know and love you,
And toss you but a bone while I shall feast?

My bonnie Collie, such wrong there shall not be,
Not for me to grasp at Heav'n and leave the Dark for thee,
You're nothing but a dog,
Not in Heaven's Catalogue--
But whatsoe'er thy fate, the same for me.

HELEN FITZGERALD SANDERS.

QUESTIONS

Where are you now, little wandering
Life, that so faithfully dwelt with us,
Played with us, fed with us, felt with us,
Years we grew fonder and fonder in?

You who but yesterday sprang to us,
Are we forever bereft of you?
And is this all that is left of you--
One little grave, and a pang to us?

WILLIAM HURRELL MALLOCK.

HIS EPITAPH

His friends he loves. His fellest earthly foes--
Cats--I believe he did but feign to hate.
My hand will miss the insinuated nose,
Mine eyes the tail that wagged contempt at Fate.

WILLIAM WATSON.

IN MEMORIAM

I miss the little wagging tail;
I miss the plaintive, pleading wail;
I miss the wistful, loving glance;
I miss the circling welcome-dance.

I miss the eyes that, watching, sued;
I miss her tongue of gratitude
That licked my hand, in loving mood,
When we divided cup or food.

I miss the pertinacious scratch
(Continued till I raised the latch
Each morning), waiting at my door;
Alas, I ne'er shall hear it more.

"What folly!" hints the cynic mind,
"Plenty of dogs are left behind
To snap and snarl, to bark and bite,
And wake us in the gloomy night.

"You should have sought a human friend,
Whose life eternal ne'er could end--
Whose gifts of intellect and grace
Bereavement never could efface."

Plenty of snarling things are left,
But I am of a friend bereft;
I seek not intellect, but heart--
'Tis not my head that feels the smart.

While loving sympathy is cherished,
While gratitude is not quite perished;
While patient, hopeful, cheerful meeting
At our return is pleasant greeting;

So long my heart will feel a void--
Grieving, my mind will be employed--
When I, returning to my door,
Shall miss what I shall find no more.

When we, at last, shall pass away,
And see no more the light of day,
Will many hearts as vacant mourn--
As truly wish for our return?

Yet love that's true will ever know
The pain of parting. Better so!
"Better to love and lose" than cold,
And colder still, let he