be a lord or a younger son, but a genuine
functionary, bred to his work, and not born
to it. A handsome sentry-box to be his official
residence. " In front should be a paved space,
where the stand post should be erected and
the pails placed. On the top of the box
should be a lamp, glazed with coloured glass,
so that any stranger might at night see from
a distance where he might find a cab rank.
It should be the duty of the waterman, at
least three times a day, to sweep the stand
and turn on the water to wash it down.
Inside the waterman's box should be hung up
most extensive tables of cab-fares from that
particular stand to all parts of London, and in
every direction; also rules for the good order
of the cab-rank, and tables of fines for
disobedience." The waterman should be provided
with writing materials, and a book, in which
he might register all complaints, and take the
number of the cabman, for insolence,
over-charge, and other indiscretions. The waterman
would also act as arbiter in case of disputes,
as fireman in case of fire, as policeman in case
of robbery, as gaoler until a perambulating
colleague custodier should come by; as a
general patron, supervisor, umpire of the
cabman on his stand—commander, in short, of
the vehicular ranks. The army is not a small
one. In London alone eight thousand men
earn their bread by the flick of the whip.
One ray of common-sense in reference to them
shines from the prospectus of a " Provident
and Benevolent Institution for the Hackney-Coach
Trade," which now lies on our table.

All this is very much needed. In all small
things our nation are bad systematisers;
abroad, they beat us hollow in sumptuary and
municipal regulations and little public facilities
and conveniences. In France, for instance,
public conveyances are infinitely better
managed. The tariff for hackney conveyances
in Paris is very simple: there can be no
dispute. You pay a fixed price per journey
(par course). Provided you do not go beyond
the barriers of the city, and do not stop on
the road, one franc and a quarter is the charge
for an ordinary cab, holding two persons
besides the driver, be the ride ever so long.
If you make a call, that is two courses, and
you are charged accordingly. If you want
two horses and a better sort of vehicle, you
may pay as much as two francs and a half for
your course. Or you can, if you choose, hire
by time. The price of the course is painted
on the lamps of the carriage, and generally
inside too. In justice to the British Cab it
must be owned that the pace of the Parisian
vehicle is much slower; because the horses
are much less powerful, or rather much more
helpless.

A specimen of Parisian Justice in a
cab-case, wherein I was myself the complainant,
when I was residing in Paris two or three
years ago, may be amusing.

Coining out of the theatre one night, with
two ladies, I found it raining heavily. The
weather had been beautiful, and we had
intended to walk home, but this sudden
change obliged me to seek a Hackney coach.
I found one in the Place of the Palais Royal,
and was so glad to get it—for it was the only
coach there—that I did not observe, when I
called the driver, that he had no hat on, but
was sitting on his box, in the rain, bare-headed.
I remarked this singularity as I was handing
the ladies in, and asked him where his hat
was? " Oh! " he said very coolly, " it's
inside." " And why don't you put it on
then? " " Well! I may as well put it on, to
be sure," says he; " will you please to hand it
up? A thousand thanks! " It is so unusual
in Paris to see a man of this kind drunk, that
I never suspected him of being anything but
eccentric, until we came to a neighbouring
street where there were a number of carriages
waiting at a party, among which we began to
make such havoc by bumping wildly about,
that I soon understood what was the matter
with my friend, and awoke him, with some
difficulty, from a sound sleep. I then got the
ladies out, and said to him in what I
considered a highly impressive manner, tempered
with a gentle amiability, " Now, my friend,
you are drunk, and I am not going to pay you
anything. You had better go home and keep
out of trouble! " Not in the least affected by
this softening address, he immediately cast
his arms and legs into the air all at once, as
nobody but a Frenchman could, clutched
roughly at my throat, and tore my coat;
whereupon I hit him, according to the custom
of my country, and he tumbled into a
confectioner's doorway. Other coachmen came up,
and the confectioner came out. " Monsieur
is a foreigner," said he, on hearing the merits
of the case; " it is late, and these men make
common cause. My advice is, pay him for the
course, and make complaint to Monsieur le
Prefect. He will do justice." With a very
bad grace I paid for the course, and went
home breathing vengeance. I relieved my
mind by writing to Monsieur le Prefect before
I went to bed—waited three weeks for an
answer—got none—every day for three weeks
anathematised France. Early one morning
at the expiration of that time, appeared the
coachman, with a beard, and in an old blouse,
looking very miserable. He had been in
prison ever since, and was now sent to repay
the money I had paid him, and get a receipt
for it. He also brought an official paper
stating that he was deprived of his number,
and that unless I chose to accept his apology
and sign that recommendation for its being
restored to him (which I was not asked to
do), he was thenceforth incapable of driving
any public carriage. I considered it right to
take the money, but of course I signed the
paper, and gave him some breakfast. He told
my servant that he had been summoned to
the Prefect's Office. That they had said to
him, " Now, two hundred and so-and-so, this
letter of complaint has been received against