CHAPTER XIV .-- MY LORD'S RACES.
Aff they a' went galloping, galloping; Legs and arms a' walloping, walloping; De'il take the hindmost, quo' Duncan M'Calapin, The Laird of Tillyben, joe.
_Old Song_.
He went a little further, And turn'd his head aside, And just by Goodman Whitfield's gate, Oh there the mare he spied, He ask'd her how she did, She stared him in the face, Then down she laid her head again-- She was in wretched case.
_Old Poulter's Mare_.
It happened curiously that, of all the days of the year, this should have been the one on which the Carters'-play was held; and, by good luck, we were just in time to see that grand sight.

The whole regiment of carters were paraded up at my Lord's door, for so they call their box-master; and a beautiful thing it was, I can assure ye.

What a sight of ribands was on the horses! Many a crame must have been emptied ere such a number of manes and long tails could have been busked out.

The beasts themselves, poor things, I dare say, wondered much at their bravery, and no less I am sure did the riders.

They looked for all the world like living haberdashery shops.