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was once a long and a wide estate-were covered with weeds, like the wilderness, for John Inglis, the gardener, had lost heart among them; but this season everything was put to rights for some occupier, and John Robb had been working there with others, when his wife was taken with the fever, and although he was an outspoken man, as in the matter of the limestone, yet the Robbs were well liked, and after Mrs. Robb got the turn, sorry were all their neighbours, and wae for the children, who had a good father, that he fell past, and never grew better, but always worse; until one day I heard the neighbours say that he was at a rest.

So Miss Nancy followed her way in such sorrow, and was always sending to the widow, and thinking for the small and helpless children, who might be said in a certain sense to have none but the framed to mind them. It was on a Saturday evening, and the sun shone sweetly after the heavy rain, that hung upon the leaves like very diamonds and pearls, as I supposed, who had never seen precious stones, except the red ruby in Dr. More's ring, and perhaps it was not a ruby. Our garden shone full of them in the sun, and the burn was noisy as it ran to the water, and the water was more than full.

John Robb's house was a half mile from ours, and it was not in the way to Blinkbonnie; and I was called out of the garden to speak to Miss Nancy-and ran gladly. She was saying that I was too young to carry it so far, but that objection was over-ruled, and I promised to go fast with the basket to the widow and her children. And I always remembered how that when I was cleaned and combed, she took off her gloves, and tied my neckerchief in a bonnie knot, and bade me be kind to little Johnnie Robb, who was rather under my age, and kissed me-a thing she had never done before-and promised to take me down with her to Blinkbonnie next week, if I had my lessons well for next day. And I was very proud, and went my errand well, and played a little while with Johnnie Robb, for boys soon forget their sorrow and turn to their play again. Also I learned my lessons well, and said them over before going to sleep on the night before our cheerful Sunday-for we had all grown cheerful since we went so often to Miss Nancy's.

It was in the dead silence of the night that I wakened up, and, heard my father say he would be down in five minutes; but it was not two, when I heard his foot upon the stair very fast like, and then other steps came up light and quick, and I knew the voice, and crept to the door when one of the Miss Douglasses, as we called them, though they were far from rich, was telling that Miss Nancy had not been at the manse, nor Dr. More's, and the doctor had driven into the town, while the minister was nearly distracted.

And it was then that Sandy, who was beside me, and was older and wiser, said in a whisper, "the water." So we hurried on our clothes, and sought the water side, up and down, by ourselves; although

others sought it, too, for there was not a sleeping eye in our place on that Sabbath morning; but we had made nothing when the sun rose, and when nine o'clock came, and no word had been heard, except that she left Blinkbonnie a little after seven in the evening, and nothing had been seen, many got wearied, and went to their houses; but at this time, Mr. Smith, of the Rackets, came down to Blinkbonnie; and he asked at the Inglis's whether the lady went up the water by the north or the south side. They had, as was natural, taken no thought to look; and when he went down to the steps, he saw that they had never been covered, but one was carried out of its place in the row; and so he bade us search the deep Drover's Pot, nearly two hundred yards down; and we all searched,-not that I could do more than be in the way.

The Drover's Pot was deep, aud the water was drumlie, and nothing came of the search for a time; but at last-at last we were cast down with very grief to the lowest-as she was laid carefully on the bank, and old, hard featured men, wept like myself, and the other children.

The face was wan and white; but very pleasant to look at, if it had not been for death; and the hair hung over the brow from beneath the bonnet, and the little basket was in one hand, and a root of grass in the other, which made us all sadder still, because it was so clear that she had been near the bank once, unless it was a waif floating on the swirl-and her little grey cloak hung over her, without being much soiled, except the crimson silk, and there was mud on it. By-and-bye, Mr. Smith said to Dr. Groom that they might look for her watch, and they took it from the riband round her neck. It pointed to twenty past seven-a little before the gloamin.' A small picture, in a yellow frame, was close to the watch, like a penny, or little more, in size; and Dr. More, who came up faster then than I ever saw him walk before, said that it was the likeness of her mother, who died so long ago, when the black letters came. And then they began to carry her on a board to the manse, and the doctor was to place her in the chaise; but the neighbours did not wish that, and so, when all was ready, and we looked at the white, white lips, that would speak to us no more for ever, it seemed as if our very hearts would break; and I bowed down and kissed them, which I could do, because I was so very small, and they were cold, cold, but I minded upon the last night, and my leave taking, or I would not have done that; and when I looked up, and they were going away, and she was lifted away, there was Mr. Green, so weak and woeful, that I took his hand, for he could scarcely walk; and he spoke ont of his Bible, as he could for sobbing, that "all flesh is grass, and the goodliness thereof like the flower of the field," and other words like these. This was out of all compare the saddest gathering that we ever had on a Sabbath at Kirkhowe, as we went up to the manse by the nearest way, past the back of Dr,

GLEANINGS AND FRAGMENTS.

More's; but I went not in then, for there were so many children, and they all had loved her so well.

Why now should these hours of sorrow be recalled, seeing there are so many in the world, and Nancy Rose has been dead so long? Because she

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is not dead. She never died, as useless ladies die, to be forgotten. She lived, and lives yet, guiding our thoughts in some manner, and keeping her watch over more hearts than two or three, as we may see afterwards. [To be Continued.)

GLEANINGS AND FRAGMENTS.

BESSEMER'S PATENT MAY BE A FAILURE.

SINCE the month of August last, almost every newspaper and periodical has contained some notice of Bessemer's discovery in the manufacture of iron and steel. Praise is due to Mr. Bessemer for his attention to a matter of such general interest, it being known that the consumption of iron and steel constitutes a very important item in the commercial affairs of this country; but after so much adulation it becomes necessary to make a practical investigation of the merits of a system which is closely connected with the prosperity of the nation. The writer of this paper is totally unacquainted with Mr. Bessemer; it is no matter of consequence to him as an individual if the system be a source of pecuniary profit or not; he can only say that for twenty years he was practically engaged in the iron and steel business, and will never forget the lesson he was obliged to learn. It is well known that the present large consumption of iron and steel is attributable to the increase of railway traffic and other means of communication, and if the patent be made profitable it will probably be applied to iron for rails, springs, and arles; and should it be introduced to Birmingham and Wolverhampton, where chains, cables, and anchors are made, the consequences will be still more important. The circumstance must not be overlooked, that between facts and theories there is a remarkable difference; and when an experiment has succeeded once it is by no-means certain that it will always be satisfactory. To the chemist and the philosopher it is well known that the same results are not always produced by the repetition of similar operations. If the Bessemer discovery were confined to certain classes of manufacture, it would be useful; but if it become general, it may be attended with very dangerous consequences.

There are many things-such as ornaments for fire-stoves, and buttons, chiefly made in Birmingham, which will not polish unless they receive a hard surface, and to obtain it they are generally placed in an iron box with bones, and when heated are plunged into cold water. This process gives them a steel surface which will receive a high polish. The axles of common carriages are sometimes made of iron, and a steel surface welded on them to prevent their speedy wear by constant friction; but if the iron were brought to a white heat, and were then rubbed over with prussite of potass, the steel surface would be obtained from

immersion in cold water. The writer of this paper has tried many experiments, and has found results which possibly would have been as marvellous as those of Mr. Bessemer, but cosmopolitan principles must prevail. It is of no consequence what a man might gain by the introduction of a system if it were injurious to a very large community.

The history of the manufacture of iron and steel is of no consequence for the present argument, the fact that we have them and cannot do without them is self evident; yet whether there can be any plan introduced successfully to displace operations which have been for years in practice remains to be proved. To every person acquainted with iron and steel, the term having "a body in it" is quite understood, but to the uninitiated some explanation is required. Iron stone is known as a common produce of many parts of this country; it is not combustible, but, to produce pig iron, a furnace is prepared, and into its mouth is continually poured the iron stone along with coal and coke; a blast is worked by steam or other power, and the iron runs from an aperture into moulds, called pigs, in which they are moulded; before they have cooled, they are as brittle as glass, but if they are annealed-that is, covered from external air till perfectly cold-they will acquire a degree of almost incredible resistance or toughness. These principles of practice will not apply to Mr. Bessemer's patent. Should any one be inclined to try an experiment generally known on a piece of iron and steel, take a smith's bellows, the moveable pipe preferred; heat the iron and apply the blast; the iron will not cool, but will consume, and instead of being improved will be destroyed. A circumstance will often occur in the experience of men who are accustomed to forge the blades of knives, &c. If the small piece of steel is longer in contact with the blast, it loses its nature, and will either fall to pieces under the workman's hammer, or will pass through its stages, and break in the servant's hand on being cleaned. The objections offered to the common process of making iron are the best guarantees for its quality; and every one acquainted with it is well aware that English iron never ought to be any worse than what it is. There are circumstances plainly illustrative of this in the accidents arising from a broken axle, or coupling chain, or tier of a railway carriage wheel. To show that brit:le or badly wrought iron would be attended with consequences too disastrous for

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BESSEMER'S PATENT MAY BE A FAILURE.

make the finest edged razor. A man single-handed can break any part of this bar. Submit the ingot to the tilt-hammer, reduce it from three inches in diameter to one inch, and twice the force will not break it. In former times all iron and steel were forged or tilted to the sizes required for the articles which were to be manufactured from it; and those who have had experience in the hardware trade will always give the preference to the articles made from tilted rather than rolled iron or steel. The reason is plain. The hammer closes the pores, and removes the oxyde of earth which clings to the substance through every process, and the more it is wrought the more flexible, pure and serviceable it will always be. If any person will refer to "Parkes' Chemical Catechism," it will be seen what importance is attached to "repeated hammering." Of late years a trial respecting a patent for the manufacture of cast steel has enjoyed public attention. The proposal was to make cast or refined steel from iron scrap, which was an almost valueless article. The process consisted of the addition of manganese in the crucible; but it was a failure, and, as those engaged in the practical part of the business said, "If you want a good article from the melting pot, you must put good metal in." So far is it certain that the Bessemer patent must be a failure, that the practice of years and general experience, though quickened by the sharpest competition at home and the greatest rivalry abroad, have not been able to produce a workable and passable iron or steel on any other plan than that which has now been explained. The friends of the Bessemer system we may suppose say everything in support of the patent, that can be advanced with truth; but they confess that "if the iron remains in the furnace a few minutes longer than the time required, its character as iron or steel is annihilated, and a mass of very brittle crystalline iron will be left as the result." There is a good degree of truth in that statement, and, if the regular course of experience is to be followed, it is sure to be the case.

detail, a table knife of a superior kind may be bent nearly double, but it will not break if made from good sheer steel-like an unbent bow, it will return to its former straightness. The cause of this elasticity is found in the very process Mr. Bessemer seeks to destroy-it is the consequence of operations which, though old, cannot be superseded. A brief explanation of this process will be sufficient to convince those who are not acquainted with the manufacture of iron and steel that no other plan can be attended with success. Iron, it has been said, is at first brittle, and its general usefulness consists in its being malleable. In its first state in the stone it can serve no practical purpose. In its second state only a few purposes. In its third condition it is generally useful; and then from it the rails are made on which thousands venture their lives, and through which the commerce of the country is conducted. In the fourth it is steel, which constitutes the springs of carriages; and in the fifth it is used for the mannfacture of files and tools, and is called cast steel. In the second state of the iron stone it has been puddled. The pigs have been placed in a furnace and moved about with iron bars in a ball. The mass is then passed through a pair of rollers, and afterwards put under a forge hammer and wrought into bars. The third stage arises from what is called a converting process. There are proportions of charcoal used for the purpose of making it harder or kinder. This is called a high or a low heat-the former produces cast steel, being for files and many purposes; the latter for railway springs and other objects. After all this we find there are accidents; and every one acquainted with the trade knows what care in each process is required to produce a quality which is necessary for public safety. In making sheer steel the bars of iron from the converting furnace are selected, and are drawn under a forge hammer. They are then welded and drawn again to a certain size, to obtain double sheer steel-as that of a table knife, just named. The fact will now appear that iron and steel are only rendered valuable by being submitted to the Supposing the new process, as an experiment, process of the hammer; and Mr. Bessemer, by dis- were to answer under the management of a skilful pensing with that, as a slow process, will give us chemist, which undoubtedly Mr. Bessemer is, the a substitute for iron, which if malleable at all will manufacture of the iron and steel could not always have neither body nor quality to sustain the pres- be conducted by practical chemists; consequently, sure which will come upon it. We have heard from the ignorance or inattention of the workmen, much of the decrease of our popularity in manu- the large iron manufacturers might lose considerably facture. Its truth or untruth is not the pre- more from failures in operations than they would sent question; but if anything will ruin the hard- ever gain by the time Mr. Bessemer professes to save. ware trade of England, it will be the introduction To the public the question is one of vital conseof a bad, spurious material, which is of far more quence-is this new iron, as the advocates of the importance in the quality of tools than even the system say, to become " substitute for timber" workmanship employed in their preparation. One and "a benefit to the whole world?" But who is to fact may be further added to show that the pre-examine its quality before the people trust themsent plan of submitting iron and steel to the ham-selves to its agency? It is more than probable mer, which Mr. Bessemer would principally dispense with, is: Take a bar, or as it is called an ingot, of cast steel which has gone through the stages of good bar iron; it has been converted, and melted in a crucible, and is of a quality which will

that it will under heavy pressure give no notice of a catastrophe, like ordinary iron, by bending, but like what it still is, cast metal partially purified, it will doubtless break, and, under circumstances little anticipated, will be attended with very disastrous

PARIS AND LONDON.

results. If Mr. Bessemer's iron is to be tested properly, let it be made from the iron stone principally found in England, let it be submitted to the forge hammer; for it may pass through the rollers and seem to have a malleable body, when, if brought to the proper test, it will be found tender, brittle, and consequently unfit for mechanical purposes. Mr. Bessemer's plan is soon explained. He has a receiver for the liquid iron as derived from the iron stone, and he supplies a blast which produces a violent motion of the metal, which afterwards is considered iron or steel.

Mr. Bessemer is worthy of credit for his desire to introduce an improvement in this department of mauufacture. He is no doubt thoroughly sincere, and has acted perfectly right in securing to himself the benefits of his discovery in a pecuniary view, but inasmuch as public interests have to be respected, it is right to intimate that the philosopher frequently fails for want of practical experience, and that fact is the absolute and only reason why these remarks have been made.

PARIS AND LONDON.

WANDERING some weeks ago in the neighbourhood of Notre Dame, and passing by the front of the ancient pile, I perceived the door leading to one of the towers was left open. Some workmen were engaged in slight repairs on the roof, and I was suddenly siezed with a desire to witness from one of the towers the beautiful sunset that was coming on. I therefore mounted the narrow stairs, and was soon lost in a flood of associations, connected not only with the building on which I stood, but with the beautiful city that was outstretched like a map beneath. The pen of Victor Hugo had invested the grand old edifice with an almost magical charm, for in a dim imaginative haze the vivid situations of his striking novel rose before me. In the sweet calm of the autumn evening, and the silence of the street below, I could only for a time think of the meditative Claude Frollo absorbed in study upon the spot where I was now standing-or, looking downward from the height, see his struggling form about to be dashed to atoms on the stones below. One carving, indeed, in my forgetfulness of present objects, seemed to assume a grotesque physiognomy, that was quite a study for the face of Quasimodo. Gradually my thoughts reverted to recent events, that had achieved their crowning significance in the solemn aisles beneath, and I wondered what history would have to say of these.

Arousing from my reverie and looking forth on the towers, palaces, and domes that stood up sharply defined in the clear, soft atmosphere, tinted gorgeously with the last rays of the sinking sun I was almost unconsciously led to think of the capital of my native land. Living in London, year after year, I had almost ceased to think of it in

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any other light than as the most commonplace city in the world. But now, standing on the roof of Notre Dame, and taking somewhat such a view of Paris as I should take of London trom the balcony of St. Paul's, I could better realise the wonder, and even admiration, with which many foreigners regard enormous London.

There was the regret, to begin with, at the difference of atmosphere-the size of Paris (being, as a lively French friend remarked a city that might dance in London)-the wood fires-the people, living so much abroad that the separate fires burning in almost every room in London are not necessary-and the absence of factories, all contribute to that clearness of the air which, to my mind, is not the least charm of a large city.

Thinking of Notre Dame, by comparison with Westminster Abbey, I must, generally, prefer the latter; although the elaborate western front of the French Cathedral is, undoubtedly, very fine. But the interior is cold and barren, and wants variety. It does not impress me, in the same manner as our own ancient pile, with the feelings of Milton's glorious lines in the Penseroso. We Londoners,

too, seem to have an affectionate reverence for the Abbey, very different from that of the Parisians for Notre Dame; for, undoubtedly, the most fashionable place of worship is the Madeleine a superb building, indeed, but one where I cannot consider the Roman Catholic ceremonies appear to the best advantage. But it was not originally intended as a place of worship; indeed, it was at one time destined by Napoleon for a Temple of Victory, in which to deposit the trophies he had collected in his different campaigns. To the stay-at-home reader (if such there be in these travelling days) we can best give an idea of the Madeleine by likening it to our own Royal Exchange. There is a fine bold altarpiece in the Madeleine, which, however defective in some minor points, is certainly more in keeping (not a little merit methinks) with the general appearance of the building, than the dull, inharmonious masses of marble that seem to fill up the odd corners of St. Paul's. There is another contrast between St. Paul's and the Madeleine worth mentioning. The vault-like appearance of the central portion of our London Cathedral, unrelieved by pictures, statuary, or even groups of worshippers scattered about on the Sabbath-the few who come, partly to hear the anthem, partly to see the building, shut up between barricades, that must remind many of Drury Lane Theatre, or the Cattle show, almost make the Protestant blush for the glory of his Church, and wonderingly ask if the freedom and cheerfulness of the Madeleine, where no distinction is made between the workman in his blouse and the Countess in her diamonds, and where the worshipper kneels in any portion of the building he chooses, has not a more humanising influence than the purest creed administered in a sectarian spirit. Looking down upon the river, which flows beneath, one sees a vast difference between it and the broad-bosomed

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Thames (pity that it retains so little of its virgin purity). The silent highway of London has associations, historical, commercial, and domestic, to which the canal-like Seine is a stranger. I have always thought the views of London from some of the Bridges to possess much interest-and could always enter into the feelings so charmingly embodied by Wordsworth in his sonnet on a view of London from Westminster Bridge. But I have been most struck by a view of St. Paul's at sunset from Southwark Bridge. To the Cockney, born and bred within the sound of Bow bells, writing thus may seem very prosaic, but I can assure him if he is anything of an artist, that the effect of the grand central object surrounded by, it may be, a thousand leagues of cloud, gorgeously tinted an by autumn sunset, was quite Rembrandtish.

The bridges of Paris though very numerous are too small to awaken much interest in the mind of a Londoner accustomed to the majestic terraces of Waterloo, or the bold yet airy span of Hungerford. One thing should be particularly noted in Parisian architecture; whatever is really beautiful is made the most of would that it were so in London. The Parisian Houses of Parliament would not have been erected in a swamp where only a good view of them could be obtained from one of the dirtiest and least interesting localities. Compare the situation of the Arc de Triomphe with the position of any public building in London, where the only really fine site is occupied with one of the ugliest edifices that an Englishman of taste can blush for-to say nothing of it as a receptacle for high art. (It may be worth considering, en passant, what would have been done by this time for a French Turner's gift to the nation.) I should hope too, that no real artist is blind to the lamentable folly of placing a tall column in the middle of a large square; and I would quietly ask, wherein consists the appropriateness of such a column to a naval commander-I am told it is Nelson, but the cocked hat is all vouches for it at that distance. In Paris we may see, in more instances than one, how and where a column should be placed. A column, says common sense, should stand that the eye rests upon it alone, as a principal object. In Trafalgar-square the only effect produced in my mind is that it is sadly in the way. To show again the improved effect to be attained by a slight change of position-I would refer to the Marble Arch, which a French architect would most certainly have placed exactly opposite the end of the Edgeware-road, and thus it would have formed a pleasing object across the very centre of the park, and for nearly a mile down a wide road.

As to hoping for Boulevards round London, that is visionary, from the high value of the ground; yet in some quarters (as, for instance, the Newroad, where a small portion of the gardens fronting the houses, would form charming promenades in the summer) the experiment might be tried without any extraordinary difficulty. As to a

really handsome fountain in London, we must not look for such a marvel. In Paris we have many, quite works of art, and what can be more agreeable on a sultry day than the cool refreshing splash of a fountain.

I can only regard our Railway Stations with a sigh-such lavish expenditure, such heaps of mortar, such piles of brickwork, and-so little elegance. It is quite astonishing.

Of the petrified negroes that are stuck about some of our squares, I had better say nothing. Nor will I advert to those ghastly abominations, the city churchyards, for here at least, there is some ground for hope. To a much greater length these remarks might have extended, but the sun is sinking lower and lower, and the beauties of Paris are no longer visible. The workmen, also, coming forward, politely inform me that their labours are over for the day, and they are about to close the building. So, almost reluctantly even now, I descend from the towers of Notre Dame, with a feeling, not of contempt for my own capital, in its busy, bustling variety, but a desire that the vast sums expended in London architecture could be as promptly and effectively applied as in the charming city beneath me.

THE PERSIANS IN HERAT AND THE RUSSIANS

IN INDIA.

THE geography of central Asia has long been a mythical subject in our seminaries of useful learning. Three-fourths of our people know not what or where Herat is, with any precision. The The Aral, the Araxes, even the Caspian, certainly the Oxus, and, most undoubtedly, all those chains of horrible mountains that raise rugged cliffs between the Indus and the Tigris, are names to them, and nothing more. This ignorance of common things leaves us in danger of being cheated on every hand. We are at war with the Persians, and a vast portion of our population know only that Persia was a great empire when it had Cyrus for its monarch-aud they have heard of Xerxes, and Greece-of Darius and Alexander, and of Esther the Queen.

Persia extends from the Caspian to the Indian Ocean. To the ports of the Caspian the Russian armies can be floated by navigable canals, or rivers, from every part of that Northern Empire in Europe -even from Finland, or the shores of the White Sea. Into the Caspian our fleet of new gun-boats can never penetrate. Around that great inland sea the Russians may build arsenals, and collect the materials of war without the dread of interruption. Upon its waters they can collect half a million of men, more easily than, perhaps, to any other part of their dominions. The Caspian is their natural basis in their expeditions to the South, now that they have been foiled in the Euxine. The former sea has the great advantage of perfect security, which the latter can never

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