e exists at the office of this paper a _person_--he is absolutely
unworthy of any other designation--who presumed last week to abstain
from inserting in these columns the article to which the sporting
millions of his fellow countrymen were looking for information with
reference to the Ascot doings. I have no doubt whatever that _he
himself used the hints_ which that article contained, for I have since
seen him in a brand-new hat and a gold watch-chain, the result of his
ill-gotten gains. For my own sake I am forced to explain this sinister
business, lest the preposterous suet-headed Mr. J. should triumph,
and my readers should suppose for a moment that I would willingly
disappoint them. I have kept a copy of what I wrote, and I here
transcribe some of it in self-defence.

"With regard to the Royal Hunt Cup," I observed, "only a bat-eyed
bargee, with the brains of a molluscous monkey, could fail to see the
merits of _Morion_. _Morion_, it is well known, is an open helmet, but
it doesn't follow from that that the Hunt Cup is an open event. Far
from it. Visor, or no visor, those who elect to stand on _Morion_,
need anticipate no trouble from anything else, for _Morion_ is as
certain to win the race as Mr. J. is to make a green-gooseberry fool
of himself before another week is out." There was accuracy. No silly
beating about the bush, but a straightforward piece of information,
which not even the great band of boozy Bedlamites and buffoons who
dance attendance on Mr. J. could have mistaken. But, as I said, no
blame attaches to me in the matter.

Now then with regard to the Gold Cup. I said: "In the Gold Cup the old
adage holds, _Medio tutissimus ibis_. The Ibis, I may mention, though
he was an Egyptian bird, cannot be termed a flyer. However, take the
three words _The Gold Cup_, select the middle word, open your
mouth, bung up the eyes of anyone who impedes you, and wire to your
Commissioner." The middle word was "Gold," and _Gold_, of course, won
the Cup that was of, _or_ belonging to him. Ask Prince SOLTYKOFF if
am right or wrong. And for the rest, if any fuddling, bolus-brained,
bran-faced, turnip-tongued, hippopotamus-headed moon-calf doubts my
word, let him remember that there are pistols for two--_and coffee for
one_, in Belgium, and let him tremble.

* * * * *

THE WAY WE SHALL LIVE SOON.

(_From the Diary of the Automatically Conducted._)

7 A.M.--Turned out of automatically con