On the conclusion of the day’s sport the man who had the honour of “goaling” the ball was the champion of the year; the bells of the victorious parish announced the conquest, and the victor was chaired through the town. So universal has been the feeling with regard to this game, that it is said a gentleman from Derby having met with a person in the backwoods of America, whom from his style and conversation he suspected to be from the Midland Counties of England, cried out when he saw him, “_All Saints’ for ever_;” to this the stranger instantly retorted, “_Peter’s for ever_;” and this satisfied them that they were fellow-townsmen. A foot-ball match is also played at Ashborne nearly in the same manner as at Derby.--_Jour. Arch. Assoc._, 1852, vol. vii. p. 203. A custom prevailed, too, in some parts of Derbyshire which gave licence to the young men and boys to kiss any young women or girls whom they chose. This, together with the general holiday observed in the afternoon of that day, and the customary sports then indulged in, is of course a remnant of the mediæval carnival. DEVONSHIRE. In the south-eastern part of Devon the children at this season of the year visit people’s houses, singing: “Tippetty, tippetty to, Give me a pancake and I’ll be go.” _N. & Q. 1st S._ vol. xi. p. 244. At Tavistock, the following lines are sung by the children at the houses of the principal inhabitants: “Lancrock (?) a pancake, A fritter for my labour; I see by the string The good dame’s in. Tippy tappy, toe, Nippy, nappy, no; If you’ll give something. I’ll be ago (i.e., gone).” _N. & Q. 4th S._ vol. v. p. 380. DORSETSHIRE AND WILTSHIRE. In these, if not in other counties, a practice called _Lent Crocking_ is observed. The boys go about in small parties visiting the various houses, headed by a leader, who goes up and knocks at the door, leaving his followers behind him, armed with a good stock of potsherds--the collected relics of the washing-pans, jugs, dishes, and plates, that have become the victims of concussion in the hands of unlucky or careless housewives for the past year. When the door is opened, the hero--who is, perhaps, a farmer’s boy, with a pair of black eyes sparkling under the tattered brim of his brown milking-hat--hangs down his head, and, with one corner of his mouth turned up into an irrepressible smile pronounces the following lines: “A-shrovin, a-shrovin, I be come a-shrovin; A piece of bread, a piece of cheese, A bit of your fat bacon; Or a dish of dough nuts, All of your own makin! “A-shrovin, a-shrovin, I be come a-shrovin, Nice meat in a pie, My mouth is very dry! I wish a wuz zoo well-a-wet, I’de zing the louder for a nut! Chorus.--A shrovin, a-shrovin, We be come a shrovin!”