I had a singular experience with another 6×12-inch engine which I sold to William A. Sweet, elder brother of Prof. John E. Sweet, for use in his spring manufactory in Syracuse, N. Y. Mr. Sweet had two batteries of boilers set at some distance from each other and at different elevations; these were connected by a pipe which was necessarily inclined. About the middle of the length of this pipe a stop-valve had been introduced, and when this valve was shut the pipe in the upper end of it was, of course, partly filled with water. My engine received its steam from the bottom of this pipe below the stop-valve. The boilers at the lower end were one day overloaded, and while I happened to be present Mr. Sweet himself opened the stop-valve for the purpose of getting an additional supply of steam from the upper battery, but he did not get it. What he did get was a charge of solid water, which brought my engine to an instantaneous stop from a speed of 350 revolutions per minute. I was standing near the engine and saw shooting out from the joint of the back cylinder head a sheet of water, which at the top struck the roof of the building. On examination it was found that the steel key of the fly-wheel had been driven into the wrought-iron shaft almost half an inch and the shaft was bent. The engine suffered no other injury; the bolts of the cylinder head had not been strained to their elastic limit, and the nuts did not require to be tightened. The shaft was straightened, new key-seats were cut for the fly-wheel, and the engine worked as well as ever--a pretty good proof of its general strength. [Illustration: HARRIS TABOR] I had a couple of funny experiences arising out of my new way of boring fly-wheels and belt-drums. I sold an engine to Mr. Westinghouse for his original shop in Pittsburg, before the appearance of the Westinghouse engine. They erected it for themselves. I received a telegram from their superintendent, reading: “The hole in your wheel hub is oblong, what shall we do about it?” To which I wired back: “Put the wheel on the shaft and drive in the key.” Another superintendent discovered the same unaccountably bad piece of work, and did _not_ communicate with me. He did the best he could by centering the shaft in the hole and filling the spaces on each side with thin iron scarfed down on each edge. Then the key would not enter the keyway; so he reduced it until it would. Then the wheel ran an eighth of an inch out of truth. Then he unstopped the vials of his wrath and poured out their contents on my devoted head.