driven out by the maid sweeping away the dirt, and were forced to walk about until she had finished, and lighted the fire, when we ordered our breakfast; but how much better would it have been to have taken our breakfast comfortably on board, and then to have come on shore, especially as we had no money to spare.  Next to being too late, being too soon is the worst plan in the world.  However, we had our breakfast, and paid the bill; then we sallied forth, and went up George Street, where we found all sorts of vehicles ready to take us to the fair.  We got into one which they called a dilly.  I asked the man who drove us why it was so called, and he replied because he only charged a shilling.  O’Brien, who had joined us after breakfasting on board, said that this answer reminded him of one given to him by a man who attended the hackney-coach stands in London.  “Pray,” said he, “why are you called Watermen?” “Watermen,” replied the man, “vy, sir, ’cause ve opens the hackney-coach doors.”  At last, with plenty of whipping, and plenty of swearing, and a great deal of laughing, the old horse, whose back curved upwards like a bow, from the difficulty of dragging so many, arrived at the bottom of Portdown hill, where we got out, and walked up to the fair.  It really was a most beautiful sight.  The bright blue sky, and the coloured flags flapping about in all directions, the grass so green, and the white tents and booths, the sun shining so bright, and the shining gilt gingerbread, the variety of toys and variety of noise, the quantity of people and the quantity of sweetmeats; little boys so happy, and shop people so polite, the music at the booths, and the bustle and eagerness of the people outside, made my heart quite jump.  There was Richardson, with a clown and harlequin, and such beautiful women, dressed in clothes all over gold spangles, dancing reels and waltzes, and looking so happy!  There was Flint and Gyngell, with fellows tumbling over head and heels, playing such tricks—­eating fire, and drawing yards of tape out of their mouths.  Then there was the Royal Circus, all the horses standing in a line, with men and women standing on their backs, waving flags, while the trumpeters blew their trumpets.  And the largest giant in the world, and Mr. Paap, the smallest dwarf in the world, and a female dwarf, who was smaller still, and Miss Biffin, who did every thing without legs or arms.  There was also the learned pig, and the Herefordshire ox, and a hundred other sights which I cannot now remember.  We walked about for an hour or two, seeing the outside of every thing:  we determined to go and see the inside.  First we went into Richardson’s, where we saw a bloody tragedy, with a ghost and thunder, and afterwards a pantomime, full of tricks, and tumbling over one another.  Then we saw one or two other things, I forget which, but this I know, that generally speaking, the outside was better than the inside.  After this, feeling very hungry, we agreed to go into a