Summary

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

I said soothingly. "Everything's ready."
"Will he die without a sound, or will he gurgle?" said Emily, and brought the knife within an inch of my nose.
"No one is going to die at our tea-party, dear," I said, and ducked.
"Not after swallowing that?" shrieked Emily, and lunged at me with the knife again.
I got it firmly by the handle this time, and I recognised Emily's special cake-knife, an instrument wrought to perfection by long years of service, sharp as a razor down both sides, with a flexible tip that slithered round a basin and scooped up the last morsels of candied-peel.
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

I haven't a family tree by me, but know the late-lamented Emily Jane by name. She was part of the issue of one Henry Fordyce, who is in the direct line, absolutely non-stop, without changing, from the earliest known Fordyce to myself.
What a field for speculation is here opened up! With your scientific bent you will grasp the possibilities of the hereditary influence of my family on yours, supposing Edward Petherton to be a direct ancestor of your own.
Source: Gutenberg

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