Fire! fire from every rock and tree, from every door and window, from hearthstone and chamber; hang upon his flank and rear from noon to sunset, and so through a land blazing with holy indignation, hurl the hordes of ignorance, corruption and injustice back, back into utter defeat and ruin!" [Illustration] Kind hearts are the gardens, Kind thoughts are the roots, Kind words are the blossoms, Kind deeds are the fruits. [Illustration] THE CHILDREN'S HOUR. HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. Between the dark and the daylight, When night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations, That is known as the children's hour. I hear in the chamber above me The patter of little feet, The sound of a door that is opened, And voices soft and sweet. From my study I see in the lamplight, Descending the broad hall stair, Grave Alice and laughing Allegra, And Edith with golden hair. [Illustration: "BLUE-EYED BANDITTI."] A whisper and then a silence; Yet I know by their merry eyes They are plotting and planning together, To take me by surprise. A sudden rush from the stairway, A sudden raid from the hall, By three doors left unguarded, They enter my castle wall. They climb up into my turret, O'er the arms and back of my chair; If I try to escape, they surround me; They seem to be everywhere. They almost devour me with kisses, Their arms about me intwine, Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen, In his Mouse Tower on the Rhine. Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti, Because you have scaled the wall, Such an old mustache as I am Is not a match for you all? I have you fast in my fortress, And will not let you depart, But put you into the dungeon In the round-tower of my heart. And there will I keep you forever, Yes, forever and a day, Till the walls shall crumble to ruin And moulder in dust away. [Illustration] SONG OF THE BROOK. ALFRED TENNYSON. I come from haunts of coot and hern; I make a sudden sally; And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley. [Illustration] [Illustration] By thirty hills I hurry down, Or slip between the ridges: By twenty thorps, a little town, And half a hundred bridges. I chatter over stony ways, In little sharps and trebles; I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles. I chatter, chatter as I flow To join the brimming river; For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever. I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, Among my skimming swallows; I make the netted sunbeam dance, Against my sandy shallows. I murmur under moon and stars In brambly wildernesses; I linger by my shingly bars; I loiter round my cresses. And out again I curve and flow, To join the brimming river; For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever. [Illustration] EULOGY ON GARFIELD.