_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 Pungwe 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?

_My_ Mash, that young woman! Will you bar our meeting?
We're sweethearts. Will you interfere with our tryst?
You pert whippersnapper, my sable-skinned sweeting
My masculine wooing's too wise to resist.
Shall RHODES be cut out by a sma