BETWEEN the dark and the daylight,
When the 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.

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 entwine,
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 moustache 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 down into the dungeons
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.

-Henry W. Longfellow.

FATHER IS COMING.

THE clock is on the stroke of six,
The father's work is done;

Sweep up the hearth and mend the fire,

And put the kettle on!

The wild night-wind is blowing cold,
'Tis dreary crossing o'er the wold.

He's crossing o'er the wold apace;
He's stronger than the storm;
He does not feel the cold, not he,

His heart it is too warm :

For father's heart is stout and true

As ever human bosom knew.

He makes all toil, all hardship light;

Would all men were the same,

So ready to be pleased, so kind,

So very slow to blame!

Folks need not be unkind, austere,

For love hath readier will than fear!

And we'll do all that father likes,
His wishes are so few!

Would they were more! that every hour
Some wish of his I knew!

I'm sure it makes a happy day,
When I can please him any way.

I know he's coming, by this sign,
The baby's almost wild;

See how he laughs, and crows, and stares

Heaven bless the merry child!

He's father's self in face and limb,
And father's heart is strong in him.

Hark! hark! I hear his footsteps now
He's through the garden gate;
Run, little Bess, and ope the door,

And do not let him wait!

Shout, baby, shout, and clap thy hands!

For father on the threshold stands.

;

Mary Howitt.

A LITTLE GOOSE.

THE chill November day was done,
The working world home faring;
The wind came roaring through the streets,
And set the gaslights flaring;

And hopelessly and aimlessly,

The scared old leaves were flying, When, mingled with the soughing wind, I heard a small voice crying.