Magistrate (to incorrigible vagrant on his thirteenth appearance). "I'm tired of seeing you, and don't know whether to send you to gaol or the workhouse."
Vagrant. "Make it gaol, my lud, as there you do get a room to yerself, whereas in the work'us you never know who you rub shoulders with."
HAMPSTEAD.
The trouble about Hampstead is that it is so very much further from Kensington than Kensington is from it. Every day, I believe, there pass between Kensington and Hampstead telephone conversations something like this:—
Kensington. When are you coming to see us?
Hampstead. Why don't you come here instead?
Ken. It's such a fearfully long way.
Hamp. I like that. Do you know that a bus runs the whole way from here to Kensington?
Ken. I don't blame it. But I'm jolly sure it doesn't go back again.