(_BY MR. PUNCH'S OWN PROPHET_.)
[Illustration]
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 palæolithic 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 SANSFAÇON. 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
£10,000 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?
* * * * *
[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."]
* * * * *
"TOO MANY COOKS--!"
_A BRET-HARTEISH BALLAD._