thumb, but the man of Colosseum notoriety) to discover. Here and there,
where some three or four couple are sitting on the grass together, you
will see a sun-burnt woman in a red cloak 'telling fortunes' and
prophesying husbands, which it requires no extraordinary observation to
describe, for the originals are before her. Thereupon, the lady
concerned laughs and blushes, and ultimately buries her face in an
imitation cambric handkerchief, and the gentleman described looks
extremely foolish, and squeezes her hand, and fees the gipsy liberally;
and the gipsy goes away, perfectly satisfied herself, and leaving those
behind her perfectly satisfied also: and the prophecy, like many other
prophecies of greater importance, fulfils itself in time.

But it grows dark: the crowd has gradually dispersed, and only a few
stragglers are left behind. The light in the direction of the church
shows that the fair is illuminated; and the distant noise proves it to be
filling fast. The spot, which half an hour ago was ringing with the
shouts of boisterous mirth, is as calm and quiet as if nothing could ever
disturb its serenity: the fine old trees, the majestic building at their
feet, with the noble river beyond, glistening in the moonlight, appear in
all their beauty, and under their most favourable aspect; the voices of
the boys, singing their evening hymn, are borne gently on the air; and
the humblest mechanic who has been lingering on the grass so pleasant to
the feet that beat the same dull round from week to week in the paved
streets of London, feels proud to think as he surveys the scene before
him, that he belongs to the country which has selected such a spot as a
retreat for its oldest and best defenders in the decline of their lives.

Five minutes' walking brings you to the fair; a scene calculated to
awaken very different feelings. The entrance is occupied on either side
by the vendors of gingerbread and toys: the stalls are gaily lighted up,
the most attractive goods profusely disposed, and unbonneted young
ladies, in their zeal for the interest of their employers, seize you by
the coat, and use all the blandishments of 'Do, dear'--'There's a
love'--'Don't be cross, now,' &c., to induce you to purchase half a pound
of the real spice nuts, of which the majority of the regular fair-goers
carry a pound or two as a present supply, tied up in a cotton
pocket-handkerchief. Occasionally you pass a deal table, on which are
expo