"Sir, if my judgment you'll allow—
I've seen-and sure I ought to know."-
So begs you'd pay a due submission,
And acquiesce in his decision.

Two travellers of such a cast,
As o'er Arabia's wilds they past,
And on their way, in friendly chat,
Now talked of this, and then of that,
Discoursed awhile, 'mongst other matter,
Of the Chameleon's form and nature.
"A stranger animal," cries one,
"Sure never lived beneath the sun!
A lizard's body lean and long,
A fish's head, a serpent's tongue,
Its foot with triple claw disjoined ;
And what a length of tail behind!
How slow its pace! and then its hue-
Who ever saw so fine a blue ?"

"Hold there!" the other quick replies,
"'Tis green;--I saw it with these eyes,
As late with open mouth it lay,
And warmed it in the sunny ray;

Stretched at its ease the beast I viewed,
And saw it eat the air for food."

"I've seen it, sir, as well as you,
And must again affirm it blue;
At leisure I the beast surveyed
Extended in the cooling shade."

"'Tis green, 'tis green, sir, I assure you.'
"Green!" cries the other in a fury;

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Why, sir, d'ye think I've lost my eyes?"-
""Twere no great loss," the friend replies;

"For if they always serve you thus,

You'll find them but of little use."

The Chameleon.

So high at last the contest rose,

From words they almost came to blows:
When luckily past by a third;

To him the question they referred;

And begged he'd tell them, if he knew,
Whether the thing was green or blue.

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"Sirs," cries the umpire; cease your pother; The creature's neither one nor t'other.

I caught the animal last night
And viewed it o'er by candle light.

I marked it well; 'twas black as jet-
You stare, but, sirs, I've got it yet,

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And can produce it." Pray, sir, do;
I'll lay my life the thing is blue."-

"And I'll be sworn, that when you've seen
The reptile, you'll pronounce him green.'
"Well, then, at once to ease the doubt,"
Replies the man, "I'll turn him out:
And when before your eyes I've set him,
If you don't find him black, I'll eat him."
He said; then full before their sight
Produced the beast, and, lo!-'twas white!
Both stared; the man looked wondrous wise.
"My children," the Chameleon cries,
(Then first the creature found a tongue)—
"You all are right, and all are wrong :

When next you talk of what you view,
Think others see as well as you;
Nor wonder, if you find that none
Prefers your eye-sight to his own."

MERRICK.

THE DOG OF ST. BERNARD.

HEY tell that on St. Bernard's mount,

Where holy monks abide,

Still mindful of misfortune's claim,

Though dead to all beside;

The weary, way-worn traveller

Oft sinks beneath the snow;

For, where his faltering steps to bend,
No track is left to show.

'Twas here, bewildered and alone,
A stranger roamed at night;
His heart was heavy as his tread,
His scrip alone was light.

Onward he pressed, yet many an hour

He had not tasted food;

And many an hour he had not known
Which way his footsteps trod.

And if the convent's bell had rung
To hail the pilgrim near,

It still had rung in vain for him—
He was too far to hear.

And should the morning's light disclose
Its towers amidst the snow,

To him 'twould be a mournful sight-
He had not strength to go.

Valour could arm no mortal man
That night to meet the storm—
No glow of pity could have kept
A human bosom warm.

The Dog of St. Bernard.
But obedience to a master's will

Had taught the dog to roam,
And through the terrors of the waste,
To fetch the wanderer home.

And if it be too much to say
That pity gave him speed,
'Tis sure he not unwillingly
Performed the generous deed.

For now he listens-and anon
He scents the distant breeze,
And casts a keen and anxious look
On every speck he sees.

And now deceived he darts along,

As if he trod the air

Then disappointed droops his head

With more than human care.

He never loiters by the way,
Nor lays him down to rest,
Nor seeks a refuge from the shower
That pelts his generous breast.

And surely 'tis not less than joy
That makes it throb so fast,
When he sees, extended on the snow,

The wanderer found at last.

'Tis surely he-he saw him

And at the joyful sight,

move,

He tossed his head with a prouder air,
His fierce eye grew more bright;

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Eager emotion swelled his breast

To tell his generous tale

And he raised his voice to its loudest tone

To bid the wanderer hail.

The pilgrim heard-he raised his head,
And beheld the shaggy form-
With sudden fear, he seized the gun

That rested on his arm.

"Ha! art thou come to rend alive

What dead thou might'st devour?

And does thy savage fury grudge
My one remaining hour?"

Fear gave him back his wasted strength,

He took his aim too well

The bullet bore the message home

The injured mastiff fell.

His eye was dimmed, his voice was still,

And he tossed his head no more

But his heart, though it ceased to throb with joy, Was generous as before!

For round his willing neck he bore

A store of needful food,

That might support the traveller's strength
On the yet remaining road.

Enough of parting life remained
His errand to fulfil—

One painful, dying effort more

Might save the murderer still.