him, but he held himself so well, walked so briskly,
looked so neat, smart, and businesslike that he arrested attention. That
boy, Charles A. Moore, then fresh from school and just fifteen, is now
general manager of the railway!

It was in 1886, too, that I first met Walter Bailey, between whom and
myself a friendship sprung up which grew in depth and sincerity as time
went on, lasted for thirty years, and was only terminated by his lamented
death in January, 1917. The friendship thus formed yielded much pleasure
and happiness to me and, I think I may safely say, also to my departed
friend. Bailey, who was about my own age, came to Ireland from the South-
Eastern Railway, soon after my settlement in Belfast, to fill the
position of Accountant to the Belfast and Northern Counties Railway. Two
young Englishmen, landed in Ireland, engaged in the same sort of
business, in the same city, would naturally gravitate towards each other
but, more than this, what made us such intimate friends were, tastes in
common, similarity of views, especially concerning railway affairs, a
mutual liking for literary matters, and--well, other less definable
things that form the foundation of all true friendships. Throughout our
long intimacy we often took counsel together on subjects of mutual
interest, but it was I who sought his advice and help much oftener than
he sought mine, for he was cleverer than I. Indeed in the whole railway
world I never met an intellect so quick, or so clear and luminous as his.

Bailey was the most unselfish man I ever knew; the readiest to help
others. His pen, his remarkable stores of knowledge, and his spare time
too, were always at the service, not only of his friends, but often of
those who were scarcely more than mere acquaintances. The amount of work
which he cheerfully imposed upon himself in this way was astounding and
never was it done grudgingly or half-heartedly, but always promptly and
generously. It afforded him a pleasure that only one endowed as he could
feel. This part of him was often the subject of talk with those of us
who knew him well. But what charmed _me_ most, more even than his
brilliant mental gifts, were the sweetness of his disposition and his
quaintly quizzical and happy humour. Ambition was not strong in him, was
in fact all but absent, and he often rallied me on mine. He never in all
his life asked for any improvement in salary or position; but, in spite
of his inveterat