with such bursts of humour as are found attractive even in the present day. The poem here given is from Megerle's "Judas the Arch-Rogue," and was translated by an anonymous writer in The Knickerbocker a Magazine published in New York.'-Wills.

SAINT ANTHONY at church
Was left in the lurch,

So he went to the ditches
And preach'd to the fishes.

They wriggled their tails,

In the sun glanced their scales.

The carps, with their spawn,

Are all thither drawn ;
Have open'd their jaws,
Eager for each clause.

No sermon beside

Had the carps so edified.

Sharp-snouted pikes,

Who keep fighting like tikes,

Now swam up harmonious

To hear Saint Antonius.

No sermon beside

Had the pikes so edified.

And that very odd fish,

Who loves fast-days, the cod-fish,--

The stock-fish, I mean,

At the sermon was seen.

No sermon beside

Had the cods so edified.

Good eels and sturgeon,
Which aldermen gorge on,

Went out of their way

To hear preaching that day.

No sermon beside

Had the eels so edified.

Crabs and turtles also,

Who always move slow,
Made haste from the bottom

As if the devil had got 'em.
No sermon beside

Had the crabs so edified.

Fish great and fish small,
Lords, lackeys, and all,
Each look'd at the preacher
Like a reasonable creature.

At God's word,

They Anthony heard.

The sermon now ended,
Each turn'd and descended;
The pikes went on stealing,
The eels went on eeling.

Much delighted were they,
But preferr'd the old way.

The crabs are backsliders,

The stock-fish thick-siders,

The carps are sharp-set,

All the sermon forget.

Much delighted were they,
But preferr'd the old way.

SLEEP.

JOHN G. SAXE.

John Godfrey Saxe, the author of the following lines and several other pieces which appear in the present volume, is a living American humorist of considerable reputation. The style of Saxe is similar to that of Hood and Praed; and in many of his shorter poems he has displayed an amount of humorous power and poetic feeling, and a freedom of versification, which entitles him to a prominent position in the poetical literature of the United States.

'God bless the man who first invented sleep!'
So Sancho Panza said, and so say I;

And bless him, also, that he didn't keep
His great discovery to himself; or try
To make it as the lucky fellow might-
A close monopoly by 'patent right.'

Yes, bless the man who first invented sleep
(I really can't avoid the iteration);
But blast the man, with curses loud and deep,
Whate'er the rascal's name, or age, or station,
Who first invented, and went round advising,
That artificial cut-off-early rising!