the Sheffield commercial traveller, deeply interested in the story of Sally Redfern, the mother of that "Child of the Churchyard," attended her in the voyage across the channel, to the sweet little town of Lisburn, where he had the happiness to introduce to the mother an active and promising boy as his adopted son; and, not less was the astonishment of the Rogers, on receiving, by post, only a few days afterwards, the marriage cards of Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds-the nuptials of Charles and Sally Redfern having been celebrated, according to the ritual of the country, by the clergyman of the parish of Lisburn! Mr. Reynolds retired from his commercial pursuits, and lived, happy and contented, to see the "Child of the Churchyard " grown to man's estate, and faithfully fulfilling the duties of an honourable and lucrative appointment under Government, to which he had advanced by active business habits, sterling character, and the well-merited influence exerted on his behalf by rich friends and relatives, who, never being made aware of the strange fortunes of his infancy, had, in the amiable qualities which adorned his character, quite enough to recommend him as the worthy object of their good offices.

THE ORPHAN CHILD.

OH! weary is the lot and wild
Of little helpless orphan child—
Wandering, cold and hungry, 'mong
The gay and well-fed idle throng;
To bitter poortith ever near,
Tasting little of earth's good cheer,
Lone thoughts for ever fill his brain—
His life one ceaseless round of pain:
Ah, little know the rich and great
Of this poor pilgrim-pauper's fate.

Or foundling child, in poor man's cot,
Alike by kin and friends forgot;
A living mother dead to shame—
A mother-mockery of the name—
He knows full well he must have got,
But when or where he knoweth not;
His birthday no one singleth out,
Like pedigree, 't is sealed by doubt;
And though to sense fast wearing old,
His natal hour Time's tongue ne'er told.
'Mong playmates, outcast and forlorn,
He oft repents him he 'd been born;
And lonely stands the livelong day,
While jocund youth around him play:

Light is the heart—the footstep free—
Of all around, poor boy, but thee.
As stranger, on thy native soil,
In after years foredoomed to toil,
Uncheered by Hope's celestial ray,
So dark thy morn as dark thy day;
Greeted by few congenial friends,
To thee bright earth no comfort lends,
But such as thou mayst pluck the while
By bitter cares and slavish toil.

O! would the wealthy sons of earth,
When sportive round the ring of mirth,
With fairy foot they freely bound
To music's soft enchanting sound,—
Would such but pause and mark the lot
Of those by wealth and rank forgot,
They'd pity more the hand that toiled,
And succour oft the orphan child.

THE WORLD'S WORKSHOP.

One man in his time plays many parts.

SHAKSPEARE.

MEN are workmen all. Each one, from the peer to the peasant, has something to do, something to study, something to execute, in the World's Workshop. Idleness-absolute inactivity-is foreign to the nature of man. Industry may be misapplied, misdirected, and therefore abused; but in the very retrograde movements-in these the acts of deterioration or unwarrantable destruction of human mechanism-or this prodigality in the use of the golden moments by which a lifetime is numbered and reckoned up-the mind is active. It is, therefore, important to society at large that this mental activity should run in a proper channel. To suppose the confusion into which the world would be thrown by the withdrawal of the sun from the firmament, would not produce in the mind a mass of incongruities greater, or a chaos of gloom deeper, than that which would be exhibited by the paralysis of the universal machinery of labour-the

total suspension of the industrial energies of mankind. It is the want of a distinct idea in the mind, that man is destined to perform some important part in the drama of life, which creates the only inactivity apparent as existing in this nether sphere. It may sound strangely on the ear when we talk of the creation of a nullity—of the existence of inactivity; but, nevertheless, there is such a thing as encouragement to a do-nothing disposition-a practical illustration of the text, "Soul, take thine ease."

Whether the work for which man is destined be of a mental or physical character, it is alike important and necessary. That both mind and body should have something to do is one of the wise provisions of an all-superintending Providence; and the performance of this something, in a suitable manner, forms the line of distinctive superiority running throughout the social fabric, and acting as the patent of right to respect and popularity.

The world is the workshop for human application and study; and in proportion as this theory is acted upon will be the success of individual or united effort. The universe, viewed in its sectional and narrowed composition, may exhibit a strange and somewhat anomalous amalgamation of the sublime and the ridiculous; but this view is only the result of immatured judgment; for, when an analysis of the component parts of the mighty whole is carefully entered upon, and the inductive method of reasoning is followed in