IN THE KNOW.

(By Mr. Punch's Own Prophet.)

I am told that many of the millions who have read with delight the brilliant sporting articles that have appeared from my pen week after week expect me to utter a few words of seasonable advice as to the chances of the various animals engaged in the Derby and the Oaks. If I were one of the chowder-headed numskulls who cackle for hire, the task would doubtless be an easy one. Mr. J. has performed it yearly with that magnificent want of success which attends all his addle-pated efforts. But, praise be to Heaven! I am not Mr. J., or one of his crew. I am only a humble writer, distinguished alike for his unerring sagacity, his undeviating accuracy, and his incisive force of expression. My task is, therefore, stupendous, but I will perform it.

The Derby.

There are many horses in for the Derby. Some people fancy Surefoot. Fancies are not, of course, facts, but the name is good. Keep your eye on the black and cerise of Liddiard. Sainfoin is not generally supposed to cover grass, but there are generally exceptions. I have not heard the angels calling Le Nord lately, but they may begin at any time. A man may get home, so may a horse, and I am bound to say that if I were The Beggar I should give the lie to the crack-brained puddling proverb, and be a chooser of first place. Bel Demonio should be all there when the first part of his name rings, so that he may go like the second, if he wants to be one, two, or three. Rathbeal rhymes to heel. Has he got a clean pair to show? Orwell should score well; and you must never, tie your Garter too tightly, unless you want to stop your circulation. Golden Gate is not always as open as might be wished; and The Imp is sometimes a hindrance. Good old Polonius! As for Kirkham, Alloway, Martagon, and Loup, all I can say is, Mum's the word. How about the Field? Monkeys are often made there. So much for the Derby.

The Oaks.

Who said Semolina? Passion, passion take advice, fill your pockets fall of Semolina. Ha, ha! Signorina ought certainly not to miss the mark by more than a mile. Mémoire might do pour servir, and Goldwing sounds well for a flyer. Those who cross the Ponza (sinorum) generally go further with ease, and Dearest is certainly superlative. The Field a monkey. Who said that? Whoever he was, let him beware! That is all I have to say in the meantime, but anyone desiring further information is requested to apply to me by letter at the office, enclosing twelve clean stamps for a reply. All who are not in a state of niddy-noddying, anserous, asinine, gruel-brained, pumpkin-faced, gooseberry-eyed imbecility, will, of course, do so.

A Shaftesbury Song.

(Air—"With a Doodah!" as sung years ago, with great applause, by Mr. W. E. Gl-dst-ne.)

PROFESSOR TYNDALL'S LATEST PORTRAIT OF MR. C.,

Executed with Scientific Accuracy and Considerable Restraint of Tone. (Guildford, May 28.)