"'Forward!' said Sir John Gray, On to the station, Bray, There, there was some delay. Some of the party said 'Waller has blundered.' But they were wrong, to doubt-- Forty-three cars set out, On from the station there, Into the mountain air-- Through Wicklow's mountain air-- Drove the two hundred. "Arrived at the Vartry stream, Inspected each shaft and beam; Saw how the men with spade Embankments and _puddle_ made: Crowds there of every grade Admired and wondered. Gray, like an engineer-- Explained what was strange or queer: All the works, far and near, He showed the two hundred. "Then through the Vartry pipes As niggers bend to stripes, Right through these monster pipes. Like string through a bodkin, Sir John led a lot of us, Making small shot of us; The first man he caught of us Was our _London Times_--Godkin. "Done with the Vartry Works, Flashed all our knives and forks; To work, like some 'hungry Turks,' Went the two hundred. Soup, fish, meat, fowl, and ham, Ice, jellies, pies, and jam; At this wild mountain cram All the guests wondered. "Champagne to the right of them, Champagne to the left of them, Champagne around them, Popping and spurting. Toasts then came from the chair, Toasting the ladies fair, But not a female there, Therefore no flirting. "Good wine of every sort, Speeches with joke and sport; Then they went back again, But not the two hundred. Some of them went astray O'er hills and far away, But, getting home next day, Made up the two hundred. "W. S." This poem is signed with the initials W. S., which probably stand for the name of the late Mr. William Smith, a gentleman well-known in Dublin literary circles, as the author of many clever parodies which appeared over the _nom de plume_ of "Billy Scribble." Whether these humorous poems have ever been published in a collected form, I cannot say, and I should be glad to receive any information about them. * * * * * "THE HALF HUNDRED" (OF COALS). _A good way after A. Tennyson's "Six Hundred."_ Up the stairs, up the stairs, Up the stairs, onward! Joe took, all out of breath, Coals, half a hundred! Up he went, still as death, Lest they had wonder'd That I, with a cellar large, Bought by the "Hundred!" "Forward! the light evade; Let 'em not know," I said; "Glide up as still as death, With the 'Half-hundred!' Let them be gently laid! No sound as by earthquake made When the ground's sunder'd! You here, if one should spy, Wondering the reason why? I with the shame should die! So crawl up still as death, With the 'Half-hundred!'"