In the Forest of Hainault, in Essex, about a mile from Barking side, stood the famous Fairlop Oak, which the tradition of the country traces half-way up the Christian era. This forest possesses more beautiful scenery than, perhaps, any other forest in England. Fifty years since the oak was still a noble tree. About a yard from the ground, where its bole was thirty-six feet in circumference, it spread into eleven vast arms, yet not in the manner of an oak, but rather in that of a beech, its shade overspreading an area of 300 feet in circuit. Around this fine old tree, eighty years since, archery meetings were held by the gentry of the district, with picnics in tents, bands of music, &c.; and then, to protect the old oak, it was enclosed with a spiked paling, inscribed as follows: "All good foresters are requested not to hurt this old tree, as a plaister has been put to its wounds." The extremities of its branches had been sawn off, and Forsyth's composition applied to them, to preserve them from decay. But the tree has a more popular history. Upon a small estate, near the oak, in the last century, there dwelt one John Day, a well-to-do block and pump maker, of Wapping, who used to repair annually, on the first Friday in July, to the forest, and there meet a party of his neighbours, and dine under the shade of the famous oak, on _beans and bacon_. In the course of a few years, Day's rural feast induced other parties to follow his homely example, and suttling booths were erected for their accommodation. In addition to the entertainment given to his friends, Mr. Day never failed, on the day of the feast, to provide several sacks of beans, with a proportionate quantity of bacon, which he distributed from the trunk of the tree to the persons there assembled. About the year 1723, the scene on the first Friday in July exhibited the appearance of a _regular fair_, such as John Gay, in one of his _Pastorals_, almost contemporaneously describes in these lines:-- Pedlars' stalls with glitt'ring toys are laid, The various fairings of the country maid: Long silken laces hang upon the twine, And rows of pins and amber bracelets shine. Here the tight lass, knives, combs, and scissors spies, And looks on thimbles with desiring eyes. The mountebank now treads the stage, and sells His pills, his balsams, and his ague spells. Now o'er and o'er the nimble tumbler springs, And on the rope the vent'rous maiden swings; Jack-Pudding, in his parti-coloured jacket, Tosses the glove and jokes at every packet; Here raree-shows are seen, and Punch's feats, And pockets picked in crowds, and various cheats.