Then said, "My bold young Christian,
Of Christian parents born,

Would God that you may ever be
As faithful unto Him-and me—
As he you hold in scorn!"

I felt my face burn hotly,
My stupid laughter ceased;
For father-is a right good man,
And still I please him all I can,
As parent and as priest.

Next day, when school was over,

I put my nonsense by;

Begged the lad's pardon, stopped all strife, And-well, we have been friends for life, The little Jew and I.

DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK.

Only a Jew

N the land of Brittany, and long ago,

IN

Lived one of those

Despised and desolate, whose records show
Insults and blows,

Their old inheritance of wrong, who were
Free once as the eyelids of the morn; nor care

Knew, nor annoy,
In that city of joy,

Heaven-chosen child, whom none to harm might dare;

Lived one who did as if his God stood near
Watching his deed,

Slow to give answer, ever swift to hear;

Whose brain would breed,

Walking alone or watching through the night,
No idle thought; but he with ill would fight
And day by day

Would wax alway

Wiser and better and nearer to the light.

And in this land a mother lost her child,
And charged the Jew

With crucifying him, who calmly smiled
Denial. "You

Have slain," quoth she, "to keep your Passover
My son with sorceries." He answered her,
“Your wit must fail;

An idle tale

Is this; what proof thereof can you prefer?"

But she went from him raging. Then he fled
Out of that land;

And those there set a price on his gray head,
Who with skilled hand

Of craft had fed one daughter fair as day,
Now destitute. Soon gold before her lay
The bait of shame;

But she, aflame

With honor, flung such happiness away.

And writing, told her father, who came back
By night, and bade

Her claim his life's reward. "Rather the rack
Rend me," she said;

"And shall I give him death who life gave me?
Sell him and feed on him? Far sooner we
Both died! Somewhere

Beyond earth's care

Hereafter we shall meet it well may be

Somewhere hereafter." "Nay, you still shall live,"
He murmured; then,
Went out into the market, crying, “Give
This price, ye men,

For me to her, my daughter." But these laid
False hands on both, nor other duty paid
Than death; for they,

Gold hair and gray,

Were slain hard by in the holy minster's shade.

After, in no long time, the little child
Returned, a stray

Fresh from the sea: it by a ship beguiled,
In the hold at play,

Had sailed unseen till the land a small speck grew,
But still the people prayed in the porch, in view
Of the blood-splashed stone,

And made no moan;

"'Twas only a Jew," the folk said, "only a Jew!"

Holy Cross Day

ANONYMOUS.

ON WHICH THE JEWS WERE FORCED TO ATTEND AN ANNUAL CHRISTIAN SERMON IN ROME

("Now was come about Holy-Cross Day, and now must my lord preach his first sermon to the Jews; as it was of old cared for in the merciful bowels of the Church, that, so to speak, a crumb at least from her conspicuous table here in Rome should be, though but once yearly, cast to the famishing dogs, under-trampled and bespitten upon beneath the feet of the guests. And a moving sight in truth, this, of so many of the besotted blind restif and ready-to-perish Hebrews! Now maternally brought-nay, (for He saith, 'Compel them to come in') haled, as it were, by the head and hair, and against their obstinate hearts, to partake of the heavenly grace. What awakening, what striving with tears, what working of a yeasty conscience! Nor was my lord wanting to himself on so apt an occasion; witness the abundance of conversions which did incontinently reward him: though not to my lord be altogether the glory."-Diary by the Bishop's Secretary, 1600.)

What the Jews really said, on thus being driven to ́church, was rather to this effect:

I

FEE, faw, fum! bubble and squeak!

Blessedest Thursday's the fat of the week. Rumble and tumble, sleek and rough,

Stinking and savory, smug and gruff,

Take the church-road, for the bell's due chime Give us the summons-' -'t is sermon-time!

II

Bob, here's Barnabas! Job, that's you?
Up stumps Solomon-bustling too?
Shame, man! greedy beyond your years
To handsel the bishop's shaving-shears?
Fair play's a jewel! Leave friends in the lurch?
Stand on a line ere you start for the church!

III

Higgledy piggledy, packed we lie,

Rats in a hamper, swine in a sty,
Wasps in a bottle, frogs in a sieve,
Worms in a carcass, fleas in a sleeve,
Hist! square shoulders, settle your thumbs
And buzz for the bishop-here he comes.

IV

Bow, wow, wow-a bone for the dog!

I liken his Grace to an acorned hog.
What, a boy at his side, with a bloom of a lass,
To help and handle my lord's hour-glass!

Didst ever behold so lithe a chine?

His cheek hath laps like a fresh-singed swine.

V

Aaron's asleep shove hip to haunch,

Or somebody deal him a dig in the paunch!
Look at the purse with the tassel and knob,
And the gown with the angel and thingumbob!
What's he at, quotha? reading his text!
Now you've his curtsey-and what comes next?

VI

See to our converts-you doomed black dozen-
No stealing away-nor cog nor cozen!

You five, that were thieves, deserve it fairly;

You seven, that were beggars, will live less sparely;
You took your turn and dipped in the hat,
Got fortune-and fortune gets you, mind that!

VII

Give your first groan-compunction's at work;
And soft! from a Jew you mount to a Turk,
Lo, Micah, the selfsame beard on chin
He was four times already converted in!
Here's a knife, clip quick-it's a sign of grace—
Or he ruins us all with his hanging face.

VIII

Whom now is the bishop a-leering at?
I know a point where his text falls pat.
I'll tell him to-morrow, a word just now
Went to my heart and made me vow

I meddle no more with the worst of trades-
Let somebody else pay his serenades!

IX

Groan altogether now, whee-hee-hee!

It's a-work, it's a-work, ah, woe is me!

It began, when a herd of us, picked and placed, Were spurred thro' the Corso, stripped to the waist; Jew brutes, with sweat and blood well spent

To usher in worthily Christian Lent.

X

It grew, when the hangman entered our bounds,
Yelled, pricked us out to his church like hounds;
It got to a pitch, when the hand indeed

Which gutted my purse, would throttle my creed:
And it overflows, when, to even the odd,

Men I helped to their sins help me to their God.