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 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