Two years after the formation of the London General Omnibus Company there were about 1200 omnibuses in London, only a small proportion of which worked on Sundays. On the majority of roads they ran on week-days at intervals of five minutes, the fares being, in most cases, from twopence to ninepence. Many of the omnibus lines in existence at that time have been altered or curtailed in consequence of railway competition. Among these are the following long-distance routes:--Stratford and Oxford Street, Brentford and St. Paul’s, Greenwich and Charing Cross, Richmond, Kew and Bank, Finchley and Bank, Angel and Hampton Court. The Richmond Conveyance Company had some excellent omnibuses, which ran from Richmond to the Bank, _viâ_ Mortlake, Barnes, Hammersmith, and Piccadilly. They were built by Mr. H. Gray of Blackfriars. [Illustration: RICHMOND CONVEYANCE COMPANY OMNIBUS. END VIEW.] In the early sixties it began to be recognized that, for men, the best way to see London was from the top of an omnibus. An anonymous poet published, in 1865, a satire on life seen from an omnibus roof. It was entitled “The Omnibus.” Here are a few lines from it-- “August four-wheeler! Rolling Paradise! Thou Juggernaut to dawdling men and mice! Thou blissful refuge to the footsore cit! Thou boast of science and inventive wit! To thee, in pride careering o’er the stones, The homeward labourer drags his weary bones. The burdened porter, staggering on the road, Climbs up thy hulk and there forgets his load. For thee the merchant his dull desk forsakes, And leaves Cornhill to night, and thieves, and rakes. The lover finds thee pensioner of bliss,-- By thee he speeds to reap the promised kiss. On thy ‘outside,’ no muff can plead his qualms, And us forbid to colour our meerschaums; Thy ramparts hold we by an ancient lease, And there unchallenged, smoke the pipe of peace. All hail! thou kindest gift of human sense! Thou envy of the wretch--who lacks three-pence! All hail! thou huge, earth-born leviathan! Thou rattling, rambling, two-horse caravan! Thou dry-land ship, breasting in scorn the waves Of traffic’s whirlpool that round Cheapside raves. Behind thee, competition lies, And jealousy but breathes a curse and dies. Poor Francis Train just hissed at thee his spite, Then, with his ‘Tramways’ sank in endless night; And jobbing railways, near thy presence found, Smitten with shame, hide, fuming ‘Under-ground.’ Though trampled curs may curse thee with a bark, And godless cabmen call thee--‘Noah’s Ark;’ Majestic vehicle! much slandered friend, To lowest Tophet we their libels send, And chaunt thy praises to the City’s end. An eighth world-wonder thine arrival bodes, Thou greatest, best, Colossus of our roads.”