that black is white, but you'll never make me believe the Newmarket
folks are honest, and as to the fine hair (air) you talk of, there's
quite as good to get on Hampstead Heath, and if it doesn't make the
blood canter up and down your weins, you can always amuse yourself
by watching the donkeys cantering up and down with the sweet little
children--haw! haw! haw!--But tell me what is there at Newmarket that
should take a man there?" "What is there?" rejoined the Yorkshireman,
"why, there's everything that makes life desirable and constitutes
happiness, in this world, except hunting. First there is the beautiful,
neat, clean town, with groups of booted professors, ready for the
rapidest march of intellect; then there are the strings of clothed
horses--the finest in the world--passing indolently at intervals to
their exercise,--the flower of the English aristocracy residing in the
place. You leave the town and stroll to the wide open heath, where all
is brightness and space; the white rails stand forth against the dear
blue sky--the brushing gallop ever and anon startles the ear and eye;
crowds of stable urchins, full of silent importance, stud the heath; you
feel elated and long to bound over the well groomed turf and to try the
speed of the careering wind. All things at Newmarket train the mind to
racing. Life seems on the start, and dull indeed were he who could rein
in his feelings when such inspiring objects meet together to madden
them!"

"Bravo!" exclaimed Jorrocks, throwing his paper cap in the air as the
Yorkshireman concluded.--"Bravo!--werry good indeed! You speak like ten
Lord Mayors--never heard nothing better. Dash my vig, if I won't go. By
Jove, you've done it. Tell me one thing--is there a good place to feed
at?"

"Capital!" replied the Yorkshireman, "beef, mutton, cheese, ham, all