But what impressed me most was the part he took next day in the Railway Carriage Conference, which curiously enough was on the subject of strikes. There were several people in the carriage, and they were talking about what they had done during the railway strike last year, and what they would do if such a thing happened again. I said I should like to be a station-master if possible, because they had top-hats and grew such beautiful flowers. Only four or five trains seem to stop at our station during the day, and if there was a strike I suppose the number would be reduced to one or two. And I thought it would be rather nice to spend the day wearing a top-hat and watering the nasturtiums in the little rock-gardens behind the platform. Watering, I said, was quite easy when once one got into the swing of it. But the man who could do everything seemed to know everything too, and he told me that station-masters were much too noble to strike. There were two kinds of station-masters, he said, both wearing top-hats, but one kind with full morning-dress underneath it and the other with uniform. But neither kind struck. Slightly nettled at his superior knowledge, I asked him, "What did _you_ do during the Great Strike?" "Oh, I had rather fun," he said; "I controlled the signals at London Bridge." If all the truth were known I expect that he is quite ready for Mr. SMILLIE'S strike; that he has a handy little pick in his bedroom and knows of rather a jolly little coal-mine close by. EVOE. * * * * * [Illustration: _Mother_ (_firmly, to little daughter about to have a tooth drawn_). "NOW, BETTY, IF YOU CRY, I'LL NEVER TAKE YOU TO A DENTIST'S AGAIN."] * * * * * [Illustration: _The Woman_. "I DO WISH YOU TWO WOULD WALK PROPERLY."] * * * * * FLOWERS' NAMES. FOOL'S PARSLEY. In the village of Picking's Pool Lived Theobald, the village fool; He had been simple from his birth But kindly as the simple earth, And in his heart he sang a song Of "Ave, Mary" all day long. On Good Friday the people came To honour the rood of Christ His shame; They scattered flowers and leaves and moss About the foot of the humble cross And, when they knelt and prayed and wailed, Theobald saw the Mother, veiled And bowed in a mother's agony. "She suffers more than the Christ," said he. Theobald searched the fields and lanes To find a solace for MARY'S pains; All the flowers were plucked and gone Save a little dull Parsley, sere and wan; And Theobald wreathed it in simple guise; "It mourns like her," said the Fool made wise. When Holy Saturday morning broke Back to the shrine went the village folk; And lo! on the weeping Mother's brow A chaplet of flowers was gleaming now; And Theobald smiled secretly To think he had soothed her agony. And ever since Theobald crowned his Queen Fool's Parsley has flowered amongst its green.