* * * * *
A DAY AT DONCASTER AND AN HOUR OUT OF DURHAM
The Doncaster Races lured us from our hotel at York, on the first
day, as I had dimly foreboded they would. In fact, if there had
been no lure, I might have gone in search of temptation, for in a
world where sins are apt to be ugly, a horse-race is so beautiful
that if one loves beauty he can practise an aesthetic virtue by
sinning in that sort. So I made myself a pretence of profit as
well as pleasure, and in going to Doncaster I feigned the wish
chiefly to compare its high event with that of Saratoga. I had no
association with the place save horse-racing, and having missed
Ascot and Derby Day, I took my final chance in pursuit of
knowledge--I said to myself, "Not mere amusement"--and set out
for Doncaster unburdened by the lightest fact concerning the
place.
I
I learned nothing of it when there, but I have since learned,
from divers trustworthy sources, that Doncaster is the Danum of
Antoninus and the Dona Ceaster of the Saxons, and that it is not
only on the line of the Northeastern Railway, but also on that
famous Watling Street which from the earliest Saxon time has
crossed the British continent from sea to sea, and seems to
impress most of the cities north and south into a conformity with
its line, like a map of the straightest American railway routes.
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