Died the Jew? "The Hebrew died. They raised him gently from the stone, They flung his coat and neckcloth wide-- But linen had that Hebrew none. They raised the pile of hats that pressed His noble head, his locks of snow; But, ah, that head, upon his breast, Sank down with an expiring 'Clo!'" Died the Jew? "The Hebrew died, Struck with overwhelming qualms From the flavour spreading wide Of some fine Virginia hams. Would you know the fatal spot, Fatal to that child of sin? These fine-flavoured hams are bought AT 50 BISHOPSGATE WITHIN!" Parr's Life Pills. 'Twas in the town of Lubeck, A hundred years ago, An old man walked into the church, With beard as white as snow; Yet were his cheeks not wrinkled, Nor dim his eagle eye: There's many a knight that steps the street, Might wonder, should he chance to meet That man erect and high! When silenced was the organ, And hushed the vespers loud, The Sacristan approached the sire, And drew him from the crowd-- "There's something in thy visage, On which I dare not look; And when I rang the passing bell, A tremor that I may not tell, My very vitals shook. "Who art thou, awful stranger? Our ancient annals say, That twice two hundred years ago Another passed this way, Like thee in face and feature; And, if the tale be true, 'Tis writ, that in this very year Again the stranger shall appear. Art thou the Wandering Jew?" "The Wandering Jew, thou dotard!" The wondrous phantom cried-- "'Tis several centuries ago Since that poor stripling died. He would not use my nostrums-- See, shaveling, here they are! _These_ put to flight all human ills, These conquer death--unfailing pills, And I'm the inventor, PARR!" Tarquin and the Augur. Gingerly is good King Tarquin shaving. Gently glides the razor o'er his chin, Near him stands a grim Haruspex raving, And with nasal whine he pitches in Church extension hints, Till the monarch squints, Snicks his chin, and swears--a deadly sin! "Jove confound thee, thou bare-legged impostor! From my dressing-table get thee gone! Dost thou think my flesh is double Glo'ster? There again! That cut was to the bone! Get ye from my sight; I'll believe you're right, When my razor cuts the sharpening hone!" Thus spoke Tarquin with a deal of dryness; But the Augur, eager for his fees, Answered--"Try it, your Imperial Highness; Press a little harder, if you please. There! the deed is done!" Through the solid stone Went the steel as glibly as through cheese. So the Augur touched the tin of Tarquin, Who suspected some celestial aid; But he wronged the blameless gods; for hearken! Ere the monarch's bet was rashly laid, With his searching eye Did the priest espy ROGERS' name engraved upon the blade. La Mort d'Arthur, NOT BY ALFRED TENNYSON.