_Kellner_ (_as before_). Oh, high-born customer, beware! This is your
fourth glass! You know the law!

_First Ger. Stu._ (_as before_). That indeed I do! And I also know
that my daily allowance is--or rather was--twelve quarts _per diem_!
And now, comrades, our last toast--The Freedom of the Press!

_Chorus of Ger. Stu._ (_raising their glasses_). The Freedom of the
Press!

[_They all drink._

_Em. of the Emp._ (_apart_). This is too much! (_He rises, and
approaches the Students_.) Your pardon, Gentlemen! But do you really
believe in the toasts you have just drunk?

_Chorus of Stu._ Why, certainly!

_Em. of the Emp._ What, in the Liberty of the Fatherland?

_Chorus of Stu._ To be sure--why not?

_Em. of the Emp._ And the Prosperity of the People--mind you, only the
People?

_Chorus of Stu._ Exactly--don't you?

_Em. of the Emp._ And further. You wish well to the Freedom of the
Press?

_Chorus of Stu._ That was our toast! What next?

_Em. of the Emp._ (_producing staff of authority_). That, in the name
of His Majesty, I arrest you!

_Chorus of Stu._ (_astounded_). Arrest us! Why?

_Em. of the Emp._ Because, if you believe in the Liberty of the
Fatherland, ask for the Prosperity of the People, and admire the
Freedom of the Press, you must be drunk!--very drunk! In virtue of the
new law (which punishes the crime of intoxication), away with them!

[_The_ Students _are loaded with chains, and imprisoned,
for an indefinite period, in the lowest dungeon beneath the
castle's moat. Curtain._

* * * * *

OUR HUMOROUS COMPOSER.--What Sir ARTHUR SULLIVAN said or sung before
deciding on taking a Villa at Turbie, on the Riviera,--"Turbie, or not
Turbie, that is the question." He is now hard at work writing a new
Opera (founded, we believe, on _Cox and Box_), and "I am here," he
says, in his quaint way, "because I don't want to be dis-turbie'd."

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE "RETURNED EMPTY."]

_Returned Prodigal sings, to the tune of "Randy Pandy, O!"_:--

Well, here I'm back from Mashonaland!
Mine's hardly a proud position.
My ideas in going were vaguely grand,
And--look at my present condition!

I may cool my heels on this packing-case;
'Tis a little mite like _me_, Sir!
Say my "candid friends," as they watch my face,
"O.I.C.U.R.M.T., Sir!"

I'm the prodigal GRANDY-PANDY, oh!
Returned