Farewell, sweet singer! dead in thy beauty,
Silent through summer, though other birds sing;
Bury him, comrades, in pitiful duty,
Muffle the dinner-bell, mournfully ring.




[Illustration: MASTER FRITZ.]


Fritz and I are not brother and sister, but we're next-door
neighbours; for we both live next door.
I mean we both live next door to each other; for I live at
number three, and Fritz and Nickel the dog live at number
four.
In summer we climb through the garret windows and sit
together on the leads,
And if the sun is too hot Mother lends us one big kerchief
to put over both our heads.
Sometimes she gives us tea under the myrtle tree in the big
pot that stands in the gutter.
(One slice each, and I always give Fritz the one that has
the most butter.)
In winter we sit on the little stool by the stove at number four;
For when it's cold Fritz doesn't like to go out to come in next door.
It was one day in spring that he said, "I should like to
have a house to myself with you Grethel, and Nickel." And I
said, "Thank you, Fritz."
And he said, "If you'll come in at tea-time and sit by the stove, I'll