"'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 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 labourer

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.
(By kind permission of Messrs. Smith and Elder.)

THE YARN OF THE NANCY BELL.

W. S. GILBERT.

"TWAS on the shores that round our coast
From Deal to Ramsgate span,

That I found alone on a piece of stone
An elderly naval man.

His hair was weedy, his beard was long,
And weedy and long was he,

And I heard this wight on the shore recite,
In a singular minor key:

"Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,
And the mate of the Nancy brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig!"

And he shook his fists and he tore his hair,
Till I really felt afraid,

For I couldn't help thinking the man had becn
drinking,

And so I simply said:

"O, elderly man, it's little I know

Of the duties of men of the sea, And I'll eat my hand if I understand How you can possibly be

"At once a cook, and a captain bold,
And the mate of the Nancy brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig!"

Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, which
Is a trick all seamen larn,

And having got rid of his baccy quid,
He spun this painful yarn:

""Twas in the good ship Nancy Bell

That we sailed to the Indian Sea, And there on a reef we come to grief, Which has often occurred to me.

"And pretty nigh all o' the crew was drowned (There was seventy-seven o' soul)

And only ten of the Nancy's men

Said Here!' to the muster-roll.

There was me and the cook and the captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig,

And the bo'sun tight and a midshipmite,

And the crew of the captain's gig.

"For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink,

Till a-hungry we did feel,

So we drawed a lot, and accordin' shot

The captain for our meal.

"The next lot fell to the Nancy's mate,
And a delicate dish he made;

Then our appetite with the midshipmite
We seven survivors stayed.

"And then we murdered the bo'sun tight,
And he much resembled pig;

Then we wittled free, did the cook and me,
On the crew of the captain's gig.

"Then only the cook and me was left,
And the delicate question, 'which
Of us two goes to the butcher?' arose,
And we argued it out as sich.

"For I loved the cook as a brother, I did,
And the cook he worshipped me;

But we'd both be blowed if we'd either be stowed In the other chap's hold, you see!

"I'll be eat if you dines off me,' says Tom, 'Yes, that,' says I, 'you'll be,'

'I'm boiled if I die, my friend,' quoth I, And 'Exactly so,' quoth he.

"Says he, 'Dear James, to murder me

Were a foolish thing to do,

For don't

can't cook me,

you see that you While I can and will-cook you!'

"So, he boils the water, and takes the salt

And the pepper in portions true

(Which he never forgot) and some chopped shalot, And some sage and parsley too.

"Come here,' says he, with a proper pride,

Which his smiling features tell,

"Twill soothing be if I let you see

How extremely nice you'll smell.'

"And he stirred it round and round and round, And he sniffed at the foaming froth h;

When I ups with his heels, and I smothers his squeals

In the scum of the boiling broth!

"And I eat that cook in a week or less,
And, as I a-eating be

The last of his chops, why I almost drops,
For a vessel in sight I see!

"And I never grieve, and I never smile,
And I never larf nor play,

But I sit and croak, and a single joke
I have-which is to say:

"Oh! I am a cook and a captain bold,
And the mate of the Nancy brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig!"
(By kind permission of the Author.)

THE MERMAID OF MARGATE.

THOMAS HOOD.

"Alas! what perils do inviron

That man who meddles with a siren!"

HUDIBRAS.

ON Margate beach, where the sick one roams,
And the sentimental reads;

Where the maiden flirts, and the widow comes-~
Like the ocean-to cast her weeds;-

Where urchins wander to pick up shells,
And the Cit to spy at the ships,
Like the water gala at Sadler's Wells,-
And the Chandler for watery dips;-

There's a maiden sits by the ocean brim,
As lovely and fair as sin!

But woe, deep water and woe to him,
That she snareth like Peter Fin!