_This necessary ceremony being gone through_, _the important business terminates by the_ LANDLORD _saying_, ‘_God bless the King_ [_or Queen_] _and the lord of the manor_;’ _to which the_ CLERK _responds_, ‘_Amen_, _amen_!’ _N.B._ _The court fees are always returned in wines_, _spirits_, _or porter_, _of which the Landlord and Clerk are invited to partake_. FAIRLOP FAIR SONG. [THE following song is sung at Fairlop fair, one of the gayest of the numerous saturnalia kept by the good citizens of London. The venerable oak has disappeared; but the song is nevertheless song, and the curious custom of riding through the fair, seated in boats, still continues to be observed.] COME, come, my boys, with a hearty glee, To Fairlop fair, bear chorus with me; At Hainault forest is known very well, This famous oak has long bore the bell. _Cho_. Let music sound as the boat goes round, If we tumble on the ground, we’ll be merry, I’ll be bound; We will booze it away, dull care we will defy, And be happy on the first Friday in July. At Tainhall forest, Queen Anne she did ride, And beheld the beautiful oak by her side, And after viewing it from bottom to top, She said that her court should be at Fairlop. It is eight fathom round, spreads an acre of ground, They plastered it round to keep the tree sound. So we’ll booze it away, dull care we’ll defy, And be happy on the first Friday in July. About a century ago, as I have heard say, This fair it was kept by one Daniel Day, A hearty good fellow as ever could be, His coffin was made of a limb of the tree. With black-strap and perry he made his friends merry, All sorrow for to drown with brandy and sherry. So we’ll booze it away, dull care we’ll defy, And be happy on the first Friday in July. At Tainhall forest there stands a tree, And it has performed a wonderful bounty, It is surrounded by woods and plains, The merry little warblers chant their strains. So we’ll dance round the tree, and merry we will be, Every year we’ll agree the fair for to see; And we’ll booze it away, dull care we’ll defy, And be happy on the first Friday in July. AS TOM WAS A-WALKING. AN ANCIENT CORNISH SONG. [THIS song, said to be translated from the Cornish, ‘was taken down,’ says Mr. Sandys, ‘from the recital of a modern Corypheus, or leader of a parish choir,’ who assigned to it a very remote, but indefinite, antiquity.] AS Tom was a-walking one fine summer’s morn, When the dazies and goldcups the fields did adorn; He met Cozen Mal, with a tub on her head, Says Tom, ‘Cozen Mal, you might speak if you we’d.’ But Mal stamped along, and appeared to be shy, And Tom singed out, ‘Zounds! I’ll knaw of thee why?’ So back he tore a’ter, in a terrible fuss, And axed cozen Mal, ‘What’s the reason of thus?’