“I drove the Brighton express, four or five years before I come here, and the annuals—that is, the passengers who had annual tickets—always said they knew when I was on the engine, because they wasn’t jerked. Gentlemen used to say as they came on to the platform, ‘Who drives to-day—Jim Martin?’ And when the guard told them yes, they said ‘All right,’ and took their seats quite comfortable. But the driver never gets so much as a shilling; the guard comes in for all that, and he does nothing much. Few ever think of the driver. I dare say they think the train goes along of itself; yet if we didn’t keep a sharp look-out, know our duty, and do it, they might all go smash at any moment. I used to make that journey to Brighton in fifty-two minutes. The papers said forty-nine minutes, but that was coming it a little too strong. I had to watch signals all the way, one every two miles, so that me and my stoker were on the stretch all the time, doing two things at once—attending to the engine and looking out. I’ve driven on this Line, eighty-one miles and three-quarters, in eighty-six minutes. There’s no danger in speed if you have a good road, a good engine, and not too many coaches behind. No, we don’t call them carriages, we call them ‘coaches.’ “Yes; oscillation means danger. If you’re ever in a coach that oscillates much, tell of it at the first station and get it coupled up closer. Coaches when they’re too loose are apt to jump, or swing off the rails; and it’s quite as dangerous when they’re coupled up too close. There ought to be just space enough for the buffers to work easy. Passengers are frightened in tunnels, but there’s less danger, _now_, in tunnels than anywhere else. We never enter a tunnel unless it’s signalled Clear. “A train can be stopped wonderful quick, even when running express, if the guards act with the driver and clap on all the brakes promptly. Much depends upon the guards. One brake behind, is as good as two in front. The engine, you see, loses weight as she burns her coals and consumes her water, but the coaches behind don’t alter. We have a good deal of trouble with young guards. In their anxiety to perform their duties, they put on the brakes too soon, so that sometimes we can scarcely drag the train into the station; when they grow older at it they are not so anxious, and don’t put them on soon enough. It’s no use to say, when an accident happens, that they did not put on the brakes in time; they swear they did, and you can’t prove that they didn’t. “Do I think that the tapping of the wheels with a hammer is a mere ceremony? Well, I don’t know exactly; I should not like to say. It’s not often that the chaps find anything wrong. They may sometimes be half asleep when a train comes into a station in the middle of the night. You would be yourself. They ought to tap the axle-box, but they don’t.