But oh! I can't agree with the Spectator,
Who'd do away with—gods!—the dinner party!
No, let us compromise,—we'll all be winners,—
And firmly banish party from our dinners!
Sympathy
(Scene—In front of Mrs. R.'s house)
Mrs. Ramsbotham (paying Cabman). You look all right to-day.
Cabman. Ah, mum! my looks don't pity me. I suffer from a tarpaulin liver.
Mrs. R. (correcting). A torpedo liver, you mean.