for the new Magazine Rifle. 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._

* * * * *