rth in time. Precisely as the half
hour strikes, the tin horn of the omnibus sounds its shrill blast, and
the vehicle is seen rattling round the corner, stopping one moment at
No. 28, to take up Mr Johnson. On it comes, with a fresh blast, to
where the commercial trio are waiting for it; out rushes Smith, wiping
his mouth, and the 'bus,' swallowing up the whole four, rumbles and
trumpets on to take up Thompson, Jackson, and Richardson, who, cigars
in mouth, are waiting at a distance of forty paces off to ascend the
roof. An hour later, a second omnibus comes by on the same benevolent
errand, for the accommodation of those gentlemen, more favoured by
fortune, who are not expected to be at the post of business until the
hour of ten. As Our Terrace does not stand in a direct omnibus route,
these are all the 'buses' that will pass in the course of the day. The
gentlemen whom they convey every morning to town are regular
customers, and the vehicles diverge from their regular course in order
to pick them up at their own doors.

About half-past nine, or from that to a quarter to ten, comes the
postman with his first delivery of letters for the day. Our Terrace is
the most toilsome part of his beat, for having to serve both sides of
the way, his progress is very like that of a ship at sea sailing
against the wind. R'tat he goes on our side, then down he jumps into
the road--B'bang on the other side--tacks about again, and serves the
terrace--off again, and serves the villas, and so on till he has
fairly epistolised both sides of the way, and vanished round the
corner. The vision of his gold band and red collar is anxiously looked
for in the morning by many a fair face, which a watchful observer may
see furtively peering through the drawing-room window-curtains. After
he has departed, and the well-to-do merchants and employers who reside
in the villas opposite have had time to look over their
correspondence, come sundry neat turn-outs from the stables and
coach-houses in the rear of the villas: a light, high gig, drawn by a
frisky grey, into which leaps young Oversea the shipbroker--a
comfortable, cushioned four-wheel drawn by a pair of bay ponies, into
which old Discount climbs heavily, followed perhaps by his two
daughters, bound on a shopping-visit to the city--and a spicy-looking,
rattling trap, with a pawing horse, which has a decided objection to
standing still, for Mr Goadall, the wealthy cattle-drover. These, with
other