The result is, that after a couple of
pitched battles, though in an outburst of popular fury_, Mr. STANHOPE
_is lynched by the Mob to a lamp-post in Parliament Street, London
capitulates, and the French Commander-in-Chief, breakfasts, waited on
by the_ LORD MAYOR, _in the Bank of England._
_Military Instructor_ (_sitting up and rubbing his eyes_). Dear me!
we seem to have been beaten. That Rifle was no good, after all.
(_Recognising him._) Halloa, ATKINS!
_Tommy Atkins_ (_with a grin_). 'Ees, Sir!
_Military Instructor_. You remember all I told you?
_Tommy Atkins_ (_still grinning_). 'Ees, Sir!
_Military Instructor_. I'm afraid that wasn't such a serviceable
weapon, after all!
_Tommy Atkins_ (_still grinning_). Noa, Sir!
_Military Instructor_. Dear me! Well, we had better get out of this!
By Jove! it looks like the last Act!
[_Mutually assist each other to rise and quit the
Battle-field, the_ Military Instructor _threatening to write
to the "Times," and_ TOMMY ATKINS _still grinning as Curtain
falls._
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Sylvanus_. "FOXES ARE SCARCE IN MY COUNTRY; BUT WE
MANAGE IT WITH A DRAG NOW AND THEN!"
_Urbanus_. "OH--ER--YES. BUT HOW DO YOU GET IT OVER THE FENCES?"]
* * * * *
UNDER A CIVIL COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF.
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