We find ourselves in a long narrow building, some forty or fifty feet in length, and ten or twelve in width. On one side is a staircase leading to the upper floors; on the other, a narrow gangway, kept clear of encumbrances, runs from end to end of the building. A wide doorway, like that of a coach-house, opens upon the main street; and at the farther end, facing the doorway, are three stalls, in each of which stands a horse, wearing a blind-halter, but otherwise unencumbered, and not attached in any way to the stall. A single line of rails is laid in the floor from end to end, on which rest the wheels of the engine and hosecart; for, unlike our English machines, the engine does not carry either the hose itself or the men who work it, a separate two-wheeled vehicle, something of the build of a small wagonette, being employed for this purpose. This hosecart stands in front of the engine, and carries, besides the long coil of tube, all the appliances, such as axes, ropes, &c., which are likely to be needed at a fire; and a couple of the portable chemical engines, known as _Extincteurs_, packed away in boxes beneath the seats. Both engine and hosecart are furnished with large clear-toned bells, and it is the duty of one of the men to keep these bells ringing during the whole journey to a fire, as a warning to all other traffic to leave the car-tracks in the centre of the street clear for the passage of the engine. The clamour of these bells, as, in the dead of night, engine after engine rushes at full gallop through the streets, is one of the most impressive accompaniments of a great fire, and is a far more effectual means of clearing a crowded thoroughfare than the shouts of the firemen, so familiar to a Londoner’s ears.