With my English recollections of what going to the fair used to be, I looked but in vain for farmers' carts or holiday-dressed foot-folk going towards Subiaco.

I did not meet one carriage of any description, except the diligence without a passenger, and could not have guessed, from the few knots of peasants I passed, that there was anything unusual going on in what I suppose I might call the county town of the district.
By the time I reached Subiaco, the first day of the fair was at its height.

The topography of the place is of the simplest description,--a narrow street running up a steep hill, with a small market-place; on the summit stands a church; half a dozen _cul-de-sac_ alleys on the right, terminated by the wall that hems in the river at their feet; a long series of broken steps on the left, leading to a dilapidated castle, where the Legate ought to reside, but does not; such are the main features of the town.

In fact, if you fancy Snow Hill, Holborn, shrunk to about a quarter of its width, all its houses reduced to much such a condition as that gaunt corner-building which for years past has excited my ungratified curiosity; Newgate gaol replaced by the facade of a dingy Italian church; the dimensions of the locale considerably diminished; and a small section of the dark alleys between the prison and Farringdon Street, bounded by the Fleet-ditch uncovered; you will have a very fair impression of the town of Subiaco.
The fair, such as it was, was confined to this High Street and to the little square at its head.

The street was filled with people, chiefly men, bartering at the doors of the un-windowed shops.