than London, but this can be accounted for in
two ways: first, the vastly greater wealth of
the combustible material stored in the wharves,
warehouses, and dwellings of our own metropolis;
secondly, the superior accuracy of our
official returns." Here every "alarm" is recorded,
and it is rarely indeed that the most trivial fire
takes place without the word being passed and
the call made at one of the Metropolitan
Fire-Brigade stations. Printed returns are circulated
every day, of the "alarms" raised during the
preceding twenty-four hours, and "a pair of
stockings and two shirts scorched while hanging
up to dry," "wainscot of front room slightly
damaged, and flooring burnt," "glass cracked,
and chimney ornaments injured by smoke," may
be taken as samples of their minor entries. But
if any reader wishes to convince himself effectually
of the comparative infrequency of long
continuous fires, let me advise him to devote
himself to their personal study, and to give up
his days and nights to attending them as an
amateur. Assuming him to have every facility
afforded him to be made free of the different
fire-stations, and to become on terms of familiar
intimacy with the firemen, he will yet, unless he
be more favoured than the present writer, have
to go through many long hours of weary and
fruitless watching, be called out and "stopped,"
receive summonses and counter-summonses,
attend fires which literally end in smoke, and
very little of it, and be on the point of giving
the quest up in despair, before he succeeds in
facing a really powertul blaze, and observing the
brigade at work upon it. For the appliances
for putting out fires are so much more effectual
than formerly, that it frequently happens that
within half an hour after the first alarm is given
the fire is out, and there is nothing but the
soaked and smouldering timbers, the thrice-baked
crumbling bricks, and the firemen left to
watch it, to tell its recent whereabouts. Thus
it is that waiting for an opportunity of being
present from the commencement to the termination
of an important fire is a more tedious business
than might be supposed.

Take a night at King-street, Regent-street, as
an example. A foreman's station this, in direct
telegraphic communication with the chief office
at Watling-street, as well as with the tributary
stations in its own district. Time, nine in the
evening; scene, a small back room, with firemen
smoking and chatting amicably, those with belts
on being ready for active duty. A sluggish-
looking clock and the telegraphic dial-plates
the most prominent articles in the room; lanterns,
helmets, axes, and a printed list of rules its
chief ornaments. An open door looking through
the front apartment, where the engines stand
ready for action, a window of singular powers
of draught opposite the door, an unpolished deal
table recently finished by some of the men,
a corner-cupboard holding files of old official
papers, and a fire which we all mend and stir by
turns, its leading features. I find waiting here
a gentleman of ample means and considerable
scientific acquirements, who is the only visitor
besides myself, and I'm bound to say that by
no stretch of politeness could either of us be
called entertaining company. We have both
"come for a job," that is, on the chance of a
"call" coming, and our being taken on the engine
to a fire, and our conversation is in consequence
both limited and spasmodic. The least noise in
the outer chamber, the slightest stir among the
patient watchers at our side, makes us start
hopefully and lose the thread of our forced talk.
The clock ticks on with dull monotony until the
warning for the stroke of ten comes upon us
suddenly, and inspires false hope. Once, too,
the telegraphic bell rings, and our hearts are
filled with anticipatory joy. I inwardly resolve
that in case there should be only room for one
stranger on the engine, that I will be that one,
and I mentally gauge my fellow-watcher's
strength and agility with my own. Is it a great
fire? will lives be endangered? shall I see men
and women brought out of bedroom windows
by the fire-escape? will the firemen cheer each
other on to deeds of valour, as at the play? are
the problems I put to myself as the needle darts
round the dial-plate, and the fireman reads its
message off.

"Not an alarm at all, sir, this ain't; only
saying that one of our men may have leave
tomorrow, which it's his aunt's funeral," plunges
us into an abyss of disappointment, and humanises
me to the extent of thinking that, after
all, I would have tried hard to make room on
the engine for the other stranger too. "Don't
seem as if we was going to have an alarm
tonight at all, though there was plenty doing last
night and the night afore—three calls we had
last night, and one a biggish job down Brompton
way," comes upon me like a knell after several
hours' waiting, and we soon afterwards retire
discomfited.

I had enjoyed similar experiences to the
fore-going at different stations on many evenings
before even that portion of my ambition was
realised, which aimed at galloping through the
town upon an engine at full speed. This
experience was by no means so delightful as I
anticipated. If a parched pea could be made to
balance itself on the convex surface of an
inverted spoon, it would closely resemble my
position on the rounded boiler which serves for
engine-seat. My first step, too, is a false one;
for, in clambering up heavily, I place my foot
on the ladder slung lengthways at the side, and
by unshipping it delay our start three seconds.
Then the helmet lent me to replace my hat has a
chin-strap which is too short for me, and takes
the skin off my nose instead of passing in
secure comfort under the chin. When we're
off, my feet dangle unpleasantly as if they
belong to another self who attends fires,
until I nearly unship the ladder again, in my
anxiety to feel firm. The chin-strap conducts
itself so unpleasantly that I have to take the
helmet off, and occupy one hand in unbuckling
and lengthening it, while the other clutches
with a drowning man's earnestness at a little
iron bar behind. All this has taken place in less