ing wildly. She cannot wait, though
the men shout to her to do so; there are flames behind her clutching at
her, her hair is on fire and her clothes. She stands on the window-sill,
and it is seen she is going to leap into the street below; a blanket is
held, and a hush falls on the crowd as she plunges down. Hurrah! the
blanket has caught her; she will be no worse. All are out now, but still
the flames are fearful, and the houses on either side are threatened.
The firemen play water on to them to keep them from catching alight, and
an incessant stream of water spouts upwards from the great hose. The
roof goes in with a crash, but it is seen that the water is doing
something--the flames are quieter. Yet, with all the care and patience,
it is not for several hours the fire can be pronounced to have been put
out. If we came to see the house next day, it would stand up bare and
smoke-blackened, just four walls, with the roof burnt out, the
staircases gone, and inside only a mass of rubbish. Someone will have to
pay heavily, but, at any rate, at this particular fire no lives have
been lost.

The Fire Brigade is a wonderful power, and the brave men who belong to
it perform heroic things in daily life without making any fuss. There
are brigade stations all over London, and if a fire breaks out, it takes
only a few minutes for the brigade to be summoned. Not so very long ago
all the engines were drawn by specially trained horses who stood ready
in their stalls, with the harness swinging above them. At the first
sound of the alarm bell the harness was lowered, the straps buckled, and
in a few moments the fire-engines were on the road. But now all the
London fire-engines are run by motor power. In the streets there are
little red posts with a glass at the top. By breaking it a bell is rung
in the nearest fire station, and the men are warned. Mischievous boys or
men sometimes broke these glasses 'just for fun,' and then ran away, and
when the fire-engine dashed round the corner the men found no fire.
This has been stopped by the infliction of a very heavy fine. If anyone
is caught doing it now without cause he is made to pay richly for his
mischief, and quite rightly too. Yet it does happen sometimes that men
and engine are summoned on a false alarm, and when they arrive they find
only a smouldering chimney, or perhaps even only a smoky one, and the
people who have called them up have been needlessly alarmed. At
Hampstead, in the