When it is bad, if it be very young, from under
its ribboned cap, fiercely cocked on one side, it
glares at you with a baleful eye, and dribbles as
in mockery, with one mottled arm up to the
elbow in its mouth. If it be "getting on"
and older, it commences to swing its legs like
two clock pendulums, with a regular motion,
increasing in vigour until one of its feet catches
you on the shin, when it is "fetched-up" short,
by a sharp prod in the side from its attendant
sprite, and is put as a punishment to "stand
down." Then it deposits itself on your toes,
and thence commences the ascent of your leg,
taking your instep as its Grands Mulets, or
resting-place.

Among the general characteristics of
"insides," I need scarcely point out a feeling
inducing those already in possession to regard
every new comer with loathing, to decline
tendering the least assistance, to close up their
ranks as earnestly as the Scottish spearmen did
at Flodden Field, "each stepping where his
comrade stood," and to leave the new arrival to
grope his way through a thick brushwood of
knees, crinolines, and umbrellas, to the end of
the omnibus, where he finally inserts as much of
himself as he can between the wood-work and
his next neighbour's shoulder, and leaves his
ultimate position to Time the Avenger. It is
also an infallible and rigorously observed rule
that, if two people meeting in an omnibus know
each other and speak, all the other people in
the omnibus endeavour to listen to what those
two are saying—also, that all the other people
pretend that they are not listening or paying
the least attention to the conversation. Further,
it is necessary that whenever a stout person is
seen blocking out the daylight in the doorway,
each side having the same complement of
passengers, all should begin to assume a defiant
air, and get close together and play that
game known among children as "no child of
mine," or to treat the new comer as a kind of
shuttlecock, tossing him from one to the other
until an accidental jolt decides his fate.

The "outsides" are a very different class.
Women are never seen there, save when an
occasional maid-servant going into the country
for a holiday, climbs up beside the coachman:
who, though he greatly enjoys her company,
becomes the object of much ribald chaff among
his associates. Passing him on the road, they
inquire "when it's a comin'off?" if he be
unmarried, or, if he be in a state of connubial
bliss, threaten to "tell the missis." But the
"outsides" are, for the most part, young men
of fast tendencies, who always make a point
of ascending and descending while the omnibus
is at its swiftest, and who would be degraded
and disgusted if the driver slackened his pace
to accommodate them. Some of them are very
young-looking indeed, and but one remove from
schoolboys; and these, I notice, feel bound to
suck wooden or meerschaum pipes, and to talk
of their exploits of the previous evening. With
them, the conductor, always known by his
christian name, is on the pleasantest terms,
occasionally being admitted to the friendly game
of pool, at the tavern where the journey terminates.
They know all the other omnibus servants
on the road, who touch their hats as they pass,
and they maintain a constant conversation about
them in a low growling tone: As—"Old Harry's
late again this morning!" " Little Bill's still
driving that blind 'un, I see!" and so forth.

Most of these young fellows have their regular
booked seats, for which they pay weekly, whether
they occupy them or no; and for a stranger to
get up amongst them is as bad as if he were
accidentally to penetrate into the sacred
precincts of the Stock Exchange.

             THE NICK OF TIME.

LET us suppose a case that might occur if it
has not occurred.

John Mullet, immersed (say) in the button
trade at Birmingham, has made money in business.
He bequeaths his property by will, and is in
due time gathered to his fathers. His two sons,
Jasper and Josiah, take certain portions; and
other portions are to go either to the family of
Jasper or to that of Josiah, according as either
one of those brothers survives the other. Jasper
remains in England; but Josiah goes out to
Australia, to establish something that may make
his children great people over there. Both
brothers, twelve thousand miles apart, die on
the same day, May 1st, one at noon (Greenwich
time), the other at noon (Sydney time).
Jasper's children have been on pleasant cousinly
terms with Josiah's; but they are aware of
the fact that it would be better for them that
Josiah should die before their own father,
Jasper. Josiah's children, on the other .hand,
be they few or many, although they always
liked Uncle Jasper, cannot and do not ignore the
fact that their interests would be better served by
the survivorship of Josiah than that of Jasper.
The two sets of cousins, therefore, plunge into
a contest, to decide the question of survivorship
between the two sons of old John Mullet.

This is one variety of a problem which the
courts of Law and Equity are often called upon
to settle. Occasionally the question refers to
two persons who die at the same time, and in
each other's company. For instance: Towards
the close of the last century, George Netherwood,
his children by his first wife, his second
wife, and her son, were all wrecked during a
voyage from Jamaica to England. Eight thousand
pounds were left by will, in such a way that the
relations of the two wives were greatly
interested in knowing whether the second Mrs.
Netherwood did or did not survive her husband,
even by one single minute—a matter which, of
course, could not be absolutely proved. Again,
in eighteen hundred and six, Mr. Mason and
one son were drowned at sea; his remaining
eight children went to law, some of them against
the others; because, if the father died before the
son, five thousand pounds would be divided
equally among the other eight children; whereas,
if the son died before the father, the brothers
only would get it, the sisters being shut out. A