Mr. Williams in his book, Our Iron Roads, gives an account of a foolish act of signalling to stop a train; he says:—“An Irishman, who appears to have been in some measure acquainted with the science of signalling, was on one occasion walking along the Great Western line without permission, when he thought he might reduce his information to practical use. Accordingly, on seeing an express train approach, he ran a short distance up the side of the cutting, and began to wave a handkerchief very energetically, which he had secured to a stick, as a signal to stop. The warning was not to be disregarded, and never was command obeyed with greater alacrity. The works of the engine were reversed—the tender and van breaks were applied—and soon, to the alarm of the passengers, the train came to a ‘dead halt.’ A hundred heads were thrust out of the carriage windows, and the guard had scarcely time to exclaim, ‘What’s the matter?’ when Paddy, with a knowing touch of his ‘brinks,’ asked his ‘honour if he would give him a bit of a ride?’ So polite and ingenuous a request was not to be denied, and, though biting his lips with annoyance, the officer replied ‘Oh, certainly; jump in here,’ and the pilgrim was ensconced in the luggage van. But instead of having his ride ‘for his thanks,’ the functionary duly handed him over to the magisterial authorities, that he might be taught the important lesson, that railway companies did not keep express trains for Irish beggars, and that such costly machinery was not to be imperilled with impunity, either by their freaks or their ignorance.”