IN THE KNOW.
(By Mr. Punch's Own Prophet.)
Last week I published a dispatch conveying to me the exalted approval of H.S.H. the Grand Duke of PFEIFENTOPF. The closing words of His Serene Highness's gracious letter informed me that I had been appointed a Knight of the Honigthau Order, one of the most ancient and splendid orders known to chivalry.
When HUNDSVETTER VON VOGELANG, of whom the ancient Minnesingers relate that in his anger he was wont to breathe forth fire from his mouth and smoke from his nostrils, when, as I say, the valiant and gigantic HUNDSVETTER, with his band of faithful retainers (amongst whom one of our own CAVENDISHES—der Zerschnittens as they called him, found a place), was assailed in his ancestral Castle of Meerschaum by the wild hordes of the Turkish Zig-'arets, it is said that, with one aged attendant, he mounted the topmost tower, prepared, if no sign of succour showed itself, to cast himself to the ground or perish in the attempt. But just as he had hurled his seneschal over the battlements, in order, as he playfully observed, to make the falling softer, his eye was arrested by a wreath of smoke in the middle distance. "May I perish," said the gallant but sorely-reduced Teuton warrior, "if that be not the war-sign of my uncle PFEIFENTOPF." Hastening downstairs, he apprised his followers that succour was at hand. Armed with klehs, they made a desperate sally, and, having taken the Zig-'arets between two fires, utterly extinguished them. That night HUNDSVETTER'S only daughter, the lovely and accomplished BREIA, was solemnly married by the Archbishop of TÄNDSTICKOR, assisted by the Rev. WILHELM SCHWANZPUDEL and the Rev. CONRAD RATTENZAHN, cousin of the bride, to the K.K. OBERPOTZTAUSENDER VON THUTWEH, the leader of PFEIFENTOPF'S advance-guard. The bride's going-away dress was composed of a simple bodice of best Sheffield steel, with a gown of Bessemer composite to match, and, in honour of the event, the Honigthau Order was ceremoniously founded.
I have cited this tale at length, because some carping, malevolent scribes have dared to insinuate, actually to insinuate in print, that the Grand Duke and his Order have no existence. To these jelly-faced purveyors of balderdash I only say this:—How, if His Serene Highness be a myth, could I receive from him the letter I published last week? But, to make assurance doubly sure, I sent the following dispatch to the Grand Duke:—"Mooncalves cast anserous doubts on your serene existence, and on that of Order. Kindly make me Grand Cross, and send decoration in diamonds.". To this I have received the following reply:—"You are Grand Cross made. Order mit diamenten und perlen now is being at the post-office by my Grand Chamberlain for transmission abroad registered."
This should strike detraction dumb, I propose also to publish a selection of congratulations from other Continental potentates, but of this, as SHAKSPEARE says, Anon, anon!
Permit me, in the meantime, to go half-way towards revealing my identity by adopting a pseudonym drawn from an immortal work, and subscribing myself prophetically yours (and the public's),
TIPPOO TIP.