It is a somewhat unpromising morning--the river is dark with fog and the huge arch of the station nearly hidden by mist and steam. A cold, damp wind makes the passengers hurry into the carriages, and strikes us sharply as we step on to the foot-plate of the engine, which has just joined the train. But as we get behind the shelter of the screen, we feel a generous and slightly unctuous sensation of warmth very comforting to a chilly man. The brasswork of the engine shines brilliantly, the footboard has been newly scrubbed, and the driver and stoker stand waiting for the signal. The needle shows that the steam is just below the pressure at which it would begin to blow off; the water in the gauge glass is just where it ought to be; in fact, the engine is in perfect condition and ready for a start. The line is clear, the guard's whistle is answered by our own, and we glide almost imperceptibly past the last few yards of the platform. The driver opens the regulator till he is answered by a few sounding puffs from the funnel, and then stands on the lookout for signals so numerous that one wonders how he can tell which of the many waving arms is raised or lowered for his guidance. So he goes on, with hand on regulator and lever, gradually admitting more steam as signal after signal comes nearer and then flies past us, till at last we are clear of the suburbs and find ourselves on a gentle incline and a straight road, with the open fields on either side. It is now that the real business of the journey begins. Locomotives are as sensitive and have as many peculiarities as horses, and have to be as carefully studied if you would ride them fast and far. The lever is put into the most suitable notch for working the steam expansively; the driver's hand is on the regulator, not to be removed for the rest of the trip; the furnace door is thrown wide open, and firing begins in earnest. Here it may not be amiss to state, for the benefit of the uninitiated, that the regulator controls the supply of steam from the boiler, while the lever enables the driver to reverse the engine, or, as we have already stated, to expand the steam by cutting it off before the end of the stroke. The engine answers to the appeal like a living thing, and seems, with its steady beat and sonorous blast, to settle down to its work. It is pleasant from our seat in the corner of the screen to see this preparation for the work ahead--the absolute calm of driver and stoker, who exchange no word, but go steadfastly and quietly about their business; to feel the vibrations from the rails beneath throb through one with slowly increasing rapidity, or watch the trees and houses go past as gulls flap past a boat. For there is a certain apparent swagging movement of the objects past which one travels which can only be likened to the peculiar flight of a large sea-bird. But now there are signs of increased activity on the foot-plate; the stoker is busy controlling the feed of water to the