You need not be so very definite in your knowledge. The event of
Constantine's presence and election is so spacious as to leave no
room for particulars in the imagination; and you are so rich in
it that you will even reject them from your thoughts, as you sit
in the close-cropped flowery lawn of your hotel garden (try to
imagine a railroad hotel garden in _New_ York!) on the
sunniest of the afternoons before you are turned out for
Doncaster Week, and, while you watch a little adventurous
American boy climbing over a pile of rock-work, realize the most
august, the most important fact in the story of the race as
native to the very air you are breathing! Where you sit you are
in full view of the Minster, which is to say in view of something
like the towers and battlements of the celestial city. Or if you
wake very early on a morning still nearer the fatal Doncaster
Week of your impending banishment, and look out of your lofty
windows at the sunrise reddening the level bars of cloud behind
the Minster, you shall find it bulked up against the pearl-gray
masses of the sunny mist which hangs in all the intervening
trees, and solidifies them in unbroken masses of foliage.
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