The next Scouring, about which any record is found, did not take place till 1825, and it seems to have been the largest gathering there has ever been. The games were held at the Seven Barrows, which are distant two miles in a south-easterly direction from the White Horse, instead of in Uffington Castle, for some reason which does not appear. These seven barrows are popularly supposed to be the burial places of the principal men who were killed at Ashdown. 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_ says 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." The next took place in September, 1843, about which it is recorded that 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 then were two men who came down from London, who won the wrestling prize away from the countrymen. There seems to have been some difficulty in getting the elephant's caravan up the Hill, for Wombwell's menagerie came down for the Scouring, and, though four-and-twenty horses were put to, it stuck fast four or five times. It does not seem to have struck the Berkshire folk that it would have been simpler to turn the elephant out and make him pull his own caravan up. In September, 1857, was celebrated the festival so admirably described by Judge Hughes in his book, "The Scouring of the White Horse," to which we would refer our readers. Of subsequent Scourings there is little or no record, village festivals having fallen gradually into disuse through the advent of railways and other means of communication with the outer world. The last took place in 1892, and was undertaken at the sole expense of Lady Craven, of Ashdown Park, the Horse having become so obliterated by neglect that its outline could scarcely be traced even at a few miles distance. It was unaccompanied by any festivities whatever. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 5: Drew lots.] The Last of the Abbots. There are few sadder stories than that of Hugh Farringdon, 31st mitred abbot of the great Abbey of Reading. One of the foremost ecclesiastics in the kingdom at the time of his terrible death, even in Henry VIII.'s reign of terror, few men fell so far, so suddenly, and so fatally.