MY KITTENS.

 

But one day poor Whitey, the prettiest darling

Of all these five kittens, grew sick and then died ;
I never again could have such a sweet kitten,

And oh how I grieved, and how sadly I cried!

I went out and dug her a grave in the garden,
And lined it all softly with leaves and with moss;
' brought to the burial her brothers and sisters,
Thinking that they, too, would mourn for her loss.

But the heartless things capered and whisked all around me—
They chased a bright butterfly, searched for a mouse,
Jumped for the bird that sang up in the pear-tree ;

I whipped them and sent them all back to the house.
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