TOM.

“DEAR Tom is dead, please come to-night!” She telegraphed. With keen delight I read the message. Roses for consolation meant I sent, but oh, with what content I paid expressage! Don’t think me heartless, till you know Death has relieved me of a foe. Tom was my rival. When he began to pine away, I scarcely was the one to pray For his survival. He’s hated me since first we met; He was a most pronounced brunette, While I am fair. He was more favored of the two; Of soft caresses very few Fell to my share. But now he’s dead, I feel no spite. I hope his harp is tuned all right, His robe a fit, his halo bright With gems galore. And just this once do I confess The reason of my happiness— Because on earth there’s one cat less, In heaven one more.