A bit of baggage humor from Punch, November 19, 1859:
“Ladies’ Luggage; or Hard Lines by a Brute”
How happy is the single life Of all those priests and monks! Not one of whom has got a wife To bother him with trunks, And bandboxes, a load to gret For man or horse to bear, Which railways charge for, over-weight. And cabs ask double fare. Fell care as with your bride you post Distracts your anxious mind, Lest this portmanteau shall be lost, Or that be left behind; Ther baggage as you travel down Life’s hill, weighs more and more, And still, as balder grows your crown, Becomes a greater bore. Outstretched by Fashion vile and vain, Hoop-petticoats and vest, Now British females, to contain, Require no end of chests. To which bags, baskets, bundles, add, Too mumerous to name, Enough to drive a poor mad mad, A job with rage inflame. The cab keeps awaying o’er your head, With luggage piled above, Of overturn you ride in dread, With her whom you should love; Then you, the station when you gain, Must see that lumber stowed, And fears about it in the train, Your heart and soul corrode. Thus does your wife each journey spoil Of yours that she partakes, Thus keeps you on the fret and broil, Your peace and comfort breaks. With all these boxes, all her things, (How many!) to enclose, The fair Encumbrance on you brings A waggon-load of woes.
If I Had My Own Blue Box: 
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