Summary

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

I go out—to find the sympathetic Porter. My baggage has arrived? It has; it is at the Douane, waiting for me. I am saved! I tell the Waiter, without elation, but with what, I trust, is a calm dignity—the dignity of a man who has been misunderstood, but would scorn to resent it.
At the Station.—I have accompanied the Porter to the Terminus, such a pleasant helpful fellow, so intelligent! The Ostend streets much less dull at night. Feel relieved, in charity with all the world, now that my prodigal portmanteau is safely reclaimed. Porter takes me into a large luggage-room.
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

A stranger who comes abroad with nothing but a stick and an umbrella cannot expect to inspire confidence, I suppose. I remark to the Waiter that the luggage is sure to follow me by the next boat, but it strikes even myself that I do not bring this out with quite a sincere ring. Not at all the manner of a man who possesses a real portmanteau. I order dinner—the kind of dinner, I feel, that a man who did not intend to pay for it would order.
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

There is absolutely no knowing what will start for the Oaks nowadays until the numbers go up—and no Turf Prophet will venture a selection until the morning of the race—and this is where the perspicuity of an Editor like yourself, Mr. Punch, scores a distinct hit—for such a paltry consideration as "knowing nothing about it" is not likely to daunt a woman who takes as her motto the well-known line from SHAKSPEARE: "Thus Angels rush where Cowards fear to tread!"—so herewith I confidently append my verse selection for the last Mare in the Oaks!
Source: Gutenberg

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