_Station-Master._ This is very strange, very strange indeed. I doubt if the directors will approve of this. (_An arrow pierces him in the calf of the leg._) Oh, I say, you know, this will never do. Close the points--I mean shut the doors and barricade the windows. Let us at least die as railway men should. _Porter._ Lor' bless you, Sir, we shan't die. We've only got to pick off two or three dozen of 'em, and the rest will skip in no time. [_They retire within the palisade, and during the next half hour fight for their lives._ _Telegraph Clerk_ (_plucking three arrows out of his left leg_). Things are getting a bit hot. Hurrah! here's the 5.30 down express with revolvers and ammunition. Now we shall settle 'em. [_Arrival of the express. Retreat of the natives._ _Station-Master._ I don't think I quite like this life. I'm going to off it. [_Offs it accordingly._ * * * * * AN OLD MAN'S MUSINGS. (_After an Afternoon Pipe, at Nazareth House, Hammersmith._) ["Here again, clustered close round the fire Are a number of grizzle-lock'd men, every one is a true 'hoary sire.' Bowed, time-beaten, grey, yet alert and responsive to kindness of speech; And see how old eyes can light up if you promise a pipe-charge to each. For the comforting weed KINGSLEY eulogised is not taboo in this place, Where the whiff aromatic brings not cold reproval to Charity's face." "_An Autumn Afternoon at Nazareth House._" _Punch, Nov. 5, 1892._] [Illustration] I don't just know who KINGSLEY was, but he was a good sort, I reckon! When nerves are slack and spirits low, the glowing pipe-bowl seems to beckon Like a good ghost or spirit kind to the fireside where age reposes. Yes! bacca makes an old man's chair as easeful as a bed of roses. Bad habit! So the strict ones say; expensive, wasteful, and un-Christian! I cannot argue of it out; I'm only a poor old Philistian. But oh the comfort of a pipe, the company it lends the lonely! It seems the poor soul's faithful friend, and oftentimes the last and only. Thanks be, they're not the hard sort _here_, in Nazareth House. The gentle sisters Take on a many helpful task; some of 'em, I misdoubt, are twisters. I don't suppose our "shag"-fumes seem as sweet to them as to us others; But--well, they do not treat us here as badged machines, but human brothers. Stranded, alone, at seventy-five, after a life of luckless labour, One feels what 'tis to be esteemed not as a nuisance, but a neighbour; A neighbour in the Good Book's sense; a poor one, and a helpless, truly, But--_not_ a plague, who'll live too long, if he is cossetted unduly.