class="ind1">"Only too delighted;"
i.e., "Can't refuse, confound it!"

ON THE SWOOP!

IN THE KNOW.

(By Mr. Punch's Own Prophet.)

There was some good racing at Newmarket last week, and, as usual, every single race proved up to the hilt the extraordinary accuracy of my forecasts. I said a year ago that "Bandersnatch was a colt who hadn't a chance of winning a first-class race. Only a March hare or a Bank-holiday boozer would think of backing him." Bandersnatch's name never even appeared on the race-card last week. Mr. Jeremy says the colt is dead, as if that had anything to do with it; but of course if the gullish herd chooses to cackle after Mr. Jeremy it's no use trying to help them.

The hippopotamus-headed dolts who pinned their faith to Molly Mustard must have learnt their lesson by this time. Of course Molly Mustard defeated that overrated sham Undercut; but what of that? When Undercut was placed second to Pandriver at the North Country Second Autumn Handicap two years ago, I warned everybody that Wobbling Willie who is half-brother to Rattlepate by Spring Onion, ought to have made a certainty of the race if the gruel-brained idiots who own him had only rubbed his back with Daffy's Elixir twice a-day before going to bed. As it was Wobbling Willie rolled about like a ship at sea, and Brighton Pref passed him in a common canter. That scarcely made Molly Mustard a second Eclipse. The fact of the matter is she is a roarer, or will be before the season is over, and those who backed her will have to whistle for their money. All I can say is, that I hope they will like the trap into which their own patent-leather-headed imbecility has led them.

Corncrake is a nice, compact, long-coupled, raking-looking colt, with a fine high action that reminds me of a steam-pump at its best. He is not likely to bring back much of the £3000 given for him as a yearling by his present owner, but he might be used to make the running for his stable-companion Catsmeat, who was picked up for £5 out of a butcher's cart at Doncaster.

For the Two Thousand I should have selected Barkis if he had been entered. Failing him, there is very little in it. Sandy Sal might possibly have a chance, but she has always turned out such an arrant rogue that I hesitate to recommend her. Mr. Jeremy plumps for Old Tom, and the whole pack of brainless moon-calves goes after him in full cry as usual. If Old Tom had two sound legs he might be a decent horse, but he has only got one, and he has never used that properly.

A TRAVELLING TRIBUNAL.

Why not Cyclist Judges and Clerk and Marshal going all the year round, to be met by local Barristers?

THE CHILDREN'S FANCY DRESS BALL.

All the grate Lord Mare's and the good Lady Maress's hundreds and hundreds of little frends had their annual peep into Paradice last Wensday heavening, at the good old Manshun Howse, on which most interesting ocashun all their fond Mas and their stump-upping Pas sent them into the famous Egipshun All in such a warious combenashun of hartistick loveliness and buty as ewen I myself never seed ekalled! Whether it was the rayther sewere coldness of the heavening, or the niceness of the seweral refreshments as the kind Lady Maress perwided, or whether it was that most on 'em was amost one year older than they was larst year, in course I don't know, but they suttenly kept on a pitching into the wittels and drink in a way as rayther estonished ewen my seasoned eyes, acustomed as they is to Copperashun Bankwets, and settra. One little bewty of a Faery, with her lovely silwer wand of power, amost friten'd me out of my wits by thretening to turn me into sumthink dredful if I didn't give her a strawbery hice emedeately, which she fust partly heated, and then drunk, as their custom is, I spose. Then there was a lot of all sorts—niggers and sodgers, and three young ladies as mag-pies. Which last made me think that a young gent fond of using his fists might do wus than go as a burd prize-fiter. By the way, one likes condesenshun, down to a certain xtent, but whether it should hinclude a most bewtifool Princess a dansing with a pore littel white-faced Clown, is what I must leave others to deside; I declines doing it myself.

We had Mr. Punch in the course of the heavening, and both hold and young larfed away as ushal at his rayther rum morality. Then we had two most clever gents who dressed theirselves up before a large looking-glass to look like lots of diffrent peeple. The best couple I was told was two Gents named Bizmarck and Bullanger, one was said to be a reel Ero, and the other, a mere Sham, but I don't know werry much about such Gents myself, xcept that Brown tried werry hard to make me beleeve that Bizmarck, who was the reel Ero, used to think nothink of pouring a hole Bottle of Shampain into a hole Pot of Stout and drinking it all off at one draft, like a ancient Cole Heaver! We finished up with a lot of German Chinese, who jumped about and danced about and climbed up a top of one another, and then acshally bilt theirselves up like a house, and then all tumbled to pieces, reelly quite wunderfool, and not only the lovely little children, but ewen Common Councilmen, aye and ewen ancient Deputys, all stood round and larfed away and enjoyed theirselves, recalling to my sumwhat faltering memory the words of the emortel Poet, "One touch, of Nature makes the hole World grin."

Robert.

AN ECHO FROM THE LANE.

Last week the Carl Rosa Opera Company (whose Managing Directors are Augustus Druriolanus, future Sheriff of London, with Sheriff's officers in attendance, to whom he might, on some future emergency, entrust the charge of Her Majesty's) continued its season of success with a solitary addition to the programme, L'Etoile du Nord. À propos of this novelty, it may be hinted that although the Catherine of Madame Georgina Burns does not make us entirely forget Adelina Patti in the same character, the performance is, from every other point of view, completely gratifying. As "little Peter," Mr.