When I became its manager, Sir Ralph Cusack had been chairman of the railway for nearly a quarter of a century and was in his sixty-ninth year. He attended daily in his office, devoting much time to the company's affairs. Although my position was not all I could have wished in the matter of that wide authority I coveted, and which, in my humble opinion, every railway manager should possess, it was in many respects very satisfactory, and every lot in life has its crumpled rose leaf. Sir Ralph regarded me as an _expert_, which, notwithstanding all his long experience as chairman, he did not himself pretend to be, and _railway experts_ he held in high esteem. He supported me consistently, permitting no one but himself to interfere with anything I thought it right to do. I did not, to be sure, always get my own way, but I accomplished much, and, what I cared for most, was able to do good work for the company. Enthusiasm for one's work is a splendid thing, and so is loyalty to one's employers. I make no boast of possessing these, for they were common property; they permeated the railway service and inspired the youngest clerk as well as his chief. Sometimes in these latter days I imagine such things are changed, though I would like to think it is only an old man's fancy, as it was in the case of the dear old Dubliner, who in his time had been a beaux and had reached his eightieth year. One sunny forenoon when airing himself in a fashionable street of the city, he was met by another old crony, who accosted him with:-- "Well, old friend, how are you this morning?" "Oh, very well, thanks, quite well, only--" he responded. "Only what?" asked his friend. "Only the pavements are harder and the girls are not so pretty as they used to be," he replied with a whimsical look of regret in his face and a twinkle in his still bright eye.