VERSES FOR CHILDREN.

THE BURIAL OF THE LINNET.

    Found in the garden—­dead in his beauty. 
      Ah! that a linnet should die in the spring! 
    Bury him, comrades, in pitiful duty,
      Muffle the dinner-bell, solemnly ring.

    Bury him kindly—­up in the corner;
      Bird, beast, and gold-fish are sepulchred there;
    Bid the black kitten march as chief mourner,
      Waving her tail like a plume in the air.

    Bury him nobly—­next to the donkey;
      Fetch the old banner, and wave it about: 
    Bury him deeply—­think of the monkey,
      Shallow his grave, and the dogs got him out.

    Bury him softly—­white wool around him,
      Kiss his poor feathers,—­the first kiss and last;
    Tell his poor widow kind friends have found him: 
      Plant his poor grave with whatever grows fast.

    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
tell you tales that’ll frighten you into fits. 
About boys who ran away from their homes, and were taken by robbers,
and run after by wolves, and altogether in a dreadful state. 
I saw the pictures of it in a book I was looking in, to see where
perhaps I should like to emigrate. 
I’ve not quite settled whether I shall, or be cast away on a desert
island, or settle down nearer home;
But you’d better come in and hear about it, and then, wherever it is,
you’ll be sure to be ready to come.” 
So I took my darling Katerina in my arms, and we went in to tea. 
I love Katerina, though she lost her head long ago, poor thing; but
Fritz made me put her off my knee,
For he said, “When you’re hushabying that silly old doll I know you’re