It is, therefore, with true feminine confidence that I place my services at your disposal, and, my information being of the most unreliable description (derived invariably from the owners), I feel sure that those of your readers who follow my tips will have no cause to regret their temerity, as, being like all women, nothing if not original, I intend to tip, not the probable _winner_, but the probable _last_ horse in important races!
As I invariably attend all the fashionable meetings and most of the unfashionable (incognito of course the latter), it can be left to _me_ to decide which horse was last--thus reducing the matter to a _certainty_--distinctly an object to be gained in making a bet--whatever _men_ may say to the contrary.
An ancestor of mine (the poet of the name)--having transmitted to me a spark of his genius--I propose to give my selections in verse--select verse in fact, and will now in concluding my letter, give my tip for the probable last horse in the Derby--(which, by the way, happens in this case to be a mare--I repeat--I am nothing if not original!)--and, before doing so, I should like to express my sympathy with the Duke of WESTMINSTER and JOHN PORTER, who have indeed had an Orme-ful of trouble with the unfortunate erstwhile Derby Favourite, which would undoubtedly have been my selection had he not been scratched! Yours devotedly,
The Baron boldly said, "Je vais Renvoyer cette dépêche: 'À Monsieur FRY of London Town. Un livre sur _La Flèche_.'"
My hansom here completely stuck; No chance to catch my train, worse luck! I sit and wonder: Why should the roads be up in May? Who muddles matters in this way, With bungling blunder?
What use to make a shapeless space, Where rambling roadways interlace, And, in the Season, To close just what was meant to save This block, because they want to pave? What is the reason?
By Jove, it's like some years ago, The traffic stopping in a row In Piccadilly! The Vestry does not care a pin For all the muddle that we're in; They're much too silly.
Perhaps they'd say they meant it well. I do not know. All I can tell Is that I'm raving. I'd send that Vestry down below, Where all such good intentions go, To make more paving!