I could find out nothing whatever about the next Scouring; but I was lucky enough to get the printed hand-bill which was published before the one in 1776, which I made out to be the next but one after that at which Tim Gibbons played.
When I showed this old hand-bill to the Parson he was very much tickled. He took up the one which the Committee put out this last time, and looked at them together for a minute, and then tossed them across to me.
“What a queer contrast,” said he, “between those two bills.”
“How do you mean, Sir?” said I; “why the games seem to be nearly the same.”
“So they are,” said he; “but look at the prizes. Our great grandfathers, you’ll see, gave no money prizes; we scarcely any others. The gold-laced hat and buckskin breeches have gone, and current coin of the realm reigns supreme. Then look at the happy-go-lucky way in which the old bill is put out. No date given, no name signed! who was responsible for the breeches, or the shoe-buckles? And then, what grammar! The modern bill, you see, is in the shape of resolutions, passed at a meeting, the chairman’s name being appended as security for the prizes.”
“That seems much better and more business-like,” said I.
“Then you see the horserace for a silver cup has disappeared,” he went on. “Epsom and Ascot have swallowed up the little country races, just as big manufacturers swallow up little ones, and big shops whole streets of little shops, and nothing but monsters flourish in this age of unlimited competition and general enlightenment. Not that I regret the small country town-races, though.”
“And I see, Sir, that ‘smocks to be run for by ladies,’ is left out in the modern bill.”
“A move in the right direction there, at any rate,” said he; “the bills ought to be published side by side.” So I took his advice, and here they are:—