Summary

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

For a while Bartley, Bart., sat silent and sorrowing. If it had been the custom to wear sackcloth on the Opposition benches, and any ashes had been handy, he would undoubtedly have endeavoured to discover what secret consolation their use conveys. Nothing of the kind to be had on the premises. After brooding for a while, he up and spoke. "Where's the Prime Minister?" he cried aloud. House hardly recognised in this wailing voice the stern accents with which it is familiar from the same quarter. "It is not proper that the House should sit without the Prime Minister."
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

In the very hottest season, when the thermometer in every London house went so high that it had to be deluged with wholesome antiseptic Condyment, and doors and windows were everywhere left open so as to obtain a through draught,—for people lived on draughts of all sorts in those doggiest of dog-days and on little else,—we, that is all the Crusoes, were seated in our garden looking on to the heather and the sea, open to all the winds of heaven—and getting one of them, the south-east, blowing softly and sweetly across our south-western height.
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

Charles (to himself) . I knew he was a muff! (Aloud.) I should have thought you could easily get a pass to any place you wanted to go—in your profession.
Curph. (to himself) . He suspects something. (Aloud.) Should you? Why?
Charles. Oh, as you're on a newspaper, you know. Don't they always have a free pass for everywhere?
Curph. If they have, I have never had occasion to make use of it.
Charles. Well, of course you may turn up your nose at music-halls, and say they're not intellectual enough for you.
Source: Gutenberg

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