As Tabby and Tibby were playing one day,
I, watching their frolicksome mood,
Greatly wondered they never got tired of play,
But the secret I soon understood.

For, listening, I hear on the drum of the ear,
These thoughts in cat language conveyed—
The which I interpret lest it should appear
Of telling the truth I'm afraid.

Said Tabby to Tibby: "Our master's downcast;
Else why are his looks full of gloom?
There's something like spectres in future or past,
Which strangely before his mind loom.

"So, daughter, still further in frolic indulge,
And thus chase his sadness away;
Our motives we need not to mortals divulge;
Then at it in right earnest play."

This said, she gave Tibby a sly, knowing wink,
And straight on her haunches sat down,
While Tibby, who is of all kittens the pink,
Laid the counsel safe by in her crown.

And now, as if struck by electrical shock,
The young one swift bounded aside,
And then with an air which would true valor mock,
Some strange soldiers' antics she tried.

Advancing, retreating, with rig well upreared,
Her looks testify to her ire;
And every manoeuvre, it is to be feared,
Will bring some calamity dire.

But meantime, the mother in calmest content,
And careless as cat could well be,
Just waited till Tibby's flash-valor was spent,
Yet now and then winking at me.

I judged from this fact that a wrinkle had struck,
To the depths of her sage cat-like brain;
And I thought of my beautiful kitten's ill-luck
In entering on such a campaign.

The thought had scarce flashed through the chambers of mind,
When she pounced like a tiger on prey!
Oh, horror! but stop! with relief I now find
They both were engaged in mere play.

But whether in play or real earnest, it seems
Young Tibby's no match for her mother;
So thus I now end this my first of cat dreams,
Not caring to write such another.

LINES COMPOSED AT MR. M'LARTY'S, WEST MISSOURI, AUGUST 3, 1873.

McLarty, I can't leave your house,
Your darling daughter, charming spouse,
Without at least a single rhyme
Commemorating that sweet time
When I, with my beloved wife,
Shared your dear home, with comforts rife.

And now I backward cast my eye
O'er eight-and-twenty years, gone by,
Since first to you the land I sold
Which now you prize far more than gold.
Ah, then with trees 'twas covered o'er
Thousands of which are now no more;
But in their stead rich, waving grain,
On hill and dale and pleasant plain
Abundant grows; and year by year
Adds comforts to your home so dear.

Fair trout creek still flows softly by,
Though not so pleasing to the eye,
As when at first its stream I saw,
So many, many years ago.
For then no logs unshapely, rude,
Did on that beauteous creek intrude;
But o'er its smooth and gravelly bed
It held its course, and murmur shed
Like sweetest music on my ear,
And made me long to live just here.

But urgent duty called me hence,
To scenes less pleasing to the sense
Of one who had a poet's eye
For Nature's works. I bade good bye
To what so quickly had become
To me almost as dear as home.

And now, kind friends, we must return
To that same home, while bosoms burn
With platitude for kindness shown
To those you had so little known.

We linger still: 'tis hard to part
From you, when fondly heart to heart
Beats now, as if for years we'd been
Fast bound in friendship's bands serene.

God bless you all! we fervent pray,
And make you happier every day!
Should we in future meet no more,
O, may we all reach Canaan's shore.