than the tavern itself; it is mighty capacious, and gives a still
profounder impression of vastness with its shed, of which the roof slopes
southward down almost to a man's height from the ground, and shelters a
row of mangers, running back half the length of the stable, and serving in
former times for the baiting of such beasts as could not be provided for
within. But the halcyon days of the cattle-market are past (though you may
still see the white horns tossing above the fences of the pens, when a
newly arrived herd lands from the train to be driven afoot to Brighton),
and the place looks now so empty and forsaken, spite of the circus
baggage-wagons, that it were hard to believe these mangers could ever have
been in request, but for the fact that they are all gnawed, down to the
quick as it were, by generations of horses--vanished forever on the
deserted highways of the past--impatient for their oats or hungering for
more.

The day must come, of course, when the mangers will all be taken from the
stable-shed, and exposed for sale at that wonderful second-hand shop which
stands over against the tavern. I am no more surprised than one in a
dream, to find it a week-day afternoon by the time I have crossed thither
from the circus-men grooming their piebalds. It is an enchanted place to
me, and I am a frequent and unprofitable customer there, buying only just
enough to make good my footing with the custodian of its marvels, who is,
of course, too true an American to show any desire to sell. Without, on
either side of the doorway, I am pretty sure to find, among other articles
of furniture, a mahogany and hair-cloth sofa, a family portrait, a
landscape painting, a bath-tub, and a flower-stand, with now and then the
variety of a boat and a dog-house; while under an adjoining shed is heaped
a mass of miscellaneous movables, of a heavier sort, and fearlessly left
there night and day, being on all accounts undesirable to steal. The door
of the shop rings a bell in opening, and ushers the customer into a room