I wouldn’t take time to go round by either of the entrances, but made straight across to the nearest point of the great earthworks, and scrambled over the outer bank, and down into the deep ditch, and up the inner bank, and stood there on the top, looking down on all the fun of the fair; for fair it was already, though it was very little past eleven o’clock in the morning. There was the double line of booths and stalls which I had seen putting up the day before, making a long and broad street, and all decked out with nuts and apples, and ginger-bread, and all sorts of sucks and food, and children’s toys, and cheap ribbons, knives, braces, straps, and all manner of gaudy-looking articles. Opposite, on the north side, all the shows had got their great pictures up of the wonders which were to be seen inside, and the performers were strutting about on the stages outside, and before one of them an acrobat was swinging backwards and forwards on the slack rope, and turning head over heels at the end of each swing. And every show had its own music, if it were only a drum and pan pipes, and all the musicians were playing, as loud as they could play, different tunes. Then, on the east side, were the great booths of the publicans, all decked out now with flowers and cheap flags, with their skittle-grounds behind; and lots of gypsies, and other tramps, with their “three sticks a penny,” and other games. The west side was only occupied, as I said before, by the great white tent of the County Police, where the Committee were sitting, and Lord Craven’s tents some way in front; but these looked pretty and gay now, for they had hoisted some good flags; and there in the middle stood the great ugly stage, and the greasy pole. The whole space was filled with all sorts of people, from ladies looking as if they had just come from Kensington Gardens, down to the ragged little gypsy children, with brown faces and brick-coloured hair, all moving about, and looking very much as if they were enjoying themselves. So after looking a minute, I got down into the crowd, and set to work to see every thing I could. I hadn’t been pushing about amongst the rest above five minutes, when two men stopped close by me, one (who was the Wantage crier, I found out afterwards) with his hand full of papers, and the other carrying a gong, which he began to beat loud enough to deafen one. When the crowd had come round him, the crier began, and I should think he might have been heard at Elm Close:-- “Oh yes! oh yes! by order of the Committee, all persons who mean to play for prizes, must enter their names on the umpires’ lists. Oh yes! oh yes! the umpires’ lists are open in the tent, and names may be entered from now till half-past twelve. Oh yes! a list of the umpires for the different games and sports may be seen on the board outside the tent-door. God save the Queen!”