And wind that's wondrous sound.

"O'er fruits and flowers alike, Tom, You pass with plodding feet; You heed not one nor t'other But onwards go your beat, While genius stops to loiter With all that he may meet;

"And ever as he wanders, Will have a pretext fine For sleeping in the morning, Or loitering to dine, Or dozing in the shade, Or basking in the shine.

"Your little steady eyes, Tom, Though not so bright as those That restless round about him His flashing genius throws, Are excellently suited To look before your nose.

"Thank heaven, then, for the blinkers It placed before your eyes; The stupidest are weakest, The witty are not wise; Oh, bless your good stupidity, It is your dearest prize!

"And though my lands are wide, And plenty is my gold, Still better gifts from Nature, My Thomas, do you hold-- A brain that's thick and heavy, A heart that's dull and cold.

"Too dull to feel depression, Too hard to heed distress, Too cold to yield to passion Or silly tenderness. March on--your road is open To wealth, Tom, and success.

"Ned sinneth in extravagance, And you in greedy lust." ("I' faith," says Ned, "our father Is less polite than just.") "In you, son Tom, I've confidence, But Ned I cannot trust.

"Wherefore my lease and copyholds, My lands and tenements, My parks, my farms, and orchards, My houses and my rents, My Dutch stock and my Spanish stock, My five and three per cents,

"I leave to you, my Thomas"-- ("What, all?" poor Edward said. "Well, well, I should have spent them, And Tom's a prudent head")-- "I leave to you, my Thomas,-- To you in TRUST for Ned."

The wrath and consternation What poet e'er could trace That at this fatal passage Came o'er Prince Tom his face; The wonder of the company, And honest Ned's amaze!

"'Tis surely some mistake," Good-naturedly cries Ned; The lawyer answered gravely, "'Tis even as I said; 'Twas thus his gracious Majesty Ordain'd on his death-bed.

"See, here the will is witness'd, And here's his autograph." "In truth, our father's writing," Says Edward, with a laugh; "But thou shalt not be a loser, Tom, We'll share it half and half."

"Alas! my kind young gentleman, This sharing cannot be; 'Tis written in the testament That Brentford spoke to me, 'I do forbid Prince Ned to give Prince Tom a halfpenny.

"'He hath a store of money, But ne'er was known to lend it; He never help'd his brother; The poor he ne'er befriended; He hath no need of property Who knows not how to spend it.

"'Poor Edward knows but how to spend, And thrifty Tom to hoard; Let Thomas be the steward then, And Edward be the lord; And as the honest laborer Is worthy his reward,

"'I pray Prince Ned, my second son, And my successor dear, To pay to his intendant Five hundred pounds a year; And to think of his old father, And live and make good cheer.'"

Such was old Brentford's honest testament, He did devise his moneys for the best, And lies in Brentford church in peaceful rest. Prince Edward lived, and money made and spent; But his good sire was wrong, it is confess'd To say his son, young Thomas, never lent. He did. Young Thomas lent at interest, And nobly took his twenty-five per cent.

Long time the famous reign of Ned endured O'er Chiswick, Fulham, Brentford, Putney, Kew, But of extravagance he ne'er was cured. And when both died, as mortal men will do, 'Twas commonly reported that the steward Was very much the richer of the two.

THE WHITE SQUALL.

On deck, beneath the awning, I dozing lay and yawning; It was the gray of dawning, Ere yet the sun arose; And above the funnel's roaring, And the fitful wind's deploring, I heard the cabin snoring With universal nose. I could hear the passengers snorting-- I envied their disporting-- Vainly I was courting The pleasure of a doze!

So I lay, and wondered why light Came not, and watched the twilight, And the glimmer of the skylight, That shot across the deck; And the binnacle pale and steady, And the dull glimpse of the dead-eye, And the sparks in fiery eddy That whirled from the chimney neck. In our jovial floating prison There was sleep from fore to mizzen, And never a star had risen The hazy sky to speck.

Strange company we harbored, We'd a hundred Jews to larboard, Unwashed, uncombed, unbarbered-- Jews black, and brown, and gray; With terror it would seize ye, And make your souls uneasy, To see those Rabbis greasy, Who did naught but scratch and pray: Their dirty children puking-- Their dirty saucepans cooking-- Their dirty fingers hooking Their swarming fleas away.

To starboard, Turks and Greeks were-- Whiskered and brown their cheeks were-- Enormous wide their breeks were, Their pipes did puff alway; Each on his mat allotted In silence smoked and squatted, Whilst round their children trotted In pretty, pleasant play. He can't but smile who traces The smiles on those brown faces, And the pretty, prattling graces Of those small heathens gay.

And so the hours kept tolling, And through the ocean rolling Went the brave "Iberia" bowling Before the break of day--

When A SQUALL, upon a sudden, Came o'er the waters scudding; And the clouds began to gather, And the sea was lashed to lather, And the lowering thunder grumbled, And the lightning jumped and tumbled, And the ship, and all the ocean, Woke up in wild commotion.