No fond caress nor kind appeal If boys are thus self-willed at ten, Published for the Proprietors by W. WELLS GARDNER, 2 Paternoster Buildings, London SAND CASTLES. NOW sitting on the shingle, Hear what the children teach, Building their mimic castles, Upon the sandy beach. Donjon, turret, and bastion, And castellated keep, With battlements of pebbles, And a moat both broad and deep. Busied in pleasant pastime, Never a thought give they To the tide, that soon will be flowing, The voice of the distant waters, The deep-toned voice of the sea. But now they have built their castle, Drawbridge and tower complete, Glad to go home, they are turning Away with weary feet. Glad to go home, they heed not The castle left behind- The sport of the waves and wind. On the shores of Eternity? Of a far Futurity. Frail as the work of children, Structures we deem sublime, By the solemn roll of ages Are swept from the sands of Time. E'en with our best-loved castles Soon we shall weary grow, And ere our work is completed Homeward we long to go. Home, where no work can perish- 'ALL ALONE.' EWS went round the little village of Midhurst that the bills were taken down from the windows of Jessamine Cottage at last, after it had stood empty so long that the flowerbeds had disappeared into what had once been a grass-plot, and the gravel-path was all overgrown with weeds. After that, the Midhurst folk watched for the new-comer to their village; but there was no sign of her arrival, until one day a woman was seen moving about inside Jessamine Cottage, or sitting alone at the window sewing. They found out that she had reached the village with her humble furniture after dark, and later they heard from the landlord of the cottage that this woman's name was Ursula Grant: more than that no one could discover, for she seemed resolved to make no friends. It was early winter when this strange, lonely woman, came to Midhurst, and all through the dark dreary days she lived in solitude, rarely seen in the village, excepting to buy necessary food; and then she came out at nightfall, as if she wished the darkness to shelter her from notice. After the novelty had died out the village folk took no more heed of her, excepting to remark that she must be off her head.' A few pitied her, and would gladly have been friendly, but she took little notice if any ventured on even a 'good morning' as they passed her window. Poor Ursula Grant! none there knew her story, or perhaps their pity would have been greater. She had given up the happy prospect of a husband's love to nurse her old father and mother, who could not bear to see her go from them, and years of waiting on them had changed her from almost a girl into a sad, middle-aged woman; then they died, one rapidly following another, and Ursula was all alone in the world. Many had been her struggles while they lived; she had worked hard to add to their little means of support. When they died she sold almost all they had left, and reserving just a bed, two chairs, a table, and other necessary articles, she left her native place for ever and came in the dusk of evening to Midhurst, to begin there her lonely life, where no one should know her and her great poverty. Years before she had passed through Midhurst, and since then she had found that needlework was to be obtained from a town not far off; so she chose it for her dwelling, and took little three-roomed Jessamine Cottage, which no one would live in because it was damp and decayed, and therefore was let cheaply. People who were curious said that once in a week Ursula, wearing a thick veil, and in a long shawl, came out of her dwelling, and walking in the direction of Levington, did not return for some hours; and many found strange reasons for her absence, but none ever knew of the parcels of work conveyed to and fro which found her daily bread. The pleasant chiming of the church bells on Sundays never brought the lonely woman. out to join the other worshippers in the village church-poor Ursula was trying to shut her heart to the goodness of God, and forget Him because He had sent her so much sorrow. But at last the winter went away, the trees budded and burst forth into leaf, the air was sweet with wild flowers, and even Ursula Grant opened her windows, as if to welcome the soft May wind, and she let her face be seen more frequently as she sat there sewing. The children of the village passed to and fro on their rambles to the woods and fields, and as they came back with hands and pinafores filled, Ursula's eyes followed them longingly, but they never knew it; the 'mad woman,' as they thought her, was the last person in all Midhurst at whom they would have turned their heads to look. But soon more strangers came to that part-a widow with her two children in their deep mourning, who had lost all they had in the world, and had come to begin a new hard life in Midhurst. Every one pitied gentle Mrs. James, who smiled so sweetly and yet so sadly at all who noticed her, and had a kind word and soft touch for all the village children who toddled after her, pulling at her dress. Every one praised her boy Frank, who had her own. pleasant look and manner; and little Georgie had many a God bless you!' from the simple country people, One day they, too, had been for wild flowers to the wood, but Frank's quick eyes had noticed the wistful glance of the lonely inmate of Jessamine Cottage, and though he had heard strange tales of her, he stopped under the open window and offered her his bunch, and the sudden lighting up of the grave woman's face was sufficient reward. 'Oh, mother, she likes flowers! that poor woman at the cottage, who they say is mad. I will pick her some every time I go to the woods.' And he did so, for from that time a common jug, full of wild flowers, was always by Ursula's side as she stooped over her sewing at the open |