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The engine has moved only a few rods from the depot when the steam shows indications of blowing off; and then the fireman sets to work,—not to pile a heap of coal indiscriminately into the fire-box. That is the style of the dunce whose natural avocation is grubbing stumps. Ours is a model train, and a model fireman furnishes the power to keep it going. He throws in four or five shovelfuls at each firing, scattering the coal along the sides of the fire-box, shooting a shower close to the flue-sheet, and dropping the required quantity under the door. With the quick intuition of a man thoroughly master of his business, our model fireman perceives at a glance, on opening the door, where the thinnest spots are; and they are promptly bedded over. The glowing, incandescent mass of fire, which shines with a blinding light that rivals the sun’s rays, dazzles the eyes of the novice, who sees in the fire-box only a chaotic gleam; but the experienced fireman looks into the resplendent glare, and reads its needs or its perfections. The fire is maintained nearly level; but the coal is supplied so that the sides and corners are well filled, for there the liability to drawing air is most imminent. With this system closely followed, there is no difficulty experienced in keeping up a steady head of steam. But constant attention must be bestowed upon his work by the fireman. From the time he reaches the engine, until the hostler takes charge at the end of the journey, he attends to his work, and to that alone; and by this means he has earned the reputation of being one of the best firemen on the road. His rule is, to keep the fire up equal to the work the engine has to do, never letting it run low before being replenished, never throwing in more coal than the keeping up of steam calls for. The coal is broken up moderately fine, a full supply being prepared before the fire-door is opened; and every shovelful is scattered in a thin shower over the fire,—never pitched down on one spot. Some men never acquire the art of scattering the coal as it leaves the shovel; and, as a result, they never succeed in making an engine steam regularly. Their fire consists of a series of coal-heaps. Under these heaps, clinkers are prematurely formed; and between them spaces are created, through which cold air comes, and rushes straight for the flues, without assimilating with the gases of combustion, as every breath of air which enters the fire-box ought to do.