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,

666

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 confessed,
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.

4

THE WHITE SQUALL.

ON deck, beneath the awning,
I dozing lay and yawning;
It is 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 nought 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 away;

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.
Then the wind set up a howling,
And the poodle dog a yowling,
And the cocks began a crowing,
And the old cow raised a lowing,
As she heard the tempest blowing;