before the curtain went up on the Third Act. Only, unfortunately, it
wasn't cocoa.

Arthur Batchen, manager of the Fly-by-Night Theatre and one of the
best fellows that ever breathed, told me once he thought the soda
must get into Bessie's legs. But her dresser was positive about her
instructions always to forget the soda. So I don't think it can have
been that.

I remember too--

[For the continuation of this interesting series of reminiscences
see to-morrow's _Evening Cues_.]

* * * * *

A LOST LEADER.

(_OR, THOUGHTS ON TREK._)

The men are marching like the best;
The waggons wind across the lea;
At ten to two we have a rest,
We have a rest at ten to three;
I ride ahead upon my gee
And try to look serene and gay;
The whole battalion follows me,
_And I believe I've lost the way._

Full many a high-class thoroughfare