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,