Besides, miles vary so much. A mistress's mile is generally very different to a servant's--a master's to a clerk's. Auctioneers' miles are proverbially very short ones when they are describing a property as being not more than "an omnibus distance from town," or when they are enlarging upon the merits of a Villa that is "only an easy drive from a railway station." Travellers' miles, on the contrary, are generally very long ones. You will hear a delicate young man, who has just returned from a pedestrian tour, boast of having walked his "two thousand miles," just as if he had trailed a pedometer behind him, and had measured every inch of the road. Panoramas also, have a very elastic method of stretching out a mile, which cab-drivers would doubtlessly not object to adopt as their own particular standard of measurement. They talk very glibly of being "three miles long," whereas, if the distance came to be measured, it would probably turn out to be--like cabmen's distances generally--not more than half. There is another deficiency, too, that frequently occurs with the mileage question. We have known a distance, that when a party first went over it, was only four or five miles, become suddenly increased to eight or ten at least, when the same party--especially if a dinner party--had to go over it again on their way back. This difficulty has been felt so strongly at times, that every one of the party has preferred--at that late hour--stopping where he was, instead of walking home all that distance. These unnecessary difficulties imperatively call for a speedy answer to the puzzling question, "What is a Mile?" for hitherto the question has been passed over by our Police magistrates, from one parish to another, like a pauper, for the want of a settlement. * * * * * [Illustration: ACCORDING TO ACT OF PARLIAMENT. Lady. "_Your fare's Sixpence, I think? Please to knock at the door._" Cabby. "_Not if I knows it, Marm.--The Hact 'bleeges me to take Sixpence a Mile, but it don't 'bleege me to knock at a door._"] * * * * * A CABMAN'S PROTEST AGAINST THE HINJUSTICE OF THE HACT. Vy, here's a pretty time o 'day! a precious hact indeed! I'm blest if, since I tuk the vip, the like I ever seed. The ould hacts they vos dreadful bad, and cut us all to bits; For justice from just-asses a poor Cabman never gits: Though he may do the thing vot's fair, the fare the thing vot's shabby, It's all the same; the ugly beak is allus down on Cabby. But look at this 'ere hact: my eye! there's fine and pris'n, too! I vonder vot the Parleyment is going next to do. Just s'pose a fare should leave a purse or pocket-book behind, And s'pose, ven I gits to my stand, the book or purse I find; It isn't mine, it's werry true, but I don't know it's his'n; And there comes claws eleven, and claws a 'onest man to pris'n!