FIRE HORSES. '2-jO 



gines, let us now visit a new recruit in his quarters. 

 The weather being warm, the doors of the house are 

 open, a rope being stretched across the entrance. Di- 

 rectly in front of us stands the engine, a polished 

 mass of copper and nickel, with scarlet wheels. The 

 driver's seat is a small box, just big enough to hold 

 him, and behind it, rolled up separately, are strapped 

 the blankets. The harness is suspended from the 

 ceiling in such a manner that it can be let down when 

 the horses stand under it. Back of the engine, and 

 some yards distant as a rule, a partition, composed 

 chiefly of doors, runs across the house. Behind this 

 partition are the stalls ; the horses facing the engine, 

 and the front of each stall being a door, with a win- 

 dow in it. Bridles are worn night and day, the bits 

 being slipped out when the animals eat their oats, but 

 kept in while they chew their hay. Some horses, 

 whose mouths are tender, are bridled, in the stable, 

 with the bit hanging loose. 



Now, then, we will suppose that an alarm of lire 

 strikes, the hour being midnight. The horses are 

 lying down, out of sight and fast asleep ; the men 

 are upstairs in bed, — all save one, who dozes in a 

 chair beside those mysterious telegraphic instruments 

 grouped in a corner near the front door. The gas 

 burns brightly, but there is not a sign of animation 

 about the place. It is all so miraculously clean, so 

 neat, well ordered, burnished, and polished, so nearly 

 deserted, so absolutely quiescent, and yet so bril- 

 liantly lighted, that it appears rather like an illusion 

 than a reality. The engine might be the huge and 

 magnificent toy of a giant. It looks much too fine 

 for real use. 



