THE JOURXEY TO XEWMAEKET. 27 



peripatetic minstrels of Afric lays, elastic-limbed athletes, hook- 

 nosed venders of the questionable Havannah, supplicants for 

 prompt relief from pressing exigencies, or comfortable parties 

 out for the day, are to be found at Newmarket on the day of a 

 heart- stirring, glorious race. The hotels and inns, of which 

 there are too many to enumerate without the assistance of a 

 ready reckoner, are full on certain occasions, and the Kutland 

 Arms assumes a haughty bearing over the White Horse ; but 

 the White Horse puts his near fore foot to his nostrils, and winks 

 like the late lamented John Eeeve, at Rutland's arrogance. As 

 for the shops, nobody was ever seen entering one, and whether 

 the rents, rates, and taxes are paid from the net profit, or sunk 

 capital of the eminently respectable proprietors, is a matter, 

 perhaps, of little more immediate concern to themselves than 

 the pubKc. The object, however, of keeping a shop at New- 

 market is veiled by a mist of impenetrable density. 



No incident, that I can remember, worthy of particular 

 notice occurred on the road. Mr. Top was watchful in the 

 extreme as he preceded us by some yards ; and whenever any- 

 thing either approached, or was about to pass at a rapid pace, 

 he would raise his round hat high above his head, and by signs 

 and gestures prevented what might, othermse, have caused 

 terror in the young stock under his careful guidance and pro- 

 tection. By easy stages, and at a gentle walk, we at length 

 entered that well-kno^vn to^vn which for hundreds of years has 

 been the focus of the enlarged and enlarging racing world. 

 After going, as I believe, down the main street for a con- 

 siderable distance, we turned a somewhat short angular corner 

 to the right, and in a few minutes passed the entrance to a 

 compact range of buildings, which I soon discovered to be in the 

 occupation of Sir Digby's trainer, John Sellusall. 



"Well, Hobert," exclaimed a neatly-dressed, closely-shaved 

 man, emerging from a stable-door, as we were brought to a 

 standstill in the well-kept gravel yard, "what have you got 

 here"?" and as he spoke he seemed to measure our forms from, 

 heel to head at a single glance. 



