he has no heart just now to take in all the beauty of the scene. He feels that he is still no nearer to finding Orson than before. (_The Young Heckler_. "Naw moor be we, Zur. We ain't zeed _nayther_ on 'em zo fur!" _Tumult, and a general demand for the instant production of Orson or Valentine._) Now, children, children! this is very irregular. You must allow me to tell this story my own way. You will see them both in good time, if you only keep still! (_To Ass._) I can't stand this any more. Valentine and Orson must be underneath the rest. Find them, and shove them in quick. Never mind the numbering! (_The screen remains blank while the Assistant fumbles._) Well, have you _got_ them? _The Assistant_. No, Sir; I'm rather afraid they ain't _here_. Fact is, they've sent me out with the wrong set o' slides. This ain't _Valentine and Orson--it's a miscellaneous lot, Sir!_ [_Collapse of Curate as Scene closes in._ * * * * * THE MIXTURE AS BEFORE. (_BY AN IMPATIENT--INFLUENZA--PATIENT._) I bust suppose the Doctor dose, (I do not bead a pud!) What ails be; but that aidlbelt _grows!_ This Subber brigs _do_ sud. Subtibes the east wids blow like bad, Subtibes code showers pour, But daily cubs that doctor's lad,-- "The Bixture as Before!" The Idfluedza I have got, Or I ibadgid so; Subtibes I'b cold, subtibes I'b hot, I cough, I sdeeze, I blow, But GLADSTUD's better, SBITH is well, _I_ do _dot_ bend. O lor!-- There's that codfonded kitchid bell; "The Bixture as Before!" I've had at least a budth of it, Sidtz I was first struck dowd, Yet here id slippered feet I sit! By daily half-a-crowd-- For bedsud taxes by poor purse. It is ad awfud bore. This bedsud bakid be feel worse-- "The Bixture as Before!" I'b odly a poor City clerk. Quidide is bodstrous dear; By doctor treats it as a lark, Ad tries by bide to cheer. But if by situashud goes, I'b ruid--ad two score! What cad avail the Doctor's dose-- "The Bixture as Before"? It bay be Bicrobes, as they say, This Idfluedza pest; What batters? I bust cough--ad _pay_! The Doctor orders "Rest"! Bicrobes be blowed, ad Rest go hag! I'll stad this thig do bore! BARY! was that the door-bell rag? --"The Bixture as Before"! * * * * * THE TRYST. "It is stated that the Pungwé route to Mashonaland has been again closed by the Portuguese Authorities."--_Reuter, May 24_. [Illustration: _Cecil Rhodes_, "YOU CLEAR OUT! SHE'S MY 'MASH!'"] Now then, young Obstructive, still playing the sentry, Where nobody wants you to watch or mount guard? Are _you_ to rule everyone's exit and entry? Clear out, my young friend, or with you 'twill go hard. Yon Portuguese _Tappertit_, turn it up, _do_! D'ye think I'll be stopped by a monkey like you?