“Well, you scoundrel,” said the British Captain, “have you anything to urge in your defence before we prepare you for your execution?”

“What would be the good?” was the sulky reply.  “I know my fate.”

“That voice, those husky tones,” exclaimed the epauletted representative of the English Admiralty; “surely I know them.  They bring back painful recollections.  Show your face, Sirrah!”

“Why should I?” queried the conquered Chief.  “It won’t do me any good!”

But at a gesture of the British Captain, his prisoner was seized, and his face forcibly washed.

“What, BILLY TOMPKINS!” murmured the Briton, “and we meet again like this!”

“Yes,” answered the other, “and it can’t be helped.  You have your duty to perform, and so have I. Do your worst!”

“But, BILLY, you were not always like this!”

“No, JACK, I was not.  Once I used to prattle at my mother’s knee.  I was beloved by my brothers and sisters, and I was the pride of the nursery!”

And then the strong man broke down, and wept bitterly.

“But have you not fallen very low?” asked the British Captain, gently.

“Indeed I have!  I am a thief, a liar, a scoundrel—­and, in fact, a blackguard!”

“With such surroundings,” returned the Officer R.N., pointing to the debris of the pirate craft, “it is difficult to dispute your contention.  Indeed, you are a blackguard!  But to what cause do you owe your fall?”

“To my early training.”

“I do not comprehend you.  Your early training!  Where were you trained?”

“In the Britannia!”

And then the British Captain completely understood the situation.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  A SOLILOQUY.

(At the close of the German Exhibition.)

West Kensington Cuirassier.  “NOW OI WONDER WHAT KOIND OF AN ’ERO OI’LL ’AVE TO BE NEXT YEAR?”]

* * * * *

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