Punch (62.1872)

222

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[Juke 1, 1872.

PUNCH'S DERBY PROPHECY.

j hat the Derby will be run this year, as usual, I suppose, nathless
~ I don't prophesy that, ray beloved friends. For though I have
been assiduously moving in the circles in which horseyness is

the one faith, I never found so little interest taken in the subject. I am
quite grieved at this. For myself, I am full of equestrian fire (a bold image
that), and I shall spring to my box-seat on the Wednesday morning with all
the animation and joy which inspired me when I went off to see Pyrrhus the
First win, and to commemorate his victory in a couplet which my dear friend
Mrs. Keeley spoke the same ni°rht at the Lyceum. That lady too was at
Epsom, but, faithful as ever to her duty, said upon the boards a few hours later,

" You 've backed the favourite, have you ? Then you '11 rue it:
Pyrrhus the First has won ! J seed him do it."

"With as light a heart as then (as light as M. Ollivier's cosur, and with
better reason), with as graceful a figure, with as gay a cravat, and with as
fine a weed, shall I, your beloved Punch, mount my drag for the Derby. But
I cannot disguise from myself that people seem to be going perfunctorily,
and if you don't know what that means, you ought to, and I shan't tell. The
sprightly writers will not allow that the Derby is a bore, except to young
men, and to me; but the superstition is on the wane, and it's no good being
waxy about it. Moons wax and wane, you understand, eh, you mad wag ?

In my insatiable ardour for sporting news, I have visited all the horses in
their private apartments, and interviewed them. I took my friend Grumpy
with me, because he is a judge of horses, having one day ridden on the Ele-
phant at the Zoological Gardens. The first noble animal we called on was
Wistland. If he had been named Westland Marston it would have been
a better omen, as anything he gives name to is sure to run well. As it is, I
think the noble animal will bo like the Royalists at Marston Moor. Then we
saw Bertram. Did you ever read Henry Kirke White's ghastly ballad
Gondoline, and how a witch went to Bertram in battle and told him his love
had wedded another, and how he flung himself into the slaughter, and how
she tore his head off, and how she held it up for the maiden to see in the cave ?
If not, read it. Our Bertram's head will not, I think, come off, but it will
not be near the winner's. The Sunbeam colt is welcome, for his name, but
his chances are moonshine. The Druid has his merits, but if he says, in his
stall, that he is going to win (horses have sometimes spoken, and asses often),
quote Collins, and say, " In yonder cave a Druid lies." Winslow we visited,
and Grumpy said that no Derby horse could win slow. Wasn't it a stupid
remark ? I said that I could not lay Winslow's Soothing Syrup to the souls
of his backers. Wasn't it a clever epigram ? Grumpy was rather sweet (for
him) on Statesman, but a real statesman always sees three courses before
him, and no horse can run on three unless he is Cerberus, who is not a horse
but a dog. I don't like the name, Statesman and Blunderer being just now
nearly equivalents—not elephants, said Grumpy. Laburnum the Germans
call " golden rain," and this fine horse will deserve a golden rein, and golden
oats too (like Caligula's) if he wins, but I think Labirnam wood will first
come to Dunsinane. Grumpy muttered something about inane dunce. He

is a rude kuss. As regards Wenlock, the nobleman of that name takes his name
from Much Wenlock, but you will not see much Wenlock among the foremost.
As regards Almoner I do not speak so decidedly, because he certainly complies
with the definition of a horse, being a large quadruped, with a leg at each
corner of him, but those who have legs all right, may yet misplace alms. He
ought to do something, and I believe will. Drummond is not a horse to be
sneezed at; in fact, I do not know that any horses are made for that purpose.
Mr. Henry Drummond, a remarkable man, used to keep a horse alwaya
saddled and bridled in his stable, to be ready for the end of the world, and
if this is that animal, back him, for Mr. Drummond had the best of every-
thing, and usually, in debate, the best of everybody. We visited Queen's
i Messenger, and Grumpy made a stupid quotation about a " poster of the sea
! and land," d propos of seeing a poster of Land and Water. As for Q. M., I
consider that he ought to win, because I have drawn him in a Sweep. Angel
means Messenger, and if he wins I will call him an angel—I can't say fairer.
He is a clinking good horse, a fact which would comfort me more if I knew
what clinking meant. However, let the cannakin clink, and let the cannakin
clink, a king's but a man, and a pot's not a pan, and so we '11 have something
to drink. We have now to speak of Cremorne, or as ten thousand cads will
I call him, on the day, Cree-morne. All snobs are in a hurry with their
accents. The noble lady who owns the name is descended from Mr. Whaley,
and if the horse goes, as the beautiful Scotch song says, Whaley, whaley up
the bank, and whaley whaley down the brae, why his backers may blubber.
On the other hand, if he is only half as fast as Cremorne-haunters fancy
they are, the Blue Riband is his. Do I express myself clearly ? If you
think not, read what I have said over again until you are tired,
then stop. Finally, we come to the Favourite, bonny Prince Charlie.
The prince of that name was a pretender. This horse is very big. We have
lately seen a big pretender come to grief. But Prince Charlie has real good
blood in him, and Epsom may not be his Culloden, or his Court of Common
Pleas. His motto, however, mustn't be "On-Slow." This was Grumpy's
joke, and you may easily perceive into what a condition he had got. Come
that's all I have to say, for if people don't take an interest in things, I shall
not eliminate sesquipedalianisms in an autoschediastical fashion to amuse
them. But, you respectfully ask—what is my final advice ? What do I mean
to Stand Upon ? Well, I mean to stand upon the top of my drag. Sold
again, and bought an ounce of Epsom salts with some of the money. Never
bet on horses. I respect the American gentleman who never backed but one.
and then he backed him into a shop-window. There, don't stand in uffish
thought, but study my vorpal hints again, and if you don't rest too long
by the Turn-Turn tree, you'll chortle in your joy. Notice what I have not
said. Read " between the lines."

WE WILL TORPEDO THEM.

" As yet," says a contemporary, in an article urging the import-
ance of the torpedo as a weapon of offence and defence in naval
warfare, "the science of torpedoing has never been thoroughly in-
vestigated in this country." Here we have another new word, and,
what is more, another new thing, come, as usual, from America. To
employ torpedoes effectually against ships was an American achieve-
ment, and to call their employment "torpedoing" is American
speech. Turning, as their manner is, a substantive into a verb, the
Americans have made one more addition to their mother tongue for
us. Henceforth torpedo is to be conjugated in English grammars—
" I torpedo, thou torpedoest, he she or it torpedoes," and so on
through all moods and tenses, the most important of which, in
regard to making all due provision to act it out in case of need, is
the Indicative Mood, Future Tense, First Person Plural—" We shall
torpedo," in the event of having our coasts invaded. Mind that.

A Groan on a Bore.

0 the Alabama bore!
When are we to have it o'er,
Never hear about it more,
How long, 0 how long before ?

How much tedious prose in store
Have the journals still to pour
On that threadbare theme, galore ?
Hang the Alabama bore !

Double Cockney Conundrum for the Derby Day.

" What eminent Composer would in England have probably been
'in the Ping'?"
" 'At/dn."
"Why?"

"Because who ever 'eard of 'Aydn alone? Ain't it always a
'Aydn and abettirf ? Eh ? Now then ! Come up, can't yer ! "