unconsciousness that he is a nuisance, and ought to be kicked out,
really approaches the sublime.

He is a pet of the driver, of course. Some innocent people wonder that
the drivers of omnibuses or cars should feel so very charitably disposed
toward the human family in general, as to take up extra passengers when
all seats are filled. Short-sighted mortals! Do you not see it! The more
passengers, beyond the complement of the "'bus," the more perquisites
for an ill-requited profession.

To return to our black sheep. Look where he stands. As he grows weary,
he grasps the straps on either side to steady him. His attitude is a
cunningly devised mode of tormenting his fellow-passengers. Either elbow
of our nondescript just reaches the hat of your opposite neighbor or
yourself. With each jolt of the stage, by a little dexterity of
movement, or want of it, he can knock the hats over the eyes of two
persons at a time, and by a little shifting of his position he can
frequently bring down four by a single spasmodic lunge. When he is
fresher, as in the morning, and can hold his own weight, he falls in his
more natural posture. Would you know what that may be? Did you ever
observe one of the descendants of the Lost Tribes who inhabit Chatham
street dreamily waiting for a passing rustic? He is apparently in a
comatose state. His abdomen is drawn in; his body is bent like a section
of a hoop; his eyes are cast down; while both his hands are thrust
deeply into his trowser's pockets.

But I grow weary of the subject, and stop by commending the Thirteenth
Man in the Omnibus to curiosity-hunters as a fungus growth of humanity
nursed by over-virtuous forbearance.