Far better is Fecamp which we tried two days after, and Fecamp is just a trifle livelier than Westward Ho!  Of course its Abbaye is an attraction in itself.  It is a place whose inhabitants show considerable public spirit, as it is here that “Benedictine” is made.  When at Le Havre drive over to St. Jouin, and breakfast chez Ernestine.  Another day you can spend at Rouen, returning in the evening to dinner.  This is not intended as a chapter in a guidebook, but simply as a hint at any time to those who need a thorough change in a short time, and who do not care to go too far off to get it.  When they’ve quite finished building and paving Havre, I’ll return there and take a few walks.  Now the authorities responsible for the paving are simply the best friends of the boot-making interest, just as in London the Hansoms collectively ought to receive a handsome Christmas hat-box from the hatters.  But mind this, when at Havre drive to Gonneville, and breakfast chez M. AUBOURG.

* * * * *

IN THE KNOW.

(BY MR. PUNCH’S OWN PROPHET.)

I have had a communication from Mr. JEREMY, written in the execrable English of which this calico-livered scoundrel is a consummate master, and informing me that, if I care to join the staff of the journal which Mr. J. directs, a princely salary shall be at my disposal.  Mr. J. inquires what special branch of fiction it would suit me to undertake, as he proposes to publish a serial novel by an author of undoubted imaginative power.  Here is my answer to Mr. J. I will do nothing for him.  His compliments I despise.  Flattery has never yet caused me to falter.  And if he desires to prop the tottering fortunes of his chowder-headed rag, let him obtain support from the pasty-faced pack of cacklers who surround him.  I would stretch no finger to help him, no, not if I saw him up to his chin in the oleo-margarine of which his brains and those of his bottle-nosed, flounder-eared friends seem to be composed.  So much then for Mr. J. Du reste, as TALLEYRAND once said, my important duties to the readers of this journal fully absorb my time.

Last week I offered to the public some interesting details of the family history of an exalted German prince, whose friendship and good-will it has been my fortune to acquire by means of the dazzling accuracy of my forecasts of racing events in this country.  I may state at once that the Grand Cross of the Honigthau Order, “mit Diamanten und Perlen,” which his Serene Highness was good enough to confer upon me, has come to hand, and even now sparkles on a breast as incapable of deceit as it is ardent in the pursuit of truth.  Let this be an incitement to the deserving, and a warning to scoffers who presume to doubt me.  Many other gratifying testimonies of foreign approval have reached me.  From the immense heap of them stored in my front drawing-room, I select the following specimens:—­