Brighton Fisherman. "Well, marm, that be your fault—it bean't mine. I've offered 'em yer every day this week, and you might a' 'ad 'em o' Monday if you'd a loiked!"
At Margate.—Angelina (very poetical, surveying the rolling ocean). "Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink."
Edwin (very practical). No drink! Now, hang it all, Angy, if I've asked you once I've asked you three times within the last five minutes to come and do a split soda and whiskey! And I can do with it!
THE LAST DAY AT THE SEASIDE—PACKING UP
Maid (to Paterfamilias). "Please, sir, missus say you're to come in, and sit on the boxes; because we can't get 'em to, and they wants to be corded."