TUCKER himself, I suddenly, but cautiously, retire. I descend the
grand staircase between two rows of beefeaters reclining drowsily at
their ease. Fast asleep, some of 'em, after too much beef. Imagine
myself a prisoner, in disguise of course, escaping from the Tower
in the olden time. Then, fearing the collapse of another buckle
or button, or the sudden "giving" of a seam, I steal cautiously
past the Guards--then past serried ranks of soldiers under the
colonnade--then--once more in the street of Bow, and I am free! I
breathe again.

Hie thee home, my gallant steed (an eighteenpenny fare in a hansom),
and let me resume the costume of private life, trifle with a cutlet,
drain the goblet and smoke the mild havannah. _Sic transit gloria_
Wednesday!

(_Signed._) (Mysteriously.) THE DUKE OF DIS GUISE.

P.S.--Although there was more money in the house than on any previous
occasion, yet never did I see so many persons who had "come in with
orders," which they displayed lavishly, wearing them upon their manly
buzzums.

* * * * *

MEN IN POSSESSION.

The Manager of Covent Garden is Sheriff HARRIS. Can all his operatic
officials all over the house be correctly termed "Sheriff's Officers"?

* * * * *