"I'm not afraid of a barrel of cider!" said a toper to a temperance man. "I presume not, from your appearance; I should think a barrel of cider would run at your approach," was the reply.
"I tell you, Susan, that I will commit suicide, if you won't have me."—"Well, John, as soon as you have given me that proof of your affection, I will believe that you love me."
If the speculator misses his aim, everybody cries out, "He's a fool," and sometimes "He's a rogue." If he succeeds, they besiege his door and demand his daughter in marriage.
"I'm sitting on the style, Mary," as the lover said when he seated himself on a bonnet of the latest Paris fashion.