The Scouring of the White Horse

ater 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

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 fe

g for you; it’s all over for to-day. Lu sent me after you to come and have some t

t Miss Lucy had sent after me,

ou going to

iving away of the prizes in the tent; and then, if any thing should happen af

ll leave it open; so I followed him to the west side of the

her, were setting out a few cups and saucers and plates, which they had borrowed from some of the stalls. Mr. Warton[204] 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 dr

said she, looking up at us; “wh

h, perhaps, was rather more than I ought to have said; “but it isn

there’s a will there’s a way. If I hadn’t found friends, I might have been al

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

n, looking up from the fire; “bo

parcel of tea from her bag,

she; “do run and fetch it, Jack—it’s in a b

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 sta

2

re we had finished, and it

ut to. You’d better be starting, Lu; you won’t be down hi

her bonnet, and putting it on; “w

with them, I suppo

y promised me that an hour ago.” I could have given him a go

, Jack?” said she; but I di

hill,” said I. “Besides, the fou

; and began talking to

you to get do

,” said I, “or

2

t would carry six, if her back was long enough;

rd to any of us. I walked with Mr. Warton, who was in the highest spirits,

t, 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,

hought I might as well[208] 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 lou

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 be

o and find Joe; so I went[209] over to the tent, and t

harge of pocket-picking, of which there were only two during the whole day, the police told me.

ight 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[210] tie, b

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[211] 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

in which he drew his last comparison, after a moment’s pause to think of the thing he

e supper, and went out. It was getting[212] 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, a

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 w

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 t

aking 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 o

watercress eat well with your beef,

I find that watching the ga

r Downs. Do more for the appetite in six hours than I can in a week. H

and soon made me feel myself quite at home. I own that I had done my neighbours a little injustice; for

me a large cigar, the first whiff of which gave me a high idea of the

2

three men were joining, rose from the other e

t,” said the short scholar; “I can’

; “we have ceased to be a singing nation. The people have lo

ort scholar; “I should like to

do you mean, Sir?” sai

he. “Songs written for the people, about their heroes, and,

e’s a Good Time Coming’?”

he other; “but you know it was written by Mackay

” said the[216] short scholar; “I

ndon, Is there any life or go in ‘Woodman spare that Tree,’ or ‘The Old Arm-C

the short scholar; “you’re never pleased wi

ular; a brave story, or a quaint story, or a funny story, in good rough verse, that’s all I ask for

f. “I dare say you wouldn’t think them worth much; but the

masses, in this century, for instance? Where did

2

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

istcoat, and a blue birdseye-neckerchief, who seemed pleased, and drew his sleeve across his mouth, and cle

H OF LOR

lant seamen as u

e lines I be g

heard them ’twill

rd Nelson he me

bold and unda

sail on the

2

French and the

uring into the

agements ’twas

s life was he k

an arm, likewise

earth ever cou

death it was

reathe, his great

igation was g

loyal and tru

he doctor in a

Nelson these w

my Lord, it is

lying and blee

o matter what

come, I’m almo

llant seamen a-f

our duty to all

voice he calls ou

ir, hear how th

great guns do co

approaching I

ship has gone do

captive and broug

ve blown quite

news I have brou

lant seamen as u

rd Nelson’s m

duty, when you

loyal and tru

2

clude and fini

come; kiss me,

with you, and ten

rd Nelson in b

, mourn, mourn

Lord Nelson, who

ged the table till he upset and broke his tumbler, which the vigila

o get all the song, except one verse between

t a stunning call. Couldn’t the old bird give us another bit of history? It’s as g

it is!” said the long scholar; “

t,” said the Doctor, working

2

o that gentleman,” said the long scholar, pointing to the old

the liquor, and the old man t

ell me what ‘Vicar of Bray’ means? I saw two men quarrelling just after the games, and it was all their wive

t think they used the name now; but I remember the time when it wa

r; “pretty village just below Maidenhead.

retty village to have had such

2

set off some of the singing birds at the other end of the

ll at his pewter, “only the song is in print, I know, somewhere; so you mustn’t think you’ve fo

ut I should like to h

further preface, began

CAR OF

g Charles’s

ty had no

High-Churc

gained pr

flock I ne

e by God

damned who

the Lord’

his is law, I

dying d

ever king s

e Vicar of

2

ames obtaine

y grew in

Laws I h

the Dec

f Rome I fou

l my con

d been a

the Re

is is

m, our deli

e nation’s

ned cat-in

to him a

iples I d

ience at

bedience

as non-r

is is

s Anne becam

of Englan

ce of thin

became

l Conform

such mo

the Church i

prevar

is is

in pudding-t

e men looke

es I change

ecame a

2

referment

aith’s gre

t every d

and the P

is is

ious House

estant S

I lustily

can keep

faith an

once wil

my king sha

he times

is is

ey 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 song

KSHIRE

ived in the W

wn, bo

ived in the W

ughters one,

be true t

e’ll be t

alking by the

wn, bo

alking by the

pushed the

l be tr

sister, pray

down

thee both hou

I’ll

r gee thee h

down

gee me thine

I’ll

2

sank and a

down

ame to the

I’ll

daughter stoo

down

s any gil

I’ll

h vather, her

down

e a drownded

I’ll

e fot his po

down

he fair maid ou

I’ll

I’ll gee the

down

h me back to my

I’ll

he took her

down

d the fair m

I’ll

r he cum, and

down

d a cry and a

I’ll

2

e miller besid

down

the varmer’s

I’ll

he fled beyo

down

d maid among b

I’ll

my tale of the

it the Barksh

I’ll

u to tell us about this? When did it happen? Who was the

ng the song when I was a little chap in petticoats. But the story seems a common one. The

f Binnorie,’ is not it?

’s the nam

2

nd his daughter as fair as any gilly-flower (why are millers’ daughters a

booth,” said the Doctor. “And, Peter, bring me a little cold gin-and-water, and a

bargained for. However, I suppose

ROWNE

sion of the Bar

not a phe

a phea

t was a

ing down t

t harper

s poor la

is pains h

a swee

dried he

out her

2

hereof a f

to pla

hair so lo

her back

lay it up

g his fi

id he with

so straight

d cut the

up his

went he, as

summe

a goodly

d him in

r bones he d

heir bone

d so like h

rts began

ed him in

ow’s mig

hare their

right w

is fiddle

old ma

nd sung all

sung this

he squire, my

ng hisse

2

d he, ah

my bod

my mother,

g of he

deep, if one

reserves

my sister,

week dr

y love, with

ing love

the Crowne

mforteth

s Crowner’s q

is Crown

is fiddle t

upon t

little pi

spoke ne

e though. I don’t know that I ever heard one at all li

ire Tragedy, it’s all older than my time, for I remember my father sing

2

did he s

them often when he was a child, and always the same words. The rest was all patch-work,

, “the Doctor don’t seem to be a ba

ng carter, at a distant table, took his pipe from his lips, and, in answer to the

’S GA

in Cu-bit

r nor ha

I zeed tw

der Cu-bi

of sweet

ly and

the faire

he gard

tepped to

rds to h

2

aged to arr

l to me,

aged to narr

mnly d

o live a

the lau-

y stars an

e’s a pr

young mayd

all mank

young may-den

her zeat

thee and I go

let she

ter. “I must have the words somehow. Let’s see, how did he begin? somethin

ng gravity. “I don’t think I can conscientiously help you to the words, when I know you’ll only b

he[232] words, or I shall have to go

u them,” said I, looki

e Doctor, glancing at my hieroglyphics; “we don’

ongs,” said the long scholar; “I suppose th

disdained all good matches, for the sake of a sailor boy with tarry trousers, or a

to the mother, “You

and Earls alike th

umble life, and my

prospects, with my b

ing nature’s prospects’ mea

n’t pretend to construe; I only give you the words

2

ouring boy that ploug

k is over, his h

rl that gets a bon

egendary, and sentimental ditties; but how about drinking songs? All tune

ff 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 th

P.—Air, “D

ce brewed a b

man as lovè

’ll jest ax a v

y how the likk

down

2

Tom Ockle, he

Smith, who’s a

e Mabbutt, who

thay’ll make

down

tapped, and the

our drenked I n

or other th

how the dre

down

this did look

vriends, I’d

as made ’ee as

you dree can ki

down

house, and the

adow as leads

nly med zee

o’ crooked

down

Ockle, “Owld T

abbott, “I’m un

zay, vor yer m

two narrer bri

down

n deep,” Gaarge

the water, and s

2

hould ’mazinly

hay bridges you

down

sh place to cra

e till marnin’ w

o’ use to bide st

and vinish the

down

my friend here meant by a drinking song. He expects a bucolic rendering of one of Moore’s songs,

eat 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

enny’s the very be

fourpenny, nor yet

2

as meditating on drink, it was in a pract

buttons, drab breeches, and mahogany tops; and, marching up to the bar, ordered a glass of brandy and w

new-comer with the end of his pipe; “if he stays, we shall have

asked the s

reed of sheep. He must be near seventy, and has twelve miles to ri

a tough

is 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

of port between two of them! no w

ogger 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 t

2

vant, gen’l’men,” said be, taking off his broad-brimmed beaver. “Why, Doctor,” he went on

rning the grip; “we haven’t met this long

nk God,” said the farmer. “You

, farmer, you must do us a favour, and give us your famous old Gloucestershire so

s Gaarge Ridler?

e,” said

ver, if you wants it, here goes.” So the farmer finished his brandy and water, cleared

2

y stwuns, thaay st

y stwuns, thaay st

at language?” whispe

,” murmured th

; “that’s the orthodox way t

orld to write, but the farmer

y stwuns, thaay st

twuns, thaay stwuns,

ctor had much difficulty in keeping order; then

hat built Gaar

m vrom the B

he wur a jo

did graw ab

aarge Ridler I

it vor a no

braags avo

brothers his z

the treble, and

n zing in hi

2

e wur the el

re he would z

orld, owld Gaar

merry owld E

woes scamblin

t whoam, m

n tongues let

een neames vor

I knows ne’e

earers be m

got his maa

knave droo

good comp

quoth my

ee sixpences

welcome whe

ev none, O t

y pearts go

s dead, as

be under the

earmes ther’

jowl my d

rolled it out as he came up towards our table, and a lot of the rest joined in with[241] him; even the over-worked Peter, I could see stopp

uld 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

RMILK

ld ’oman as ha

d together as

but an owld hen

landlord he

d begged me some

d ’oman as ha

ll well r

n me haf a ga

2

my buttermil

a penny as

enny then I w

have seven f

ll set them al

chickens might

chickens or s

seven half-c

arry them to m

but vine vol

oney then I w

andlord I

zon, wilt

gotten great st

other, how sha

hardly know

wld ’oman she f

r son Jack up

the shelf where th

e buttermilk, p

as got an old h

by day mind you ha

be like unto B

hickens before t

Doctor at last, looking at his watc

2

owing the Doctor’s example; “oh, I ride mysel

ng on his overcoat with Peter’s help. “If he likes to take his luck

ool 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

f it, on a fine night like this—do ’em go

quite mean

say they’re used to crowding—and, after all, very few but the owners of the booths,

e had only got on to the hill late in the afternoon; and when we came to the w

ed on the stage. There used to be some very brutal play in out-of-the-way places, where the r

ouldn’t sto

ish 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

and the Parson in the kitchen, and there, o

“You saw a good deal of the play on the s

what I had seen, and w

I, “I can’t sa

he play that wants very close watching. The umpires should be resolute, quick men,

ng his pipe out of his mo

Joseph,” interrupted the Parson

changed your mi

ports had died out, but I should like to hear that people t

e, said he would have the parish clerk

f I were rector of one of the parishes where they are still kept up

was then,” said Joe, a

“that you promised to write

er the fai

” said Joe, “I should mo

her stood out for his old high box so sturdily, that I took some pains to argue with him, and[247] 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 sh

’tis the parson’s business to keep us awake. But a sermon on our sports, just show

very curiously, and then said, “Very w

off to bed.