IN THE KNOW.
(By Mr. Punch's Own Prophet.)
Cardinal Richelieu once observed to Madame de St. Galmier, that if Kings could but know the folly of their subjects they would hesitate at nothing. Mr. Jeremy evidently knows thoroughly how stupendously cabbage-headed his readers are, for he never hesitates to put forward the most astounding and muddy-minded theories. For instance, he asks us this week to believe that Saladin ought to have won the Shropshire Handicap, because he was known to be a better horse, from two miles up to fifty, than the four other horses who faced the starter. If this stuff had been addressed to an audience of moon-calves and mock-turtles it might have passed muster, but, thank Heaven, we are not all quite so low as that yet. Let me therefore tell Mr. Jeremy, that when a horse like Saladin, whose back-bone is like the Himalaya mountains, and his pastern joints like a bottle-nosed whale with a cold in his head, comes to the post with two stone and a beating to his credit, and four hoofs about the size of a soup-tureen to his legs, he can never be expected to get the better of slow roarers like Carmichael and Busby, to say nothing of Whatnot and Pumblechook. It is well known, of course, that the latter has been in hard training for a month, and a better horse at cornbin or bran-mash never stepped. Saladin won, I know, but it was for reasons very different from those given by Mr. Jeremy.
There is nothing new about the Derby horses. I believe they are mostly in training, but I reserve my opinion until I see what the addle-pates who own them mean to do.
"A self-made Man," said Mrs. R., thoughtfully, "is the artichoke of his own fortunes."