An old man, William Townsend by name, whose father, one Warman Townsend, had run down the manger after the fore-wheel of a waggon, and won the cheese at this scouring, told 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 soot flee a good 'un;" and how "the wheel ran pretty nigh down to the springs that time." [Illustration: WHITE HORSE HILL.] The next Scouring seems to have been held in 1785, concerning which one William Ayres of Uffington, aged about 84 years, in 1857 made the following statements:--"When I were a buoy about ten years old 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 than now--Augh! bless 'ee, 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 of the public-houses too for that matter. But 'twur not only for that as the times wur better then--But I be gandering shure enough,--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 were a vine owld tharnin'-tree in thay days--a very nice bush. They started from Idle's bush, as I tell 'ee, and raced up to the Rudge-waay; and Varmer Mifflin's mare had it all one way, and beeat all the t'other on 'um holler. The pastime then wur a good 'un a wonderful sight o' folk 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 beeat--a fine bit o' spwoort to be shure, and meead the volks laaf. Another geeam 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, a did I assure 'ee, but thaay as tasted 'un said a warn't very capital arter all. Then were 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. Then wur climmin' a grasy pole for a leg of mutton, too: and backsoordin', and wrastlin', and all that, ye knows. A man by the name of Blackford, from the low countries, Zummersetshire, or that waay someweres, 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 on about twenty years arter, I'll warn 'twer--at Shrin'um Revel, Harry Stanley, the landlord o' the Blawin Stwun, broke his yead, and the low-country men seemed afeard o' Harry round about here for long arter that. Varmer Smallbwones, of Sparsholt, a mazin' stout man, and one as scarce no one, go where 'a would, could drow down, beeat all the low-country chaps at wrastlin', and none could stan' agean 'un. And so he got the