A Regiment on Wheels.
HERE is a house in the Queen's-road, Chelsea, which is not without its history. It stands exactly opposite Chelsea Hospital, and there was a time when gay cavaliers of Charles II.'s reign frequented it, for in those merry days its first bricks were laid. On the top floor a small apartment is still to be seen, in the door of which is a small sliding opening capable of admitting the entrance and exit of a head. Not for decapitation, for tradition says that here stood the fashionable hairdresser, whilst handsome lords and fair ladies placed their heads through the
aperture to have their wigs powdered and prevent the spoiling of their silks and velvets. Here, too, cells with iron gratings in the doors may be found. In 1820 the house was converted into a school of discipline, and so it remained until March of last year, when our regiment on wheels 
Headquarters.
brought with them their iron steeds and transformed it into their "headquarters." Its solid mahogany doors and ornamented marble mantelpieces remain as they were in the days of old—its gateway is intact, and probably the same fine trees are flourishing, but outside in unmistakable capitals is written, "Headquarters, 26th Midx. Cyclists," with a substantial flag-staff visible. Its fifteen or sixteen rooms now comprise an armoury, with its repairing bench, arm stands, and innumerable lockers, which are leased at a yearly rental of 2s. 6d. to the members. The sergeants' mess is a cosy abode, and the officers' room—to which a corner devoted to smoking is attached—is furnished in a style approaching luxuriousness, with basket and velvet pile chairs. There is an excellent lecture-room, various offices, and the all-important canteen, the speciality of which are its pork pies and sausage rolls, dear to the heart and soothing to the appetite of all average cyclists. Round its walls are many a fine military picture—"Floreat Etona" and "The Last Eleven at Maiwand," "General Roberts" and "Lord Wolseley," the "Queen" and the "Prince of Wales." There, too—possibly as a reminder to cyclists of the distant climes to which their machines may yet travel on active service—are picturesquely arranged assegais, Indian knives, and Burmese drums, which an enthusiastic cyclist took down from his own bedroom and transported to Chelsea. Look into the garden, some 150 yards long, where drills are held when the corps is not at the Guards' barracks, and peep in at the stable, where fifty or sixty machines may be easily
