Summary

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

In the little sitting-room above his shop sat Mr. Assid Ropes. It was the afternoon before Christmas Day. He had generously allowed all his assistants to leave. "If anybody wants their hair cut, or their hat ironed," he said, "I'll do it myself, and then they'll wish they hadn't."
Yet, when a customer rapped on the floor below, Mr. Ropes felt exceedingly angry.
"What do you want?" he called down the stairs.
"I want my hat ironed," said a clear, manly voice.
"Go away! Your hat doesn't want ironing. Go to bed!"
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

Spend your surplus, Sir, in providing this country and all her dependencies with a farthing postage—mind, not a penny, but a Farthing Postage! I read somewhere that the actual cost to the Government for the transport of letters was at the rate of ten for a penny. Thus your four millions sunk in the enterprise ought to produce you an immediate profit, at least so I make it, of six millions a year.
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

Really the presumptuous familiarity of the lower orders is perfectly appalling!
The Earl (to Countess, as Lord B. and Coltsfoot retire to exchange costumes) . At last, Pauline, I understand why I could never feel towards Bullsaye the affection of a parent. Often have I reproached myself for a coldness I could not overcome.
Countess. And I too! Nature was too strong for us. But, oh, the joy of recovering our son—of finding him so strong, so supple, so agile. Never yet has our line boasted an heir who can feed himself from a fork strapped on to his dexter heel!
Source: Gutenberg

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