-side, and seeing all her friends -in their best dresses. Joe listened to her for a -bit, and then struck in—</p> - -<p>“That’s all very well for you women,” said -he; “but look here, Dick. If what I hear -comes true, we shall have a fine treat on the -stage; for they tells me there’s a lot of the best<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> -old gamesters in Somersetshire coming up, to -put in for the backsword prizes.”</p> - -<p>“Then I’m sure I hope they won’t be allowed -to play,” said Miss Lucy.</p> - -<p>“Not let to play!” said Joe; “who put that -into your head? Why, there’s the printed list -of the sports, and £12 prize for backswording, -and £10 for wrestling.”</p> - -<p>“Well, it’s a great shame, then,” said Miss -Lucy; “for all the respectable people for miles -round will be on the hill, and I think the gentlemen -ought to stop them.”</p> - -<p>“If they do, they’ll spoil the pastime; for -there won’t be one man in twenty up there -who’ll care to see any thing else. Eh, old fellow?” -said Joe, turning to me.</p> - -<p>“I agree with Miss Lucy,” said I; “for I’m -sure if the women are against these games, -they can’t be good for the men, and ought to -be put down.”</p> - -<p>“Dick, you’re a cockney, and know no better,” -said Joe, giving me a great spank on the back, -which hurt a good deal and was very disagreeable, -only I didn’t say any thing because I knew -he meant it kindly; “but as for you, Lucy, you, -a west-country yeoman’s daughter, to talk like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> -that! If you don’t take care, you shan’t go up -the hill to the pastime to-morrow at all; I’ll -leave you at home with mother,” and he shook -his great fist at her.</p> - -<p>“Won’t I go up though?” said she, laughing; -“we’ll see, Master Joe; why, I can walk -up by myself, if it comes to that; besides, any -of the neighbours will give me a lift—or here’s -Mr. Richard, or Mr. Warton. I’m sure—”</p> - -<p>“What’s that you’re saying, Miss Lucy? -What am I to do, eh?” and the parson walked -in just as I was going to speak. I was vexed -at his just coming in, and taking the word out -of my mouth.</p> - -<p>“Why I was telling Joe that you’ll stop and -take me up the hill, if he leaves me behind; -won’t you now, Mr. Warton?”</p> - -<p>“Leave you behind, indeed! here’s a pretty -to do!” said he, laughing. “What in the -world are you all talking about?”</p> - -<p>“About the wrestling and backsword play,” -struck in Joe; “now she says—”</p> - -<p>“Well, now, I’ll leave it to Mr. Warton,” -said Miss Lucy, interrupting him; “I know he -won’t say it’s right for men to be fighting upon -a high stage before all the country side.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Stuff and nonsense with your fighting!” -said Joe; “you know, Sir, very well that they -are old English games, and we sets great store -by them down here, though some of our folk -as ought to know better does set their faces -against them now-a-days.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, you know, Joe, that three or four -clergymen have been preaching against them -only last Sunday,” said Miss Lucy.</p> - -<p>“Then they ain’t the right sort, or they’d -know better what to preach against. I don’t -take all for Gospel that the parsons say, mind -you,” said Joe.</p> - -<p>Miss Lucy looked shocked, but Mr. Warton -only laughed.</p> - -<p>“Hullo, Joseph,” said he, “speaking evil -of your spiritual pastors! However, I won’t -say you’re altogether wrong. Parsons are but -men.”</p> - -<p>“But, Sir,” said I, quite confidently, “I’m -sure no clergyman can stand up for fighting -and quarrelling.”</p> - -<p>“Of course not,” said he; “but what then?”</p> - -<p>“Well, Sir, these sports, as they call them, -are just fighting, and nothing else, and lead to -all sorts of quarrels and bad blood, and so—”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p> - -<p>“They don’t lead to nothing of the kind,” -shouted Joe; “and you know nothing about -it, Dick.”</p> - -<p>“Now, Joe, at our last feast,” said Miss -Lucy, “didn’t Reuben Yates get his head -broken, and his arms all black and blue at -backsword play?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, and didn’t you and mother patch him -up with yards of diachylum, and give him his -supper every night for a week, to come and be -doctored and lectured? Rube liked his suppers -well enough, and didn’t mind the plastering and -lecturing much; but if he don’t go in to-morrow -for the young gamesters’ prize, my name -ain’t Joe Hurst.”</p> - -<p>“Then he’ll be a very ungrateful, wicked -fellow,” said Miss Lucy.</p> - -<p>“And you and mother won’t give him any -more suppers or diachylum,” said Joe; “but I -dare say he won’t break his heart if you don’t -give him the preaching by itself. It does seem -to me plaguy hard that the women won’t let a -man get his own head broke quietly, when he -has a mind to it.”</p> - -<p>“And there was Simon Withers, too,” went -on Miss Lucy, “he sprained his ankle at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> -wrestling, and was in the house for three weeks, -and his poor old mother nearly starving.”</p> - -<p>“’Twasn’t at wrestling, though,” said Joe, -“’twas at hurdle-racing. He’d much better -have been at backsword; for a chap can go to -work with a broken head next morning, and -feel all the better for it, but he can’t with a -sprained ankle.”</p> - -<p>“What does Mr. Warton think?” said I; -for somehow he was keeping back, and seemed -a little on Joe’s side, and if he showed that, I -thought he would lose ground with Miss Lucy.</p> - -<p>“Oh! I’m sure Mr. Warton is on our side, -ain’t you, Sir? Do tell Joe how wrong it is of -him to go on talking as he does.”</p> - -<p>“No, no, Miss Lucy, I’m not going to be -drawn into the quarrel as your knight; you’re -quite able to take your own part,” said Mr. -Warton.</p> - -<p>“I’m sure Mr. Warton is against us in his -heart,” said I to Miss Lucy; “only he’s a -clergyman, and doesn’t like to say so.”</p> - -<p>“Come, now, I can’t stand that,” said he -to me; “and you and I must have it out; -only mind, Miss Lucy, you mustn’t come in; -one at a time is enough for me.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I won’t say a word, Sir, if Joe won’t.”</p> - -<p>“Very well,” said he, “and now let’s get our -ground clear. Do you approve of the other -sports, running matches, jumping matches, and -all the rest?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Sir, of course I do,” said I.</p> - -<p>“And you see no harm in one man beating -another in a race for a prize?”</p> - -<p>“No, Sir, no harm at all.”</p> - -<p>“Well, but I suppose one must have activity -and endurance to win in any of them?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said I, “and good pluck, too, Sir. -It takes as much heart, I’m sure, any day, to -win a hard race as a bout at backsword.”</p> - -<p>“Very good,” said he. “Then putting every -thing else aside, tell me which you think the -best man, he who doesn’t mind having his head -broken, or he who does?”</p> - -<p>“Well, Sir,” said I, beginning to fence a bit, -for I thought I saw what he was driving at, -“that depends on circumstances.”</p> - -<p>“No, no,” said he, “I want a short answer. -We’ve nothing to do with circumstances. Suppose -there were no circumstances in the world, -and only two men with heads to be broken?”</p> - -<p>“Well, then, Sir,” said I, “I suppose the one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> -who doesn’t mind having his head broken, must -be the best man.”</p> - -<p>“Hah, hah!” laughed Joe, “that puts me in -mind of old Ben Thomson last feast. When -he threw up his hat on the stage, he said he -could get his pint of beer any day for tuppence, -but it wasn’t every day as he could get his pint -of beer and a broken head too for the same -money.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, but Mr. Warton—” broke in Miss -Lucy.</p> - -<p>“Now, you were not to say a word, you -know,” said he.</p> - -<p>“But Joe began, Sir.”</p> - -<p>“Joseph, hold your tongue.”</p> - -<p>“Very well, Sir,” said Joe, grinning.</p> - -<p>“Then we come to this,” said he to me, -“a man must have just the same qualities to -win at backsword as to win a race; and something -else besides, which is good in itself?”</p> - -<p>“But, Sir,” said I, “that doesn’t meet the -point. What I say is, that backsword is a -game in which men are sure to lose their tempers -and become brutal.”</p> - -<p>“But don’t they sometimes lose their tempers -in races?” said he.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yes, sometimes, perhaps,” said I, “but not -often.”</p> - -<p>“And sometimes they don’t lose them at -backsword?” said he.</p> - -<p>“Well, perhaps not, Sir.”</p> - -<p>“Then it seems that all that can be said -against backsword is, that it is a harder trial -of the temper than other games. Surely that’s -no reason for stopping it, but only for putting -it under strict rules. The harder the trial the -better. I’m sure that’s good English sense.”</p> - -<p>I didn’t quite know what to say, but Miss -Lucy broke in again.</p> - -<p>“Oh, but Mr. Warton, did you ever see any -backsword play?”</p> - -<p>“Now, Miss Lucy, that is against law,” said -he; “but I don’t mind answering. I never did, -and I dare say your champion never has.”</p> - -<p>“No, Sir,” said I; “but though you may -have got the best of me, I don’t believe you -really mean that you think us wrong.”</p> - -<p>“Would you, really, Sir, preach a sermon -now in favour of backsword play and wrestling?” -asked Miss Lucy, with a long face.</p> - -<p>“What’s that got to do with it, Lucy?” -broke in Joe. “We’re not talking about preaching<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> -sermons, but about what’s right for country -chaps to do at pastimes.”</p> - -<p>“Now, Joseph, I’m not going to ride off on -any hobby of yours—besides, your sister’s test -is right. Several of your clergy about here -have preached against these games, as was -their duty if they had considered the subject -well, and thought them wrong. I have never -thought much about the matter till to-night. -At present I think your clergy wrong. If I -hold to that belief I would preach it; for I -hope I never seriously say any thing in the -parlour which I wouldn’t say in the pulpit.”</p> - -<p>Just then, the tall clock in the passage outside -gave a sort of cluck, which meant half-past -nine o’clock, and Joe jumped up and -opened the door for the servants, and gave Mr. -Warton the prayer-book. And then as soon as -ever prayers were over, he bustled his mother -and sister off to bed, though I could see that -Miss Lucy wasn’t half satisfied in her mind -about the backsword play and wrestling, and -wanted to stay and hear something more from -Mr. Warton. But Joe is always in a hurry for -his pipe when half-past nine strikes, so we all -had to humour him, and Mr. Warton and I went -with him into the kitchen to smoke our pipes.</p> - -<div class="footnotes"> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_21" id="Footnote_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a> “Caddle”—to worry: from cād, strife.—The Berkshire scholiast -suggests that the modern “cad,” having regard to the peculiarities -of the class, must be the same word.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_22" id="Footnote_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></a> “Wosbird,” bird of woe, of evil omen.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_23" id="Footnote_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></a> “Dummell,” dull, stupid.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_24" id="Footnote_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24"><span class="label">[24]</span></a> “Fogger”—quasi fodderer—he who giveth fodder to the cattle—generally -used for the farmer’s head man.</p> - -</div> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</h2> - -<p>Now when we had fairly lighted up, and -Joe had mixed us a glass of gin and water -a piece, I felt that it was a very good time for -me to have a talk about the White Horse and -the scourings. I wasn’t quite satisfied in my -mind with all that the old gentleman had told -me on the hill; and, as I felt sure that Mr. -Warton was a scholar, and would find out directly -if there was any thing wrong in what I -had taken down, I took out my note-book, and -reminded Joe that he had promised to listen to -it over his pipe. Joe didn’t half like it, and -wanted to put the reading off, but Mr. Warton -was very good-natured about it, and said he -should like to hear it—so it was agreed that I -should go on, and so I began. Joe soon was -dozing, and every now and then woke up with -a jerk, and pretended he had been listening, -and made some remark in broad Berkshire. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> -always talks much broader when he is excited, -or half asleep, than when he is cool and has all -his wits about him. But I kept on steadily till -I had got through it all, and then Mr. Warton -said he had been very much interested, and -believed that all I had taken down was quite -correct.</p> - -<p>“What put it into your head,” said he, “to -take so much interest in the Horse?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know, Sir,” said I, “but somehow -I can’t think of any thing else now I have -been up there and heard about the battle.” -This wasn’t quite true, for I thought more of -Miss Lucy, but I couldn’t tell him that.</p> - -<p>“When I was curate down here,” said he, “I -was bitten with the same maggot. Nothing -would serve me but to find out all I could -about the Horse. Now, Joe here, who’s fast -asleep—”</p> - -<p>“No, he bean’t,” said Joe starting, and giving -a pull at his pipe, which had gone out.</p> - -<p>“Well, then, Joe here, who is wide awake, -and the rest, who were born within sight of -him, and whose fathers fought at Ashdown, and -have helped to scour him ever since, don’t care -half so much for him as we strangers do.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh! I dwon’t allow that, mind you,” said -Joe; “I dwon’t know as I cares about your -long-tailed words and that; but for keeping the -Horse in trim, and as should be, why, I be -ready to pay—”</p> - -<p>“Never mind how much, Joseph.”</p> - -<p>Joe grinned, and put his pipe in his mouth -again. I think he liked being interrupted by -the Parson.</p> - -<p>“As I was saying, I found out all I could -about the Horse, though it was little enough, -and I shall be very glad to tell you all I know.”</p> - -<p>“Then, Sir,” said I, “may I ask you any questions -I have a mind to ask you about it?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly,” said he; “but you mustn’t expect -to get much out of me.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, Sir,” said I. “A thousand years -seems a long time, Sir, doesn’t it? Now, how -do we know that the Horse has been there all -that time?”</p> - -<p>“At any rate,” said he, “we know that the -Hill has been called, ‘White Horse Hill,’ and -the Vale, the ‘Vale of White Horse,’ ever since -the time of Henry the First; for there are cartularies -of the Abbey of Abingdon in the British -Museum which prove it. So, I think, we may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> -assume that they were called after the figure, -and that the figure was there before that time.”</p> - -<p>“I’m very glad to hear that, Sir,” said I. “And -then about the scourings and the pastime? -They must have been going on ever since the -Horse was cut out?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I think so,” said he. “You have got -quotations there from Wise’s letter, written in -1736. He says that the scouring was an old -custom in his time. Well, take his authority -for the fact up to that time, and I think I can -put you in the way of finding out something, -though not much, about most of the Scourings -which have been held since.”</p> - -<p>And he was as good as his word; for he took -me about after the pastime to some old men in -the neighbouring parishes, from whom I found -out a good deal that I have put down in this -chapter. And the Squire, too, when Joe told -him what I was about, helped me.</p> - -<p>Now I can’t say that I have found out all the -Scourings which have been held since 1736, but -I did my best to make a correct list, and this -seems to be the proper place to set it all down.</p> - -<p>Well, the first Scouring, which I could find -out any thing about, was held in 1755, and all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> -the sports then seem to have been pretty much -the same as those of the present day. But -there was one thing which happened which -could not very well have happened now. A -fine dashing fellow, dressed like a gentleman, -got on to the stage, held his own against all the -old gamesters, and in the end won the chief -prize for backsword-play, or cudgel-play, as -they used to call it.</p> - -<p>While the play was going on there was plenty -of talk as to who this man could be, and some -people thought they knew his face. As soon as -he had got the prize he jumped on his horse, -and rode off. Presently, first one, and then another, -said it was Tim Gibbons, of Lambourn, -who had not been seen for some years, though -strange stories had been afloat about him.</p> - -<p>It was the Squire who told me the story -about Tim Gibbons; but he took me to see an -old man who was a descendant of Tim’s, and -so I think I had better give his own account of -his ancestor and his doings. We found the old -gentleman, a hale, sturdy old fellow, working -away in a field at Woolstone, and, as near as I -could get it, this was what he had to say about -the Scouring of 1755:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p> - -<p><i>Squire.</i> “Good morning, Thomas. How -about the weather? Did the White Horse -smoke his pipe this morning?”</p> - -<p><i>Thos.</i> “Mornin’, Sir. I didn’t zee as ’a did. -I allus notices he doos it when the wind blaws -moor to th’ east’ard. I d’wont bode no rain to -day, Sir.”</p> - -<p><i>Squire.</i> “How old are you, Thomas?”</p> - -<p><i>Thos.</i> “Seventy year old this Christmas, Sir. -I wur barn at Woolstone, in the hard winter, -when I’ve heard tell as volks had to bwile their -kettles wi’ the snaw.”</p> - -<p><i>Squire.</i> “I want to know something about -your family, Thomas.”</p> - -<p><i>Thos.</i> “Well, Sir, I bean’t no ways ashamed -of my family, I can assure ’ee. I’ve a got two -zons, and vour daaters. One on ’em, that’s my -oldest bwoy, Sir, wur all droo’ the Crimee wars, -and never got a scratch. In the Granadier -Guards, Sir, he be. A uncommon sprack<a name="FNanchor_25" id="FNanchor_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a> -chap, Sir, though I says it, and as bowld as a -lion; only while he wur about our village wi’ -t’other young chaps, he must allus be a fighting. -But not a bad-tempered chap, Sir, I assure ’ee. -Then, Sir—”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></p> - -<p><i>Squire.</i> “But, Thomas, I want to know -about those that came before you. What relation -was Timothy Gibbons, whom I’ve heard -folks talk about, to you?”</p> - -<p><i>Thos.</i> “I suppose as you means my great-grandvather, -Sir.”</p> - -<p><i>Squire.</i> “Perhaps so, Thomas. Where did -he live, and what trade did he follow?”</p> - -<p><i>Thos.</i> “I’ll tell ’ee, Sir, all as I knows; but -somehow, vather and mother didn’t seem to like -to talk to we bwoys about ’un.”</p> - -<p><i>Squire.</i> “Thank ’ee, Thomas. Mind, if he -went wrong it’s all the more credit to you, who -have gone straight; for there isn’t a more honest -man in the next five parishes.”</p> - -<p><i>Thos.</i> “I knows your meanings good, and -thank ’ee kindly, Sir, tho’ I be no schollard. -Well, Timothy Gibbons, my great grandvather, -you see, Sir, foller’d blacksmithing at Lambourn, -till he took to highway robbin’, but I -can’t give ’ee no account o’ when or wher.’ -Arter he’d been out, may be dree or vour year, -he and two companions cum to Baydon; and -whilst hiding theirselves and baiting their hosses -in a barn, the constables got ropes round the barn-yard -and lined ’em in. Then all dree drawed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> -cuts<a name="FNanchor_26" id="FNanchor_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a> who was to go out fust and face the -constables. It fell to Tim’s two companions -to go fust, but their hearts failed ’em, and -they wouldn’t go. So Tim cried out as ‘he’d -shew ’em what a Englishman could do,’ and -mounted his hos and drawed his cutlash, and -cut their lines a-two, and galloped off clean -away; but I understood as t’other two was -took. Arter that, may be a year or two, he -cum down to a pastime on White Hos Hill, -and won the prize at backswording; and when -he took his money, fearing lest he should be -knowed, he jumped on his hos under the stage, -and galloped right off, and I don’t know as he -ever cum again to these parts. Then I’ve understood -as things throve wi’ ’un, as ’um will at -times, Sir, wi’ thay sort o’ chaps, and he and -his companions built the Inn called ‘the Magpies,’ -on Hounslow Heath; but I dwon’t know -as ever he kep’ the house hisself, except it med -ha’ been for a short while. Howsomever, at -last he was took drinking at a public-house, -someweres up Hounslow way, wi’ a companion -who played a cross wi’ ’un, and I b’live ’a was -hanged at Newgate. But I never understood<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> -as he killed any body, Sir, and a’d used to gie -some o’ the money as he took to the poor, if he -knowed they was in want.”</p> - -<p><i>Squire.</i> “Thank’ee, Thomas. What a pity -he didn’t go soldiering; he might have made a -fine fellow then!”</p> - -<p><i>Thos.</i> “Well, Sir, so t’wur, I thinks. Our -fam’ly be given to that sort o’ thing. I wur a -good hand at elbow and collar wrastling myself, -afore I got married; but then I gied up all that, -and ha’ stuck to work ever sence.”</p> - -<p><i>Squire.</i> “Well, Thomas, you’ve given me -the story I wanted to hear, so it’s fair I should -give you a Sunday dinner.”</p> - -<p><i>Thos.</i> “Lord love ’ee, Sir, I never meant -nothin’ o’ that sort; our fam’ly”—</p> - -<p>We were half-way across the field, when I -looked round, and saw old Thomas still looking -after us and holding the Squire’s silver in his -hand, evidently not comfortable in his mind at -having failed in telling us all he had to say -about <em>his fam’ly</em>, of which he seemed as proud -as any duke can be of his, and I dare say has -more reason for his pride than many of them. -At last, however, as we got over the stile, he -pocketed the affront and went on with his work.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p> - -<p>I could find out nothing whatever about the -next Scouring; but I was lucky enough to get -the printed hand-bill which was published before -the one in 1776, which I made out to be the -next but one after that at which Tim Gibbons -played.</p> - -<p>When I showed this old hand-bill to the Parson -he was very much tickled. He took up the -one which the Committee put out this last time, -and looked at them together for a minute, and -then tossed them across to me.</p> - -<p>“What a queer contrast,” said he, “between -those two bills.”</p> - -<p>“How do you mean, Sir?” said I; “why -the games seem to be nearly the same.”</p> - -<p>“So they are,” said he; “but look at the -prizes. Our great grandfathers, you’ll see, gave -no money prizes; we scarcely any others. The -gold-laced hat and buckskin breeches have gone, -and current coin of the realm reigns supreme. -Then look at the happy-go-lucky way in which -the old bill is put out. No date given, no name -signed! who was responsible for the breeches, -or the shoe-buckles? And then, what grammar! -The modern bill, you see, is in the shape -of resolutions, passed at a meeting, the chairman’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> -name being appended as security for the -prizes.”</p> - -<p>“That seems much better and more business-like,” -said I.</p> - -<p>“Then you see the horserace for a silver cup -has disappeared,” he went on. “Epsom and -Ascot have swallowed up the little country -races, just as big manufacturers swallow up -little ones, and big shops whole streets of little -shops, and nothing but monsters flourish in this -age of unlimited competition and general enlightenment. -Not that I regret the small country -town-races, though.”</p> - -<p>“And I see, Sir, that ‘smocks to be run for -by ladies,’ is left out in the modern bill.”</p> - -<p>“A move in the right direction there, at any -rate,” said he; “the bills ought to be published -side by side.” So I took his advice, and here -they are:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p> - -<div class="bill-left"> - -<p class="center">“WHITE HORSE HILL, BERKS, 1776.<a name="FNanchor_27" id="FNanchor_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a></p> - -<p>“The scowering and cleansing -of the White Horse is fixed for -Monday the 27th day of May; on -which day a Silver Cup will be -run for near White Horse Hill, by -any horse, &c. that never run for -any thing, carrying 11 stone, the -best of 3 two-mile heats, to start -at ten o’clock.</p> - -<p>“Between the heats will be run -for by Poneys, a Saddle, Bridle, -and Whip; the best of three two-mile -heats, the winner of 2 heats -will be entitled to the Saddle, the -second best the Bridle, and the -third the Whip.</p> - -<p>“The same time a Thill harness -will be run for by Cart-horses, -&c. in their harness and -bells, the carters to ride in smock -frocks without saddles, crossing -and jostling, but no whipping -allowed.</p> - -<p>“A flitch of Bacon to be run -for by asses.</p> - -<p>“A good Hat to be run for by -men in sacks, every man to bring -his own sack.</p> - -<p>“A Waistcoat, 10<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> value, -to be given to the person who -shall take a bullet out of a tub -of flour with his mouth in the -shortest time.</p> - -<p>“A Cheese to be run for down -the White Horse Manger.</p> - -<p>“Smocks to be run for by ladies, -the second best of each prize -to be entitled to a Silk Hat.</p> - -<p>“<i>Cudgel-playing</i> for a <i>gold-laced -Hat</i> and a pair of buckskin -Breeches, and <i>Wrestling</i> for a -pair of silver Buckles and a pair -of pumps.</p> - -<p>“The horses to be on the White -Horse Hill by nine o’clock.</p> - -<p>“No less than four horses, &c. -or asses, to start for any of the -above prizes.”</p> - -</div> - -<div class="bill-right"> - -<p class="center">PASTIME.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>To be held on the occasion of the -Scouring of the White Horse, -September 17th and 18th, 1857.</i></p> - -<p>At a meeting held at the Craven -Arms, Uffington, on the 20th day -of August, 1857, the following resolutions -(amongst others) were -passed unanimously:—</p> - -<p>First. That a pastime be held -on the White Horse -Hill, on Thursday and -Friday, the 17th and -18th of September, in -accordance with the -old custom at the time -of “The Scouring of -the Horse.”</p> - -<p>2dly. That E. Martin Atkins, -Esq. of Kingston Lisle, -be appointed Treasurer.</p> - -<p>3dly. That prizes be awarded -for the following games -and sports, That is to -say—</p> - -<table summary="Prizes for each game and sport"> - <tr> - <td rowspan="2" class="valign">Backsword Play.</td> - <td rowspan="2" class="valign"><span class="bracket">{</span></td> - <td>Old gamesters,</td> - <td>£8.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Young gamesters,</td> - <td>£4.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td rowspan="2" class="valign">Wrestling.</td> - <td rowspan="2" class="valign"><span class="bracket">{</span></td> - <td>Old gamesters,</td> - <td>£5.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Young gamesters,</td> - <td>£4.</td> - </tr> -</table> - -<p>A jingling match.</p> - -<p>Foot races.</p> - -<p>Hurdle races.</p> - -<p>Race of cart-horses in Thill harness -(for a new set of harness).</p> - -<p>Donkey race (for a flitch of bacon).</p> - -<p>Climbing pole (for a leg of mutton).</p> - -<p>Races down “the Manger,” (for -cheeses.)</p> - -<p>A pig will be turned out on the -down, to be the prize of the man -who catches him (under certain -regulations); and further prizes -will be awarded for other games -and sports as the funds will allow.</p> - -<p>4thly. That no person be -allowed to put up or -use a stall or booth on -the ground, without -the previous sanction -of Mr. Spackman, -of Bridgecombe Farm, -[the occupier,] who is -hereby authorized to -make terms with any -person wishing to put -up a stall or booth.</p> - -<p class="right">Signed, <span class="smcap">E. Martin Atkins</span>,<br /> -<i>Chairman</i>.</p> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p> - -<p>Then came a Scouring on Whit-Monday, -May 15, 1780, and of the doings on that -occasion, there is the following notice in the -“Reading Mercury” of May 22, 1780:—</p> - -<p>“The ceremony of scowering and cleansing -that noble monument of Saxon antiquity, the -White Horse, was celebrated on Whit-Monday, -with great joyous festivity. Besides the customary -diversions of horseracing, foot-races, -&c. many uncommon rural diversions and feats -of activity were exhibited to a greater number -of spectators than ever assembled on any former -occasion. Upwards of thirty thousand persons -were present, and amongst them most of -the nobility and gentry of this and the neighbouring -counties; and the whole was concluded -without any material accident. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> -origin of this remarkable piece of antiquity is -variously related; but most authors describe it -as a monument to perpetuate some signal victory, -gained near the spot, by some of our most -ancient Saxon princes. The space occupied by -this figure is more than an acre of ground.”</p> - -<p>I also managed to get a list of the games, -which is just the same as the one of 1776, -except that in addition there was “a jingling-match -by eleven blindfolded men, and one unmasked -and hung with bells, for a pair of buckskin -breeches.”</p> - -<p>The Parson found an old man, William -Townsend by name, a carpenter at Woolstone, -whose father, one Warman Townsend, had run -down the manger after the fore-wheel of a -wagon, and won the cheese at this Scouring. -He told us the story as his father had told it -to him, how that “eleven on ’em started, and -amongst ’em a sweep chimley and a millurd; -and the millurd tripped up the sweep chimley -and made the zoot flee a good ’un;” and how -“the wheel ran pretty nigh down to the springs -that time,” which last statement the Parson -seemed to think couldn’t be true. But old -Townsend knew nothing about the other sports.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p> - -<p>Then the next Scouring was held in 1785, and -the Parson found several old men who could -remember it when they were very little. The -one who was most communicative was old -William Ayres of Uffington, a very dry old -gentleman, about eighty-four years old:—</p> - -<p>“When I wur a bwoy about ten years old,” -said he, “I remembers I went up White Hoss -Hill wi’ my vather to a pastime. Vather’d -brewed a barrel o’ beer to sell on the Hill—a -deal better times then than now, Sir!”</p> - -<p>“Why, William?” said the Parson.</p> - -<p>“Augh! bless’ee, Sir, a man medn’t brew and -sell his own beer now; and oftentimes he can’t -get nothin’ fit to drink at thaay little beer-houses -as is licensed, nor at some o’ the public-houses -too for that matter. But ’twur not only for -that as the times wur better then, you see, -Sir——”</p> - -<p>“But about the sports, William?”</p> - -<p>“Ees Sir, I wur gandering sure enough,” -said the old man; “well now, there wur Varmer -Mifflin’s mare run for and won a new cart saddle -and thill-tugs—the mare’s name wur <i>Duke</i>. -As many as a dozen or moor horses run, and -they started from Idle’s Bush, which wur a vine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> -owld tharnin’-tree in thay days—a very nice -bush. They started from Idle’s Bush, as I tell -’ee, Sir, and raced up to the Rudge-waay; and -Varmer Mifflin’s mare had it all one way, and -beat all the t’other on ’um holler. The pastime -then wur a good ’un—a wunderful sight -o’ volk of all sorts, rich and poor. John Morse -of Uffington, a queerish sort of a man, grinned -agin another chap droo’ hos collars, but John -got beaat—a fine bit of spwoort to be shure, -Sir, and made the folks laaf. Another geaam -wur to bowl a cheese down the Mainger, and -the first as could catch ’un had ’un. The cheese -was a tough ’un and held together.”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense, William, that’s impossible,” broke -in the Parson.</p> - -<p>“Augh Sir, but a did though, I assure ’ee,” -persisted William Ayres, “but thaay as tasted -’un said a warn’t very capital arter all.”</p> - -<p>“I daresay,” said the Parson, “for he couldn’t -have been made of any thing less tough than -ash pole.”</p> - -<p>“Hah, hah, hah,” chuckled the old man, and -went on.</p> - -<p>“There wur running for a peg too, and they -as could ketch ’un and hang ’un up by the tayl,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> -had ’un. The girls, too, run races for smocks—a -deal of pastime, to be sure, Sir. There wur -climmin’ a grasy pole for a leg of mutton, too; -and backsoordin’, and wrastlin’, and all that, -ye knows, Sir. A man by the name of Blackford, -from the low countries, Zummersetshire, -or that waay some weres, he won the prize, -and wur counted the best hand for years arter, -and no man couldn’t break his yead; but at -last, nigh about twenty years arter, I’ll warn<a name="FNanchor_28" id="FNanchor_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a> -’twur—at Shrin’um Revel, Harry Stanley, the -landlord of the Blawin’ Stwun, broke his yead, -and the low-country men seemed afeard o’ -Harry round about here for long arter that. -Varmer Small-bwones of Sparsholt, a mazin’ -stout man, and one as scarce no wun go where -’a would could drow down, beaat all the low-country -chaps at wrastlin’, and none could stan’ -agean ’un. And so he got the neam o’ Varmer -Greaat Bwones. ’Twur only when he got a -drap o’ beer a leetle too zoon, as he wur ever -drowed at wrastlin’, but they never drowed ’un -twice, and he had the best men come agean ’un -for miles. This wur the first pastime as I well -remembers, but there med ha’ been some afore,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> -for all as I knows. I ha’ got a good memorandum, -Sir, and minds things well when I -wur a bwoy, that I does. I ha’ helped to dress -the White Hoss myself, and a deal o’ work -’tis to do’t as should be, I can asshure ’ee, Sir. -About Claay Hill, ’twixt Fairford and Ziziter, -I’ve many a time looked back at ’un, and ’a -looks as nat’ral as a pictur, Sir.”</p> - -<p>Between 1785 and 1803 there must have -been at least two Scourings, but somehow -none of the old men could remember the -exact years, and they seemed to confuse them -with those that came later on, and though I -looked for them in old county papers, I could -not find any notice of them.</p> - -<p>At the Scouring of 1803, Beckingham of -Baydon won the prize at wrestling; Flowers -and Ellis from Somersetshire won the prize at -backsword play; the waiter at the Bell Inn, -Farringdon, won the cheese race, and at jumping -in sacks; and Thomas Street, of Niton, -won the prize for grinning through horse collars, -“but,” as my informant told me, “a man -from Woodlands would ha’ beaat, only he’d -got no teeth. This geaam made the congregation -laaf ’mazinly.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p> - -<p>Then came a Scouring in 1808, at which -the Hanney men came down in a strong body -and made sure of winning the prize for wrestling. -But all the other gamesters leagued -against them, and at last their champion, -Belcher, was thrown by Fowler of Baydon;—both -these men are still living. Two men, -“with very shiny top-boots, quite gentlemen, -from London,” won the prize for backsword -play, one of which gentlemen was Shaw, the -life-guardsman, a Wiltshire man himself as I -was told, who afterwards died at Waterloo -after killing so many cuirassiers. A new prize -was given at this pastime and a very blackguard -one, viz: a gallon of gin or half a guinea -for the woman who would smoke most tobacco -in an hour. Only two gypsy women entered, -and it seems to have been a very abominable -business, but it is the only instance of the sort -that I could hear of at any Scouring.</p> - -<p>The old men disagree as to the date of the -next Scouring, which was either in 1812 or -1813; but I think in the latter year, because -the clerk of Kingstone Lisle, an old Peninsula -man, says that he was at home on leave in -this year, and that there was to be a Scouring.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> -And all the people were talking about -it when he had to go back to the wars. At -this Scouring there was a prize of a loaf made -out of a bushel of flour, for running up the -manger, which was won by Philip New, of -Kingstone-in-the-Hole; who cut the great loaf -into pieces at the top, and sold the pieces for -a penny a piece. I am sure he must have deserved -a great many pennies for running up -that place, if he really ever did it; for I would -just as soon undertake to run up the front of -the houses in Holborn. The low country men -won the first backsword prize, and one Ford, -of Ashbury, the second; and the Baydon men, -headed by Beckingham, Fowler, and Breakspear, -won the prize for wrestling. One Henry -Giles (of Hanney, I think they said) had -wrestled for the prize, and I suppose took too -much beer afterwards; at any rate, he fell into -the canal on his way home and was drowned. -So the jury found, “Killed at wrastlin’;” -“though,” as my informant said, “’twur a -strange thing for a old geamster as knew all -about the stage, to be gettin’ into the water -for a bout. Hows’mever, Sir, I hears as they -found it as I tells ’ee, and you med see it any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> -day as you’ve a mind to look in the parish -register.”</p> - -<p>Then I couldn’t find that there had been -another Scouring till 1825, but the one which -took place in that year seems by all accounts -to have been the largest gathering that there -has ever been. The games were held at the -Seven Barrows, which are distant two miles -in a southeasterly direction from the White -Horse, instead of in Uffington Castle; but I -could not make out why. These seven barrows, -I heard the Squire say, are probably the -burial-places of the principal men who were -killed at Ashdown, and near them are other -long irregular mounds, all full of bones huddled -together anyhow, which are very likely the -graves of the rank and file.</p> - -<p>After this there was no Scouring till 1838, -when, on the 19th and 20th of September, the -old custom was revived, under the patronage -of Lord Craven. The <i>Reading Mercury</i> congratulates -its readers on the fact, and adds -that no more auspicious year could have been -chosen for the revival, “than that in which -our youthful and beloved Queen first wore the -British crown, and in which an heir was born<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> -to the ancient and noble house of Craven, -whom God preserve.” I asked the Parson if -he knew why it was that such a long time -had been let to pass between the 1825 Scouring -and the next one.</p> - -<p>“You see it was a transition time,” said he; -“old things were passing away. What with -Catholic Emancipation, and Reform, and the -new Poor Law, even the quiet folk in the -Vale had no time or heart to think about pastimes; -and machine-breaking and rick-burning -took the place of wrestling and backsword -play.”</p> - -<p>“But then, Sir,” said I, “this last fourteen -years we haven’t had any Reform Bill (worse -luck) and yet there was no Scouring between -1843 and 1857.”</p> - -<p>“Why can’t you be satisfied with my reason?” -said he; “now you must find one out -for yourself.”</p> - -<p>The last Scouring, in September, 1843, Joe -had been at himself, and told me a long story -about, which I should be very glad to repeat, -only I think it would rather interfere with my -own story of what I saw myself. The Berkshire -and Wiltshire men, under Joe Giles of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> -Shrivenham, got the better of the Somersetshire -men, led by Simon Stone, at backsword -play; and there were two men who came down -from London, who won the wrestling prize away -from the countrymen. “What I remember best, -however,” said Joe, “was all the to-do to get -the elephant’s caravan up the hill, for Wombwell’s -menagerie came down on purpose for the -Scouring. I should think they put-to a matter -of four-and-twenty horses, and then stuck fast -four or five times. I was a little chap then but -I sat and laughed at ’em a good one; and -I don’t know that I’ve seen so foolish a job -since.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t see why, Joe,” said I.</p> - -<p>“You don’t?” said he, “well, that’s good, -too. Why didn’t they turn the elephant out and -make him pull his own caravan up? He would -have been glad to do it, poor old chap, to get a -breath of fresh air, and a look across the vale.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>But now that I have finished all that I have -to tell about the old Scourings, (at least all that -I expect any body will read,) I must go back -again to the kitchen on the night of the 16th of -September, 1857. Joe, who, as I said, was half<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> -asleep while I was reading, soon waked up afterwards, -though it was past eleven o’clock, and -began to settle how we were to go up the hill -the next morning.</p> - -<p>“Now I shall ride the chestnut up early,” said -he, “’cause I may be wanted to help the Squire -and the rest, but it don’t matter for the rest of -you. I’ll have a saddle put on my old brown -horse, and he’ll be quiet enough, for he has been -at harvest work, and the four-wheel must come -up with Lu somehow. Will you ride or drive, -Sir?” said he, turning to the Parson.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I don’t mind; whichever is most convenient,” -said Mr. Warton.</p> - -<p>“Did’st ever drive in thy life, Dick?” said -Joe to me.</p> - -<p>I was very near saying “yes,” for I felt -ashamed of not being able to do what they -could; however, I told the truth, and said “no;” -and next minute I was very glad I had, for, -besides the shame of telling a lie, how much -worse it would have been to be found out by -Miss Lucy in the morning, or to have had an -upset or some accident.</p> - -<p>So it was settled that Mr. Warton should -drive the four-wheel, and that I should ride the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> -old horse. I didn’t think it necessary to say -that I had never ridden any thing but the donkeys -on Hampstead Heath, and the elephant in -the Zoological Gardens. And so, when all was -settled, we went to bed.</p> - -<div class="footnotes"> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_25" id="Footnote_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25"><span class="label">[25]</span></a> “Sprack,”—sprightly.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_26" id="Footnote_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26"><span class="label">[26]</span></a> “Draw cuts,”—to draw lots.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_27" id="Footnote_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27"><span class="label">[27]</span></a> This hand-bill was kindly given me by H. Godwin, Esq., of -Newbury.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_28" id="Footnote_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28"><span class="label">[28]</span></a> “Warn,”—contraction of the word “warrant.”</p> - -</div> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</h2> - -<p>Next morning I got up early, for I wasn’t -quite easy in my mind about riding Joe’s old -horse, and so I thought I would just go round -and look at him, and ask the fogger something -about his ways. It was a splendid morning, -not a cloud to be seen. I found the fogger -strapping away at the horses. Everybody had -been up and about since daylight, to get their -day’s work done, so that they might get away -early to the pastime. All the cows had been -milked and turned out again, and Joe was away -in the fields, looking after his men.</p> - -<p>I stood beating about the bush for some time, -for I didn’t want to let the man see what I was -thinking of if I could help it. However, when -he brought out the old brown horse to clean -him down, I went up and patted him, and -asked whether he was a good saddle horse.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/i146.jpg" width="500" height="300" alt="A group of revellers under a tree" /> -</div> - -<p>“Ees, there warn’t much fault to find wi’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> -un,” said the fogger, stopping his hissing and -rubbing for a moment, “leastways for them as -didn’t mind a high goer.”</p> - -<p>I didn’t quite know what he meant by a high -goer, so I asked him if the brown was up to -my weight.</p> - -<p>“Lor’ bless ’ee, ees. He’d make no account -o’ vivteen stun. Be you to ride un up the hill, -Sir, make so bold?” said he.</p> - -<p>“Yes, at least I think so,” said I.</p> - -<p>“Hev ’ee got arra loose tooth, Sir?” said he, -grinning.</p> - -<p>“No,” said I, “why?”</p> - -<p>“’Cause he’ll be as likely as not to shake un -out for ’ee, Sir, if you lets un hev his head up -on the downs.”</p> - -<p>I didn’t like this account of the brown horse, -for as I hadn’t ridden much, he might take his -head perhaps whether I let him have it or not. -So I made up my mind not to ride. I thought -I would go behind in the four-wheel, for I didn’t -like to leave Miss Lucy all alone with the Parson -for so long; but then I found out that one of -the carter-boys was to go behind to look after -the horses, and I didn’t choose to be put up side -by side with him, to look ridiculous. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> -was a big wagon going up, too, full of the farm -servants, but that didn’t seem to suit me any -better, so I settled with myself that I would -just start and walk up.</p> - -<p>Joe, luckily for me, thought he had settled -every thing, and so at breakfast said nothing -more about the old horse; though I was afraid -he would every minute, and then I should have -had to pretend I was going to ride, or they -might have found out that I didn’t quite like the -notion. I was very glad when I saw him fairly -off after breakfast, cantering away on the chestnut; -and, very soon afterwards, I took a good -stout stick of Joe’s in my hand, put my note-book -in my pocket, and started off quietly by -myself.</p> - -<p>At first as I walked along I didn’t enjoy myself -much for thinking of the four-wheel, and I -was almost getting jealous of the Parson again. -But I soon got over it, when I remembered how -kind he had been the night before. And I felt, -too, that if he really was making up to her -there was very little chance for me, so I had -better make up my mind anyhow to see and -enjoy every thing I could. I don’t think I was -very much in love at the time; if it had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> -a week later I should have found it much -harder perhaps.</p> - -<p>I kept along the shady side of the road, for it -was getting hot already, and crossed the canal, -and kept making up towards the hills. I wasn’t -sure of the way, but I knew that if once I got -up the hill I should find the Ridgeway, and -could follow it all the way up to the Castle. -After a bit I fell in with groups of people, all -going the same way; and so, following on with -them, after about an hour’s walk, I came to the -foot of the hills; and found a pretty little inn, -standing back from the road, nestled into a -plantation, where everybody else seemed to be -stopping; and so I stopped too, and sat down -on the bench before the door to have a glass of -beer before facing the pull up to the top.</p> - -<p>In front of the door was an oak tree, and -under the tree a big stone with some curious -holes in it, into which pieces of wood were -fitted, secured by a padlock and chain. I was -wondering what it could be, when the landlord -came out with some of his guests, and pulling -out a key unlocked the padlock, and took the -pieces of wood out of the holes. Then there -was some talk between the young men and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> -their sweethearts, and first one and then another -stooped down and blew into the hole at -the top, and the stone made a dull moaning -sound, unlike any thing I had ever heard. The -landlord told me that when it was well blown -on a still day, it could be heard for four or five -miles, and I should think it could; for I left -them blowing away when I started again, and -heard the sound every now and then until I was -close up to the Castle, though the wind blew -from the south, and down the hill.</p> - -<p>I should think a dozen parties, in all sorts of -odd go-carts and other vehicles, or on foot, must -have passed the Blowing-Stone in the ten minutes -which I spent on the bench. So I got -quite eager to be up at the Castle, and paid for -my beer and started again. It is a very long -stiff pull up Blowing-Stone Hill, and the road is -not a very good one; so I soon began to pass -the gigs and carts, most of which had to stop -every hundred yards or so, to let the horses and -donkeys get their wind. Half-way up, in the -worst part of the hill, I found an old huckstering -woman and a boy in great trouble. They -had a little cart laden with poles and boards for -a stall, and two great sacks of nuts and sweet-stuff;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> -and only one donkey in the shafts, who -had got one wheel of the cart into a deep chalk -rut, and stood there like a post. The woman -and boy were quite beat with dragging at his -head, and trying to lift the wheel out of the rut, -and as I came up she was “fairly giving out.”</p> - -<p>“Lawk-a-massy! how ever be I to scawt<a name="FNanchor_29" id="FNanchor_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a> -up? Do’ee lend a help, there’s a good soul,” -said she to me.</p> - -<p>Well, I couldn’t go by and leave her there, -though I didn’t half like having to stop; so I -helped to lift the wheel out, and then we pushed -the cart up a few yards, and the old donkey -tried to sidle it into another rut, and we had -another fight with him. My blood got up at -his obstinacy; I don’t believe there ever was -another such a donkey in the world; so the -more he backed and sidled, the more I and the -old woman and the boy fought. And then the -people that passed us began to laugh and joke -at us, and I got very angry at them, and the old -woman, and everybody; but I set my teeth, and -made up my mind to get him up to the top if I -stayed there all day.</p> - -<p>I should think we must have been nearly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> -half an hour at work, and had got on about -three hundred yards or so, when a fine dog-cart -on high wheels came up. I heard the gentlemen -in it talking and laughing as they came -near us; but I didn’t look up, and kept working -away at the donkey, for I was afraid they -would only joke at us.</p> - -<p>“Oh deary me, deary me, Master Gaarge, -be that you?” I heard the old woman call -out; “now do’ee stop some o’ the chaps, and -tell ’em to help. I be nigh caddled to death wi’ -this drattled old jackass—oh dear, oh dear!”</p> - -<p>“Why, Betty! what in the world are you -after?” said a merry voice, which I thought I -had heard before; and, looking up, I saw the -young gentleman who had promised me the -song.</p> - -<p>“Oh, you see, Master Gaarge, I thought as -I might turn a honest penny if I could only -win up to the pastime wi’ some nuts and -brandy-balls. So I loaned neighbour Tharne’s -cart as he fetches coals from the canal wi’, -and his ass—and if ’twas Balaam’s ass hisself -he couldn’t be no wus—and here I be; and -if it hadn’t a been for this kind gentleman”—</p> - -<p>“Well, stop your talk, Betty, and take hold<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> -of his head,” said he, jumping out of his dog-cart -and giving the reins to the one who was -beside him. “Ah, good morning,” nodding to -me, as he came to the back of the cart, “now -then, with a will! shove away!”</p> - -<p>So we shoved the cart hard against the donkey’s -legs. “Don’t pull, Betty, let him have -his head; just keep hold of the reins. Look -out, boy; stop him making for the ditch;” -and away went Master Neddy scrambling up -hill, for he found that the cart was coming -over his back if he didn’t move on. Master -George was as strong as a ballast heaver, and -the donkey seemed to find it out quick enough, -for we were up the hill in no time.</p> - -<p>“Bless your kind heart, Master Gaarge!” -almost sobbed the old woman; “I be all -straight now. Do’ee hev summat to suck now, -or some nuts, and this kind gentleman too; -you allus wur fond o’ suck;” and she began -untying the neck of one of her sacks.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Betty, you wicked old lone woman!” -said he, “haven’t you made me ill often enough -with your nastinesses fifteen years ago?”</p> - -<p>“Dwont’ee, now, call ’em names, Master -Gaarge.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Good-bye, Betty, and make haste up to the -Castle before all the small boys are poisoned. -I can give you a lift, Sir,” said he to me, “if -you’ll jump up behind.”</p> - -<p>I thanked him, and got up behind, by the -side of one of the other young gentlemen, who -I thought didn’t seem much to like having me -there; and I felt very pleased, as we bowled -along the Ridgeway, passing all the people who -had been laughing at me and the donkey, that -they should see that I was in such good company, -and should be up at the Castle before -any of them.</p> - -<p>The whole Ridgeway was alive with holiday -folk, some walking with their coats and bonnets -off, some in great wagons, some in all sorts -of strange vehicles, such as I had never seen -before (many of which Master George declared -had been impressed by Alfred’s commissariat -and hospital staff, in his wars against the Danes, -when they were strong young traps); but from -one and all there rose up a hum of broad Berkshire, -and merry laughter, as we shot by them. -Sometimes a yeoman in his gig, or on his stout -hackney, would try to keep up with us, or to -stop us from passing him, but Master George<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> -was a reckless driver, and somehow or another, -galloping or trotting, on the right side or the -wrong, he <em>would</em> pass; so in about ten minutes -we had got over the two miles of downs, and -were close up to the Castle.</p> - -<p>Here the first thing I saw was Joe, with two -other farmers, carrying a lot of little white and -pink flags, and measuring ground.</p> - -<p>“Please put me down, Sir,” said I, “there’s -my friend.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, yes,” said Master George, pulling up, -“I see—you’re staying with Farmer Hurst. -Well, I’m much obliged to you for helping -poor old Betty—she’s a good struggling old -widow body in our village; I’ve known her -ever since I could walk and suck. Good morning, -Mr. Hurst; likely to be a good muster -to-day.”</p> - -<p>“Mornin’, Sir,” said Joe, touching his hat, -“I think so—there’s a smart lot of folk in the -Castle already.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I hope we may meet again,” said -Master George to me, “I won’t forget the song -for you,”—and away he drove towards the -Castle.</p> - -<p>“Why, Dick man, where’s the old horse?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> -said Joe, looking as if I had come from the -moon.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I walked,” said I, “I prefer it, when I -have time.”</p> - -<p>“Come own it, Dick,” said he, “thou wast -ashamed of the old horse’s long rough coat—I -didn’t think thou hadst been such a dandy.”</p> - -<p>“Upon my honour it was nothing of the -sort,” said I, glad enough that he wasn’t on -the right scent.</p> - -<p>“And how did you get along with one of -our young squires?” said he.</p> - -<p>“Oh, he offered me a lift,” said I; and then -I told him my story.</p> - -<p>“Well, you always seem to fall on your legs,” -said he; “who are they with him?”</p> - -<p>“Oxford scholars, I think,” said I, “from -their talk; but I didn’t get on much with them, -they’re not so free spoken as he is. But what -are you about here, Joe?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, helping the umpires to measure out -the course for the cart-horse race; look, there -are the flags right along for half a mile, and -the finish is to be up there by the side of the -Castle, for all the folk to see. But come along, -for I must be after the umpires; I see they -want me.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I think,” said I, “I should like to go and -see what’s going on in the Castle.”</p> - -<p>“Very good,” said he, “then I’ll look after -you when we’ve done this job;” and away he -went.</p> - -<p>I wouldn’t take time to go round by either -of the entrances, but made straight across to -the nearest point of the great earthworks, and -scrambled over the outer bank, and down into -the deep ditch, and up the inner bank, and -stood there on the top, looking down on all the -fun of the fair; for fair it was already, though -it was very little past eleven o’clock in the -morning.</p> - -<p>There was the double line of booths and -stalls which I had seen putting up the day -before, making a long and broad street, and -all decked out with nuts and apples, and ginger-bread, -and all sorts of sucks and food, and -children’s toys, and cheap ribbons, knives, -braces, straps, and all manner of gaudy-looking -articles. Opposite, on the north side, all -the shows had got their great pictures up of -the wonders which were to be seen inside, and -the performers were strutting about on the -stages outside, and before one of them an acrobat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> -was swinging backwards and forwards on -the slack rope, and turning head over heels at -the end of each swing. And every show had -its own music, if it were only a drum and pan -pipes, and all the musicians were playing, as -loud as they could play, different tunes. Then, -on the east side, were the great booths of the -publicans, all decked out now with flowers and -cheap flags, with their skittle-grounds behind; -and lots of gypsies, and other tramps, with their -“three sticks a penny,” and other games. The -west side was only occupied, as I said before, -by the great white tent of the County Police, -where the Committee were sitting, and Lord -Craven’s tents some way in front; but these -looked pretty and gay now, for they had hoisted -some good flags; and there in the middle stood -the great ugly stage, and the greasy pole. The -whole space was filled with all sorts of people, -from ladies looking as if they had just come -from Kensington Gardens, down to the ragged -little gypsy children, with brown faces and brick-coloured -hair, all moving about, and looking -very much as if they were enjoying themselves. -So after looking a minute, I got down into -the crowd, and set to work to see every thing -I could.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p> - -<p>I hadn’t been pushing about amongst the rest -above five minutes, when two men stopped -close by me, one (who was the Wantage crier, -I found out afterwards) with his hand full of -papers, and the other carrying a gong, which -he began to beat loud enough to deafen one. -When the crowd had come round him, the -crier began, and I should think he might have -been heard at Elm Close:—</p> - -<p>“Oh yes! oh yes! by order of the Committee, -all persons who mean to play for prizes, must -enter their names on the umpires’ lists. Oh -yes! oh yes! the umpires’ lists are open in the -tent, and names may be entered from now till -half-past twelve. Oh yes! a list of the umpires -for the different games and sports may be -seen on the board outside the tent-door. God -save the Queen!”</p> - -<p>As soon as he had done, he and the man -with the gong went off to another part of the -Castle, but I could see some of the men and -boys, who had been standing round, sidling off -towards the great tent to enter for some of the -games, as I guessed. So I followed across the -Castle to the space in front of the tent.</p> - -<p>I could see, through the entrance, two or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> -three of the Committee sitting at a table, with -paper and pens and ink before them; and every -now and then, from the little groups which were -standing about, some man would make a plunge -in, and go up to the table; and, after a word or -two with them, would enter his name on one or -more of the lists, and then come out, sometimes -grinning, but generally looking as if he were -half ashamed of himself. I remarked more and -more through the day what a shy, shamefaced -fellow the real countryman was, while the gypsies -and racing boys and tramps, who entered -for the races, but not for the backsword or -wrestling prizes, were all as bold as brass, -and stood chattering away to the Committee-men, -till they were almost ordered out of the -tent.</p> - -<p>I sat down on the turf outside the tent to -watch; for I felt very much interested in the -games, and liked to see the sort of men who -came to enter. There were not many very stout -or tall men amongst them; I should say they -averaged about eleven stone in weight, and five -feet eight inches in height; but they looked a -very tough race; and I could quite believe, -while looking at them, what Joe told me one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> -day—“Though there’s plenty of quicker men, -and here and there stronger ones, scarce any -man that ever comes down our way—either at -navigator’s work or loafing about, like the gypsies -and tramps—can ever come up to our chaps -in <em>last</em>, whether at fighting or working.”</p> - -<p>There was one man amongst them who struck -me particularly, I suppose because he wore a -Crimean medal with four clasps, and went quite -lame on a crutch. I found out his history. Old -Mattingly, the blacksmith of Uffington, had -three sons when the Russian war broke out. -They all went for soldiers. The first was shot -through the hand, as that gray, deadly dawn -broke over Inkermann, on the 5th of November, -1854. Had he gone to the rear he would probably -have lived. He fought till the last Russian -vanished along the distant road, and over the -bridge heaped with slain, like a gallant Berkshire -lad—and then went to hospital and died -of his wounds within a week. The second -lies before Sebastopol in the advanced trenches -of the right attack. The third, the young artilleryman, -went through the whole war, and after -escaping bayonet and shot and shell, was kicked -by the horse of a wounded officer, and probably<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> -lamed for life. According to the rules of the -service, my informant seemed to think, he was -not entitled to a pension for life, “but they had -given him one for eighteen months after his discharge, -so that he had almost a year of it to -run; and perhaps he might learn blacksmith-work -in that time, if he could stand at all, for -that was mostly arm-work.”</p> - -<p>I didn’t know what the regulations as to -pensions were, or how long young Mattingly -would take to learn blacksmith-work, but I did -feel rather ashamed that England couldn’t afford -to do a little more for such as he; and should -be glad for my part to pay something towards -it, if the Chancellor of the Exchequer, -or somebody, would find out a way to set this -right. Or perhaps if this should ever meet the -eye of the Commander-in-Chief, or of any of the -gentlemen who were made K.C.B’s in the war-time, -or of any other person who has interest in -the army, they may see whether any thing more -can be done for young Mattingly.</p> - -<p>Many of the younger ones I could see hadn’t -made up their minds whether or no they should -enter, and were larking and pushing one another -about; and I saw several good trials of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> -strength, and got an idea of what the wrestling -was like before the lists were closed.</p> - -<p>“Bi’st in for young geamsters prize at wrastlin’, -shepherd?” asked a young carter with -his hat full of ribbons, of a tight-made, neatly-dressed -fellow, who had already won a second -prize, I heard, at his village revel.</p> - -<p>The shepherd nodded.</p> - -<p>“Mose, mun,” went on the carter, “thee -shouldst go in. Thee bi’st big enough.”</p> - -<p>Moses was an overgrown, raw-boned fellow, -of about eighteen, in a short smock-frock and -a pair of very dilapidated militia-trousers. He -had been turning the matter over in his own -mind for some time, and now, after looking the -shepherd over for a minute, pulled his great -hands out of his pockets, hunched up his shoulders, -and grunted out—</p> - -<p>“’Zay! Try a file<a name="FNanchor_30" id="FNanchor_30"></a><a href="#Footnote_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a> wi’ thee, shepherd.”</p> - -<p>The bystanders all cheered. Moses, the militiaman, -was rather a joke to them. The shepherd -looked scornful, but was ready to try a file; -but he stipulated that Mose must borrow some -shoes instead of his great, iron-clouted high-lows, -(no man is allowed to wrestle, I found, -with any iron on his shoes.)</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p> - -<p>This seemed likely to stop the fun. Moses -pulled off his high-lows, and appeared in sinkers,<a name="FNanchor_31" id="FNanchor_31"></a><a href="#Footnote_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a> -at which everybody roared; but no shoes were -to be had. Then he offered to wrestle without -shoes; but at last a pair were found, and Moses -advanced with his great hands stretched out -towards the shepherd, who, not deigning to take -one hand out of his pocket, caught Mose’s elbow -with the other. After one or two awkward attempts, -and narrowly escaping some well-meant -trips, Mose bored in; and before the shepherd -could seize the militiaman’s collar with his -second hand, over he went, and Mose was proclaimed -winner of a file, amid shouts of laughter. -Then they buckled to again, the shepherd -doing his best; but somehow Mose managed to -keep his legs; and when they went down, both -fell on their sides, and it was only a dog-fall.</p> - -<p>In another minute I saw the militiaman in the -tent before the table.</p> - -<p>“Plaze, Sur, put down Moses Tilling—young -geamster—wrastlin’.”</p> - -<p>After watching the tent till the lists were just -closing, I started off to see if I could find Miss -Lucy, who ought to have been up by this time,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> -and to get something to eat before the sports -began. The luncheon I managed easily enough, -for I went over to the great booth in which I -had dined the day before, and sat down at the -long table, where Peter welcomed me, and soon -gave me as much as I could eat and drink. -But when I had finished, and went out to look -for my friends, I found it a very difficult business, -and no wonder, for there were more than -20,000 people up on the Hill.</p> - -<p>First I went to the outside of the Castle, -where all the carriages were drawn up in long -rows, to see if I could find the four-wheel -amongst them. As I was poking about, I came -close to a fine open carriage, and hearing a -shout of merry laughter, looked up. There -were a party at lunch; two ladies and some -quite young girls inside, some boys on the box, -and several gentlemen standing round, holding -bottles and sandwiches; and they were all eating -and drinking, and laughing at an old gypsy -woman, who was telling the fortune of one of -the ladies.</p> - -<p>“Love’ll never break your heart, my pretty -lady,” said the old woman; “let the Norwood -gypsy see your hand, my pretty lady.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p> - -<p>The lady held out her right hand, and the -little girls glanced at the lady, and one another, -brimming with fun.</p> - -<p>“It’s the other hand the gypsy ought to see. -Ah, well, then, never mind,” she went on, as the -lady looked quietly in her face, without moving -a muscle, “the old Norwood gypsy can read it -all in your eyes. There’s a dark gentleman, -and a light gentleman, who’ll both be coming -before long; there’ll be sore hearts over it, but -the richest will win before a year’s out—” -Here the girls clapped their hands, and burst -into shouts, and the lady showed her other hand -with a wedding-ring on, and went on quietly -with her lunch.</p> - -<p>“Ah! I never said she wasn’t married!” said -the gipsy to the girls, who only laughed the -more. I had got quite close up to the carriage, -and at this moment caught the eye of the lady, -who was laughing too; then I felt awkward all -at once, and as if I was where I had no right to -be. But she didn’t look the least annoyed, and -I was passing on, when I saw that Mr. Warton -was amongst the gentlemen on the other side of -the carriage. “Ah,” thought I, “I wonder if -he’ll know me now he’s with his fine friends?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> -But the next minute I was ashamed of myself -for doubting, for I heard him wish them good-bye, -and before I was ten yards from the carriage, -he put his arm in mine.</p> - -<p>“Well, you never rode after all,” he began.</p> - -<p>“No, Sir,” said I. “But where are they? I -haven’t seen Joe this two hours.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, not far off,” said he; “feeding, like the -rest of us.”</p> - -<p>And further down the line we found Joe, and -Miss Lucy, and several friends of theirs, lunching -on the turf by the four-wheel. So we sat -down with them, but I didn’t half like the way -in which Miss Lucy was running on with two -young farmers, one on each side of her. She -told me afterwards that she had known them -ever since they were children together, but somehow -that didn’t seem to me to mend the matter -much. And then again, when Joe got up, and -said it was time to move, for the sports would -be just beginning, nothing would serve her but -to walk off to Wayland Smith’s cave. I wonder -whether she did it a little bit to provoke -me; for she knew that I had been to see it the -day before, and that I wanted particularly to see -all the sports. But I don’t think it could have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> -been that after all, for when I said I should stay -with Joe, she was just as pleasant as ever, and -didn’t seem to mind a bit whether I or any one -else went with her or not.</p> - -<p>I am afraid I shall make a very poor hand at -telling about the sports, because I couldn’t be in -five or six places at once; and so I was kept -running about, from the stage in the middle of -the Castle out on to the downs to see the cart-horse -race, and then back again into the Castle -for the jingling match, and then out on the -other side to the manger for the cheese races, -and so on backwards and forwards; seeing the -beginning of one sport, and the end of another, -and the middle of a third. I wish the Committee -would let the sports begin earlier, and -then one might be able to see them all. However -I must do the best I can, and just put down -what I saw myself.</p> - -<p>The first move for the sports was made a -little before one, just as I got back into the -Castle, after seeing Miss Lucy start for Wayland -Smith’s cave. The Committee came out -of their tent in a body, each man carrying the -lists of the entries for the sports over which he -was to preside. But instead of going different<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> -ways, each to his own business, they walked -across in a body to the stage, and stopped just -underneath it, in the middle of a great crowd -of men and boys; and then they shouted for -silence, and the chairman spoke:—</p> - -<p>“We wish to say a few words, my men, to -those who are going to play with the sticks or -wrestle to-day. There has been a good deal of -talk about these sports, as you all know; and -many persons think they shouldn’t be allowed at -all now-a-days—that the time for them has -gone by. They say, that men always lose their -tempers and get brutal at these sports. We -have settled, however, to give the old-fashioned -games a fair trial; and it will rest with yourselves -whether we shall ever be able to offer -prizes for them again. For, depend upon it, if -there is any savage work to-day, if you lose -your tempers, and strike or kick one another -unfairly, you will never see any more wrestling -or backsword on White Horse Hill. But we -are sure we can trust you, and that there won’t -be any thing to find fault with. Only remember -again, you are on your trial, and the stage will -be cleared at once, and no prizes given, if any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> -thing objectionable happens. And now, you -can put to as soon as you like.”</p> - -<p>The Committee then marched off, leaving a -very large crowd round the stage, all eager for -the play to begin.</p> - -<p>The two umpires got up on to the stage, and -walked round, calling out, “Two old gamesters -at backsword, and two old gamesters at wrastlin’, -wanted to put to.” But I suppose the -chairman’s speech had rather taken the men by -surprise, for no one came forward, though there -was a crowd twenty deep round the stage.</p> - -<p>“Who are the old gamesters?” I asked of -the man next me.</p> - -<p>“Them as has won or shared a first prize at -any revel,” answered he, without looking round.</p> - -<p>After a minute the chairman’s brother, who -didn’t seem to have much scruple about these -sports, jumped up on the stage, and blew an -old French hunting-horn, till the young ones -began to laugh; and then told the men not to -be afraid to come up, for if they didn’t begin at -once there wouldn’t be light to play out the -ties.</p> - -<p>At last there was a stir amongst the knot of -Somersetshire men, who stood together at one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> -corner of the stage; and one of them, stepping -up, pitched on to it his stumpy black hat, and -then climbed up after it himself, spoke a word -to the umpires, and began handling the sticks, -to choose one which balanced to his mind, -while the umpires proclaimed, “An old gamester -wanted, to play with John Bunn of Wedmore.”</p> - -<p>“There he stands, you see,” said Master -George, who was close by me, though I hadn’t -seen him before, “the only remaining representative -of the old challenger at tourneys ready -to meet all comers. He ought to have a herald -to spout out his challenge in verse. Why -not?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what he could say more than -the umpire has, Sir,” said I.</p> - -<p>“He might blow his own trumpet at any -rate,” said he; “somehow thus;” and he repeated, -after a false start or two,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem-title">THE ZONG OF THE ZUMMERZETSHIRE OWLD GEAMSTER.</div> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse number">I.</div> -<div class="verse">“Cham<a name="FNanchor_32" id="FNanchor_32"></a><a href="#Footnote_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a> a Zummerzetshire mun</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Coom her to hev a bit o’vun.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> -<div class="verse">Oo’lt<a name="FNanchor_33" id="FNanchor_33"></a><a href="#Footnote_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a> try a bout? I be’ant aveard</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Ov any man or mother’s zun.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse number">II.</div> -<div class="verse">“Cham a geamster owld and tough,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Well knowed droo all the country zide,</div> -<div class="verse">And many a lusty Barkshire man</div> -<div class="verse indent1">To break my yead hev often tried.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse number">III.</div> -<div class="verse">“Who’s vor a bout o vriendly plaay,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">As never should to anger move?</div> -<div class="verse">Zich spwoorts wur only meaned vor thaay</div> -<div class="verse indent1">As likes their mazzards broke for love.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>John Bunn looked by no means a safe man -to play with. He stood about five feet eleven, -with spare long muscular limbs, a sallow complexion, -and thick shock head of black hair,—a -good defence in itself against any common -blow of a stick. But now that the ice was -broken, his challenge was soon answered; and -George Gregory, of Stratton, one of the best -mowers in the Vale, appeared to uphold the -honour of Berks and Wilts. He stood half a -head shorter than his opponent, but was, probably, -the stronger man of the two, and had a -sturdy and confident look, which promised well,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> -and was fair-haired, and, like David, ruddy to -look upon.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/i172.jpg" width="500" height="315" alt="Stick-wrestlers" /> -</div> - -<p>While they were taking off coats and waistcoats, -and choosing sticks, two wrestlers got up -on the stage, and showed the shoes in which -they were going to wrestle to the umpires, for -approval; and stood at the ropes, ready to begin -as soon as the first bout at backsword was over. -The crowd drew a long breath, while Bunn and -Gregory came forward, shook hands; and then -throwing up their guards, met in the middle of -the stage.</p> - -<p>At the first rattle of the sticks, the crowd began -cheering again, and pressed in closer to the -stage; and I with them, for it was very exciting, -<em>that</em> I felt at once. The coolness and resolution -in the faces of the two men, as they -struck and parried with those heavy sticks, trying -all the points of each other’s play in a dozen -rapid exchanges; the skill and power which -every turn of the wrist showed; and the absolute -indifference with which they treated any -chance blow which fell on arm or shoulder, -made it really a grand sight; and with all my -prejudices I couldn’t help greatly admiring the -players. “Bout,” cried Bunn, after a minute or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> -so, and down came their guards, and they -walked to the side of the stage to collect coppers -from the crowd below in the baskets of -their sticks, while the two first wrestlers put to -in the middle.</p> - -<p>I suppose there are more unsettled points in -wrestling, or it is harder to see whether the men -are playing fair, for the crowd was much more -excited now than at the backsword play, a hundred -voices shouting to the umpires every moment -to stop this or that practice. Besides, -the kicking, which is allowed at elbow and collar -wrestling, makes it look brutal very often; -and so I didn’t like it so much as the backsword -play, though the men were fine, good-tempered -fellows, and, when most excited, only seemed to -want what they called “fair doos.”</p> - -<p>I stopped by the stage until Gregory had lost -his head. How it happened I couldn’t see, but -suddenly the umpires cried out “Blood!” The -men stopped; Gregory put up his hand to his -hair, found that the blood was really coming, -and then dropped his stick and got down, quite -as much surprised as I was. And two more old -gamesters were called up, the first head being -to Somersetshire.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p> - -<p>But now I heard that the cart-horse race was -just coming off, and so following the crowd, -made my way across to the east of the Castle.</p> - -<p>I scrambled up to the highest part of the -bank, and so got a capital view of the scene -below. The course was marked out all the -way down to the starting-post by rows of little -pink and white flags, and the Committee-men -were riding slowly up and down, trying to get the -people to keep back behind the flags. The line -was, on the whole, pretty well kept; but as the -crowd got thicker every minute, every now and -then a woman with two or three children would -wander out to escape the pressure from behind; -or a young couple keeping company would run -across, hoping to better their position; or a lot -of uproarious boys would start out for a lark, to -try the tempers, and very possibly the whips, of -the Committee.</p> - -<p>Joe presently rode by the place where I was -standing, and called out to me to come down -and see the mounting. So I slipped out of the -crowd, and ran down the back of the line to the -starting-place. There I found the Squire and -the umpires, passing the men and horses. Five -or six were all ready; the great horses in their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> -thill harness, which jingled and rattled with -every movement; and the carters perched up in -the middle of the wood and leather and brass, -in their white smock-frocks, with the brims of -their break-of-days turned up in front, and a -bunch of ribbons fluttering from the side, and -armed with the regular long cart-whip. Just as -I came up, Mr. Avery Whitfield’s bay horse, -“King of the Isle,” was passed, and took his -place with the others. He was one of the three -favourites, I heard people say.</p> - -<p>“Call the next horse.”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Davenport’s gray mare, Dairymaid,” -shouts the umpire. Here she comes with old -Joe Humphries, the jockey and horse breaker, -on her back. He is in full jockey costume—cap, -jacket, and tops, with a racing whip and -spurs. The umpires look doubtfully at him, -and consult the Squire. At first they seem -inclined not to let Joe ride at all, but as the -owners of the other horses don’t object, they -only insist on his taking off his spurs and changing -his whip for a common long carter’s whip. -Then Dairymaid is passed, and then one other -horse; eight in all. Two of the Committee -gallop down in front to clear the course for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> -last time; the word “Off” is given; and away -go the great steeds in furious plunging gallop, -making the whole hill shake beneath them, and -looking (as I heard one of the Oxford scholars -remark) like a charge of German knights in -some old etching. Close after them came the -umpires, the Committee-men, and all the mounted -farmers, cheering and shouting pieces of advice -to the riders; and the crowd, as they pass, -shout and wave their hats, and then rush after -the horses. How everybody isn’t killed, and -how those men can sit those great beasts in the -middle of that rattling mass of harness, were -my puzzles, as I scrambled along after the rest.</p> - -<p>Meantime, in the race, Dairymaid shoots at -once some yards ahead, and improves her lead -at every stride; for she is a famous mare, and -old Joe Humphries understands the tricks of the -course, and can push her and lift her in ways -unknown to the honest carters and foggers, who -come lumbering behind him—Joe even has time -for a contemptuous glance over his shoulder at -his pursuers. But the race is not always to the -swift, at least not to those who are swiftest at -starting. Half-way up the course, Dairymaid -ceases to gain; then she shows signs of distress,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> -and scarcely answers to Joe’s persuasions. -“King of the Isle” is creeping up to her—the -carter shakes his bridle, and begins to ply his -long cart-whip—they are crossing the Ridgeway, -where stand the carter’s fellow-servants, -Mr. Whitfield’s fogger, shepherd, ploughboys, -&c. who set up a shout as he passes, which -sends the bay right up abreast of the mare. No -wonder they are excited, for the master has -promised that the three guineas, the price of -the new thill harness, shall be divided between -them, if the bay wins.</p> - -<p>In another fifty yards he is drawing ahead. -All old Joe’s efforts are in vain; his jockeyship -has only done him harm, whereas the carter’s -knowledge of what his steed’s real powers are, -has been the making of him, and he rides in, -brandishing his long cart-whip, an easy winner.</p> - -<p>Dairymaid is second, but only just before the -ruck; and old Joe creeps away, let us hope, a -humbler and a wiser man.</p> - -<p>Of course I couldn’t see all this myself, because -I was behind, but Joe told me all about -the race directly afterwards. When I got up -there was a great crowd round “King of the -Isle,” from whose back the carter was explaining<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> -something about the race. But I couldn’t -stay to listen, for I heard that the races for the -“prime coated Berkshire fives” (as they called -the cheeses), were just coming off; so I hurried -away to the brow of the hill, just above the -Horse, where it is steepest; for I wanted of all -things to see how men could run down this -place, which I couldn’t get up without using -both hands.</p> - -<p>There stood Mr. William Whitfield, of Uffington, -the umpire who had to start the race, in his -broad-brimmed beaver, his brown coat and waistcoat -with brass buttons, and drab breeches and -gaiters. I thought him a model yeoman to -look at, but I didn’t envy him his task. Two -wild-looking gypsy women, with their elf-locks -streaming from under their red handkerchiefs, -and their black eyes flashing, were rushing -about amongst the runners, trying to catch -some of their relations who were going to run; -and screaming out that their men should never -break their limbs down that break-neck place. -The gypsies dodged about, and kept out of -their reach, and the farmer remonstrated, but -the wild women still persevered. Then, losing -all patience, he would turn and poise the wheel,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> -ready to push it over the brow, when a shout -from the bystanders warns him to pause, and, -a little way down the hill, just in the line of -the race, appear two or three giggling lasses, -hauled along by their sweethearts, and bent on -getting a very good view. Luckily at this -moment the Chairman appeared, and rode his -white horse down to the front of the line of -men, where there seemed to me to be footing -for nothing but a goat. Then the course was -cleared for a moment, he moved out of the -line, making a signal to the farmer, who pushed -the wheel at once over the brow, and cried, -“Off.” The wheel gained the road in three -bounds, cleared it in a fourth monster bound -which measured forty yards, and hurried down -far away to the bottom of the manger, where -the other two umpires were waiting to decide -who is the winner of the race.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/i180.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="Men running down the hill" /> -</div> - -<p>Away go the fourteen men in hot pursuit, -gypsies, shepherds, and light-heeled fellows of -all sorts, helter-skelter; some losing their foothold -at once, and rolling or slipping down; -some still keeping their footing, but tottering -at every step; one or two, with their bodies -well thrown back, striking their heels firmly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> -into the turf, and keeping a good balance. -They are all in the road together, but here -several fall on their faces, and others give in; -the rest cross it in a moment, and are away -down the manger. Here the sheep-walks, which -run temptingly along the sides of the manger, -but if they would look forward will take the -runners very little nearer the bottom where the -wheel lies, mislead many; and amongst the -rest, the fleetest of the gypsies, who makes off -at full speed along one of them. Two or three -men go still boldly down the steep descent, -falling and picking themselves up again; and -Jonathan Legg, of Childrey, is the first of these. -He has now gained the flat ground at the bottom, -where after a short stagger he brings himself -up, and makes straight for the umpires and -the wheel. The gypsy now sees his error; and -turning short down the hill, comes into the flat, -running some twenty yards behind Jonathan. -In another hundred yards he would pass him, -for he gains at every stride; but it is too late; -and we, at the top of the hill, cheer loudly -when we see Jonathan, the man who had gone -straight all the way, touch the wheel a clear ten -yards before his more active rival.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p> - -<p>I should have liked to have seen the boys’ -races down the manger, but was afraid of missing -some other sport, so I left farmer Whitfield -at his troublesome post, shouting out the names -of the boys and trying to get them into line, -and went back into the Castle, where I found -a crowd round the greased pole; and when I -got up to it, saw a heavy-looking fellow, standing -some five feet up the pole, with one foot -in a noose of cord depending from a large -gimlet, and the other leg hooked round the -pole. He held in his right hand another large -gimlet, which he was preparing to screw into -the pole to support a second noose, and gazed -stolidly down at a Committee-man, who was -objecting “that this wasn’t fair climbing—that -if gimlets and nooses were to be allowed, he -could get up himself.” I thought he was right; -but public feeling seemed to side with the -climber; so the Committee-man gave in, declaring -that there would be no more legs of -mutton to climb for, if any thing but arms and -legs were to be used.</p> - -<p>“Rather a slow bit of sport this,” I said to -an old gray-headed man, who was leaning on -his stick at my side, and staring up at the -performer.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Ees, Zur,” answered he, “I dwon’t knaow -but what it be.”</p> - -<p>“Do you call it fair climbing, now?”</p> - -<p>“Auh, bless’ee, not I. I minds seein’ the -young chaps when I wur a buoy, climin’ maypowls -a deal higher nor that, dree at a time. -But now-a-days ’um be lazy, and afraid o’ -spwiling their breeches wi’ the grase.”</p> - -<p>“Are there any maypoles about here now?”</p> - -<p>“Never a one as I knows on, Zur, for twenty -mile round. The last as I remembers wur the -Longcott one, and Parson Watts of Uffington -had he sawed up nigh forty year ago, for fear -lest there should ha’ been some murder done -about ’un.”</p> - -<p>“Murder about a maypole! Why, how was -that?”</p> - -<p>“Auh! you see, Zur, this here Longcott maypowl -wur the last in all these parts, and a wur -the envy of a zight o’ villages round about. -Zo, one cluttery<a name="FNanchor_34" id="FNanchor_34"></a><a href="#Footnote_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a> night in November, thirty of -our Ashbury chaps thay started down to Longcott, -and dug ’un up, and brought ’un cler away -on handspikes, all the waay to the Crown’d Inn -at Ashbury, and ’tis quite vour mil’d.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p> - -<p>“On handspikes! Why, how big was he, -then?”</p> - -<p>“Augh! a fyeightish sized ’un. How big? -whoy a sight bigger, bless’ee, nor that ’un, and -all the bottom half on ’un solid oak. When -thay cum to put ’un up afore the bar winder -of the Crown’d, a reached right up auver the -tops o’ the housen. But zoon arter a wur put -up, the Uffington chaps cum up, and tuk and -carried ’un down ther’. Ther’ was a smartish -row or two about ’un at Uffington arter that, -but they watched ’un night and day; and when -the Lambourn chaps cum arter ’un one night, -they chucked scaldin’ water right auver’m. Zo -then Parson Watts, he tuk and sawed ’un up, -and guv ’un to the owld women at Christmas -for virewood.”</p> - -<p>I walked away from the pole, turning over -in my mind whether Parson Watts was right -or wrong in his summary method of restoring -peace to his parish, and, somehow or other, -found myself again close under the stage. -Now, and throughout the day, I found no -flagging there; whenever I passed there was -the crowd of men standing round, and the old -and young gamesters hard at work. So I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> -began to believe what Joe had said, that the -countrymen thought more about these games -than any thing else, and wouldn’t care to go -to the pastime if they were stopped.</p> - -<p>I found that the Ashbury men were carrying -it all their own way in the wrestling, and that -their champion, old Richens (the rat-catcher, an -old gamester in his fiftieth year), would probably -not even have to wrestle at all; for his -own men were throwing all the gamesters of -the other parishes, and of course would give -up to him when it came to the last ties. The -men all wrestle in sides, at least the old gamesters -do; so that a man generally plays for his -parish, and not for his own head, which is a -better thing, I think.</p> - -<p>As to the backsword play, the stage was -strewed with splinters of sticks and pieces of -broken baskets, and many a young gamester -has had his first broken head in public. But, -for the chief prize, matters are going hard with -Berks and Wilts. The Somersetshire old gamesters -have won two heads to one; and, as they -have six men in, and Berks and Wilts only -four, the odds are all in favour of the cider -county, and against the beer drinkers.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p> - -<p>In good time up gets an old gamester, who -looks like the man to do credit to the royal -county. It is Harry Seeley, of Shrivenham, -the only Berkshire man in; for there has been -some difference between Berks and Wilts, and -Harry’s two mates haven’t entered at all. So -he, being one of the true bull-dog breed, is in -for his own head, against all odds, and is up -to play the next Somersetshire man.</p> - -<p>Harry is a fine specimen of an Englishman. -Five feet eight high, with a bullet head, and -light blue eye; high-couraged, cool, and with -an absolutely imperturbable temper. He plays -in a blue shirt, thin from age and wear, through -which you may see the play of his splendid -arms and chest. His opponent is a much -younger man, about the same size; but a great -contrast to Harry, for he has a savage and sly -look about him.</p> - -<p>They shake hands, throw themselves into position, -and the bout begins. Harry is clearly -the finer player, and his adversary feels this at -once; and the shouts of anticipated victory, -in the Berkshire tongue, rouse his temper.</p> - -<p>Now comes a turn of the savage play, which -ought never to be seen on a stage. The Somerset<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> -man bends far back, and strikes upper -cuts at the face and arms, and then savagely -at the body. He is trying to maim and cow, -and not to win by fair brave play. The crowd -soon begin to get savage too; upper-cutting is -not thought fair in Berks and Wilts; a storm -begins to brew, hard words are bandied, and a -cry of “Foul,” and “Pull him down,” is heard -more than once, and the Committee man, who -watches from below, is on the point of stopping -the bout.</p> - -<p>But nothing puts out old Harry Seeley; no -upper cut can reach his face, for his head is -thrown well back, and his guard is like a rock; -and though the old blue shirt is cut through and -through, he makes no more of the welts of the -heavy stick than if it were a cat’s tail. Between -the bouts his face is cheery and confident, -and he tells his friends to “hold their -noise, and let him alone to tackle the chap,” -as he hands round his basket for the abounding -coppers.</p> - -<p>Now I could see well enough why the parsons -don’t like these games. It gave me a -turn, to watch the faces round the stage getting -savage, and I could see what it might soon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> -get to if there was much of this wild work. -And there were Master George, and the two -Oxford scholars, at the opposite corner of the -stage, shouting till they were hoarse for old -Seeley, and as savage and wicked-looking as -any of the men round them; setting such a -bad example, too, as I thought,—whereas it -didn’t matter for a fellow like me, who was -nobody,—so I shouted, and threw my coppers -to old Seeley, and felt as wild as any of them, -I do believe. Three bouts, four bouts pass; -Harry’s stick gets in oftener and oftener. Has -the fellow no blood in him? There it comes -at last! In the fifth bout, Harry’s stick goes -flashing in again, a fair down blow from the -wrist, which puts the matter beyond all question, -as the Somersetshire man staggers back -across the stage, the blood streaming from -under his hair. Loud are the shouts which -greet the fine-tempered old gamester, as he -pulls on his velveteen coat, and gets down -from the stage.</p> - -<p>“Why, Harry, thou’dst broke his yead second -bout, mun, surely!” shout his admirers.</p> - -<p>“No,” says Harry, dogmatically, “you see, -mates, there’s no ’cumulation of blood belongs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> -to thay cider-drinking chaps, as there does to -we as drinks beer. Besides, thay drinks vinegar -allus for a week afore playin’, which dries -up most o’ the blood as they <em>has</em> got; so it -takes a ’mazin’ sight of cloutin’ to break their -yeads as should be.”</p> - -<p>After this bout all the other play seemed to -be tasteless; so, promising myself to come back -and see the ties played off, (unless Miss Lucy -turned up in the mean time, in which case I -shouldn’t have dared to go near the stage, and in -fact I felt rather nervous already, lest she should -have seen or heard of me there,) I marched -off, and joined the crowd which was collecting -round the jingling ring. That crowd was one -of the pleasantest sights of the whole day. The -jingling match seemed a very popular sport, -especially with the women. There they were, -of all ranks—for I’m certain I saw some young -ladies in riding habits, and others in beautiful -muslins, whom I, and Jem Fisher, and little -Neddy have often seen riding with very great -people in the Park, when we have managed to -get down to Rotten Row on summer evenings—seated -on the grass or standing round the -ring, in all sorts of dresses, from fine silks down<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> -to cottons at 2<i>d.</i> a yard, and all looking pleasant -and good-tempered, and as if they were -quite used to being mixed up like this every day—which -I’m sure I wish they were, for my part, -especially if the men were allowed to join in the -crowd too, as we were round the jingling ring. -For there were gentlemen, both parsons and -others, and farmers, and ploughboys, and all -manner of other men and boys.</p> - -<p>I don’t know what sort of fun a jingling -match is in general, but I thought this one -much the slowest game I saw. The ring must -have been forty yards across, or thereabouts, -and there were only eight blindfolded men running -after the bellman. To make it good fun, -there should have been twenty-five or thirty at -least. Then the bellman, who has his hands -tied behind him, ought to have the bell tied -round his neck, or somewhere where he can’t -get at it to stop the ringing; but our bellman -had the bell tied to his waistband behind, so -that he could catch hold of it with his hands, -and stop it when he was in danger. Then half -the men could see, I’m sure, by the way they -carried their heads up in the air, especially one -gypsy, who, I think, won the prize at last. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> -men who couldn’t see were worth watching, for -they kept catching and tumbling over one another. -One time they made a rush to the rope, -just where some of the young ladies were sitting, -and, as nearly as could be, tumbled over -among them. I thought there would have been -a great scrambling and screaming; not a bit of -it—they never flinched an inch, or made the -least cry, and I was very proud to think they -were my countrywomen. After the bellman had -been caught about a minute, there was a great -laugh at one of the blinded men, who made a -rush, and caught a Committee-man, who was -standing in the ring, in his arms. But on the -whole, I thought the game a poor one, and was -glad when it was over.</p> - -<p>I hurried away directly after the jingling -match, and went across the Castle, and out on -to the down where the cart-horse race had been -run to see the foot-races, which were run over -the last half of the same course, on which ten -good stiff sets of hurdles, at short distances -apart, had been set up. I found a debate going -on between the umpires and some of the men -as to whether they were all to start together. -The regular agricultural labourers were remonstrating -as to some of the candidates.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It bean’t narra mossel o’ use for we chaps -to start along wi’ thay light-heeled gentry,” said -one,—“Whoy, look ’ee here, zur’s one, and -yander’s another, wi’ a kind o’ dancin’ pumps -on, and that ’un at tother end wi’ a cricketin’ -waistcut.”</p> - -<p>“And there’s two o’ them little jockey chaps -amongst ’em, sumweres, Zur,” said another, -looking about for these young gentlemen, who -dodged behind some of the bigger candidates.</p> - -<p>“How can we help that?” said the umpire.</p> - -<p>“Auh, Zur, thay be all too nimble by half for -we to be of any account to ’em,” persisted the -first speaker. “If twur for the sticks now, or -wrastling—”</p> - -<p>“Well, but what shall we do then?” interrupted -the umpire.</p> - -<p>“Let I pick out ten or a dozen on ’em to run -by theirselves.” The umpires proposed this to -the rest, and, no one objecting, told Giles, the -protester, to pick out the ten he was most afraid -of. This Giles proceeded to do with a broad -grin on his face, and generally seemed to make -a good selection. But presently he arrived at, -and after a short inspection passed over, a -young fellow in his blue shirt-sleeves and a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> -cloth cap, who to the umpire’s eye seemed a -dangerous man.</p> - -<p>“Why, Giles,” said he, “you’re never going -to pass him over?”</p> - -<p>“Auh, ees, Zur,” said Giles, “let he ’bide -along wi’ we chaps. Dwont’ee zee, he’s a -tipped and naayled ’un?”</p> - -<p>When Giles had finished his selection, the -first lot were started, and made a grand race; -which was won by a Hampshire man from -Kingsclere, the second man, not two feet behind, -being a young Wiltshire farmer, who, -having never been beaten in his own neighbourhood, -had come to lose his laurels honourably at -the Scouring.</p> - -<p>The running in the second race was, of -course, not so good, but much more amusing. -The “tipped and naayled ’uns” were a rushing -lot, but very bad at rising. Hurdle after hurdle -went down before them with a crash, and the -most wonderful summersaults were executed. -The second hurdle finished poor Giles, who -charged it manfully, and found himself the next -moment on his broad back, gazing placidly up -into the evening sky. The cloth cap, notwithstanding -his shoes, went easily ahead, and won<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> -in a canter. I heard one of the umpires rallying -Giles afterwards at his want of eyes.</p> - -<p>“Ees, Zur,” said Giles, hunching up his great -shoulders, “I wur tuk in, zure enough. He wur -a town chap, arter all, as wouldn’t ha’ knowed -a piece o’ clumpers afore he cum across to -White Hos Hill.”</p> - -<p>I left the umpires now to start the other -races, and got back once again into the Castle. -I was now beginning to get very tired in my -legs, though not in my spirits, so I went and -sat down outside the crowd, which was thicker -than ever round the stage, for the ties were -being played out. I could hear the umpires -call every now and then for some gamester who -was not forthcoming to play out his tie—“John -Giles, if you beant on the stage in five minutes, -to put to with James Higgins, you shall lose -your head”—through all the cheers and shouts, -which rose louder and louder now that every -blow or trip might decide the prizes. And while -I was sitting, the donkey races were run outside, -and I heard were very good fun; especially -the last one, in which no man rode his own -donkey, and the last donkey had the prize. I -hope my friend, the old suck-woman, entered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> -neighbour Thorne’s beast, for if she did, I’ll be -bound he carried off the prize for her. They -were the only sports that I didn’t manage to see -something of.</p> - -<p>It was now just five o’clock, the hour for the -pig-race, which seemed to be a most popular -sport, for most of the lookers-on at the stage -went off to see it, leaving only a select crowd -of old and young gamesters, most of whom had -been playing themselves, and whom nothing -could drag five yards from the posts until the -ties were all played out. I was just considering -whether I should move or stay where I was, -when Master George came striding by and -caught sight of me.</p> - -<p>“Hullo,” said he, “how is it you’re not on -the move? You must see the pig-race; come -along.” So I got up and shambled along with -him.</p> - -<p>The pig was to be started on the slope below -the west entrance, where the old gentleman had -stood and lectured me the day before about -Earl Sidroc. There was the spring cart, covered -with a net, with a fine young Berkshire -pig in it, just at the place where the Bersirkir -(as he called them) made their last stand.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> -When we came up, the runners, thirty in number, -with their coats and waistcoats off, were -just being drawn up in line inside the Castle, -from which place they were to be started, and -run down through the west entrance out on to -the open down, at the word “off.” It was -thought that this rush down between the double -banks, covered thickly with the crowd, would be -the finest sight of the race. But the rush never -came. Piggy was to have five minutes law, -and the Committee-man who went down to -turn him out put his snout towards Ashdown -Park, and gave him a push in hopes that he -would take straight away over the downs, and -so get a good start. Of course, he turned right -round and came trotting and grunting up -towards the Castle, to see what all the bustle -could be about. Then the crowd began to -shout at him, and to press further and further -down the outer earthworks, though all the Committee -were there to keep the course clear for -the regular runners; and at last, before half of -the five minutes were over, the whole line broke -up with a great shout, and the down was covered -in a moment with countless men and boys -in full chase of Piggy. Then the lawful candidates<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> -could stand it no longer, and away they -went too, cleaving their way through the press, -the Committee riding after them as fast as was -safe in such a crowd, to see fair play if possible -at the finish.</p> - -<p>In a minute or two, Piggy was mobbed, surrounded, -seized first by one of the crowd, and -then by a lawful runner. These tumbled over -in their struggle without loosing their hold and -more of their friends over them, and from the -middle of the mass poor Piggy sent up the -most vigorous and dismal squeals, till the Committee-men -rode in, laying about with their -whips; and Farmer Whitfield, springing off, -seized Piggy, and in another minute was cantering -away with him towards Wayland Smith’s -cave. Here he was turned out again for a fair -race, and was won by Charles Ebury, of Fernham; -who, fearing the results of his racing performances, -sold him at once for 10<i>s.</i> to the -Woolston carrier. But I am happy to say that -he wasn’t really hurt, for I went to see him -some days afterwards, and found him as hearty -as pig could be.</p> - -<p>Master George and I agreed, as we walked -back to the Castle, that it is a shame to have a -pig-race.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No,” said he, “let men run any risk they -like of broken heads or limbs for themselves; -they may play or not as they like. But Piggy -has no choice, and to let him run the risk of -having the legs pulled out of his body before he -is wanted for pork, isn’t fair.”</p> - -<p>“He didn’t seem to think it was, certainly, -Sir,” I said.</p> - -<p>“No,” said he, laughing; “did you ever hear -such a song as he made? No animal can talk -like a pig. He can scold or remonstrate just as -well as a Christian. Any one who knows the -language can tell you just what he is saying. -Well,” he went on, “I see you don’t believe -me; now I will go and hear what he has to say -about this proceeding, and give you it word for -word.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/i198.jpg" width="500" height="275" alt="Lots of people chasing a pig" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span></p> - -<p>This was what he gave me afterwards, with -the other songs he had promised me:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem-title">THE LAY OF THE HUNTED PIG.</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Vathers, mothers, mothers’ zons!</div> -<div class="verse">You as loves yer little wuns!</div> -<div class="verse">Happy pegs among the stubble,</div> -<div class="verse">Listen to a tale of trouble;</div> -<div class="verse">Listen, pegs in yeard and stye,</div> -<div class="verse">How the Barkshire chaps zard I.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“I wur barn at Kingstone-Lisle,</div> -<div class="verse">Wher I vrolicked var a while,</div> -<div class="verse">As vine a peg as e’er wur zeen</div> -<div class="verse">(One of a litter o’ thirteen)</div> -<div class="verse">Till zome chaps wi’ cussed spite</div> -<div class="verse">Aimed ov I to make a zite,</div> -<div class="verse">And to have a ‘bit o’ vun,’</div> -<div class="verse">Took I up to Uffington.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Up, vorights<a name="FNanchor_35" id="FNanchor_35"></a><a href="#Footnote_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a> the Castle mound</div> -<div class="verse">They did zet I on the ground;</div> -<div class="verse">Then a thousand chaps, or nigh,</div> -<div class="verse">Runned and hollered arter I—</div> -<div class="verse">Ther, then, I till I wur blowed,</div> -<div class="verse">Runned and hollered all I knowed,</div> -<div class="verse">When, zo zure as pegs is pegs,</div> -<div class="verse">Eight chaps ketched I by the legs,</div> -<div class="verse">Two to each—’tis truth I tell ’ee—</div> -<div class="verse">Dree more clasped I round the belly!</div> -<div class="verse">Under all they fellers lyin’—</div> -<div class="verse">Pegs!—I thought as I wur dyin’.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“But the Squire (I thenks I zee un),</div> -<div class="verse">Varmer Whitfield ridin’ wi’ un,</div> -<div class="verse">Fot I out o’ all thuck caddle,</div> -<div class="verse">Stretched athurt the varmer’s zaddle—</div> -<div class="verse">Bless ’em, pegs in yeard and stye,</div> -<div class="verse">Them two vrends as stuck to I.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Barkshire men, vrom Hill and Vale,</div> -<div class="verse">All as ever hears this tale,</div> -<div class="verse">If to spwoort you be inclined,</div> -<div class="verse">Plaze to bear this here in mind—</div> -<div class="verse">Pegs beant made no race to win,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> -<div class="verse">Be zhart o’ wind, and tight o’ skin,</div> -<div class="verse">Dwont’ee hunt ’em, but instead</div> -<div class="verse">At backswyrd break each other’s yead</div> -<div class="verse">Cheezes down the manger rowl—</div> -<div class="verse">Or try and clim the greasy powl.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Pegs! in stubble yeard and stye,</div> -<div class="verse">May you be never zard like I,</div> -<div class="verse">Nor druv wi greasy ears and tail,</div> -<div class="verse">By men and bwoys drough White Horse Vale.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="footnotes"> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_29" id="Footnote_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_29"><span class="label">[29]</span></a> “Scawt”—to get up.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_30" id="Footnote_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor_30"><span class="label">[30]</span></a> “File”—a fall.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_31" id="Footnote_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor_31"><span class="label">[31]</span></a> “Sinkers”—stockings without feet.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_32" id="Footnote_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor_32"><span class="label">[32]</span></a> “Cham”—“I am,” a form still used in parts of Somersetshire.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_33" id="Footnote_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor_33"><span class="label">[33]</span></a> “Oo’lt”—wilt thou.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_34" id="Footnote_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor_34"><span class="label">[34]</span></a> “Cluttery”—pelting with rain.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_35" id="Footnote_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor_35"><span class="label">[35]</span></a> “Vorights”—opposite.</p> - -</div> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</h2> - -<p>Master George slipped away from me -somehow, after the pig-race, so I strolled up -into the Castle again. The sports were all -over, so the theatres and shows were making a -greater noise than ever, but I didn’t feel inclined -to go to any of them, and kept walking slowly -round the bank on the opposite side, and looking -down at the fair. In a minute or two I -heard cheering, and saw an open carriage, with -postilions, driving out of the Castle, and three -or four young ladies and a gentleman or two -cantering along with it. I watched them for -some way across the downs, and thought how -nice it must be to be able to ride well, and to -have nice horses to go galloping over the springy -downs, into the golden sunset, putting up the -larks and beautiful little wheatears; and, besides -all that, to have all the people cheering one -too! So down I went into the crowd, to find<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> -out who they were. It was Lord Craven and -his party, the first man I came across told me; -and then I quite understood why this carriage -should be the only one to come inside the Castle, -and why the people should cheer; because, -you see, the White Horse, and Dragon’s Hill, -and the Manger, all belong to him, and he is -very good-natured in letting everybody go there -and do pretty much what they please. There -were other carriages going off now from the -row outside, and coachmen bringing up their -horses to harness, and a few of the foot people -who came from the longest distances, starting -along the Ridgeway, or down the Uffington -Road. I was standing watching all this, and -thinking how I was to find my party, and -whether I should go behind in the four-wheel -(which I began to feel very much inclined to -do, for I was getting tired, and it would be -dark), when I saw Joe bustling about amongst -the crowd, and looking out for some one; so I -made across to him.</p> - -<p>“Ah, there you are,” said he, as soon as he -caught sight of me, “I’ve been hunting for you; -it’s all over for to-day. Lu sent me after you -to come and have some tea. If you like, you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> -can go home directly afterwards with her and -Mr. Warton.”</p> - -<p>I was much pleased to hear that Miss -Lucy had sent after me, but I didn’t want to -show it.</p> - -<p>“What are you going to do?” said I.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” said Joe, “I shan’t leave till all the -Committee go; I must be at the giving away -of the prizes in the tent; and then, if any thing -should happen afterwards—any row, you know, -or that sort o’ thing—I shouldn’t like to be -gone.”</p> - -<p>I didn’t say any thing more, as I thought I -might just as well leave it open; so I followed -him to the west side of the Castle, where the -police tent stood, and it was quite quiet.</p> - -<p>“Here they are,” said Joe, “over in the -ditch;” and he scrambled up the bank, and I -after him, and in the ditch below sure enough -was a most cozy tea-party. Miss Lucy, with -her bonnet off, was sitting cutting up a cake, -and generally directing. Two other young -women, nice fresh-looking girls, but not to be -named with her, were setting out a few cups -and saucers and plates, which they had borrowed -from some of the stalls. Mr. Warton<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> -was on his knees with his hat off, blowing away -till he was red in the face at a little fire made -of chips and pieces of old hampers, over which -the kettle, also borrowed, hung from three sticks -driven into the ground so that their tops met -above the fire. Two or three young farmers sat -about looking on, or handing things as they were -wanted, except one impudent young fellow of -about eighteen, with scarcely a hair on his chin, -who was almost in Miss Lucy’s pocket, and -was meddling with every thing she was doing.</p> - -<p>“Well, here you are, at last,” said she, looking -up at us; “why, where have you been all -day?”</p> - -<p>“I am sure I have been hunting after you -very often,” said I, which, perhaps, was rather -more than I ought to have said; “but it isn’t -easy for one who is a stranger to find people in -such a crowd.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know that,” said she, with a pretty -little toss of her head; “where there’s a will -there’s a way. If I hadn’t found friends, I -might have been alone all day—and there are -three or four of the shows I have never seen, -now.”</p> - -<p>I began to look as sorry as I could, while I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> -thought what to answer, when the young man -who was close to her tried to steal some of the -cake; she turned round quickly, and rapped his -fingers with the back of her knife, and he pretended -to be hurt. She only laughed, and went -on cutting up the cake, but she called him Jack, -and seemed so intimate with him that it put -me out, and I sat down on the other side of the -circle, some way off.</p> - -<p>“It’s all right,” said the Parson, looking up -from the fire; “boils splendidly—give me the -tea.”</p> - -<p>Miss Lucy handed him a little parcel of tea -from her bag, and he put it into the kettle.</p> - -<p>“I declare we have forgotten the milk,” said -she; “do run and fetch it, Jack—it’s in a bottle -under the back seat of the four-wheel.”</p> - -<p>I jumped up before Jack, who hardly moved, -and ran off to fetch the milk; for which she -gave me a pleasant smile when I came back, -and I felt better pleased, and enjoyed the tea -and cake and bread and butter, and all the talk -over it, very much; except that I couldn’t stand -this Jack, who was forcing her to notice him -every minute, by stealing her teaspoon or her -cake, or making some of his foolish remarks.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span></p> - -<p>The sun set splendidly before we had finished, -and it began to get a little chilly.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Joe, jumping up, “I’m off to get -the horse put to. You’d better be starting, Lu; -you won’t be down hill much before dark, now, -and there’s no moon—worse luck.”</p> - -<p>“Very well,” said she, taking up her bonnet, -and putting it on; “we shall be ready in five -minutes.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll go behind with them, I suppose,” -said Joe to me.</p> - -<p>“I’m to have a seat, mind,” struck in that -odious Jack; “Lucy promised me that an hour -ago.” I could have given him a good kick; -however, I don’t think I showed that I was put -out.</p> - -<p>“How can you tell such fibs, Jack?” said -she; but I didn’t take any notice of that.</p> - -<p>“Thank you, I wish to stay on the hill,” said -I. “Besides, the four-wheel will be full without -me.”</p> - -<p>She didn’t seem to hear; and began talking -to one of the other girls.</p> - -<p>“But how are you to get down?” said Joe.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I can walk,” said I, “or ride behind -you.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Very good, if you like,” said he; “the -chestnut would carry six, if her back was long -enough;” and away he went to get the four-wheel -ready.</p> - -<p>We followed; Miss Lucy sticking close to -her friend, and never saying a word to any of -us. I walked with Mr. Warton, who was in -the highest spirits, looking over his shoulder, -and raving about the green tints in the sunset.</p> - -<p>When we got to the carriages, there was kissing -and shaking of hands, and the rest went off, -while the parson and Miss Lucy packed into -the front seat, and Jack and Jem the carter-boy -into the hind seat of the four-wheel; and away -they drove, wishing us “good night.” I watched -them for some time, and could see Jack leaning -forward close to her ear; and turned back with -Joe into the Castle, more out of sorts than I -had been since I left London.</p> - -<p>Joe hurried off to the police tent, where the -Committee were giving away the prizes, saying -I should find him there when I wanted him; -and I loitered away to see whatever was to be -seen. At first nothing seemed to please me. I -watched the men and boys playing at three -sticks a penny, and thought I might as well<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> -have been on Primrose Hill. Then I went and -looked at the shows; and there was the fellow -in flesh-coloured tights, turning over and over -on the slack rope, and the clarionet and French -horn and drum, played by the three men in corduroys, -all out of tune and louder than ever, as -if they had only just begun, instead of having -been screaming and rumbling away all day; -and the man outside the pink-eyed lady’s caravan -was shouting away for the hundredth time -all about her, and then playing the pan-pipes, as -if no other woman in the world had pink eyes.</p> - -<p>I was determined they shouldn’t have any of -my money at any rate, so I strolled further -down the line, and looked into a low booth -where a fiddle was going. Here several couples -were dancing, with their arms a-kimbo, on some -planks which had been put down on the grass, -and all the rest of the booth was crowded with -others looking on. This pleased me better, for -the dancers seemed to enjoy themselves wonderfully, -and made a sort of clattering accompaniment -to the music with their hob-nailed shoes, -which was merry and pleasant.</p> - -<p>When I was tired of watching them, I -thought I would go and find Joe; so I went<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> -over to the tent, and there I got all right, and -began to enjoy myself again.</p> - -<p>In the further corner of the tent, the Squire -and another justice were sitting, and hearing a -charge of pocket-picking, of which there were -only two during the whole day, the police told -me. Opposite the door, the rest of the Committee -were sitting at a table and giving away -the prizes.</p> - -<p>Joe beckoned me in, and I went round to the -back of the table and looked on. As the men -came up from the group round the door, when -their names were called out, the umpires said a -few words to each of them, and then gave them -their prizes, and most of them made some sort -of speech in answer; for they were much less -shy than in the morning, I suppose from the -sense of having earned their right to hold up -their heads by winning. The owner of the -successful donkey was just carrying out the -flitch of bacon when I arrived; after him the -Somersetshire backsword players were called in -to take the first three prizes for that sport, they -having beaten all the Wiltshire men; while old -Seeley, the only Berkshire man entered, to -everybody’s surprise had not played out his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> -tie, but had given his head (as they said) to -his second opponent. Therefore, although entitled -to the last prize for having won his first -bout, he had not done all his duty in the eyes -of the umpires, who gently complained, while -handing him over his four half-crowns, and -wondered that so gallant an old gamester, and -a Yale man, should not have played out his -ties for the honour of the county.</p> - -<p>“Well, gen’l’men,” said old Seeley, giving a -hitch with his shoulders, “I’ll just tell you how -it was. You see, ther wur six Somersetshire -old gamesters come up to play, and ther wur -six of our side to play ’em; dree Wiltshire and -dree Barkshire, if so be as we could have made -a party. But the dree from Wiltshire they -wouldn’t go in along wi’ we, and turned their -backs on me and my two mates; so my two -mates wouldn’t go in at all, and wanted me to -give out too. But you see, gen’l’men, I’d a -spent a matter of a pound over getting myself -a little better food, and making myself lissom; -so thinks I, I must go up and have a bout, let -it be how t’wool. And you saw, gen’l’men, as -I played a good stick. When it cum’ to playing -off the ties, there wur dree Somersetshire<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> -tiers, and two of our side, that’s Slade and me. -But when a man turns his back on me, gen’l’men, -why I turns my back on him; so I guv -my head to young Mapstone, and left Slade to -win if he could. Though I thinks, if thay -Wiltshire chaps had behaved theirselves as thay -should, we might ha’ had the prize, for I knows -as I never played freer in my life. And I hopes, -gen’l’men, as you don’t think I wur afeard of -any man as ever got on that stage. Bless -you!” said old Seeley, warming up, “I be -that fond o’ thay sticks, I assure you, gen’l’men, -I’d as lief meet a man as is a man for a bout -wi’ thay sticks, as I would—a joint of roast -beef.”</p> - -<p>Old Seeley’s speech carried conviction, for -there could be no mistake about the tone in -which he drew his last comparison, after a -moment’s pause to think of the thing he liked -best, and he retired from the tent in high favour, -as I think he deserved to be.</p> - -<p>After watching these doings for some time, I -began to feel very hungry, for I had eaten -hardly any thing at tea, so I told Joe that he -would find me over in the great booth getting -some supper, and went out. It was getting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> -quite dark, and the stage and poles looked black -and melancholy as I passed by them. But the -publicans’ booths were all lighted up inside, and -looked very cheerful, and were full of holiday -folk, fortifying themselves with all sorts of meat -and drink before starting for the descent of the -hill, and the walk home in the dark.</p> - -<p>I pushed my way through the crowd round -the door, and reached the bar, where the landlord -recognized me directly, and handed me -over to Peter, who soon landed me at the table -in the recess, which was still well supplied with -cold joints and bread and cheese. While he -went off to get my plate and ale, I had time to -look round. The booth was much gayer than -the day before; every post was decked more or -less with flowers and evergreens, and the flags -had been brought inside. The whole place was -lighted with dips and flickering oil lamps, which -gave light enough to let one see all parts of the -tent pretty clearly.</p> - -<p>There were a good many tables ranged about; -the one nearest to ours wasn’t yet occupied, but -at all the others were groups of men drinking -beer, and some smoking, and talking eagerly -over the events of the day. Those nearest the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> -high table seemed under some little restraint, -and spoke low; but from the farther tables rose -a loud hum of the broadest Berkshire, and an -occasional scrap of a song. A few women -were scattered here and there—mostly middle-aged, -hard-working housewives—watching their -good men, and anxious to carry them off in -good time, and before too much of the harvest-savings -had found its way to the landlord’s till. -About the entrance was a continually-changing -crowd, and the atmosphere of the whole was -somewhat close, and redolent of not very fragrant -tobacco.</p> - -<p>At the supper-table where I was, were seven -or eight men. The one just opposite me was a -strong-built, middle-aged man, in a pepper-and-salt -riding-coat and waistcoat, with an open, -weather-beaten face, and keen, deep-set, gray -eyes, who seemed bent on making a good supper. -Next above him were the two Oxford -scholars, but they didn’t take the least notice -of me, which I thought they might have done, -after our morning’s ride together. They had -finished supper, and were smoking cigars, and -chatting with one another, and with the pepper-and-salt -man, whom they called Doctor. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> -my observations were soon cut short by Peter, -who came back with my plate and knife and -fork, and a foaming pewter of ale, and I set to -work as heartily as the Doctor himself.</p> - -<p>“You’ll find some of this lettuce and watercress -eat well with your beef, Sir,” said he, pushing -across a dish.</p> - -<p>“Thank you, Sir,” said I; “I find that watching -the games makes one very hungry.”</p> - -<p>“The air, Sir, all the downs air,” said the -Doctor; “I call them Doctor Downs. Do more -for the appetite in six hours than I can in a -week. Here, Peter, get this gentleman some of -your mistress’s walnut pickles.”</p> - -<p>And then the good-natured Doctor fell to -upon his beef again, and chatted away with the -scholars and me, and soon made me feel myself -quite at home. I own that I had done my -neighbours a little injustice; for they were -pleasant enough when the ice was once broken, -and I daresay didn’t mean to be rude after all.</p> - -<p>As soon as I had finished my supper, the -shorter of the scholars handed me a large cigar, -the first whiff of which gave me a high idea of -the taste of my contemporaries of the upper -classes in the matter of tobacco.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span></p> - -<p>Just then the verse of a song, in which two -or three men were joining, rose from the other -end of the tent, from amidst the hum of voices.</p> - -<p>“I wish those fellows would sing out,” said -the short scholar; “I can’t make out more than -a word or two.”</p> - -<p>“You wouldn’t be any the wiser if you -could,” said the other; “we have ceased to be -a singing nation. The people have lost the -good old ballads, and have got nothing in their -place.”</p> - -<p>“How do you know?” said the short scholar; -“I should like to hear for myself, at any rate.”</p> - -<p>“What sort of ballads do you mean, Sir?” -said I to the long scholar.</p> - -<p>“Why, those in the Robin Hood Garland, -for instance,” said he. “Songs written for the -people, about their heroes, and, I believe, by the -people. There’s nothing of the sort now.”</p> - -<p>“What do you say to ‘There’s a Good Time -Coming’?” asked the short scholar.</p> - -<p>“Well, it’s the best of them, I believe,” said -the other; “but you know it was written by -Mackay, an LL.D. Besides, it’s essentially a -town song.”</p> - -<p>“It’s a tip-top one, at any rate,” said the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> -short scholar; “I wish I could write such another.”</p> - -<p>“What I say, is, that the popular songs now -are written by <i>litterateurs</i> in London, Is there -any life or go in ‘Woodman spare that Tree,’ or -‘The Old Arm-Chair’? and they are better -than the slip-slop sentimental stuff most in -vogue.”</p> - -<p>“What a discontented old bird you are!” -said the short scholar; “you’re never pleased -with any product of this enlightened century.”</p> - -<p>“Let the century get a character, then; when -it does, we shall get some good staves. I’m not -particular; a brave story, or a quaint story, or -a funny story, in good rough verse, that’s all I -ask for. But, where to find one? Here’s the -Doctor for umpire. I say, Doctor, don’t you -agree with me, now?”</p> - -<p>“Not quite,” said the Doctor, looking up from -his cold beef. “I dare say you wouldn’t think -them worth much; but there are plenty of ballads -sung about which you never hear.”</p> - -<p>“What! real modern ballads, written by -some of the masses, in this century, for instance? -Where did you ever hear one, Doctor? -What are they like, now?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well, my work takes me a good deal about -in queer places, and at queer times, amongst -the country folk, and I hear plenty of them. -Will one about Lord Nelson suit you? There’s -an old patient of mine at the next table who -owns a little coal wharf on the canal; he fell -into the lock one night, broke his arm, and was -nearly drowned, and I attended him. He takes -a trip in the barges now and then, which makes -him fancy himself half a sailor. I dare say I -can set him off, if he hasn’t had too much -beer.”</p> - -<p>So the Doctor walked over to a lower table, -and spoke to a grisly-headed old man in a velveteen -coat and waistcoat, and a blue birdseye-neckerchief, -who seemed pleased, and drew his -sleeve across his mouth, and cleared his throat. -Then there was a rapping on the table, and the -old bargee began in a rumbling bass voice:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem-title">THE DEATH OF LORD NELSON.</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Come all you gallant seamen as unites a meeting,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Attend to these lines I be going to relate,</div> -<div class="verse">And when you have heard them ’twill move you with pity</div> -<div class="verse indent1">To think how Lord Nelson he met with his fate.</div> -<div class="verse">For he was a bold and undaunted commander</div> -<div class="verse indent1">As ever did sail on the ocean so wide;</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> -<div class="verse">He made both the French and the Spaniard surrender</div> -<div class="verse indent1">By always a-pouring into them a broadside.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">One hundred engagements ’twas he had been into,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And ne’er in his life was he known to be beat,</div> -<div class="verse">Though he’d lost an arm, likewise a right eye, boys,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">No power upon earth ever could him defeat.</div> -<div class="verse">His age at his death it was forty and seven;</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And as long as I breathe, his great praises I’ll sing;</div> -<div class="verse">The whole navigation was given up to him,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Because he was loyal and true to his king.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Then up steps the doctor in a very great hurry,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And unto Lord Nelson these words did he say:</div> -<div class="verse">“Indeed, then, my Lord, it is I’m very sorry,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">To see you here lying and bleeding this way.”</div> -<div class="verse">“No matter, no matter whatever about me,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">My time it is come, I’m almost at the worst;</div> -<div class="verse">But here’s my gallant seamen a-fighting so boldly,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Discharge off your duty to all of them first.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Then with a loud voice he calls out to his captain,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">“Pray let me, sir, hear how the battle does go,</div> -<div class="verse">For I think our great guns do continue to rattle,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Though death is approaching I firmly do know.”</div> -<div class="verse">“The antagonist’s ship has gone down to the bottom,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Eighteen we have captive and brought them on board,</div> -<div class="verse">Four more we have blown quite out of the ocean,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And that is the news I have brought you, my Lord.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Come all you gallant seamen as unites a meeting,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Always let Lord Nelson’s memory go round,</div> -<div class="verse">For it is your duty, when you unites a meeting,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Because he was loyal and true to the crownd.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> -<div class="verse">And now to conclude and finish these verses,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">“My time it is come; kiss me, Hardy,” he cried.</div> -<div class="verse">Now thousands go with you, and ten thousand blessings</div> -<div class="verse indent1">For gallant Lord Nelson in battle who died.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent3">Mourn, England, mourn, mourn and complain,</div> -<div class="verse indent3">For the loss of Lord Nelson, who died on the main.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The short scholar was in raptures; he shouted -in the chorus; he banged the table till he upset -and broke his tumbler, which the vigilant landlady -from behind the casks duly noted, and -scored up to him.</p> - -<p>I worked away at my note-book, and managed -to get all the song, except one verse -between the second and third, which I couldn’t -catch.</p> - -<p>“Bravo, Doctor! Here, waiter, get me another -tumbler, and some more gin-punch. What a -stunning call. Couldn’t the old bird give us -another bit of history? It’s as good as reading -‘Southey’s Life,’ and much funnier,” rattled -away the short scholar.</p> - -<p>“What a quaint old grisly party it is!” said -the long scholar; “I shall stand him a pot of -beer.”</p> - -<p>“Well, he won’t object to that,” said the -Doctor, working away at the beef and pickles.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Here, waiter, take a pot of beer, with my -compliments, over to that gentleman,” said the -long scholar, pointing to the old bargeman, -“and say how much obliged we are to him for -his song.”</p> - -<p>So Peter trotted across with the liquor, and -the old man telegraphed his acknowledgments.</p> - -<p>“By the way, Doctor,” said the short scholar, -“as you seem to know a good deal about these -things, can you tell me what ‘Vicar of Bray’ -means? I saw two men quarrelling just after -the games, and it was all their wives could do -to keep them from fighting, and I heard it was -because one had called the other ‘Vicar of -Bray.’”</p> - -<p>“It means ‘turn-coat’ in Berkshire,” answered -the Doctor. “I didn’t think they used the name -now; but I remember the time when it was the -common term of reproach. I dare say you -know Bray, gentlemen?”</p> - -<p>“I should think so,” said the short scholar; -“pretty village just below Maidenhead. I pulled -by it on my way to town last June.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, and it’s hard on such a pretty village -to have had such a bad parson,” said the -Doctor.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I say, Doctor, give us the ‘Vicar of Bray,’ -now, it will set off some of the singing birds at -the other end of the booth; I can see they’re -getting into prime piping order.”</p> - -<p>“Very good, if you like it,” said the Doctor, -pushing away his plate, and taking a finishing -pull at his pewter, “only the song is in print, -I know, somewhere; so you mustn’t think -you’ve found much of a prize, Sir,” added he -to me, for my use of pencil and note-book -hadn’t escaped him.</p> - -<p>“No, Sir,” said I; “but I should like to hear -it, of all things.”</p> - -<p>So the Doctor, without further preface, began -in his jolly clear voice—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem-title">THE VICAR OF BRAY.</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">In good King Charles’s golden days,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">When loyalty had no harm in’t,</div> -<div class="verse">A zealous High-Church man I was,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And so I gained preferment.</div> -<div class="verse">To teach my flock I never missed:</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Kings were by God appointed;</div> -<div class="verse">And they are damned who dare resist,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Or touch the Lord’s anointed.</div> -<div class="verse indent3"><i>Chorus.</i>—And this is law, I will maintain</div> -<div class="verse indent9">Until my dying day, sir,</div> -<div class="verse indent8">That whatsoever king shall reign,</div> -<div class="verse indent9">I’ll be the Vicar of Bray, sir.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">When Royal James obtained the throne,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And Popery grew in fashion,</div> -<div class="verse">The Penal Laws I hooted down,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And read the Declaration;</div> -<div class="verse">The Church of Rome I found would fit</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Full well my constitution:</div> -<div class="verse">And I had been a Jesuit;</div> -<div class="verse indent1">But for the Revolution.</div> -<div class="verse indent8">And this is law, &c.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">When William, our deliverer, came</div> -<div class="verse indent1">To heal the nation’s grievance,</div> -<div class="verse">Then I turned cat-in-pan again,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And swore to him allegiance;</div> -<div class="verse">Old principles I did revoke,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Set conscience at a distance,</div> -<div class="verse">Passive obedience was a joke,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">A jest was non-resistance.</div> -<div class="verse indent8">And this is law, &c.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">When glorious Anne became our queen,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">The Church of England’s glory,</div> -<div class="verse">Another face of things was seen,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And I became a Tory.</div> -<div class="verse">Occasional Conformist case!</div> -<div class="verse indent1">I damned such moderation;</div> -<div class="verse">And thought the Church in danger was</div> -<div class="verse indent1">By such prevarication.</div> -<div class="verse indent8">And this is law, &c.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">When George in pudding-time came o’er</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And moderate men looked big, sir,</div> -<div class="verse">My principles I changed once more,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And so became a Whig, sir.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> -<div class="verse">And thus preferment I procured</div> -<div class="verse indent1">From our Faith’s great Defender;</div> -<div class="verse">And almost every day abjured</div> -<div class="verse indent1">The Pope and the Pretender.</div> -<div class="verse indent8">For this is law, &c.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">The illustrious House of Hanover,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And Protestant Succession,</div> -<div class="verse">By these I lustily will swear</div> -<div class="verse indent1">While they can keep possession;</div> -<div class="verse">For in my faith and loyalty</div> -<div class="verse indent1">I never once will falter,</div> -<div class="verse">But George my king shall ever be,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Except the times do alter.</div> -<div class="verse indent8">For this is law, &c.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The short scholar was right as to the effect -of the Doctor’s song. It was hailed with rapturous -applause by the lower tables, though -you would have said, to look at them, that -scarcely a man of the audience, except those -close round the singer, could have appreciated -it. People don’t always like best what they -fully understand; and I don’t know which is -the greatest mistake, to fancy yourself above -your audience, or to try to come down to -them. The little stiffness which the presence of -strangers belonging to the broad-cloth classes -had at first created amongst the pastime folk -was wearing off, and several songs were started<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> -at once from the distant parts of the booth, all -of which, save one, came to untimely ends in -the course of the first verse or so, leaving the -field clear to a ruddy-faced, smock-frocked man, -who, with his eyes cast up to the tent-top, -droned through his nose the following mournful -ditty:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem-title">THE BARKSHIRE TRAGEDY.</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">A varmer he lived in the West Countree,</div> -<div class="verse indent9">Hey-down, bow-down,</div> -<div class="verse">A varmer he lived in the West Countree,</div> -<div class="verse">And he had daughters one, two, and dree.</div> -<div class="verse indent9">And I’ll be true to my love,</div> -<div class="verse indent9">If my love’ll be true to me.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">As thay wur walking by the river’s brim,</div> -<div class="verse indent9">Hey-down, bow-down,</div> -<div class="verse">As thay wur walking by the river’s brim,</div> -<div class="verse">The eldest pushed the youngest in.</div> -<div class="verse indent9">And I’ll be true, &c.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Oh sister, oh sister, pray gee me thy hand,</div> -<div class="verse indent9">Hey-down, &c.</div> -<div class="verse">And I’ll gee thee both house and land.”</div> -<div class="verse indent9">And I’ll, &c.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“I’ll neither gee thee hand nor glove,</div> -<div class="verse indent9">Hey-down, &c.</div> -<div class="verse">Unless thou’lt gee me thine own true love.”</div> -<div class="verse indent9">And I’ll, &c.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">So down she sank and away she swam,</div> -<div class="verse indent9">Hey-down, &c.</div> -<div class="verse">Until she came to the miller’s dam.</div> -<div class="verse indent9">And I’ll, &c.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">The miller’s daughter stood by the door,</div> -<div class="verse indent9">Hey-down, &c.</div> -<div class="verse">As fair as any gilly-flow-èr.</div> -<div class="verse indent9">And I’ll, &c.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Oh vather, oh vather, here swims a swan,</div> -<div class="verse indent9">Hey-down, &c.</div> -<div class="verse">Very much like a drownded gentlewomàn.”</div> -<div class="verse indent9">And I’ll, &c.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">The miller he fot his pole and hook,</div> -<div class="verse indent9">Hey-down, &c.</div> -<div class="verse">And he fished the fair maid out of the brook.</div> -<div class="verse indent9">And I’ll, &c.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Oh miller, I’ll gee thee guineas ten,</div> -<div class="verse indent9">Hey-down, &c.</div> -<div class="verse">If thou’lt fetch me back to my vather again.”</div> -<div class="verse indent9">And I’ll, &c.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">The miller he took her guineas ten,</div> -<div class="verse indent9">Hey-down, &c.</div> -<div class="verse">And he pushed the fair maid in again.</div> -<div class="verse indent9">And I’ll, &c.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">But the Crowner he cum, and the Justice too,</div> -<div class="verse indent9">Hey-down, &c.</div> -<div class="verse">With a hue and a cry and a hulla-balloo.</div> -<div class="verse indent9">And I’ll, &c.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">They hanged the miller beside his own gate,</div> -<div class="verse indent9">Hey-down, &c.</div> -<div class="verse">For drowning the varmer’s daughter, Kate.</div> -<div class="verse indent9">And I’ll, &c.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">The sister she fled beyond the seas,</div> -<div class="verse indent9">Hey-down, &c.</div> -<div class="verse">And died an old maid among black savageès.</div> -<div class="verse indent9">And I’ll, &c.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">So I’ve ended my tale of the West Countree,</div> -<div class="verse">And they calls it the Barkshire Trage-dèe.</div> -<div class="verse indent9">And I’ll, &c.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“The Barkshire Tragedy, indeed! Now, -Doctor, what have you to tell us about this? -When did it happen? Who was the lady? -Was she drowned in the Thames, the Kennet, -or where?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I don’t know. All I can say is, she -was drowned before my time; for I remember -hearing the song when I was a little chap in -petticoats. But the story seems a common one. -There’s a north-country ballad founded on it, -I know, but I don’t remember the name just -now.”</p> - -<p>“‘The Bonny Mill-dams of Binnorie,’ is not -it?” said the long scholar.</p> - -<p>“Aye, that’s the name, I think.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well, it’s very odd, for we’ve got the same -story, all but the miller, and his daughter as fair -as any gilly-flower (why are millers’ daughters -always pretty, by the way?), on the Welsh -marshes,” said the long scholar.</p> - -<p>“Then, Sir, I must call on you to sing it. -The call is with me at our end of the booth,” -said the Doctor. “And, Peter, bring me a little -cold gin-and-water, and a pipe. If I must -breathe smoke-poison, I may as well make it -myself, at any rate.”</p> - -<p>“Well, singing’s rather more than I bargained -for. However, I suppose I mustn’t spoil -sport; so here goes.”</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem-title">THE DROWNED LADY.</div> -<div class="poem-title"><i>Qy. another version of the Barkshire Tragedy?</i></div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Oh, it was not a pheasant cock,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Nor yet a pheasant hen,</div> -<div class="verse">But oh it was a lady fair</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Came swimming down the stream.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">An ancient harper passing by</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Found this poor lady’s body,</div> -<div class="verse">To which his pains he did apply</div> -<div class="verse indent2">To make a sweet melòdy.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">To cat-gut dried he her inside,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">He drew out her back-bone,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> -<div class="verse">And made thereof a fiddle sweet</div> -<div class="verse indent2">All for to play upon.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">And all her hair so long and fair,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">That down her back did flow,</div> -<div class="verse">Oh he did lay it up with care,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">To string his fiddle bow.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">And what did he with her fingers</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Which were so straight and small?</div> -<div class="verse">Oh, he did cut them into pegs</div> -<div class="verse indent2">To screw up his fid-dòll.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Then forth went he, as it might be,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Upon a summer’s day,</div> -<div class="verse">And met a goodly company,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Who asked him in to play.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Then from her bones he drew such tones</div> -<div class="verse indent2">As made their bones to ache,</div> -<div class="verse">They sounded so like human groans,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Their hearts began to quake.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">They ordered him in ale to swim,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">For sorrow’s mighty dry,</div> -<div class="verse">And he to share their wassail fare</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Essayd right willingly.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">He laid his fiddle on a shelf</div> -<div class="verse indent2">In that old manor-hall,</div> -<div class="verse">It played and sung all by itself,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">And thus sung this fid-dòll:—</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“There sits the squire, my worthy sire,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">A-drinking hisself drunk,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> -<div class="verse">And so did he, ah woe is me!</div> -<div class="verse indent2">The day my body sunk.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“There sits my mother, half asleep,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">A-taking of her ease,</div> -<div class="verse">Her mind is deep, if one might peep,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">In her preserves and keys.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“There sits my sister, cruel Joan,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Who last week drownded me;</div> -<div class="verse">And there’s my love, with heart of stone,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Sits making love to she.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“There sits the Crowner, Uncle Joe,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Which comforteth poor me;</div> -<div class="verse">He’ll hold his Crowner’s quest, I know,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">To get his Crowner’s fee.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Now when this fiddle thus had spoke</div> -<div class="verse indent2">It fell upon the floor,</div> -<div class="verse">And into little pieces broke,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">No word spoke never more.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“Thank you, Sir,” said the Doctor; “that’s -a queer tune though. I don’t know that I ever -heard one at all like it. But I shouldn’t say -all that song was old now.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I believe you’re right. But I can -say, as you said of the Barkshire Tragedy, it’s -all older than my time, for I remember my -father singing it just as I’ve sung it to you as -long as I can remember any thing.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span></p> - -<p>“And what did he say of it?”</p> - -<p>“Well, he said that five out of the first six -verses were very old indeed. He had heard -them often when he was a child, and always -the same words. The rest was all patch-work, -he said, by different hands, and he hardly knew -which were the old lines, and which new.”</p> - -<p>“I say,” remarked the short scholar, “the -Doctor don’t seem to be a bad hand at making -the smoke-poison.”</p> - -<p>The Doctor blew out a long white cloud, -and was about to reply, when a brawny young -carter, at a distant table, took his pipe from his -lips, and, in answer to the urgings of his neighbours, -trolled out the following little piece of -sentiment:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem-title">CUPID’S GARDEN.</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">As I wur in Cu-bit’s gardin</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Not mwoar nor haf an hour,</div> -<div class="verse">’Twur ther I zeed two may-dens</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Zittin under Cu-bit’s bower,</div> -<div class="verse">A-gatherin of sweet jassa-mine,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">The lilly and the rose.</div> -<div class="verse">These be the fairest flowers</div> -<div class="verse indent1">As in the gardin grows.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">I vondly stepped to one o’ them,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">These words to her I zays,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> -<div class="verse">“Be you engaged to arra young man,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Come tell to me, I prays.”</div> -<div class="verse">“I beant engaged to narra young man,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">I solemnly declare;</div> -<div class="verse">I aims to live a may-den,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And still the lau-rel wear.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Zays I, “My stars and gar-ters!</div> -<div class="verse indent1">This here’s a pretty go,</div> -<div class="verse">Vor a vine young mayd as never wos</div> -<div class="verse indent1">To sar’ all mankind zo.”</div> -<div class="verse">But the t’other young may-den looked sly at me,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And vrom her zeat she risn,</div> -<div class="verse">Zays she, “Let thee and I go our own waay,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And we’ll let she go shis’n.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“Oh, I say, that beats all!” said the short -scholar, with a shout of laughter. “I must -have the words somehow. Let’s see, how did -he begin? something about Cubit. What a -rum notion to call Cupid, Cubit. What was it, -Doctor?”</p> - -<p>“You shouldn’t laugh, really, Sir, at our -west-country sentiment,” said the Doctor, with -astounding gravity. “I don’t think I can conscientiously -help you to the words, when I -know you’ll only be making fun of them at -some wine-party. They are meant for malt -drinkers, not for wine drinkers.”</p> - -<p>“Fudge, Doctor. Come, now, give us the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> -words, or I shall have to go over and ask the -performer for them.”</p> - -<p>“I think I can give you them,” said I, looking -up from my note-book.</p> - -<p>“What a thing it is to write shorthand!” -said the Doctor, glancing at my hieroglyphics; -“we don’t learn that sort of thing down in -these parts.”</p> - -<p>“I wonder we haven’t had more sentimental -songs,” said the long scholar; “I suppose there -are plenty of love-stories going about?”</p> - -<p>“Oh yes, plenty,” said the Doctor; “mostly -ballads telling how rich young heiresses disdained -all good matches, for the sake of a sailor -boy with tarry trousers, or a seductive fogger, -thereby provoking their cruel match-making parents. -For instance:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Says the daughter to the mother, “Your art is all in vain,</div> -<div class="verse">For Dukes and Lords and Earls alike their riches I disdain;</div> -<div class="verse">I’d rather live a humble life, and my time I would employ</div> -<div class="verse">Increasing nature’s prospects, with my bonny labouring boy.””</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“What on earth can ‘increasing nature’s -prospects’ mean?” asked the long scholar.</p> - -<p>“How can I tell?” said the Doctor, laughing; -“I don’t pretend to construe; I only give -you the words. But you must allow the moral -to be good. It runs:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Success to every labouring boy that ploughs and hoes the ground,</div> -<div class="verse">For when his work is over, his home he will enjoy;</div> -<div class="verse">So happy is the girl that gets a bonny labouring boy.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“Let’s see,” said the short scholar, “we’ve -had specimens of patriotic, legendary, and sentimental -ditties; but how about drinking songs? -All tuneful nations, since the world began, have -sung the praises of good liquor.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know that we have many drinking -songs,” said the Doctor; “I suppose it takes -wine, or spirits at any rate, to make a man -write such stuff as ‘the glasses sparkle,’ or ‘a -bumper of Burgundy.’ The bucolic muse only -gets smallish beer. But we must see what we -can do for you.” So the Doctor beckoned to -Peter, and sent him off to the lower tables with -a pot of beer, the speedy result of which mission -was the following song:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem-title">TOVEY’S TAP.—<span class="smcap">Air</span>, “<i>Derry down</i>.”</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Owld Tovey once brewed a barrel o’ beer,</div> -<div class="verse">For he wur a man as lovèd good cheer,</div> -<div class="verse">And zays he, “I’ll jest ax a veaw o’ my vriends</div> -<div class="verse">To come and try how the likker spends.”<a name="FNanchor_36" id="FNanchor_36"></a><a href="#Footnote_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a></div> -<div class="verse indent18">Derry down, &c.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">There’s long Tom Ockle, he shall be one,</div> -<div class="verse">And little Jack Smith, who’s as round as a tun,</div> -<div class="verse">And owld Gaarge Mabbutt, who’s allus a-dry,</div> -<div class="verse">I’ll warn’d thay’ll make good company.</div> -<div class="verse indent18">Derry down, &c.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">The barrell wur tapped, and the beer runned well,</div> -<div class="verse">How much they vour drenked I never heard tell;</div> -<div class="verse">But zome how or other they one and all</div> -<div class="verse">Did zwear as how the drenk wur small.</div> -<div class="verse indent18">Derry down, &c.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Owld Tovey at this did look main scrow;<a name="FNanchor_37" id="FNanchor_37"></a><a href="#Footnote_37" class="fnanchor">[37]</a></div> -<div class="verse">Zays he, “My vriends, I’d hev’ee to kneow</div> -<div class="verse">That my beer has made ’ee as drunk as pegs,</div> -<div class="verse">And not one o’ you dree can kip on his legs.”</div> -<div class="verse indent18">Derry down, &c.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">They left the house, and the path they tuk,</div> -<div class="verse">Athert the meadow as leads to the bruk;</div> -<div class="verse">And you plainly med zee as every man</div> -<div class="verse">Had a pair o’ crooked stockings an.</div> -<div class="verse indent18">Derry down, &c.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Zays Mabbott to Ockle, “Owld Tovey wur zurly;”</div> -<div class="verse">Zays Ockle to Mabbott, “I’m uncommon purly;<a name="FNanchor_38" id="FNanchor_38"></a><a href="#Footnote_38" class="fnanchor">[38]</a></div> -<div class="verse">Be mindful, I zay, vor yer missuses’ zakes,</div> -<div class="verse">Which o’ them two narrer bridges you takes.”</div> -<div class="verse indent18">Derry down, &c.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“The bruk is main deep,” Gaarge Mabbott then zaid,</div> -<div class="verse">As he looked at the water, and scratted his yead;</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> -<div class="verse">“And I owns I should ’mazinly like for to know</div> -<div class="verse">Auver which o’ thay bridges you aims vor to go.”</div> -<div class="verse indent18">Derry down, &c.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“’Tis a akkerdish place to crass in the night,</div> -<div class="verse">And to stand here till marnin’ wouldn’t be right;</div> -<div class="verse">’T’ain’t a mossell o’ use to bide stabbleing<a name="FNanchor_39" id="FNanchor_39"></a><a href="#Footnote_39" class="fnanchor">[39]</a> here,</div> -<div class="verse">Zo let’s go back and vinish the barrel o’ beer.”</div> -<div class="verse indent18">Derry down, &c.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“A good cast, Doctor;” said the long scholar; -“but you’ve raised the wrong fish. That isn’t -what my friend here meant by a drinking song. -He expects a bucolic rendering of one of -Moore’s songs, and you serve him out a queer -pot-house tale. Is there no enthusiasm for -good drink amongst you?”</p> - -<p>“I wish there were less,” said the Doctor, -with a sigh; “at any rate, less consumption of -bad drink. Tippling is our great curse, as it is -that of all England; but there’s less of it than -there used to be. But for a drinking song such -as you mean, I’m at fault. The nearest approach -to it that I know of is a song of which -I only remember two lines. They run—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Sartinly the sixpenny’s the very best I’ve see’d yet,</div> -<div class="verse">I do not like the fourpenny, nor yet the intermediate.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span></p> - -<p>“But even here you see, though the poet was -meditating on drink, it was in a practical rather -than an enthusiastic spirit.”</p> - -<p>Just then, a stout old yeoman entered the -booth, dressed in a broad straight-cut brown -coat with metal buttons, drab breeches, and -mahogany tops; and, marching up to the bar, -ordered a glass of brandy and water; while his -drink was being prepared, he stood with his -back to our table, talking to the landlord.</p> - -<p>“We’re in luck,” said the Doctor in a low -voice, pointing to the new-comer with the end -of his pipe; “if he stays, we shall have the -best old song in all the west country, sung as -it should be.”</p> - -<p>“Who is he?” asked the short scholar.</p> - -<p>“An old Gloucestershire farmer from Sutherup -way, famous for his breed of sheep. He -must be near seventy, and has twelve miles to -ride home to-night, and won’t think so much of -it as you or I would.”</p> - -<p>“He looks a tough old blade.”</p> - -<p>“You may say that. But he isn’t the man -he was, for he has lived pretty hard. He used -to be a famous wrestler; and one day, many -years ago, an Ilsley dealer came down to buy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> -his flock of two-year olds. They drank six -bottles of port over the deal, and got it all -straight out except the odd sheep, but they -couldn’t make out, cipher it how they would, -who the odd sheep belonged to; so they agreed -to wrestle for the odd sheep in the farmer’s -kitchen, and somehow both of them got hurt, -and the old boy has never gone quite right -since.”</p> - -<p>“What an old sponge! six bottles of port -between two of them! no wonder they couldn’t -do their sum.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, we mustn’t judge of the men of his -time by our rules,” said the Doctor; “it was -part of a yeoman’s creed in those days to send -his friends off drunk, and to be carried to bed -himself by his fogger and carter, or else to -sleep under his kitchen-table. They lived hard -enough, and misused a deal of good liquor -meant to strengthen man’s heart, following the -example of their betters; but they had their -good points. That old man, now, is the best -master in all his neighbourhood; and he and -the parson keep up the wages in the winter, and -never let a man go to the house who will -work.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span></p> - -<p>The old farmer turned round, glass in hand, -and came and sat down at the table. “Your -sarvant, gen’l’men,” said be, taking off his broad-brimmed -beaver. “Why, Doctor,” he went on, -recognizing our friend, and holding out his -great bony hand, “be main glad to zee ’ee.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, farmer,” said the Doctor, returning -the grip; “we haven’t met this long -while; I’m glad to see you wearing so well.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I be pretty-feteish, thank God,” said -the farmer. “Your health, sir, and gen’l’men.”</p> - -<p>After a little judicious talk on the day’s -sport, the Doctor suddenly began, “Now, farmer, -you must do us a favour, and give us -your famous old Gloucestershire song. I’ve -been telling all our friends here about it, and -they’re keen to hear it.”</p> - -<p>“’Spose you means Gaarge Ridler?” said the -farmer.</p> - -<p>“Of course,” said the Doctor.</p> - -<p>“Well, I don’t know as I’ve zung these score -o’ months,” said the farmer, “but hows’mever, -if you wants it, here goes.” So the farmer finished -his brandy and water, cleared his throat, -balanced himself on the hind legs of his chair, -cast up his eyes and began—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns,</div> -<div class="verse">Thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“What’s he saying—what language?” whispered -the tall scholar.</p> - -<p>“Mad old party,” murmured the short scholar.</p> - -<p>“Hush,” whispered the Doctor; “that’s the -orthodox way to begin; don’t put him out.”</p> - -<p>I couldn’t tell what in the world to write, but -the farmer went on with growing emphasis—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns,</div> -<div class="verse">Thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns, <em>thaay stwuns</em>, THAAY S, T, W, U, N, S.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>There was a moment’s pause, during which -the Doctor had much difficulty in keeping order; -then the farmer got fairly under weigh, and -went on—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Thaay stwuns that built Gaarge Ridler’s oven</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Oh, thaay cum vrom the Blakeney Quaar,</div> -<div class="verse">And Gaarge he wur a jolly owld man,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">And his yead did graw above his yare.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">One thing in Gaarge Ridler I must commend,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">And I hold it vor a notable thing:</div> -<div class="verse">He made his braags avoore he died,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">As wi’ any dree brothers his zons zhou’d zing.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Ther’ wur Dick the treble, and Jack the mean,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Let every mon zing in his auwn pleace,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> -<div class="verse">And Gaarge he wur the elder brother,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">And there-voore he would zing the base.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Droo’ aal the world, owld Gaarge would bwoast,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Commend me to merry owld England mwoast,</div> -<div class="verse">While vools gwoes scamblin’ vur and nigh,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">We bides at whoam, my dog and I.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Ov their furrin tongues let travellers brag,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Wi’ their vifteen neames vor a puddin’ bag,</div> -<div class="verse">Two tongues I knows ne’er towld a lie,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">And their wearers be my dog and I.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">My dog has got his maaster’s nose,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">To smell a knave droo silken hose;</div> -<div class="verse">But when good company I spy,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">“Welcome,” quoth my dog and I.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">When I hev dree sixpences under my thumb,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Oh then I be welcome wherever I cum;</div> -<div class="verse">But when I hev none, O then I pass by;</div> -<div class="verse indent2">’Tis poverty pearts good company.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">When I gwoes dead, as it may hap,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">My grave shall be under the good yeal-tap,</div> -<div class="verse">Wi’ vaulded earmes ther’ wool I lie,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Cheek by jowl my dog and I.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Just as the farmer was finishing the song, -Master George, with Joe and one or two more -behind him, came in. He took up the last -verse, and rolled it out as he came up towards -our table, and a lot of the rest joined in with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> -him; even the over-worked Peter, I could see -stopping for a moment to shout that he -would be buried under the tap; I dare say he -meant it, only I think he would like it to be -always running.</p> - -<p>Master George knew most of the people, and -made us all merrier even than we were before; -and in the next half-hour or so, for which time -we stayed in the booth, I should think there -must have been a dozen more songs sung. -However, I shall only give the one which -seemed to be the greatest favourite, for I find -that this chapter is running very long. This -song was sung by a queer little man, with a -twisted face, and a lurcher dog between his -knees, who I believe was an earth stopper. -He called it</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem-title">BUTTERMILK JACK.</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Ther wur an owld ’oman as had but one son,</div> -<div class="verse">And thay lived together as you med zee;</div> -<div class="verse">And they’d nought but an owld hen as wanted to sett,</div> -<div class="verse">Yet somehow a landlord he fain would be.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Oh, I’ve been and begged me some buttermilk, mother,</div> -<div class="verse">Off of an owld ’oman as has girt store;</div> -<div class="verse">And I shall well rewarded be,</div> -<div class="verse">Vor she’s g’in me haf a gallon or mwore.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Oh mother, my buttermilk I will sell,</div> -<div class="verse">And all for a penny as you med zee;</div> -<div class="verse">And with my penny then I will buy eggs,</div> -<div class="verse">Vor I shall have seven for my pennèy.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Oh mother, I’ll set them all under our hen,</div> -<div class="verse">And seven cock chickens might chance for to be;</div> -<div class="verse">But seven cock chickens or seven cap hens,</div> -<div class="verse">There’ll be seven half-crownds for me.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Oh, I’ll go carry them to market, mother,</div> -<div class="verse">And nothing but vine volk shall I zee;</div> -<div class="verse">And with my money then I will buy land,</div> -<div class="verse">Zo as a landlord I med be.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Oh my dear zon, wilt thee know me,</div> -<div class="verse">When thee hast gotten great store of wealth?”</div> -<div class="verse">“Oh, my dear mother, how shall I know thee,</div> -<div class="verse">When I shall hardly know my own self?”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">With that the owld ’oman she flew in a passion,</div> -<div class="verse">And dashed her son Jack up agin the wall,</div> -<div class="verse">And his head caught the shelf where the buttermilk stood,</div> -<div class="verse">So down came the buttermilk, pitcher and all.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Zo aal you as has got an old hen for to sett,</div> -<div class="verse">Both by night and by day mind you has her well watched,</div> -<div class="verse">Lest you should be like unto Buttermilk Jack,</div> -<div class="verse">To reckon your chickens before thay are hatched.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“Well, I must be moving,” said the Doctor -at last, looking at his watch; “how do you get -home, Mr. Hurst?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Bless us! near nine o’clock,” said Joe, following -the Doctor’s example; “oh, I ride myself, -and my friend here talks of going behind.”</p> - -<p>“Better not ride double, the night’s dark,” -said the Doctor, hoisting on his overcoat with -Peter’s help. “If he likes to take his luck in -my gig, I can put him down at your gate. -What do you say, Sir?”</p> - -<p>I thankfully accepted; for I didn’t at all like -the notion of riding behind Joe on the chestnut, -and I can’t think how I could ever have been -such a fool as to say I would do it. The Doctor -had two bright lamps to his gig, which gave -us glimpses of the closed booths and camping -places of the people who were going to stay on -the hill all night, as we drove out of the Castle. -I suggested that it must be very bad for the -people sleeping out up there.</p> - -<p>“For their health?” said he, “not a bit of it, -on a fine night like this—do ’em good; I wish -they always slept so healthily.”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t quite mean that, Sir!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, for their morals? Well, I don’t know -that there’s much harm done. I’m sorry to say -they’re used to crowding—and, after all, very -few but the owners of the booths, and the regular<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> -tramps, stay up here. Didn’t you see how -quiet every thing was?”</p> - -<p>I said I had noticed this; and then he began -asking me about the sports, for he had only got -on to the hill late in the afternoon; and when -we came to the wrestling and backsword play, -I asked him whether he thought they did any -harm.</p> - -<p>“No,” said he, “there are very few serious -accidents—in fact none—now that drink is not -allowed on the stage. There used to be some -very brutal play in out-of-the-way places, where -the revels were got up by publicans. But that -is all over, at least about this part of the -country.”</p> - -<p>“Then you wouldn’t stop them, Sir?”</p> - -<p>“Stop them! not I—I would encourage them, -and make the parish clerk and constable perpetual -umpires.” And then he went on to say -how he should like to see the young fellows in -every parish drilled in a company, and taught -all sorts of manly exercises, and shooting especially; -so that they would make good light -troops at a day’s notice, in case of invasion. -But he was afraid the great game preservers -would never allow this. And in the middle of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> -his talk, which seemed very sensible, we came -to Joe’s gate, and I got down, and wished him -good night.</p> - -<p>I found the family gone to bed, and only Joe -and the Parson in the kitchen, and there, over a -last pipe, we chatted about the sports.</p> - -<p>At last the Parson turned to me, and said, -“You saw a good deal of the play on the stage; -now, would you stop it if you could?”</p> - -<p>I thought a minute over what I had seen, and -what the Doctor had said.</p> - -<p>“No, Sir,” said I, “I can’t say that I would.”</p> - -<p>“That’s candid,” said he. “And now I’ll -make an admission. There’s a good deal of the -play that wants very close watching. The umpires -should be resolute, quick men, and stand -no nonsense. I saw one or two bouts to-day -that should have been stopped.”</p> - -<p>“You see,” said Joe, taking his pipe out of -his mouth, “there allus must be.”</p> - -<p>“We don’t admit your evidence, Joseph,” -interrupted the Parson, “you are a prejudiced -witness.”</p> - -<p>“But you haven’t changed your mind, Sir,” -said I.</p> - -<p>“No,” said he, “I should be sorry to hear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> -that these sports had died out, but I should like -to hear that people took an interest in them -who could manage the men thoroughly.”</p> - -<p>“The Doctor,” said I, “as we drove home, -said he would have the parish clerk and constable -for perpetual umpires.”</p> - -<p>“They wouldn’t be so good as the parson or -the squire,” said he; “if I were rector of one -of the parishes where they are still kept up, I -would give prizes for them, but I would always -be umpire myself.”</p> - -<p>“I wish to goodness you was then,” said Joe, -as we lighted our candles.</p> - -<p>“You remember, Sir,” said I, “that you -promised to write a sermon about the pastime.”</p> - -<p>“What! <em>after</em> the fair?” said he.</p> - -<p>“’Twill do just as well,” said Joe, “I should -mortally like to hear it.”</p> - -<p>“Well, it might keep you awake perhaps. -He has an hereditary weakness for slumber in -church, you must know,” said the Parson, turning -to me; “when we wanted to alter the sittings -in the church six or seven years ago, his -father stood out for his old high box so sturdily, -that I took some pains to argue with him, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> -to find out what it was which made it so dear -to him. I found out at last that it was a snug -corner, which just fitted his shoulders, where -nobody could see him, and where, as soon as -the text was given out, in his own words, “I -just watches my missus wipe her spectacles, -and fix herself to listen, and then I vaulds my -arms and thenks o’ nothin’.”</p> - -<p>I looked at Joe to see how he would take it, -but he only chuckled, and said, “Well, ’tis the -parson’s business to keep us awake. But a -sermon on our sports, just showing folk about -the rights on it, is just what I should amazingly -like to have by me.”</p> - -<p>The Parson looked at Joe for a moment very -curiously, and then said, “Very well, I will -write you one. Good night.”</p> - -<p>And so we went off to bed.</p> - -<div class="footnotes"> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_36" id="Footnote_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor_36"><span class="label">[36]</span></a> “Spend”—to consume.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_37" id="Footnote_37"></a><a href="#FNanchor_37"><span class="label">[37]</span></a> “Scrow”—angry.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_38" id="Footnote_38"></a><a href="#FNanchor_38"><span class="label">[38]</span></a> “Purly”—purblind.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_39" id="Footnote_39"></a><a href="#FNanchor_39"><span class="label">[39]</span></a> “Stabble”—to tread dirt about.</p> - -</div> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</h2> - -<p>Miss Lucy couldn’t be spared to go up to -the hill on the second day of the pastime, for -there was some great operation going on in -the cheese room, which she had to overlook. -So Mr. Warton drove me up in the four-wheel. -I was very anxious to find out, if I could, -whether there was any thing more between him -and Miss Lucy than friendship, but it wasn’t at -all an easy matter. First I began speaking of -the young gentleman who had taken my place -in the four-wheel; for I thought that would be -a touchstone, and that if he were like me he -would be glad to get a chance of abusing this -Jack. But he only called him a forward boy, -and said he was a cousin of the Hursts, who -lived in the next parish. Then I spoke of Miss -Lucy herself, and he was quite ready to talk -about her as much as I liked, and seemed never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> -tired of praising her. She was a thoroughly -good specimen of an English yeoman’s daughter; -perfectly natural, and therefore perfectly -well bred; not above making good puddings -and preserves, and proud of the name her brother’s -cheeses had won in the market, yet not negligent -of other matters, such as the schools, and -her garden; never going into follies of dress in -imitation of weak women who ought to set -better examples, yet having a proper appreciation -of her own good looks, and a thorough -knowledge of the colours and shapes which -suited her best; not particularly clever or well -read, but with an open mind and a sound judgment—and -so he went on; and the longer he -went on the more I was puzzled, and my belief -is, that on this subject the Parson got much -more out of me than I out of him, on that -morning’s drive.</p> - -<p>We had a very pleasant day on the hill, but -as the sports were all the same as those of the -day before (with the exception of jumping in -sacks, which was substituted for climbing the -pole, and was very good fun), I shall not give -any further account of them; especially as the -gentlemen who are going to publish my story<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> -seem to think already that I am rather too long-winded.</p> - -<p>We got down home in capital time for tea, -and Joe followed very soon afterwards, in the -highest spirits; for, as he said, every thing had -gone off so well, and everybody was pleased -and satisfied; so we were all very merry, and -had another charming evening. I couldn’t tell -what had come to me when I got up stairs -alone by myself, for I seemed as if a new life -were growing up in me, and I were getting all -of a sudden into a much bigger world, full of all -sorts of work and pleasure, which I had never -dreamt of, and of people whom I could get to -love and honour, though I might never see or -speak to them.</p> - -<p>I had been bred up from a child never to look -beyond my own narrow sphere. To get on in it -was the purpose of my life, and I had drilled -myself into despising every thing which did not, -as I thought, help towards this end. Near relations -I had none. I was really fond of my two -friends, but I don’t think I should ever have got -to be friends with them if we hadn’t been in the -same office; and I used often to be half provoked -with them, and to think myself a very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> -wise fellow, because out of office-hours they -would read poetry and novels instead of fagging -at shorthand or accounts, as I did, and spent all -their salaries instead of saving. Except those -two, I knew nobody; and though I belonged to -a debating society, it wasn’t that I cared for the -members, or what they talked about, but that I -thought it might be useful to me to talk fluently -if I got on in business. Sometimes, and especially -in my yearly holidays, I had felt as if I -wanted something else, and that my way of life -was after all rather a one-eyed sort of business; -but I set all such misgivings down as delusions, -and had never allowed them long to trouble me. -In short I begin to suspect that I must have -been getting to be a very narrow, bigoted, disagreeable -sort of fellow, and it was high time -that I should find my way to Elm Close, or -some such place, to have my eyes opened a -little, and discover that a man may work just as -steadily and honestly—aye, much more steadily -and honestly—at his own business, without -shutting up his brains and his heart against -every thing else that is going on in the world -around him. However, I can’t be too thankful -that my teaching came to me in the way it did,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> -for I might have had to learn my lesson in a -very different school from Elm Close Farm.</p> - -<p>There certainly never was such a pleasant -school. For the next two or three days after -‘the Scouring,’ Mr. Warton was my chief companion. -Joe and Miss Lucy both had their -work to attend to after breakfast, and so the -Parson and I were left a good deal together; -and we used to start off to see some of the old -men whom he had promised to show me, who -could tell me about the old pastimes. I never -liked any thing so much as these walks—not -even the walks I afterwards used to have alone -with Miss Lucy, for they were too exciting, -and half the time I was in such a fret that I -couldn’t thoroughly enjoy them. But there was -no drawback in these walks with the Parson. -He was full of fun, and of all sorts of knowledge; -and he liked talking, and I think rather -took a fancy to me, and was pleased to see how -I worked at collecting all the information I -could about the White Horse, for he took a -great deal of pains to help me.</p> - -<p>One morning though I remember he got me -into a regular puzzle about King Alfred, for I -had been reading over my notes of the old gentleman’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> -story, and couldn’t make it agree with -the tales which I had read about Alfred’s hiding -away in the cowherd’s hut, and burning the -cakes. So I asked Mr. Warton about it.</p> - -<p>“I think,” said he, “you will find that Alfred -was in the cowherd’s cottage in the year 878, -after the battle at Chippenham.”</p> - -<p>“But, Sir,” said I, “according to the old gentleman’s -story, Ashdown was Alfred’s greatest -victory; and Ashdown was fought in 871. -Now it seems very odd that he should have -to run away and skulk about in such places -after that.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said he, “I’m not well enough up in -the history to explain it to you, but I’m pretty -sure you’ll find I’m right about the dates—why -shouldn’t you write and ask the old gentleman?”</p> - -<p>So I did, and I kept a copy of my letter; but -I don’t think I need print that, because his -answer will be quite enough without it. Here -it is:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right">“22d September, 1857.</p> - -<p>“My Dear Sir,—I am favoured with yours of -the 20th ult., which came safely to hand this -morning. Our post is somewhat behind the -times, and I know of hardly any town or village<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> -from which a letter can arrive at this -place under two days. I do not myself complain -of this state of things.</p> - -<p>“With regard to the subject of your letter, I -have to tell you that your friend the clergyman -is right in his dates. It was in the year 878 -that Alfred was deserted by his nobles and -people after the battle of Chippenham, which -was a drawn battle. Then he fled to the Island -of Athelney, in Somersetshire, and the incident -to which you allude took place, but you have -not got the verses correctly; they run,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“‘Casn’t mind the ke-aks mun, and doosn’t zee ’em burn?</div> -<div class="verse">I’ze warn thee’lt yeat ’em vast enough, zo zoon az ’tiz thy turn.’</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“But you are not to believe from this, that the -Danish army ever got a hold on the kingdom of -Wessex. I think that the following passage -from Asser’s ‘Life of Alfred’ will explain a -good deal to you. Referring to his sojourn in -Athelney, Asser says:—</p> - -<p>“‘We may believe that this misfortune was -brought upon the aforesaid king, because in the -beginning of his reign, when he was a youth, -and influenced by youthful feelings, he would -not listen to the petitions which his subjects<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> -made to him for help in their necessities; but -he drove them from him and paid no heed to -their requests. This particular gave much pain -to the holy man, St. Neot, who was his kinsman; -and often foretold to him in the spirit of -prophecy that he would suffer great adversity -on this account; but Alfred neither attended -to the reproof of the man of God, nor listened -to his true prophecy—wherefore seeing that a -man’s sins must be corrected either in this -world or the next, the true and righteous Judge -willed that his sin should not go unpunished -in this world, to the end that he might spare -him in the world to come. From this cause, -therefore, Alfred often fell into such great misery, -that sometimes none of his subjects knew -where he was, or what had become of him.’</p> - -<p>“And Alfred learned his lesson well in the -next few years, for you will find that in the year -886 <span class="smcapuc">A.D.</span>, ‘which was the thirty-eighth year since -his birth, King Alfred, after the burning of -cities and slaying of the people, honourably -rebuilt the city of London and made it again -habitable, and gave it into the custody of his -son-in-law, Æthelred, Earl of Mercia; to which -King Alfred, all the Angles and Saxons, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> -before had been dispersed every where, or were -in captivity with the pagans, voluntarily turned -and submitted themselves to his rule!’</p> - -<p>“You see they had turned from his rule many -of them because it was an unjust one in those -early years of his reign. But they were never -subdued by the Danes,—so that my statement -which you quote, ‘that the battle of Ashdown -saved England from one hundred years of -Paganism,’ is not shaken.</p> - -<p>“I have directed my London bookseller to -leave a copy of Asser’s ‘Life of Alfred the -Great,’ for you, at Somerset House, directed to -the care of my friend, the secretary of the Antiquaries’ -Society; you will find it to be well -worth a careful perusal. I shall be always glad -to hear from you upon the subjects on which -we have conversed, and heartily desiring that -the veneration for all that is old may grow upon -you, and that God may have you in his good -keeping, I am faithfully yours,</p> - -<p class="right">“——.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>But to return to my subject, from which I -have been wandering for the pleasure of putting -in the old gentleman’s letter. The Parson in -our walks set me thinking about fifty subjects<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> -which I never cared about before, because I -could see that he was himself deeply interested -in them, and really believed whatever he said to -me. We used to get home by about twelve -o’clock, and then I would go away by myself, -and think over what we had been talking about -till dinner. And, after dinner, Miss Lucy, and -sometimes Joe, would come out and walk with -us till tea. Sometimes we went to the village -school, and I sat at the door and heard them -teaching; and as long as Mr. Warton was with -us it was all right, but afterwards, when he had -gone, I could see that the schoolmistress, a -young woman of about thirty, sallow-faced -and rather prudish, used to look at me as if I -had no business there.</p> - -<p>When he left, Mr. Warton gave me a kind -invitation to go and see him in town, and added -he had no doubt I should come, for he could see -I should soon want some such work as he could -give me to do.</p> - -<p>After he was gone I tumbled fairly head over -heels into the net in which I suppose every man -“as is a man” (as old Seeley would say) gets -enmeshed once in his life. I found it was no -use to struggle any longer, and gave myself up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> -to the stream, with all sails set. Now there is -no easier thing than going down stream somehow, -when wind and tide are with you; but to -steer so as to make the most of wind and tide, -isn’t so easy—at least I didn’t find it so.</p> - -<p>For as often as not, I think, I did the wrong -thing, and provoked, instead of pleasing her. I -used to get up every morning before six, to be -ready to wish her good morning as she went -out to the dairy; but I don’t think she half -liked it, for she was generally in a very old -gown tucked through her pocket holes, and pattens. -Then after breakfast I used to hanker -round the kitchen, or still-room, or wherever she -might happen to be, like a Harry-long-legs -round a candle. And again in the afternoon -I never could keep away, but was at her side in -the garden, or on her walks; in fact, to get rid -of me, she had fairly to go up to her room.</p> - -<p>But I couldn’t help myself; I felt that, come -what might, I must be near her while I could; -and on the whole, I think she was pleased, and -didn’t at all dislike seeing me reduced to this -pitiful state.</p> - -<p>When I was involuntarily out of her sight, -I used to have a sort of craving for poetry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> -and often wished that I had spent a little more -time over such matters. I got Joe to lend me -the key of the cupboard where he kept his library, -hoping to find something to suit me -there. But, besides a few old folios of divinity -and travel, and some cookery books, and the -Farmer’s Magazine, there was nothing but -Watts’s Hymns and Pollock’s Course of Time, -which I didn’t find of any use to me.</p> - -<p>Joe used to wonder at me at first, when I -refused his offers of a day’s coursing, or a ride -with him to Farringdon or Didcot markets; -but he soon got used to it, and put it down -to my cockney bringing up, and congratulated -himself that, at any rate, I was pretty good -company over a pipe in the kitchen.</p> - -<p>The autumn days sped away all too quickly, -but I made the most of them as they passed, and -over and over again I wondered whether there -were any but kind and hospitable and amusing -people in the Vale, for the longer I stayed there, -the more I was astonished at the kind courtesy -of everybody I came across, from the highest to -the lowest, and I suppose everybody else would -find it the same as I did.</p> - -<p>It seemed as if I were destined to leave Elm<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> -Close without a single unkind thought of any -body I had seen while there, for even Jack -made his peace with me. Only two days before -my departure, Miss Lucy gave out at -breakfast that she was going to walk over to -see her uncle, and wanted to know if her -mother or Joe had any message. No, they -hadn’t. But of course I managed to accompany -her.</p> - -<p>When we came to her uncle’s farm, he was -out, and in five minutes Miss Lucy was away -with her dear friend and cousin, one of the -girls I had seen at the pastime, and I was left -to the tender mercies of Jack. However, Jack -at his own house, with no women by to encourage -him to make a fool of himself, was a -very decent fellow. He walked me about the -homestead, and chatted away about the pastime, -and the accomplishments of his terrier -dog, whom he had got from the kennel of the -Berkshire hounds, and whose father used to -run with them regularly. Then he began to -inquire about me in a patronizing way; how -I came to know Joe, what I was, and where -I lived. And when he had satisfied his curiosity -about me, he took to talking about his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> -cousins. Joe, I soon found out, was his hero; -and he looked forward to the time when he -should be able to breed a good horse, like Joe’s -chestnut, and to go about to all the markets -and carry his head as high as any one, as Joe -could, as the height of human happiness. As -to cousin Lu, if he were looking out for any -thing of the sort, there was no girl within -twenty miles that he knew of to whom she -couldn’t give a stone over any country. But -she wasn’t likely to marry any of the young -men about; she was too full of fun, and laughed -at them too much. “I shouldn’t be a bit surprised -now, if she was to take to some town -chap like you, after all’s said and done,” said -Jack, in conclusion, as we returned to the house.</p> - -<p>My last day at Elm Close came swiftly and -surely, and the sun rose, and went pitilessly up -into the heavens, and sank down behind White -Horse Hill, and the clocks went on striking one -after another, just as if it had been any other -day. What a number of things I had in my -head that morning to say to all of them, and -above all to her; but one thing or another interfered, -and I had said not one quarter of -them, and these not in the way I had intended,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> -before it was dark, and tea on the table. But -I did go all round the farm and the village, -and took a last look at every field and nook -and corner where I had been so happy.</p> - -<p>The old lady was unusually talkative at tea, -and for some time afterwards. The fact that -I was not going to leave the house till after -midnight, and was to be at business, in London, -at nine o’clock the next morning, now that -she had realized it, excited her very much, and -waked up all sorts of recollections of her own -travels; particularly how, when she was a child, -she had been a whole day getting to Reading -by the stage, and how, even after her marriage, -she and father had had to sleep at Windsor, -on the occasion of their one visit to London. -I was watching Miss Lucy at her work all the -time, and thought she seemed a little absent -and sorrowful, and when our eyes met every -now and then, she looked away directly. We -hardly said a word, and left Joe to keep up the -talk with the old lady.</p> - -<p>Before long she got tired and went off to bed, -and then, I thought, if something would only -call Joe out—but nothing happened, and so we -sat on talking commonplaces, till prayer time;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> -which, however, Joe did consent to put off this -evening, because it was my last, till past ten -o’clock. The three servants came in, and knelt -down as usual; and I, in a place where I could -see her, and watch every turn of her figure, and -hear every breath she drew. I own I didn’t -listen to a word that Joe read—I couldn’t—and -I don’t believe any poor fellow in my state -will ever be hardly judged, whatever square-toed -people may say, for not forcing himself -to attend when he hasn’t the power to do it. I -only know that, though I couldn’t listen to the -prayers, I could and did thank God for having -brought me down there, and allowed me to -see her and know her; and prayed, as heartily -as was in me to pray, that I might never do -any thing which might make me unworthy of -one so bright, and pure, and good as she.</p> - -<p>And too soon Joe shut the book, and got up, -and the servants went out, and Joe dived off -into the recess; and she lighted her candle and -came up to me, holding out her hand, but -without saying any thing, or looking up in my -face.</p> - -<p>I took the hand which she held out to me -in both mine, but somehow, when I thought it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> -might be for the last time, I couldn’t let it -go. So I stood holding it, my heart beating -so that I couldn’t speak, and feeling very -uncomfortable about the throat. She didn’t -take it away, and presently I got my voice -again.</p> - -<p>“Good bye, Miss Lucy,” said I, “and God -bless you. I can’t tell you what my holiday at -Elm Close has been to me—and I can’t find -words to thank you. I’m a poor lonely fellow, -with nobody belonging to me, and leading a -slave of a life in the midst of the great crowd, -with all sorts of temptations to go wrong. You’ll -let me think of you, and Elm Close, and it will -be like a little bright window with the sun -shining through into our musty clerks’ room. I -feel it will help to keep me straight for many -a long day. You’ll let me think of you now, -won’t you?” said I, pressing the little hand -which I held in mine.</p> - -<p>“Why, you see I can’t help it if I would,” -said she, looking up with a merry light in her -eyes; but she went on directly, “but, indeed, -I’m sure we shall think of you quite as often -as you will of us. Joe used to talk so often -about you that I felt quite like an old friend<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> -before we met, and now you’ve been here we -shall feel so dull without you.”</p> - -<p>“Now, you two! don’t stand talking there -all night,” said Joe, coming out of the recess, -where he had been rummaging out the pipes -and a black bottle; “come, come, kiss and part.”</p> - -<p>I felt the blood rush up to my face, when Joe -said that, but I opened my hands with a jerk, -and let hers go, I hardly knew why. If I -hadn’t been so fond that I was afraid of her, -I should have taken Joe at his word. But I’m -glad I didn’t; I’m sure I was right, for I stole -a look at her, and saw that she looked vexed, -and flushed up to her bright brown hair. Next -moment she held out her hand again, and shook -mine heartily, and said, without looking up, -“Good-bye, you must come again soon,” and -then hurried out of the room, and took away -all the light with her. Heigh-ho! when shall I -see the light again.</p> - -<p>Well, as I followed Joe into the kitchen, what -between the sinking I felt at having to leave, -and the doubt whether I hadn’t made a fool of -myself at the last with Miss Lucy, I felt half -mad, and the first thing I made up my mind to -was to have a good quarrel with Joe.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span></p> - -<p>So when he sat down on one side of the fire, -and began lighting his pipe, I kept standing -looking at him, and thinking how I should begin.</p> - -<p>“There’s your pipe, Dick,” said he, puffing -away, “on the settle—why don’t you sit down -and light up?”</p> - -<p>“I shan’t smoke with you to-night, Joe,” said -I, “you ought to be ashamed of yourself!”</p> - -<p>“Ashamed o’ myself,” shouted Joe, staring up -at me till I could hardly keep from laughing, -angry as I was; “what, in the name o’ goodness, -have I done to be ashamed of?”</p> - -<p>“’Tisn’t what you’ve done, but what you’ve -said.”</p> - -<p>“Said! what in the world have I said? Precious -little I know, for you always get all the -talk to yourself.”</p> - -<p>“Why, what you said just now to me and -Miss Lucy,” said I.</p> - -<p>“To you and Lu?” said he, looking puzzled; -and then off he went into one of his great -laughs. “Oh, I take—well, that’s too much! -To be blown up by <em>you</em> for it! Why, if any -one is to scold, I should say it’s Lu.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think I like to be made the means -of giving your sister pain?” said I.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span></p> - -<p>“There now, don’t be a fool, Dick—sit down -like a good fellow, and light your pipe. What -I said don’t mean any thing down in these -parts. Well, I’m very sorry. She’ll never think -twice about it, bless you. And besides, you -know, there can’t be any harm done, for you -didn’t take my advice.”</p> - -<p>Well, I began to get cool, and to think I -might do something better than quarrel with -Joe the last night; so I took my pipe, and filled -it, and sat down opposite him, and he began to -mix two glasses of grog, twisting his face about -all the time to keep himself from laughing.</p> - -<p>“Here’s your health, old fellow,” said he, -when he had done, “and, mind you, we shall -always be glad to see you here when you can -come; though I’m afraid the place must be terrible -dull for a Londoner.”</p> - -<p>“It’s the best place I’ve ever been in,” said I, -with a sigh.</p> - -<p>This pleased Joe; and he went off about -what he would find me to do if I could come -down in the winter or the spring; but I didn’t -listen much, for I was making up my mind to -speak to him about his sister, and I was afraid -how he might take it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span></p> - -<p>Presently he stopped for a moment, and I -thought, ‘now or never,’ and began.</p> - -<p>“I want to ask you, Joe, is your sister engaged -to any one?”</p> - -<p>“Not she,” said Joe, looking up rather surprised; -“why, she’s only eighteen come Lady-day!”</p> - -<p>“What do you think of Mr. Warton?” -said I.</p> - -<p>“Our Parson!” laughed Joe; “that is a good -’un. Why he has got a sweetheart of his own. -Let alone that he’d know better than to court -a farmer’s daughter.”</p> - -<p>“Are you sure?” said I; “your sister isn’t -like most girls, I can tell you.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I tell you,” said Joe, “he’s no more in -love with our Lu than you are.”</p> - -<p>“Then I’m over head and ears in love with -her, and that’s all about it,” said I, and I looked -straight across at him, though it wasn’t an easy -thing to do. But I felt I was in for it, and I -should be much better for having it over.</p> - -<p>Joe gave a start, and a long whistle; and -then a puff or two at his pipe, staring at me -right in the eyes till I felt my head swimming. -But I wasn’t going to look down just then; if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> -he had looked me right through he couldn’t have -found any thing I was ashamed of, so far as -his sister was concerned, and I felt he had a -right to look as hard as he pleased, and that I -was bound not to shirk it.</p> - -<p>Presently he got up, and took a turn or two -up and down the kitchen. Then he stopped—</p> - -<p>“Spoke to her, yet?” said he.</p> - -<p>“No,” said I, “I haven’t.”</p> - -<p>“Come, give us your hand, Dick,” said he, -holding out his, and looking quite bright again; -“I knew you would be all on the square, let be -what might.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I won’t deceive you, Joe,” said I, “I -don’t deserve any credit for that.”</p> - -<p>“How not?” said he.</p> - -<p>“Why, I meant to have spoken to her half-a-dozen -times, only one little thing or another -stopped it. But I’m very glad of it, for I think -you ought to know it first.”</p> - -<p>“Well, well,” said he, coming and sitting -down again, and staring into the fire, “it’s a -precious bad job. Let’s think a bit how we be -to tackle it.”</p> - -<p>“I know,” said I, drawing up a bit—for I -didn’t feel flattered at this speech—“that I’m<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> -not in the same position you are in, and that -you’ve a right to look for a much richer man -than I am for your sister, but—”</p> - -<p>“Oh, bother that,” said Joe, beginning to -smoke again, and still staring into the fire; “I -wasn’t thinking of that. ’Twill be just as bad -for we, let who will take her. Here’s mother -getting a’most blind, and ’mazing forgetful-like -about every thing. Who’s to read her her -chapter, or to find her spectacles? and what in -the world’s to become of the keys? I be no -use to mother by myself, you see,” said Joe, -“and I couldn’t abide to see the old lady put -about at her time of life; let alone how the -pickling and preserving is to go on.”</p> - -<p>I was very pleased and surprised to see him -taking it so coolly, and particularly that he -seemed not to be objecting to me, but only to -losing his sister at all.</p> - -<p>“Then there’s my dairy,” said he; “that -cow Daisy, as gives the richest milk in all the -Vale, nobody could ever get her to stand quiet -till Lu took to her; she’ll kick down a matter -o’ six pail o’ milk a week, I’ll warrant. And the -poultry, too; there’s that drattl’d old galleeny’ll -be learning the Spanish hens to lay astray up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> -in the brake, as soon as ever Lu goes, and then -the fox’ll have ’em all. To think of the trouble -I took to get that breed, and not a mossel o’ use -at last!”</p> - -<p>“Well, but Joe,” said I, “one would think we -were going to be married to-morrow, to hear -you talk.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you want to be married, don’t you?” -said he, looking up.</p> - -<p>“Yes, but not directly,” said I; “you see, I -should like to have a tidy place got all ready -before I should think—”</p> - -<p>“Why, she mayn’t be agreeable after all,” -interrupted Joe, as if a new light had suddenly -struck him; and then he had a good laugh at -the thought, in which I didn’t join.</p> - -<p>“Then, Joe,” said I, “I think you don’t seem -to mind my being a cockney, and not a rich -man?”</p> - -<p>“I’d sooner have had a chap that knows a -horse from a handspike, and something about -four-course,” said he, “so I won’t tell a lie -about it, Dick. Put that out of the way, and -I’d as lief call you brother-in-law as any man. -But you ain’t in any hurry you said just -now?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well, no,” said I; “but of course I should -like to write to your sister directly and tell her, -and I hope you won’t object to that, and won’t -hinder me if you can’t help me.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t have any of that writing,” said Joe, -“’pend upon it, a good-bred girl like Lu -wouldn’t stand it.”</p> - -<p>“That’s all very well,” said I, “but I’m -going away to-night, you know, and if I don’t -write how’s she ever to know any thing about -it?”</p> - -<p>“Look here,” said Joe; “will you promise, -Dick, to give me and mother a year to turn -round in from next Christmas—that is, supposing -Lu don’t say no?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, certainly,” said I; “Christmas year is -the earliest time I could hope to be ready by.”</p> - -<p>“Then I’ll tell you what,” said he; “Don’t -you go writing to her at all, and I’ll bring her -up with me for Christmas cattle-show, and you -can get us lodgings, and show us some of the -sights. You can have it all out with her before -we come home, and I shall be by to see all -fair.”</p> - -<p>“No, no, Joe, I couldn’t say a word with you -by.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I didn’t mean that I was to be in the room, -you know, only if any thing goes wrong—you -understand,” said Joe, looking round, and nodding -at me with a solemn face.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I see,” said I; “but somebody else—one -of the young farmers now, that I saw on -the hill, may be stepping in before Christmas.”</p> - -<p>“Not they. It’s busy times with us these -next two months. Besides, I’ll look after that. -Is it a bargain, then?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said I, “only mind, Joe, that you -look sharp meantime.”</p> - -<p>“All right,” said he; and then fell to looking -into the fire again; and I sat thinking too, and -wondering at my luck, which I could hardly -believe in yet.</p> - -<p>“And now about the pot,” said Joe; “suppose -Lu says yes, what have you got to keep -the pot boiling?”</p> - -<p>Then I told him what my salary was, and -what I had saved, and where I had put it out, -and he nodded away, and seemed very well -satisfied.</p> - -<p>“Well, Lu has got £500,” said he, “under -father’s will. Parson and I are the executors. -You must go and see the Parson when you get<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> -back to London; he’s an out-and-outer, and -worth more than all the chaps at that jawing -shop of yours put together. The money is out -at interest, all but £200, which we’ve never -raised yet, but for that matter I can pay it up -whenever it’s wanted.”</p> - -<p>“Of course,” said I, “I should wish all her -fortune to be settled on her.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I forgot,” said he; “I suppose there -ought to be some sort of tying-up done for the -children. So I’ll go and see Lawyer Smith -about it next market-day.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps you had better wait till after Christmas,” -said I.</p> - -<p>“Aye, aye,” said he, “I forgot. We may be -running a tail scent after all. But, I say, Dick, -if you get married, Lu can never live in those -dirty, dark streets, and you away all day; she’d -mope to death without a place for poultry, and -a little bit of turf to cool her feet on.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said I, “you see I’ve got a bit of -ground under a freehold land society, down the -Great Northern line. It’s a very pretty place, -and only five minutes’ walk from a station. I -could build a house there in the spring, you -know, and have the garden made.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span></p> - -<p>“That’ll do,” said he; “and if you want -£100 or so, to finish it off as should be, why -you know where to come for it.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” said I, “but I think I can -manage it.”</p> - -<p>“I shall send her up those Spanish hens,” -said he, looking up again presently from his -pipe; “they won’t be no use here.”</p> - -<p>“I wish, Joe,” said I, “you wouldn’t talk as -if it was all quite certain; it makes me feel uncomfortable. -Your sister mayn’t like me, after -all.”</p> - -<p>“Makes no odds at all,” said he; “if she -don’t have you, there’ll be some other chap on -in no time. Once a young gal gets a follower -it’s all over, so fur as I see; though ’tisn’t -always the first as they takes up with as they -sticks to for better for worse.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you for nothing, Master Joe,” said I -to myself; and I smoked away opposite him for -some time without saying a word, thinking -what a queer fellow he was, and how I had -better let things rest as they were, for I couldn’t -see how to handle him the least bit in the -world; and I can’t tell whether I was most -glad or sorry, when we heard the fogger come<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> -to the kitchen door to say the trap was all -ready.</p> - -<p>Joe knocked the ashes out of his last pipe, -took off the last drop out of his tumbler, and -then put out his hand and gave me one of his -grips.</p> - -<p>“It’s got to be done,” said he, “there’s no -mistake about that.”</p> - -<p>“What?” said I, “what’s to be done? -Don’t look so solemn, Joe, for goodness’ sake.”</p> - -<p>“It’s no laughing matter, mind you,” said -he; and he took the candle and went off into -the passage, and came back with his whip and -two top-coats. “Here, you get into that,” he -went on, handing me one of them; “you’ll find -the night rawish.”</p> - -<p>I buttoned myself into the coat, which was a -white drab one, about as thick as a deal board, -with double seams and mother-of-pearl buttons -as big as cheese-plates, and followed Joe into -the yard with a heavy heart.</p> - -<p>“Carpet-bag and hamper in?” said he, taking -the reins.</p> - -<p>“Ees, Sir, all right.”</p> - -<p>“Jump up, Dick.”</p> - -<p>I shook hands with the honest fogger, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> -gave him half-a-crown, which he didn’t seem to -know how to take; and then I got up by Joe’s -side, and we walked out of the yard at a foot’s -pace, on to the grass; he kept off the road to be -more quiet. It was bright moonlight, and a -streak of white mist lay along the Close. I -could hear nothing but the soft crush of the -wheels on the rich sward, and the breathing of -the great cows as we passed them in the mist. -But my heart was beating like a hammer, as I -looked back over my shoulder at one window -of the old house, until it was hidden behind the -elm-trees; and when I jumped down to open -the gate into the road, I tore open the great -coat, or I think I should have been suffocated.</p> - -<p>“It’s no laughing matter, mind you,” said -Joe, looking round, after we had gone about -half-a-mile along the road at a steady trot.</p> - -<p>“No, indeed,” said I. I felt much more like -crying, and I thought he was trying to comfort -me, in his way.</p> - -<p>“Come, you button up that coat again, Dick; -I won’t have you getting into the train at one -in the morning with a chill on you. I won’t -turn my back,” he went on, “on any man in the -county at sampling wheat, or buying a horse, or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> -a lot of heifers, or a flock of sheep. Besides, -if a chap does get the blind side of me, it’s -maybe a ten-pound note lost, and there’s an -end of it. But when you come to choosing a -missus, why, it seems like jumping in the dark, -for all as I can see. There’s nothing to sample -’em by, and you can’t look in their mouths or -feel ’em over. I don’t take it as a man’s judgment -of any account when he comes to that -deal—and then, if he does get the wrong sort!”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, Joe,” said I, “but I’m not a bit -afraid about getting the wrong sort, if all goes -well.”</p> - -<p>“No, but I be,” said he; “why, one would -think, Dick, that nobody had to get a missus -but you.”</p> - -<p>Well, that made me laugh out, I was so tickled -to find he was thinking of himself all the time; -and for the rest of the drive we were merry -enough, for he went on talking about his own -prospects so funnily that it was impossible to -keep sad or sentimental.</p> - -<p>We drew up at the silent station five or six -minutes nearly before the train was due, and -were received by the one solitary porter.</p> - -<p>“What luggage, Sir?” said he to me, as I -got down.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span></p> - -<p>“One carpet-bag,” I answered, “for Paddington.”</p> - -<p>“And a hamper,” said Joe; “you’ll find a -hamper in behind there. And take care to -keep it right side up, porter, for there are some -pots of jam in it.”</p> - -<p>“Who is it for?” said I; “can I look after -it, and take it any where for you?”</p> - -<p>“Why, for you, of course,” said Joe; “you -don’t suppose the women would have let you -go back without some of their kickshaws; and -I’ve had a hare and a couple of chickens put -in, and some bacon. You must eat the hare -this week, mind.”</p> - -<p>I was quite taken by surprise at this fresh -instance of the thoughtful kindness of my Vale -friends, and wrung Joe’s hand, mumbling out -something which I meant for thanks.</p> - -<p>“Well, good-bye, old fellow,” he said, “I’m -very glad to think you’ve found your way down -at last, and now, don’t forget it;” and he gave -me a grip which nearly crashed all my knuckles -into a jelly, and was gathering up his reins to -drive off.</p> - -<p>“But Joe, here’s your coat,” I called out, and -was beginning to take it off—“you’ve forgotten -your coat.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No, no,” said he, “keep it on—’twill be -very cold to-night, and you’ll want it in the -train. We’ll fetch it at Christmas, and the -hamper and the jam pots too, at the same time. -Lu will be sure to look after them, so mind you -don’t lose ’em—Hullo! What in the world are -you cutting off the direction for?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it’s nothing,” said I, “but I often fancy -parcels go safer with only the railway label on -them. Besides, I shall have it in the carriage -with me.”</p> - -<p>The fact was I had caught sight of the direction, -which was in her handwriting, and had -quite forgotten Joe, as I was cutting it off to -put it in my pocket-book.</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s a rum start,” said Joe, “but -every one has their own notions about travelling;” -and so, with a cheery good-bye to me, -off he drove along the dark road; and in another -minute the train came up, and I and my -luggage were on our way to London.</p> - -<p>We went away up through the cold night, -eastward, towards the great city which had been -my home from childhood. I felt that another -man was journeying back from the one who -had come down a fortnight before; that he who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> -was travelling eastward had learnt to look beyond -his own narrow cellar in the great world-city, -to believe in other things than cash payments -and shorthand for making his cellar -liveable in, to have glimpses of and to sympathize -with the life of other men, in his own -time, and in the old times before him. These -thoughts crowded on me, but all under the -shadow of and subordinated to the one great -rising hope, in which I had first found and felt -my new life. Together they lifted up my heart -during the first stages of that night journey, -and I opened the window and leant out into -the rushing night air, for the carriage was too -small for me, and my grand visions and resolves. -But soon it began to feel cold, and I shut up -the window and squeezed myself into a corner -with my feet up on the opposite seat, and felt -very thankful that I had on Joe’s great coat. -Then the lamp went out, and it got colder as -the dawn came on, and my visions and resolves -began to get less bright and firm. The other -side of the picture rose up in ugly colours, and -I thought of the dirty dark clerks’ room, and -the hours of oil-lamps and bad air, and the -heartless whirl and din of the great city. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> -to crown all came the more than doubt whether -my hope would not fade out and die in the -recesses of my own heart. What was I? and -what my prospects, that any one should ever -give me a thought again of those whom I was -so fast leaving behind, much more that she, the -flower of them all, should single me out before -all others? It was absurd, I should most likely -never see Elm Close, or the Vale, or the great -mysterious Hill again—I had better make up -my mind to live the next twenty years as I had -the last. With some such meaning spoke the -doleful voices, but I was never much of a hand at -looking at the doleful side of things, and I made -good strong fight on that night ride; and took -out my pipe, and lit it, and pressed my back -firmer into my corner.</p> - -<p>Well, and if they don’t remember me, thought -I, I can remember them at any rate—they can’t -help that; and I <em>will</em> remember them too, and -all their kind pleasant ways, and their manlike -games, and their queer songs and stories—and -the queen of them all, I can carry her in my -heart, thank God for that, and every word I -ever heard her speak, and every smile I ever -saw light up her merry eyes or dimple round<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> -her mouth—and the country, too, the fair rich -Vale, and the glorious old Hill, they are mine -for ever, and all the memories of the slaying -of dragons; and of great battles with the Pagan. -I wonder whether I shall ever see the old gentleman -again who conjured it up for me, and -put life into it, and made me feel as if King -Alfred and his Saxons were as near and dear -to me as Sir Colin Campbell and the brave -lads in India!</p> - -<p>Just then the train stopped at Reading, and -the guard put his head in to say we stopped -for three minutes, and I could get a glass of -ale.</p> - -<p>So I jumped out and had a glass of ale, and -then another; and stamped about the platform -till the train started. And when I got into my -corner again, I was quite warm and jolly.</p> - -<p>I have been always used to a good night’s -rest, and I daresay the ale made me more -sleepy, and so I fell into a kind of doze almost -directly. But in my doze the same train of -thought went on, and all the people I had been -living with and hearing of flitted about in the -oddest jumbles, with Elm Close and White -Horse Hill for a background. I went through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> -the strangest scenes. One minute I was first -cousin to King Alfred, and trying to carry his -messages over the Hill to Æthelred, only Joe’s -old brown horse would run away with me -along the Ridgeway; then I was the leader of -the Berkshire old gamesters, playing out the -last tie with a highwayman, for a gold-laced -hat and pair of buckskin breeches; then I was -married—I needn’t say to whom—and we were -keeping house under the Hill, and waiting tea -for St. George, when he should come down -from killing the Dragon. And so it went on, -till at last a mist came over the Hill, and all -the figures got fainter and fainter, and seemed -to be fading away. But as they faded, I could -see one great figure coming out clearer through -the mist, which I had never noticed before. -It was like a grand old man, with white hair -and mighty limbs; who looked as old as the -hill itself, but yet as if he were as young now -as he ever had been,—and at his feet were a -pickaxe and spade, and at his side a scythe. -But great and solemn as it looked, I felt that -the figure was not a man, and I was angry -with it,—why should it come in with its great -pitiful eyes and smile? why were my brothers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> -and sisters, the men and women, to fade away -before it?</p> - -<p>“The labour that a man doeth under the -sun, it is all vanity. Prince and peasant, the -wise man and the fool, they all come to me -at last, and I garner them away, and their -place knows them no more!”—so the figure -seemed to say to itself, and I felt melancholy -as I watched it sitting there at rest, playing -with the fading figures.</p> - -<p>At last it placed one of the little figures on -its knee, half in mockery, as it seemed to me, -and half in sorrow. But then all changed; -and the great figure began to fade, and the -small man came out clearer and clearer. And -he took no heed of his great neighbour, but -rested there where he was placed; and his face -was quiet, and full of life, as he gazed steadily -and earnestly through the mist. And the other -figures came flitting by again, and chanted as -they passed, “The work of one true man is -greater than all thy work. Thou hast nought -but a seeming power, over it, or over him. -Every true man is greater than thee. Every -true man shall conquer more than thee; for he -shall triumph over death, and hell, and thee, -oh, Time!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span></p> - -<p>And then I woke up, for the train stopped -at the place where the tickets are collected; -and, in another five minutes, I was in a cab, -with my bag and the great basket of country -treasures, creeping along in the early November -morning towards Gray’s Inn Lane. And -so ended my fortnight’s holiday.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 275px;"> -<img src="images/i286.jpg" width="275" height="300" alt="Old Father Time holds a warrior on his knee" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="THE_SERMON">THE SERMON -WHICH THE PARSON SENT TO MR. JOSEPH HURST, -OF ELM CLOSE FARM, IN FULFILMENT OF HIS -PROMISE.</h2> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p><span class="smcap">Leviticus</span> xxiii. v. 1, 2.—And the Lord spake unto Moses, saying, -Speak unto the children of Israel, and say unto them, Concerning -the feasts of the Lord which ye shall proclaim to be holy convocations, -even these are my feasts.</p> - -</div> - -<p>“These are <em>my</em> feasts,” said God to the -nation He was educating; “keep these feasts, -for they are mine.” Now, what was the nature -of these feasts, my brethren, which God called -his? The Bible leaves us in no doubt about -them. They were certain seasons set apart in -every year, and at longer intervals, during which -the nation was “to rejoice before the Lord their -God.” Each feast commemorated some event -in the nation’s life; either a solemn act of -national worship, such as the dedication of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> -Temple; or some great national deliverance, -such as the Exodus commemorated by the feast -of Passover, or the defeat of Haman’s plot in -the reign of Ahasuerus, commemorated by the -feast Purim; or the daily care of God for his -people, in giving them rain and fruitful seasons, -the harvest and vintage, the increase of corn, -and wine, and oil, commemorated by the feast -of Pentecost.</p> - -<p>They were <em>to rejoice</em> before the Lord their -God at all these feasts. With what outward -actions they were to rejoice we are not expressly -told; probably it was left to each generation to -express their joy in their own way. In the case -of the Passover we know that they were to eat -a lamb and unleavened bread; and we gather, -I think, from many places, that both songs and -dancing were freely used at the feasts; but -further than this we do not know the outward -form of their rejoicing.</p> - -<p>But we <em>do</em> know the spirit in which they were -to keep their feasts, the temper of mind in which -God would have them rejoice before Him. This -is most fully proclaimed. They were to keep -alive in themselves and one another the memory -of the great deliverances and blessings,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> -which had been, and were being wrought for -them. They were to remember that these deliverances -had been wrought for ignorant despised -bondmen, that these blessings were being -poured down on a stiffnecked sinful people. -Remembering these things, they were to come -to their feasts, and rejoice before Him, with -humble open hearts, thanking Him for all they -possessed, with love towards their brethren, -ready to forgive debts, to help the poor to his -right, and to acknowledge and glory in the bond -which bound them all together in one nation.</p> - -<p>Moreover, these feasts were to be feasts for -the whole nation—for the rich and the poor, -the free man and the slave, “for thee, and thy -man-servant, and thy maid-servant;” for those -who are in trouble and sorrow, as well as for -the prosperous and happy; “for the stranger, -and fatherless, and widow who are within thy -gates.”</p> - -<p>One thing more I wish you to notice about -the Jewish feasts; they had all the same character, -all were God’s feasts—not one or two -religious feasts, as we should say, and the rest -national, but all God’s feasts, and all national -also. There is no hint in the Bible of any distinction;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> -all feasts ordained for the nation are -God’s feasts, and their feasts also.</p> - -<p>Now such feasts—such rejoicings before the -Lord—as these, you can see at once must have -had no slight influence on the nation which -kept them. Accordingly we find them interwoven -with every fibre of the national life: -sometimes kept as God’s feasts—as He had -said they were to be kept—in humbleness and -thankfulness, in breaking bonds and forgiving -debts; often, as though they had been not his -but the devil’s feasts, in persecuting prophets -and slaying righteous men; and no doubt also, -as the natural consequence, in debauchery, gluttony, -and hard and usurious dealings with one -another; in oppression of man-servant and -maid-servant, the widow, the fatherless, and -the stranger. But in whatever way the feasts -were kept they were always exercising a great -power over generation after generation.</p> - -<p>I have begun by talking to you about the -Jewish feasts, my brethren, because I want to -speak to you about our English feasts; and I -think if we understand their feasts we shall very -likely learn some lessons about our own which -may do us good. Now we English, my brethren,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> -as a nation, have neglected this matter of -feasts too much. We have very few days on -which we rejoice as a nation—in fact the -Queen’s birthday is almost our only national -holiday, and this day we keep as Englishmen, -and not as Christians; while the feasts which -we keep as Christians, and not as Englishmen -(such as Christmas, and Easter, and Whitsuntide), -have for this very reason lost much of -their worth for us; which we shall recover, when -we begin to keep them again, not the less as -Christians, but more as Englishmen.</p> - -<p>It is my earnest hope and prayer that we -may mend in this matter, and that the great -Christian festivals and the Queen’s birthday -may so become all, and more than all, to us -and our children, which the Passover and Pentecost -were to the Jews. But that it may be so, -we must, in this as in all other matters, begin -mending at home, in our own families, and our -own parishes. And so, my brethren, let us to-day -think about the feasts which we keep who -live in this parish, in the Vale of White Horse, -who worship in this church.</p> - -<p>We all know well enough what these feasts -are. First, there is our village feast, a day set<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> -apart in every year which is specially <em>the</em> feast -day of this parish, and of all who belong to it. -Then there are our harvest homes, which are -not parish but family festivals; when the farmer -and those who have worked with him, rejoice -together over the garnering in of the fruits which -God has given. Lastly, there is the feast which -does not come every year, but at longer intervals, -the feast of Scouring the White Horse, -which is not the feast of one parish, but of the -whole country side.</p> - -<p>A few words as to the meaning of these feasts -of ours. The first is the commemoration of the -opening of this parish church, and its dedication -to the worship of God. Your harvest homes -you know the meaning of as well as I. The -third is the commemoration of a great victory, -won a thousand years ago by the king of this -country against an army of heathen invaders. -I remind you of these things because they have -been too much forgotten, and we never can -rightly use our feasts till we remember them -better.</p> - -<p>Well, now, remember what I have told you -about the Jewish feasts, or rather take your -Bibles and look for yourselves, whether I tell<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span> -you the truth, when I say, that our feasts are -just such feasts as those which you read of -there. The feasts of the Jews were all either -feasts in remembrance of the dedication of the -Temple, or of thanksgiving for the good gifts -of God, or of commemoration for some great -national deliverance.</p> - -<p>And ours are the very same. Do not think -I am dealing unfairly with you in comparing -our country feasts to the great national feasts -of the Jews. It is not unfair to compare small -things with great: families, parishes, nations, -must stand or fall by the same laws. A society -cannot do evil or good without reaping the -fruits thereof, whether it be very small or very -great. Do not think that I ought to speak of -the great Christian festivals, Christmas and -Easter; they are better understood and kept, -though very badly as yet. I believe I am taking -the right way to make you understand and -keep these world-wide Christian feasts properly -by bringing you down to these common insignificant -feasts of ours, which we, the members -of this parish and congregation, have power -over; which we can make good or evil; for the -use or abuse of which we shall be called to -account by God.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span></p> - -<p>For “thus saith the Lord,” to us as He said -to the Jews, “these are <em>my</em> feasts.” They are -his, my brethren, whether we like it or not; -they are his, though we may try to make them -ours, and so make them the devil’s. There is -no neutral ground, no escape from the hard -fact. Let us see now if we cannot accept them, -and use them as his. Let us see whether they -will be less or more to us if we do so. We -shall find the trial worth making, I think, in -the end.</p> - -<p>They are his feasts: how, then, can we come -to them as his guests—guests who will be -pleasing to him, who will use his feasts as he -would have us? For if we go to a man’s -feast, the first thing we have to do is to go in -such a temper and such a dress as will make -us acceptable guests; and shall we do less as -the guests of God?</p> - -<p>The first thing, then, we have to consider is -the temper, the state of mind in which we -should go to our feasts; and here, as I said -before, the Bible tells us all we want to know. -The temper which he required of the Jews, he -will require of us. At his feasts we have specially -two things to do, to remember and to rejoice.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> -To remember the loving-kindness which -he has shown to our fathers and to us, in -delivering us many a time from the hand of -enemies who were stronger than we; in giving -us a Church, where for many hundred years the -prayers of generation after generation had gone -up to him, the God of all truth; in giving us -the rich increase of his earth, year after year. -Remembering these things, then, we are to keep -the feast in humility, for our own unworthiness; -in thankfulness, for his tender care and unbounded -love.</p> - -<p>And we are also to rejoice before him, as -members of a family, of a parish, of a country; -thinking, therefore, of others, and not of ourselves; -making up quarrels, exercising hospitality -to all according to our means, seeking to -do kindnesses to all who need them, to our -debtors, to the oppressed and unfortunate -amongst us, to the widows, the fatherless, and -the stranger; and in all ways strengthening -and deepening the bond which binds us to one -another, and to him.</p> - -<p>This, my brethren, is the temper and state of -mind which he required of the Jews of old, -and which he requires of us at these times<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> -especially. Think what our feasts would be, -what our whole lives would be, if we tried to -remember and to rejoice before the Lord thus.</p> - -<p>If we come to his feasts in this temper, my -brethren, it matters comparatively little what -our outward acts of rejoicing may be. If our -hearts are right towards the Lord of the feast -and to one another, our dress and actions are -surely right also, or will soon become so. Nevertheless, -this is a matter of plain, practical importance, -and I am not going to shrink from -it. I wish to consider with you, how we keep -his feasts and our feasts now; whether our -method of keeping them is a true expression -of that temper and spirit in which they ought -to be kept, whether any thing better can be -suggested.</p> - -<p>On these points, as I said above, we have -not the same help which we had before. We -know very little of how the Jews rejoiced; we -may be sure that we are not meant to copy -the little we do know, such as the eating of a -lamb roasted whole with unleavened bread. It -is left for us to find out, and to do, such acts -as may be done by those who are humble, and -thankful, and loving in heart, towards God and -towards each other.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span></p> - -<p>Now there is one thing which one sees at -once is wanting in our celebration of these -feasts. In the times when they were established, -it was the chief act of them, that which -gave meaning to them, and kept alive that -meaning. We have neglected and disused it, -and so they have become all but meaningless -to us, mere seasons in which we are to enjoy -more pleasures than in ordinary times. This -thing which we have forgotten is public fellow-worship, -and it ought to be restored as soon as -possible. At the yearly meetings of many of -your benefit and other clubs, the members go -all together to the church, and there worship -before attending to their business and their -pleasure. Why should not a parish do the -same? I know nothing which would so easily -and so effectually raise the tone of our village -feast as the regular celebration of worship on -that day, in the Church, the dedication and consecration -of which, to the worship of God, was -the cause of the holiday.</p> - -<p>In one respect I believe that we are, to some -extent, still keeping the feast as we ought. I -believe that on that day young people who -were born in the parish and have left it, make<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> -a point, if possible, of getting back to see their -fathers and mothers, and friends, and to revive -old associations, often bringing with them part -of their wages or some present; that many of -the silly quarrels and feuds which have arisen -during the year are then set to rest; that the -residents in the parish make some exertion to -welcome their visitors hospitably, and that a -general kindly feeling is common throughout -the parish. I believe that this is still so, to -some extent; but I fear that it is becoming less -and less so. My brethren, all this is right, and -true, and honest; this is the way to keep God’s -feasts; you can’t go too far in this direction -(except by spending more money than you can -afford, which is always wrong). But the more -you can deepen old family and local ties on -these occasions, the more you can heal up quarrels, -and forgive debts (both other debts, and -money debts—remember that there is no duty -more insisted on in God’s Word than this of -forgiving money debts at these times), and exercise -hospitality one to another without grudging, -the more will you be keeping God’s feasts -as he would have you keep them.</p> - -<p>Then there are the sports for which prizes are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> -given. There is no need to specify them all, -and I shall therefore only speak of the one -which is considered the most objectionable—which -many people think should be stopped -altogether—I mean wrestling. Whatever I may -say on this will apply to all the rest. Now, my -brethren, are wrestling matches a proper way of -keeping God’s feasts? That is the question we -have to answer.</p> - -<p>The object of wrestling and of all other athletic -sports is to strengthen men’s bodies, and -to teach them to use their strength readily, to -keep their tempers, to endure fatigue and pain. -These are all noble ends, my brethren. God -gives us few more valuable gifts than strength -of body, and courage, and endurance—to you -labouring men they are beyond all price. We -ought to cultivate them in all right ways, for -they are given us to protect the weak, to subdue -the earth, to fight for our homes and country if -necessary.</p> - -<p>Therefore I say that wrestling, inasmuch as it -is a severe trial of strength, temper, and endurance, -may be, and ought to be, one of many -right and proper ways of rejoicing before God -at these feasts. And I say to any man who has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> -strength for it, and can keep his temper, and -carries away no vain or proud thoughts if he -wins, and no angry or revengeful thoughts if -he loses, play by all means. No doubt there -are men who ought not to play, who ought to -abstain wholly from these games, as some men -ought to abstain wholly from drink, who cannot -use such things temperately, which is the -more worthy and manly way—men so constituted -that these sort of games rouse all that -is brutal in their natures, others who become -braggarts and bullies from success in them. To -such men (and each of you can easily find -out whether he is such a man) I say abstain -wholly.</p> - -<p>Having said this, brethren, I must add that -great changes should be made in the conduct -or management of these games. They should -never, on any pretence or plea whatever, be left -in the hands of publicans. You should always -endeavour to play in sides (as is, I believe, -the most common custom) for your county or -your parish, and not for yourselves, as you are -much more likely in that way to play bravely -and fairly. Money prizes should be if possible -avoided, for money is the lowest motive for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span> -which men can undertake any work or any -game. And lastly, every one of you should -exercise his whole strength and influence in -putting down at once all brutality and bluster -and foul play.</p> - -<p>As to the rest of the amusements, the visiting -shows, the eating and drinking, the dancing -and music, I believe them all in themselves to -be lawful and right in the sight of God, and fit -things to do when we are rejoicing before Him. -But, my brethren, I do <em>not</em> think them lawful -and right, or fit things to be done before anybody -but the devil, when they end in such -scenes as, I fear—as I know—they often do -end in at our feasts. No wonder that the -feasts are falling off year by year; that they -cease to interest decent and respectable people -who used to care about them, when they -are deliberately turned by some into scenes of -drunkenness and profligacy, which can scarcely -be surpassed amongst savages and heathens.</p> - -<p>I need not dwell on this, for you all know -well enough what I mean. You all know, -too—the voice within you tells each of you -plainly enough—the moment you are going -beyond the proper limits in these matters. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> -is no use to lay down rules on such subjects. -Every man and every woman must be a law -to themselves. One can do safely what would -ruin another. And here again I say, as I said -before, the use of these things is right and -good, and what God approves of, who in his -infinite love has given us the power of enjoying -all these things, and the things themselves -to enjoy—music, and dancing, and pleasant -company, and food and drink. The abuse of -them is of the devil, and destroys body and -soul.</p> - -<p>I beseech you all to think of what I have -said, and endeavour, each in your own way, -to retain, or to bring back, if necessary, God’s -feasts into your own parishes. You, old and -grown-up men and women, by living soberly -and righteously; never making mischief, or -quarrelling; treating your children with forbearance -and love, doing your own work, and -helping others to do theirs. To you young -men, I say, as Solomon said, rejoice in your -youth; rejoice in your strength of body, and -elasticity of spirits, and the courage which follows -from these; but remember that for these -gifts you will be judged—not condemned, mind,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> -but judged. You will have to show before -a Judge who knoweth your inmost hearts, -that you have used these his great gifts well; -that you have been pure, and manly, and -true.</p> - -<p>And to you, young women, I can but say -the same. Beauty, and purity, and youth, and -merry light hearts, and all the numberless attractions -which have been poured upon you, -are tremendous influences for good or evil,—gifts -for which you will have to give an account. -Rejoice in them; use them freely; but -avoid, as you would death itself, all rivalry -with one another, all attempts to exercise power -over men you do not care for, every light -thought, and word, and look. For the light -word or look is but a step from the impure, -and the experience of the whole world is -telling you</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“How mirth can into folly glide,</div> -<div class="verse">And folly into sin.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>But now to conclude. You may ask, how -are we all to keep these things in mind? how, -when we are all met together to enjoy ourselves, -can we be ever on the watch for this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> -evil, which you say is so near us? You cannot, -my brethren; but One is with you, is in -you, who can and will, if you will let him.</p> - -<p>Men found this out in the old time, and have -felt it and known it ever since. Three thousand -years ago this truth dawned upon the -old Psalmist, and struck him with awe. He -struggled with it; he tried to escape from it, -but in vain. “Whither shall I go then,” he -says, “from thy spirit? or whither shall I flee -then from thy presence? If I go up to heaven, -Thou art there: if I go down to hell, Thou art -there also. If I take the wings of the morning, -and reside in the uttermost parts of the sea; -even there also shall thy hand lead me, and -thy right hand shall hold me.”</p> - -<p>Is any of us stronger or wiser than the -Psalmist? Is there any place for us to flee -to, which was not open to him? My brethren, -had we not better make up our minds to accept -and acknowledge the truth, to which our own -consciences bear witness; that, not only in -heaven, and in hell, and in the uttermost parts -of sea and earth, He is present, but that in -the inmost recesses of our own hearts there is -no escape from his Spirit—that He is there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span> -also, sustaining us, pleading with us, punishing -us.</p> - -<p>We know it by the regret we feel for time -wasted and opportunities neglected; by the -loathing coming back to us, time after time, -for our every untrue or mean thought, word, -or deed; by every longing after truth, and righteousness, -and purity, which stirs our sluggish -souls. By all these things, and in a thousand -other ways, we feel it, we know it.</p> - -<p>Let us, then, come to our feasts owning this, -and giving ourselves up to his guidance. At -first it will be hard work; our will and spirits -will be like a lump of ice in a man’s hand, -which yields but slowly to the warm pressure. -But do not despair; throw yourselves on his -guidance, and he will guide you, he will hide -you under his wings, you shall be safe under -his feathers, his faithfulness and truth shall be -your shield and buckler.</p> - -<p>The ice will melt into water, and the water -will lie there in the hollow of the hand, moving -at the slightest motion, obeying every impulse -which is given to it.</p> - -<p>My brethren, the Spirit of God which is in -every one of us—the Spirit of truth and love<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span> -unchangeable—will take possession of our spirits, -if we will but let him, and turn not only -our feasts into feasts of the Lord, but our -whole lives into the lives of children of God, -and joint-heirs of heaven with his Son.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> -<img src="images/i306.jpg" width="300" height="300" alt="(decorative)" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="APPENDIX">APPENDIX.</h2> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> -<img src="images/i307.jpg" width="300" height="240" alt="A child blowing into the stone" /> -</div> - -<h3><span class="smcap">Note I.</span></h3> - -<p>The earliest authentic historical notices of the White -Horse are, so far as I am aware,—</p> - -<p>1st. A Cartulary of the Abbey of Abingdon, now in -the British Museum, of the time of Henry II., the -exact date of it being, it is believed, <span class="smcapuc">A.D.</span> 1171. It -runs as follows: “Consuetudinis apud Anglos tunc -erat, ut monachi qui vellent pecuniarum patrimoniorum<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span> -qui forent susceptibiles, ipsisque fruentes quomodo placeret -dispensarent. Unde et in Abbendonia duo, Leofricus -et Godricus Cild appellati, quorum unus Godricus, -Spersholt juxta locum qui vulgo mons Albi Equi -nuncupatur, alter Leofricus Hwitceorce super flumen -Tamisie maneria sita patrimoniali jure obtinebant,” &c.</p> - -<p>2dly. Another Cartulary of the same Abbey, of the -reign of Richard I., which runs as follows: “Prope -montem ubi ad Album Equum scanditur, ab antiquo -tempore Ecclesia ista manerium Offentum appellatum -in dominio possidet, juxta quod villa X hidarum adjacet -ex jure Ecclesiæ quam Speresholt nominavit,” &c.</p> - -<p>3dly. An entry on the Close Rolls, 42 Ed. III., or -<span class="smcapuc">A.D.</span> 1368-9:—“Gerard de l’Isle tient en la vale de -White Horse one fee,” &c. See Archæologia, vol. xxxi. -p. 290. Letter from William Thoms, Esq. to J. Y. -Ackerman, Esq., Secretary.</p> - -<p>Coming down to comparatively modern times, it is -curious that so little notice should have been taken of -the White Horse by our antiquaries. Wise, in his -Letter to Dr. Mead (1738), which has been already -quoted from in the text, regrets this, and then adds: -“Leland’s journey does not seem to have carried him -this way, nor does Camden here go out of the other’s -track; though he mentions, upon another occasion, and -by the bye, <i>The White Horse</i>; but in such a manner, -that I could wish, for his own sake, he had passed it -over in silence with the rest. For his own account<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span> -is altogether so unbecoming so faithful and accurate -an author, insinuating to his readers that it has no -existence but in the imagination of country people. -‘<i>The Thames</i>,’ says he, ‘<i>falls into a valley, which they -call</i> The Vale of White Horse, <i>from I know not what -shape of a Horse fancied on the side of a whitish Hill</i>.’ -Much nearer to the truth is Mr. Aubrey, however wide -of the mark, who, in the additions to the Britannia, -says: ‘I leave others to determine, whether the White -Horse on the Hill was made by Hengist, since the -Horse was the arms or figure in Hengist’s standard.’ -The author of a ‘Tour through England,’ is a little -more particular, though he leaves us as much in the -dark about the antiquity and design of it. ‘Between -this town of Marlborow and Abingdon, is the Vale of -White Horse. The inhabitants tell a great many fabulous -stories of the original of its name; but there is -nothing of foundation in them, that I could find. The -whole of the story is this: Looking south from the -Vale, we see a trench cut on the side of a high, green -hill, in the shape of a horse, and not ill-shaped neither; -the trench is about a yard deep, and filled almost up -with chalk, so that at a distance you see the exact -shape of a White Horse, but so large, as to take up -near an acre of ground, some say almost two acres. -From this figure, the Hill is called in our maps, White -Horse Hill, and the low or flat country under it the -Vale of White Horse.’ (See pp. 30, 31.)</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span></p> - -<h3><span class="smcap">Note II.</span></h3> - -<p>Medeshamstede, however, was restored with great -splendour in the year 963. The account in the Saxon -Chronicle is so illustrative of what was going on in -England at the time, that I think I may be allowed to -give it, especially as the restoration was the work of a -Vale of White Horse man, Ethelwold, Abbot of Abingdon, -who was in this year made Bishop of Winchester.</p> - -<p>Edgar was king, and Dunstan Archbishop of Canterbury—Ethelwold, -after strong measures at Winchester, -(where “he drove the clerks out of the bishopric -because they would not observe any rule, and he set -the monks there,”) “went to the king and begged of -him that he would give him all the minsters which -heathen men had of old time broken down, because he -would restore them; and the king joyfully granted it.” -Then he restored Ely, and “after that came Bishop -Ethelwold to the minster which was called Medeshamstede, -which of old time had been destroyed by heathen -men. He found nothing there but old walls and wild -woods. There found he hidden in the old walls writings -that Abbot Hudda had erewhile written, how king -Wulfhere and Ethelred his brother had built it, and -how they had freed it against king and against bishop, -and against all secular service, and how the pope Agatho -had confirmed the same by his rescript, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span> -archbishop ‘deo dedit.’ Then caused he the minster -to be built, and set there an abbot who was called Adulf, -and caused monks to be there where before was nothing. -Then came he to the king and caused him to -look at the writings which before were found, and the -king answered then and said, I, Edgar, grant and give -to-day before God and before the Archbishop Dunstan, -freedom to St. Peter’s minster, from king and from -bishop, and all the villages that lie thereto, that is to -say, Eastfield, and Dodthorp, and Eye, and Paxton. -And thus I free it, that no bishop have there any command -without the abbot of the minster. And I give -the town which is called Oundle, with all which thereto -lieth, that is to say, that which is called ‘the eight hundreds,’ -and market and toll so freely that neither king, -nor bishop, nor earl, nor sheriff have there any command, -nor any man except the Abbot alone and him -whom he thereto appointeth”—and after giving other -lands to Christ and St. Peter through the prayer of -Bishop Ethelwold, “with sack and sock, toll and team, -and infangthief,” and willing “that a market be in the -same town, and no other be between Stamford and -Huntingdon,” the king ends: “And I will that all -liberties and all the remissions that my predecessors -have given, that they stand, and I sign and confirm it -with Christ’s rood token. ✠” “Then Dunstan the -Archbishop of Canterbury answered and said, I grant -that all the things which are here given and spoken of,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span> -and all the things which thy predecessors and mine -have conceded, those will I that they stand; and whosoever -this breaketh, then give I him the curse of God, -and of all saints, and of all ordained heads, and of -myself, unless he come to repentance. And I give in -acknowledgment to St. Peter my mass-hackel, and my -stole, and my reef, for the service of Christ.” “I, Oswald, -Archbishop of York, assent to all these words, by -the holy rood which Christ suffered on. ✠” “I, Ethelwold, -bless all who shall observe this, and I excommunicate -all who shall break this, unless he come to repentance.” -So the minster at Medeshamstede was set -up again under Adulf, who bought lands and greatly -enriched it, till Oswald died, and he was chosen Archbishop -of York, and was succeeded as abbot by Kenulph, -who “first made the wall about the minster; -then gave he that to name Peterborough which was -before called Medeshamstede.”—<i>Saxon Chronicle</i> <span class="smcapuc">A.D.</span> -963.</p> - -<h3><span class="smcap">Note III.</span><br /> -SITE OF THE BATTLE OF ASHDOWN.</h3> - -<p>There are four spots in Berkshire which claim the -honour of being the Œscendun of the chroniclers, where -Æthelred and Alfred gained their great victory; they -are Ilsley, Ashamstead, Aston in the parish of Bluberry, -and Ashdown, close to White Horse Hill. Now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span> -it seems clear that Ashdown was, in Saxon times, the -name of a district stretching over a considerable portion -of the Berkshire chalk range, and it is quite possible -that all of the above sites may have been included -in that district; therefore, I do not insist much upon -the name, though whatever weight is to be attached to -it, must tell in favour of the latter site, that of Ashdown. -Let us, however, consider the other qualifications -of the rival sites.</p> - -<p>That of Ilsley is supported, so far as I know, only -by Hewitt in his antiquities of the Hundred of Compton -(1844); and his argument rests chiefly on the -fitness of the ground for the scene of a great battle. -He tells us that the detachments of three Waterloo -regiments, marching through Ilsley in 1816, when they -came to the spot, stopped and called out, “Waterloo! -Waterloo!” to one another. He also states that the -name Ilsley is, in fact, “Hilde læg,” the field of battle; -but as he has no tradition in his favour, and cannot, so -far as I know, point to any remains in the neighbourhood -in support of his theory, I think his case must -fail, and only mention it to show that I have not overlooked -the claim.</p> - -<p>Ashamstead, situate five miles to the southeast of -Ilsley, is named by the Lysons in their topographical -account of Berkshire as the probable site of the battle, -but they give no reasons, and are unsupported by tradition -or remains.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span></p> - -<p>Aston has a stronger case. It is situate between -Wallingford and Ilsley. The range of chalk hills rises -just above it, and one detached hill is here thrown out -into the vale, on which are still visible considerable -earthworks. There is a chapel called Thorn Chapel -on the eastern slope of this hill, and I am told there is -a tradition that this chapel was built on the spot where -some Saxon king heard mass on the morning of a -battle. It is suggested by Mr. Lousley and others, that -the Saxons occupied this outlying hill, the Danes the -opposite range; and that the battle was fought in the -valley between, where, when the road was recently -altered, a number of bones were found, apparently -thrown in together without care, as would be the case -after a battle. There are, however, no regular barrows -or other remains. Bishop Gibson is in favour of this -spot, on account, as it would seem, of a passage in the -Saxon Chronicle for the year 1006, which runs as follows: -“They” (the Danes) “destroyed Wallingford, -and passed a night at Cholsey.” Then they “turned -<em>along Ashdown</em> to Cwichelmes Low.”</p> - -<p>The bishop says, that Cwichelmes Low (the <i>low</i> or -hill of King Cwichelm, who reigned in these parts, and -died in the year 636 <span class="smcapuc">A.D.</span>) is Cuckhamsley Hill, or -Scuchamore Knob, as it is generally called; a high -hill in the same chalk range, about ten miles east of -White Horse Hill; and he argues that, as the Danes -went <em>from</em> Wallingford, <em>by</em> Ashdown, <em>to</em> Cwichelmes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span> -Low, we must look for Ashdown between Wallingford -and Cuckhamsley Hill. Now Aston lies directly between -the two, therefore Aston is Ashdown, and the -site of the battle. But the place now called Ashdown -is on the further side of Cuckhamsley Hill from Wallingford—therefore -the Danes could not have passed -it in getting from Wallingford to Cuckhamsley Hill—therefore -the modern Ashdown cannot be the site of -the battle.</p> - -<p>To this I answer, <i>First</i>, the Bishop <em>assumes</em> that -Cwichelmes Low is Cuckhamsley Hill, without giving -any reason.</p> - -<p><i>Secondly</i>, assuming Cwichelmes Low and Cuckhamsley -Hill to be identical; yet, as Ashdown was clearly -a large tract of country, the Danes might go from Wallingford, -<em>along</em> a part of it, <em>to</em> Cwichelmes Low without -passing the battle-field.</p> - -<p><i>Thirdly</i>, the name Aston is written “Estone” in -Domesday Book; meaning “East town,” or enclosure, -and not “Mons fraxini,” the “Hill of the Ash-tree.”</p> - -<p><i>Fourthly</i>, Æthelred and Alfred would have kept to -the hills in their retreat, and never have allowed the -Danes to push them out into the Thames-valley, where -the Pagan cavalry would have been invaluable; but -this must have been the case, if we suppose Aston to -be the site of the battle. Lastly, all the above sites -are too near to Reading, the farthest being only sixteen -miles from that town. But Æthelred and Alfred had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span> -been retreating three days, and would therefore much -more probably be found at Ashdown by White Horse -Hill, which is ten miles farther along the range of -hills.</p> - -<p>Ashdown, the remaining site, and the one which I -believe to be the true one, is the down which surrounds -White Horse Hill, in the parish of Uffington. On the -highest point of the hill, which is 893 feet above the -level of the sea, stands Uffington Castle, a plain of more -than eight acres in extent, surrounded by earthworks, -and a single deep ditch, which Camden, and other high -authorities, say are Danish.</p> - -<p>There is another camp, with earthworks, called Hardwell -Camp, about a mile W.N.W. of Uffington Castle, -and a third smaller circular camp, called King Alfred’s -camp, about a mile to the S.W., which may still be -made out, close to the wall of Ashdown Park, Lord -Craven’s seat, although Aubrey says, that in his time -the works were “almost quite defaced, by digging for -the Sarsden stones to build my Lord Craven’s house in -the Park.” Wise suggests that the Danes held Uffington -Castle; that Æthelred was in Hardwell-camp, and -Alfred in Alfred’s camp. A mile and a half to the -eastward, in which direction the battle must have rolled, -as the Saxons slowly gained the day, is a place called -the Seven Barrows, where are seven circular burial-mounds, -and several other large irregularly-shaped -mounds, full of bones; the light soil which covers the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span> -chalk is actually black around them. The site agrees -in all points with the description in the chroniclers; it -is the proper distance from Reading; the name is the -one used by the chroniclers,—“Ash-down,” “Mons -Fraxini,” “Æscendun;” it is likely that Æthelred -would have fought somewhere hereabouts to protect -Wantage, a royal burg, and his birthplace, which would -have been otherwise at the mercy of the enemy; and -lastly, there—and not at Cuckhamsley Hill, or elsewhere—is -carved the White Horse, which has been -from time immemorial held to be a monument of the -great victory of Ashdown. For the above reasons, I -think we are justified in claiming this as the site of -the battle.</p> - -<h3><span class="smcap">Note IV.</span><br /> -WAYLAND SMITH’S CAVE.</h3> - -<p>Wise (see p. 35) says he thinks he has discovered -the place of burial of King Basreg, Bagseeg (or whatever -his name might be, for it is given in seven or -eight different ways in the chroniclers), in Wayland -Smith’s cave, which place he describes as follows:—</p> - -<p>“The place is distinguished by a parcel of stones -set on edge, and enclosing a piece of ground raised a -few feet above the common level, which every one -knows was the custom of the Danes, as well as of some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span> -other northern nations. And Wormius observes, that -if any Danish chief was slain in a foreign country, they -took care to bury him as pompously as if he had died -in his own. Mr. Aubrey’s account of it is this: ‘About -a mile [or less] from the Hill [White Horse Hill] -there are a great many large stones, which, though -very confused, must yet be laid there on purpose. -Some of them are placed edgewise, but the rest are so -disorderly that one would imagine they were tumbled -out of a cart.’ The disorder which Mr. Aubrey speaks -of is occasioned by the people having thrown down -some of the stones (for they all seem originally to have -been set on edge), and broken them to pieces to mend -their highways. Those that are left enclose a piece of -ground of an irregular figure at present, but which -formerly might have been an oblong square, extending -only north and south.</p> - -<p>“On the east side of the southern extremity stand -three squarish flat stones of about four or five feet -over each way, set on edge, and supporting a fourth of -much larger dimensions, lying flat upon them. These -altogether form a cavern or sheltering-place, resembling -pretty exactly those described by Wormius, Bartholine, -and others, except in the dimensions of the stones; for -whereas this may shelter only ten or a dozen sheep -from a storm, Wormius mentions one in Denmark that -would shelter a hundred.</p> - -<p>“I know of no other monument of this sort in England;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span> -but in Wales and the Isle of Anglesey there are -several not unlike it, called by the natives <i>Cromlechs</i>. -The Isle of Anglesey having been the chief seat of the -Druids, induced its learned antiquary to ascribe them to -the ancient Britons; an assertion that I will not take -upon me to contradict, but shall only at this time observe, -that I find sufficient authorities to convince me -that ours must be Danish.</p> - -<p>“Whether this remarkable piece of antiquity ever -bore the name of the person here buried is not now to -be learned, the true meaning of it being long since lost -in ignorance and fable. All the account which the -country people are able to give of it is, ‘At this place -lived formerly an invisible smith; and if a traveller’s -horse had lost a shoe upon the road, he had no more to -do than to bring the horse to this place, with a piece of -money, and leaving both there for some little time, he -might come again and find the money gone, but the -horse new shod.’ The stones standing upon the <i>Rudgeway</i>, -as it is called (which was the situation that they -chose for burial monuments), I suppose gave occasion -to the whole being called Wayland Smith, which is the -name it was always known by to the country people.</p> - -<p>“An English antiquary might find business enough -who should attempt to unriddle all the fabulous traditions -of the vulgar, which ascribe these works of unknown -antiquity to demons and invisible powers.</p> - -<p>“Leaving, therefore, the story of the invisible smith<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span> -to be discussed by those who have more leisure, I only -remark, that these stones are, according to the best -Danish antiquaries, a burial altar; that their being -raised in the midst of a plain field, near the great road, -seems to indicate some person there slain and buried, -and that this person was probably a chief or king; -there being no monument of this sort near that place, -perhaps not in England, beside.” (See pp. 35, 36, 37.)</p> - -<p>I have given Wise’s statement of his own case, but -the better opinion amongst antiquaries seems to be that -he is wrong, and that the cromlech, called Wayland -Smith’s Cave, is of much earlier date than 871 <span class="smcapuc">A.D.</span></p> - -<p>I insert here the note from Kenilworth (note B, p. -218) in which Sir Walter Scott mentions Wayland -Smith’s Cave:—</p> - -<p>“The great defeat given by Alfred to the Danish -invaders, is said by Mr. Gough to have taken place -near Ashdown in Berkshire. The burial-place of Bœreg, -the Danish chief who was slain in this fight, is distinguished -by a parcel of stones, less than a mile from the -hill, set on edge, enclosing a piece of ground somewhat -raised. On the east side of the southern extremity, -stand three squarish flat stones, of about four or five -feet over either way, supporting a fourth, and now -called by the vulgar Wayland Smith, from an idle tradition -about an invisible smith replacing lost horseshoes -there.” (Gough’s edition of Camden’s <i>Britannica</i>. -Vol. I. p. 221.)</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span></p> - -<p>“The popular belief still retains memory of this -wild legend, which, connected as it is with the site of a -Danish sepulchre, may have arisen from some legend -concerning the northern Duergar, who resided in the -rocks, and were cunning workers in steel and iron. It -was believed that Wayland Smith’s fee was sixpence, -and that, unlike other workmen, he was offended if -more was offered. Of late his offices have been again -called to memory; but fiction has in this, as in other -cases, taken the liberty to pillage the stores of oral tradition. -This monument must be very ancient, for it -has been kindly pointed out to me that it is referred to -in an ancient Saxon charter as a landmark. The monument -has been of late cleared out, and made considerably -more conspicuous.”</p> - -<p>It will be seen from this that Sir Walter assumes -the view of Wise to be correct, but he never saw the -place.</p> - -<h3><span class="smcap">Note V.</span></h3> - -<p>As an illustration of one of the methods by which traditions -are kept up in the country, I insert some verses -written by Job Cork, an Uffington man of two generations -back, who was a shepherd on White Horse Hill -for fifty years.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“It was early one summer’s morn,</div> -<div class="verse">The weather fine and very warm,</div> -<div class="verse">A stranger to White Horse Hill did go</div> -<div class="verse">To view the plains and fields below.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“As he along the hill did ride,</div> -<div class="verse">Taking a view on every side,</div> -<div class="verse">The which he did so much enjoy</div> -<div class="verse">Till a shepherd’s dog did him annoy.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“At length an aged man appeared,</div> -<div class="verse">A watching of his fleecy herd,</div> -<div class="verse">With threadbare coat and downcast eye,</div> -<div class="verse">To which the stranger did draw nigh.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“‘O noble shepherd, can you tell</div> -<div class="verse">How long you kept sheep on this hill?’</div> -<div class="verse">‘Zeven yeur in Zundays I have been</div> -<div class="verse">A shepherd on this hill so green.’</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“‘That is a long time, I must own,</div> -<div class="verse">You have kept sheep upon this down;</div> -<div class="verse">I think that you must have been told</div> -<div class="verse">Of things that have been done of old.’</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“‘Ah, Zur, I can remember well</div> -<div class="verse">The stories the old voke do tell—</div> -<div class="verse">Upon this hill which here is seen</div> -<div class="verse">Many a battle there have been.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“‘If it is true as I heard zay,</div> -<div class="verse">King Gaarge did here the dragon slay,</div> -<div class="verse">And down below on yonder hill</div> -<div class="verse">They buried him as I heard tell.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“‘If you along the Rudgeway go,</div> -<div class="verse">About a mile for aught I know,</div> -<div class="verse">There Wayland’s Cave then you may see</div> -<div class="verse">Surrounded by a group of trees.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“‘They say that in this cave did dwell</div> -<div class="verse">A smith that was invisible;</div> -<div class="verse">At last he was found out, they say,</div> -<div class="verse">He blew up the place and vlod away.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“‘To Devonshire then he did go,</div> -<div class="verse">Full of sorrow, grief, and woe,</div> -<div class="verse">Never to return again,</div> -<div class="verse">So here I’ll add the shepherd’s name—</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse attribution">“<span class="smcap">Job Cork.</span>’”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span></p> - -<p>There is no merit in the lines beyond quaintness; but -they are written in the sort of jingle which the poor -remember; they have lived for fifty years and more, -and will probably, in quiet corners of the Vale, outlive -the productions of much more celebrated versemakers -than Job Cork, though probably they were -never reduced into writing until written out at my request.</p> - -<p>Job Cork was a village humorist, and stories are still -told of his sayings, some of which have a good deal of -fun in them; I give one example in the exact words in -which it was told to me:—</p> - -<p>“One night as Job Cork came off the downs, drough-wet -to his very skin, it happened his wife had been a -baking. So, when he went to bed, his wife took his -leather breeches, and put ’em in the oven to dry ’em. -When he woke in the morning he began to feel about -for his thengs, and he called out, and zed, ‘Betty, where -be mee thengs?’ ‘In the oven,’ zed his wife. Zo he -looked in the oven and found his leather breeches all -cockled up together like a piece of parchment, and he -bawled out, ‘O Lard! O Lard! what be I to do? Was -ever man plagued as I be?’ ‘Patience, Job, patience, -Job,’ zed his wife; ‘remember thy old namesake, how -he was plagued.’ ‘Ah!’ zed the old man, ‘’a was plagued -surely; but his wife never baked his breeches.’”</p> - -<p>Other shepherds of the Hill have been poets in a -rough sort of way. I add one of their home-made songs,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span> -as I am anxious to uphold the credit of my countrymen -as a tuneful race.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Come, all you shepherds as minds for to be,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">You must have a gallant heart,</div> -<div class="verse">You must not be down-hearted,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">You must a-bear the smart;</div> -<div class="verse">You must a-bear the smart, my boys,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Let it hail or rain or snow,</div> -<div class="verse">For there is no ale to be had on the Hill</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Where the wintry wind doth blow.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“When I kept sheep on White Horse Hill</div> -<div class="verse indent1">My heart began to ache,</div> -<div class="verse">My old ewes all hung down their heads,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And my lambs began to bleat.</div> -<div class="verse">Then I cheered up with courage bold,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And over the Hill did go,</div> -<div class="verse">For there is no ale to be had on the Hill</div> -<div class="verse indent1">When the wintry wind doth blow.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“I drive my sheep into the fold,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">To keep them safe all night,</div> -<div class="verse">For drinking of good ale, my boys,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">It is my heart’s delight.</div> -<div class="verse">I drove my sheep into the fold,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And homeward I did go,</div> -<div class="verse">For there is no ale to be had on the Hill</div> -<div class="verse indent1">When the wintry wind doth blow.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“We shepherds are the liveliest lads</div> -<div class="verse indent1">As ever trod English ground,</div> -<div class="verse">If we drops into an ale-house</div> -<div class="verse indent1">We values not a crownd.</div> -<div class="verse">We values not a crownd, my boys,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">We’ll pay before we go,</div> -<div class="verse">For there is no ale to be had on the Hill</div> -<div class="verse indent1">When the wintry wind doth blow.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="titlepage">THE END.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Booklist_Page_1" id="Booklist_Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="A_LIST_OF_BOOKS">A LIST OF BOOKS -PUBLISHED BY -TICKNOR AND FIELDS.</h2> - -<p class="center">🖙 Any books in this list will be sent free of postage, on receipt -of price.</p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Boston, 135 Washington Street</span></p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">January, 1859.</span></p> - -<h3 class="author">Sir Walter Scott.</h3> - -<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">Illustrated Household Edition of the Waverley -Novels.</span> In portable size, 16mo. form. Price 75 cents a -volume.</p> - -<p>The paper is of fine quality; the stereotype plates are not old -ones repaired, the type having been cast expressly for this edition. -The Novels are illustrated with capital steel plates engraved -in the best manner, after drawings and paintings by the -most eminent artists, among whom are Birket Foster, Darley, -Billings, Landseer, Harvey, and Faed. 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