"Ned hath a brilliant genius, And thou a plodding brain; On thee I think with pleasure, On him with doubt and pain."

("You see, good Ned," says Thomas, "What he thought about us twain.")

"Though small was your allowance, You saved a little store; And those who save a little Shall get a plenty more."

As the lawyer read this compliment, Tom's eyes were running o'er.

"The tortoise and the hare, Tom, Set out at each his pace; The hare it was the fleeter, The tortoise won the race; And since the world's beginning This ever was the case.

"Ned's genius, blithe and singing, Steps gaily o'er the ground; As steadily you trudge it, He clears it with a bound; But dulness has stout legs, Tom, And wind that's wondrous sound.

"O'er fruit and flowers alike, Tom, You pa.s.s 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 strongest, 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 pa.s.sion Or silly tenderness.

March on--your road is open To wealth, Tom, and success.

"Ned sinneth in extravagance, And you in greedy l.u.s.t."

("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 pa.s.sage 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 helped 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 h.o.a.rd; 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 n.o.bly 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.

UNIVERSALLY RESPECTED.

BY J. BRUNTON STEPHENS.

I.

Biggs was missing: Biggs had vanished; all the town was in a ferment; For if ever man was looked to for an edifying end, With due mortuary outfit, and a popular interment, It was Biggs, the universal guide, philosopher, and friend.

But the man had simply vanished; speculation wove no tissue That would hold a drop of water; each new theory fell flat.

It was most unsatisfactory, and hanging on the issue Were a thousand wagers ranging from a pony to a hat.

Not a trace could search discover in the township or without it, And the river had been dragged from morn till night with no avail.

His continuity had ceased, and that was all about it, And there wasn't ev'n a grease-spot left behind to tell the tale.

That so staid a man as Biggs was should be swallowed up in mystery Lent an increment to wonder--he who trod no doubtful paths, But stood square to his surroundings, with no cloud upon his history, As the much-respected lessee of the Corporation Baths.

His affairs were all in order; since the year the alligator With a startled river bather made attempt to coalesce, The resulting wave of decency had greater grown and greater, And the Corporation Baths had been a marvellous success.

Nor could trouble in the household solve the riddle of his clearance, For his bride was now in heaven, and the issue of the match Was a patient drudge whose virtues were as plain as her appearance-- Just the sort whereto no scandal could conceivably attach.

So the Whither and the Why alike mysterious were counted; And as Faith steps in to aid where baffled Reason must retire, There were those averred so good a man as Biggs might well have mounted Up to glory like Elijah in a chariot of fire!

For indeed he was a good man; when he sat beside the portal Of the Bath-house at his pigeon-hole, a saint within a frame, We used to think his face was as the face of an immortal, As he handed us our tickets, and took payment for the same.

And, Oh, the sweet advice with which he made of such occasion A duplicate detergent for our morals and our limbs-- For he taught us that decorum was the essence of salvation, And that cleanliness and G.o.dliness were merely synonyms;

But that open-air ablution in the river was a treason To the purer instincts, fit for dogs and aborigines, And that wrath at such misconduct was the providential reason For the jaws of alligators and the tails of stingarees.

But, alas, our friend was gone, our guide, philosopher, and tutor, And we doubled our potations, just to clear the inner view; But we only saw the darklier through the bottom of the pewter, And the mystery seemed likewise to be multiplied by two.

And the worst was that our failure to unriddle the enigma In the "rags" of rival towns was made a byword and a scoff, Till each soul in the community felt branded with the stigma Of the unexplained suspicion of poor Biggs's taking off.

So a dozen of us rose and swore this thing should be no longer: Though the means that Nature furnished had been tried without result, There were forces supersensual that higher were and stronger, And with consentaneous clamour we p.r.o.nounced for the occult.

Then Joe Thomson slung a tenner, and Jack Robinson a tanner, And each according to his means respectively disbursed; And a letter in your humble servant's most seductive manner Was despatched to Sludge the Medium, recently of Darlinghurst.

II.

"I am Biggs," the spirit said ('twas through the medium's lips he said it; But the voice that spoke, the accent, too, were Biggs's very own, Be it, therefore, not set down to our unmerited discredit, That collectively we sickened as we recognised the tone).