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IN THE KNOW.

(BY MR. PUNCH’S OWN PROPHET.)

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Various events are approaching, and it is only fair that I should give the readers of this journal the benefit of my advice and my opinions.  In good time I shall have something to say about Goodwood—­something that will make the palaeolithic cauliflower-headed dispensers of buncombe and bombast sit up and curse the day on which fate allowed them to be born.  There are some who profess to attach importance to the goose-billed mouthings and vapourings of the butter-brained crew who follow in the wake of the most notorious professor of humbugging pomposity that even this age, rich as it is in putty-faced impostors, has ever produced.  Well, let them.  For my own part I follow the advice of the French King to the beautiful Marquise DE CENTAMOURS. “Sire,” the Marquise is reported to have said, “quelle heure est-il?” To which the witty monarch at once replied, “Madame, si vous avez besoin de savoir l’heure, allez done la demander au premier gendarme?” The story may be found with others in the lately published memoirs of Madame DE SANSFACON.  In a similar spirit I answer those who pester me about horses.

I understand that Barrister Bill, Sidesplitter, and Fiery Harry, showed up excellently at Newmarket last week.  I have always prophesied well of these three splendid animals, who take their feeds as regularly, and with as much gusto as they gallop a mile on heather when the barometer points to set fair.  At the same time I consider that only a papoose, made of string and sawdust, would give more than L10,000 for any one of them.

Complaints have reached me that some of my remarks have given pain in an exalted quarter.  It is the common lot of those who are honest to be misunderstood, and, for myself, I wish to claim no exemption from the rule.  My one aim is to benefit my readers, and to advance truth.  For this I would sacrifice the smiles of Courts, and incur the shallow sneers of the grovelling, chowder-headed horde of flunkeys who sit in high places.  My work bears witness to my merit.  Need I say more?

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[Illustration:  SERIOUS BALL-ROOM FLIRTATIONS.

Lord Algernon.  “I CAN SAFELY RECOMMEND OUR TUSSORE SILKS, MRS. GREEN. WON’T YOU GIVE THEM A TRIAL?  WE ALLOW A DISCOUNT OF FIFTEEN PER CENT, FOR CASH, YOU KNOW.”

Sir Reginald.  “NOW DO LET ME SEND YOU A COUPLE OF DOZEN OF OUR EXTRA DRY CHAMPAGNE AT SEVENTY-TWO SHILLINGS, DEAR LADY MIDAS.  I’M SURE SIR GORGIUS WILL LIKE IT.”

Captain de la Vere de Vere.  “OH, IF I COULD BUT INDUCE YOU TO GET YOUR HUSBAND TO INSURE HIS LIFE IN OUR OFFICE, MRS. VAN TRONCK!—­THE BONUSES ARE QUITE EXCEPTIONAL.”]

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“TOO MANY COOKS—!”