of her lover, would strew it with the wild flowers she had plucked, only returning when induced to do so by the intrusion of daylight.

"Poor widowed wretch! 't was there she wept in vain, Till memory fled her agonizing brain."

Six months had rolled away, but borne not with them, from the memory of Charles Reynolds, the recollection of the heart-rending scene of which he had been a spectator. In company, he had related many a time, with pathetic feelings, his tale of the Irish lovers. Six weary months had passed, and Charles, pursuing his accustomed journey in the north of Ireland, approached the lonely churchyard of the parish of K———. Sensibility, a trait of character most prominently marked in all the transactions of Charles Reynolds, oftentimes induced him to gratify his love for the reminiscences of his travels, gay or grave; and, in the desire to indulge a feeling of this kind, however painful its associations, he revisited the old churchyard. Threading his way through brambles and nettles, and over the narrow cells in which "the rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep," he gained the grave of Gabriel Adair. The turf was covered over with the green grass, and the flowers of the season

bloomed in beauty upon the mouldering heap-flowers no doubt (he concluded) planted by the fair hands of Sally. Musing on the scene he had witnessed in the sequestered spot on which he was standing, his mind became deeply absorbed in contemplation. From this reverie, however, he was shortly awakened by the faint cries of what appeared to him an infant of very tender age. He at first imagined that the cries proceeded from beneath the shade of some aged yew-trees, in the south-west corner of the graveyard, and concluded that the mother of the child might be there, mourning over the ashes of a husband and parent. This, however, proved, on closer observation, not to be the case; for, after a few moments' strolling amongst the tombs, he discovered, to his astonishment, wrapt in a piece of an old garment, and laid on the ground, the tiny form of a beautiful male child! What was to be done in such a predicament, it was, as may be readily supposed, no easy matter for Charles to determine. The infant, however, could not be allowed to lie where it had been so unnaturally exposed, and, accordingly, taking it into his arms, he endeavoured to soothe this little forlorn "Child of the Churchyard." Concluding that it would be as well for him to hasten forward to Lisburn, to which he was travelling, and unloosing the reins of his horse, which he had tied to the hedge, he mounted the jaunting-car hired by him for the journey, and drove onwards with all speed for the village.

Reaching Lisburn, he lost no time in communicating with the proper authorities; but found, to his astonishment, that these parties seemed somewhat doubtful of the story, interrogating him, with "sly, suspecting glance," whether he did not himself know something of the mother of the foundling, and evidently endeavouring to affiliate the infant upon its benevolent finder. Charles expressing a desire, should the parents not be discovered, to have the child respectably brought up, and offering to do so at his own expense, the parish authorities, glad of the relief, speedily obtained a cleanly and industrious married female as nurse. On a promise being given that every effort should be made to trace out the unnatural parents, Charles Reynolds, pulling out his pocketbook, granted a cheque for ten pounds, as the first half-year's provision for the foundling.

Thus provided for, the "Child of the Churchyard " (for by this name was it known in Lisburn) seemed to have found in his nurse, not the simple attentions usually given to one so situated, but even maternal care and kindness. At no time did Charles Reynolds visit the north of Ireland without spending a night in the town where his adopted son was located; and the poor woman, under whose charge the child had been placed, was the object of much regard on the part of the wealthier classes of the surrounding district.

In Manchester resided, in the year 1798, a wealthy banker and his family, consisting of his wife, two sons, and three daughters. Christmas was at hand, and Mr. and Mrs. Rogers (the banker and his wife) were making every preparation for celebrating the festive occasion on a somewhat extensive scale. Numerous

were the invitations sent out to friends to join this family circle around the blazing "yule-log," and in discussing the best of Burgundy, amply provided by the hospitable banker, who gloried in chaunting the good old chorus

"Bring forth the best of everything,

To mirth let none decline;
For it was my father's custom,
And so it shall be mine."

Amongst other friends of the family seated around the hospitable board, which groaned beneath its load of choice viands, was- -Charles Reynolds. He had for several years been on terms of the greatest intimacy with the Rogers, and (quietly), although it had not for a moment entered his own mind, strange to say, the idea was uppermost in the mind of everybody else in the locality, that Mr. Charles Reynolds was an accepted suitor of Miss Fanny Rogers. In short, the on dit attached to the intimacy of Mr. Reynolds with Miss Rogers was neither more nor less than one of those mistakeable and indefinite things which the more interested parties simply blush at, and a doting

mother, with marriageable daughters, only wishes it were the case! Beyond mere familiarities and gallant attentions, however, there was nothing that could afford the least ground for such a rumour.

Happiness was depicted on the countenance of each and all who had been attracted to the festive board of the Rogers, and no one was more buoyant of spirits, or contributed so largely to the fund of innocent good humour put in circulation throughout the ceremonies of the day, than Mr. Charles Reynolds. It had been a promise of some months' standing, that Mr. Reynolds should so have his business arranged that he would reach Manchester in order to "spend Christmas" with this captivating circle of friends. He had made good his promise, therefore, and was warm-heartedly welcomed by all; but by none more so than the accomplished Fanny Rogers. The more substantial repast ended—and everything was conducted after a style of liberality and variety that must have satisfied the taste of the most fastidious Epicure-the younger portion of the company prepared for the "enlivening dance," and no one tripped through the mazy rounds of waltz and quadrille with lighter heart, or more graceful deportment, than did Charles Reynolds. He did himself the honour, and with the most easy etiquette, to solicit the partnership of Miss Fanny in several of the introductory quadrilles; but there was one lady in that gay throng, whose beauty, added to an unassuming pleasantry of manner, had captivated