(_By Mr. Punch's Own Prophet._)
Those who have carefully read the remarks which I have thought it my
duty to make in these columns from time to time, must have reaped a
golden harvest at Newmarket last week. It is not easy, of course, in
these milk-and-water days to say what one means in sufficiently plain
words. Personally, I have always been mild in my language, and have
often been reproached on this score. But I have always found it
possible, without using vulgar and exaggerated abuse, to express the
contempt which, in common with every right-minded man, I feel for the
grovelling herd of incompetent boobies, whose minds are as muddy as the
Rowley Mile after a thunderstorm. _Surefoot_ was always a favourite of
mine. Two months ago I said, "if _Surefoot_ can only face the starter
for the Two Thousand firmly, he will probably get off well, and ought
not to be far behind the first six at the finish. As to _Le Nord_,
though he is not my colour, he is not likely to be last." Only a
mooncalf, with a porridge-bowl instead of a head, could have mistaken
these remarks.
So Sir THOMAS CHUCKS has joined the ranks of aristocratic owners. Here
is a chance for the dilly-dallying professors of humbug to distinguish
themselves. What can be expected from a stable which always runs its
trials at one o'clock in the morning, with nobody but Mr. JEREMY to look
on? No doubt we shall hear all about it in the columns which Mr. J.
devotes to the edification of dough-faced, gruel-brained noodles who
accept him as their prophet.
_Catawampus_ ran well last week. With two stone less and a Calyx-eyed
saddle-bar, he would have shown up even better. Whenever the barometer
goes up two points _Catawampus_ must be remembered. He was foaled in a
ditch on the old North Road, somewhere between London and York, and
having remained there or thereabouts for a month, may be considered a
good stayer.
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THE EMPIRE IN THE TIME OF SEVERUS.--Wonderful Juggler at the Empire,
with a name that's not to be trifled with, SEVERUS. Some nights he may
be better than on others, but you'll be delighted if you just catch him
in the Juggler vein.
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The Over-rated Rate-payers who fear the rising of the Rates more than
almost any other rising, express a hope that the L. C. C. will be
economical, and that FARRER may be "Nearer."
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[Illustration: UNCERTAINTIES OF ARITHMETIC.
_Schoolmaster._ "YES; BUT LOOK HERE, MY BOY. SUPPOSE I WERE TO LEND YOUR
FATHER _FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS_, LET US SAY,--WITHOUT INTEREST,--BUT ON
CONDITION THAT HE SHOULD PAY ME TEN POUNDS A WEEK. HOW MUCH WOULD HE
STILL OWE ME IN TWO MONTHS?"
_New Boy._ "FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS, SIR!"
_Schoolmaster._ "TUT! TUT! MY BOY, YOU DON'T KNOW THE FIRST PRINCIPLES
OF ARITHMETIC!"
_New Boy._ "_YOU_ DON'T KNOW _MY FATHER_, SIR!"]
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