In happy “pubs.” he saw the light Of _Argand_ burners very bright, Said he, “I’ll stop and try a drink.” Mine host replied with knowing wink, “What roads!” “Try on the path,” the landlord said, “Our Robert’s ‘off,’ e’en gone to bed.” “A good idea,” the youth replied, “And one that shall be quickly tried, “What roads!” “Oh! stay,” the barmaid said, “and rest.” The wheelman answered, “Pray don’t jest!” _I’ll_ TRY the path, it _can’t_ be worse, Which brings us to another verse. What roads! “Beware the stones that lie in heaps “Beware the dog the farmer keeps.” The wheelist mounted, sped away, And hailed the light of breaking day. What roads! Just then, X 20, on his track, Stopp’d short the youth’s career, alack! In vain he pleads, “This isn’t fair!” X 20 takes him _you know where_. What roads! There in the Court with face quite ruddy He urges that, “The roads were muddy.” Vain hope! The Chairman with a sob, Murmur’d serenely, “_Fined Five Bob!_” “What roads!” W. F. FIELD. ―――――――― SLOPER. The shades of night were falling fast, As o’er a station platform passed A youth, who bore, with step precise, A paper with the strange device Of SLOPER. His coat was torn, his hair unkempt, His face from water long exempt, But quick his action, sharp his eye As loud he shouted, “Who will buy A SLOPER.” “Stay!” said an old man, “stay, my boy, Who ought to be your mother’s joy, Linger a while, and give to me (For I would wish amused to be) A SLOPER.” “Here!” said a maiden, sad yet “swell,” In accents like a silver bell, “Come here, my youth, and I will try To drown my sorrow; _I_ will buy A SLOPER.” And soon from every side there came The accents of that well-known name, Until the little urchin stands, And there’s not in his dirty hands A SLOPER. There in the gas-light, clearly seen, The little boy stood “all serene;” A smile lit up his bright blue eye, He whistled loud, and ceased his cry Of SLOPER. [Illustration] THE WAR BLACKSMITH. Under its sulphurous canopy Old Vulcan’s smithy stands, And Vulcan, grown a man-of-war, Has so much on his hands, That stocks run low, and files but show War-orders and demands. His Cyclops when he needed most, Off every Cyclops ran; For why should not a Cyclop do As another working-man, And take the time when trade is brisk To insist on all he can?