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with a perseverance which accords with M. Mazzini's well-known zeal and determination. It is impossible not to feel a deep interest in the sufferings endured by the descendants of the people who once ruled the world ; and the more dearly we prize our own long-cherished freedom, the more should we desire to see it perfected in other lands; we should not estimate freedom by a sliding scale of geography, loving it] in England, but unwilling to risk a line or a penny to secure it to Hungary or Italy. We have no more intrinsic right to liberty than other men, and our charter won by many conquests would be exposed to a struggle of fearful danger, if despotism spread its nets over the continent.
THE AMERICANS seem to us to live upon books ; the immense quantity of paper consumed by their publications is beyond all calculation ; edition after edition floats from the press; and we have hardly taken up a book from across the Atlantic during last month that has not “ tenth” or “twelfth" edition on its title page. The Wide Wide World, by ELIZABETH WETHERELL, has just entered into its sixth grade of popularity, and comes from the “store”. of Mr. PUTNAM, of Broadway, New York. How can we criticise a book that has gone through six editions ?
name is, we believe, well known in connexion with insurance offices. The book is full of practical knowledge and good counsel ; it should be read and studied by all persons who consider “periodical savings" as solemn duties. It points out on the one hand, the dangers to be avoided, and on the other, the channels most available for those who aim to make a " little more." It is matter of no slight moment, when a man of experience undertakes to deal with such a subject, for it is notorious that numerous robberies are perpetrated daily under the pretence of “ benefits ;” and to put the unwary upon their guard is a duty of mercy as well as wisdom. We cordially agree in the sentiments expressed by the following—a passage from the prefaceand are doing service in giving it publicity :- The great increase in the industrious or producing classes of society, since the beginning of this century, has been accompanied by at least a corresponding accession of wealth and independence of feeling, spread over and infusing large masses of the population. Hence has arisen the necessity for enlarging the boundaries of education so as to satisfy the natural cravings for information, by that kind of knowledge that will elevate the moral character; and the alınost equally important demand for some salutary contrivance whereby prudence, forethought, and economy may be fostered, and pecuniary savings, as they occur, be applied most effectually in warding off the evils of penury, and the debasing effects of pauperism. It is by such means that a manly independence and love of social order, and the proper feelings and duties of kindred will be best cultivated."
Mr. Bonx, to whom all classes of readers are so deeply indebted, has published the second volume of The Bridgewater Treatises, which has the advantage of notes from the pen of Thomas Rymer Jones, Esa.. F.R.S., professor of comparative anatomy of King's College. A more valuable present could not be made to the young than these charming volumes.
The second volume of that most interesting book, The Conquerors of the New World and their Bondsmen, has just been published by Mr. PICKERING, and is particularly interesting at this period, when all eyes and hearts are especially directed towards the New World, and when a narrative of the principal events which led to negro slavery in the West Indies and America, now leads to the consideration of what slavery is at the present time. We pray for the time when slarery will be one of the traditions of the past.
A very valuable voltaic battery has lately been creating some sensation ; it is the invention of Mr. MARTYN Roberts. The tin which is employed as one of the plates of this battery is converted into oxide of tin, for which there is a large demand amongst dyers; and nitrate of ammonia is also largely formed, and this salt is also of commercial value, thus the electricity is generated at scarcely any cost. This is a most important advance towards still further applying electricity as an agent of utility; we may fairly reason, now, on the probability of employing electricity as a motive power, and as the means of illumination.
We noticed last month the publication of a most interesting life of Handel, by Mr. TOWNSEND, of Dublin, and we have since witnessed much sensitiveness in some of our contemporaries, who are very indignant at the charge of their country having ever rejected the “ Messiah.” It reminds us somewhat of the man in Pope's witty satire, who with huge indignation rejected the charge of having been tossed in a blanket, inasmuch, as “verily it was not in a blanket-but in a rug.” So with the fashionable world of London a hundred years ago, they did not reject the " Messiah,” but they did reject “ Saul," and " Israel in Egypt !"
Mr. Ericson, the American engineer, has been exceedingly successful in applying heated air, instead of steam, as an agent for moving machinery. A very large vessel, called after this ingenious mechanician, is now building, to be propelled by heated air' instead of steam; she is intended for the Atlantic voyage.
Jany, the well-known Leipsic professor, is engaged in writing the life of Beethoven.
We learn from America, that the design of LAUNITZ, for a monument to Pulaski, at Savannah, has been accepted. The same sculptor is occupied with the execution of a monument to the memory of Richard M. Johnson, ordered by the state of Kentucky. In the States they are marching on. ward in the right path.
Periodical Sarings applied to Provident Purposes, is the title given to a small and unpretending book by its author, Mr. ALEXANDER ROBERTSON, whose
HOW ANNIE ORME WAS SETTLED IN LIFE, AND WHAT WE DID TO HELP IT ON.
BY HER AUNT, MISS RACIIEL SINCLAIR, MANTUA-MAKER, LASSWADE.
(Communicated by the Author of "Margaret Maitland,” &c. &c.) CHAPTER I.
same hum it used to have when she cried down WHERE we live is about six miles out of through the dark, “Lexie! Rechie ! come Edinburgh. In the summer time, the place is home!” And there is aye a bark now and then, full of folk, seeking country air, and health, | to stand for the little short bark that Warlock and change. Some come because they are deli threw in whenever Annie cried. Annie Orme, cate, some because other folk come; but, what my dear! it is your mother I am thinking ever the reason is, there are aye strangers about—but you need not cry. at Lasswade, and a good house is a kind of We were six of us in a family, and we were heritage, by reason of the high rents that the brought up with a fight, like most poor men's visitors are content to give.
bairns. Robert, the oldest son, was a merchant I have heard folk call it dull, and some say in the town, and had a good shop of his own that they do not like the place, but I never for a while, and looked like a prosperous perheard a word from one meaning, even in a far son ; but he failed, poor man, and went away off way, that Lasswade was not bonnie. Be to America, in the year 'eighteen, which was the hind us we have woods, before us we have the year that Annie Orme was born. George was Esk, which, for its size, is as fine a river as you a clerk in an office in Edinburgh: he was a will see in any place. I would not undertake kindly lad as ever was, but never throve ;-it to say it was just like the Clyde, or the Thames, might be his own blame—it might be other or the St. Lawrence, though I never saw them, folks-it is not my part to say. John died and may-be they are not so grand as young when he was young: he was the flower of Nicol Mouter says; but when the sun shines on them all, and we laid him in the churchyard, our water, and the light comes down, green | at Pennycuick. These were all my brothers. and cool, through the lime-trees, and you look My sister Lexie is the oldest of the family. along the hollow, and see the steep braes and She never was well-favoured, honest woman, the links of the water glimmering away into any more than myself; but she had a head as the sky, with a house here and there, sitting different from mine as the Esk water is from quiet on its side, the way the bairns sit in the the sea. There never was such a good judgwarm days laving their feet, you would like mentand sensible mind in our family as Lexie's, the Esk, and come back in your thoughts to and so everybody said ;she thought so herlook at it again. No doubt it is finer to young self besides, which was her only fault. folk when it wears in among the woods, and My father was a tall, thin man; my mother, whiles you can just hear it, as if it were step a fat body, round and merry. Lexie is like ping cannily upon broken branches and over the one-she is as tall as the precentor-and I stepping-stones; but to me, that am older than am like the other ;—so that I see strangers I once was, it is pleasantest to see the houses give looks at us on the road to the church, and climbing up the braes, and at night to look laugh to themselves, and ask who the little across the bridge at the lights shining in the body is, trotting away after the lang lady? dark water. I mind seeing them many a But I never heed; for when the folk say it is night, when my sister Alexina and me were Miss Rechie Sinclair, they commonly put in a coming home from the school in winter. My kindly word, which I like to hear. mother used to set the door open-we lived in But my sister Annie was like none of usa white house on the brae, as you go to Mavis- like none of us-poor sorrowful, heart-broken wood-and little Annie, that was the youngest lassie. She married a young man that was of us, sat on the outer-step with our dog, War- not what he should have been ; and as soon as lock, and cried our names in the darkening, she found it out, it went to her very soul, and long before we came in sight. I think some- she wasted away, and never looked up again. times I hear her yet, when the winter afternoon Yes, Annie Orme, my dear, your mother broke has worn past, and the lights begin to be her heart; and a heart-break is a strange lighted in the town. The air has just the trouble. It took the light out of her eyes first,
VOL. I. X. S.
then the colour from the lips—and I never saw gratitude to the Giver in thinking shame of gentle or simple, except one high lady, that the means that He gave us to get our bread by. was at Mrs. Lyons', last July, have lips or eyes It does not aye please Him to send the young like Annie Sinclair-and then, without a word, ravens-whiles it is an honest handicraft inthe gold bowl broke, and she departed. The stead of the birds—but well I wot, for my own lad died himself soon after ; but you need not part, I would rather get the bread in my quiet be downcast, Annie Orme—for you're come of way, than in Elijah's; and one is just as great creditable folk on one side, if there's nothing a bounty out of the full hand of Providence as to boast of on the other.
ever the other could be. So, as I was saying, we were left-after my Mr. Braird, of Windlestrae, is our third father died, and Robert went to America cousin. He comes in to see us sometimes, and with my mother, a frail old woman, and Annie's sends us a fowl or two, and some apples in the infant, an orphan, in a strange woman's arms, season. It is very kind, and I am always glad and George in Edinburgh, in anything but a to see him ; for I will not say that I think thriving way. Lexie and me had learned the little of good connexions any more than my mantua-making, and set up in a house near neighbours. But Lexie, she's very proud, and the toll, on the Dalkeith-road, six months be- likes to hold her head higher than common folk, fore my father's death; so here we were, with and she is certainly too much taken up with the infant and the aged woman dependent on being a friend of the family at Windlestrae. us, and George, poor man, taking a heavy lean, We have been so long in business now, that and us nothing but our needles and our thread we are thought by far the highest mantuain this wide world.
makers in Lasswade, or near hand; and many I could tell many a story of that time. We a one comes to us that would go to Edinburgh, were sore enough pressed whiles; and folk if we were not here. Annie Orme-for we that call my sister Lexie a hard woman, and have brought her up to the business, whatever laugh at her for being prim and stiff, would she may need, poor thing-is as neat-handed may-be have their own thoughts, if they knew as can be, and Lexie is so thrifty in the cutting, how Lexie was trysted, when she was only that we get as grand silks sometimes as the young, and (no to speak of the sense that never queen's mantua-maker could have; so that we forsook her) little wiser in appearance than have laid by something in the bank, and got some other folk; but, any way, we got through. new furnishings, and are in a prosperous way. What with hard work of is both, and Lexie's My niece, Annie Orme, is one-and-twenty thought and care and judgment, we paid our past. I will not say that she just looks like her rent, and keeped upsides with the world. My mother. Annie Sinclair had a look that minded old mother got comfort and quiet the time she me always of one of the sorrowful songs; she was here, and was laid in the grave with had a sigh in her heart, even in her first youth, respect and honour when she went away; and like a bode of what was to come. Now, I am we aye did what we could for George, poor glad to say there is nothing like that about man, besides bringing up Annie Orme, Annie Annie Orme. She has a fine, bright, wholeSinclair's infant, in a creditable way, and keep some colour- not too much of it--and as white ing her at the school to get grammar and and soft a skin as could be desired. Then her counting and all the higher branches, besides hair has a kind of natural twist, not like posimaking her a perfect woman at white-seam, tive curls, but just a wave over her brow; and and as good à mantua-maker as any in the though she is as neat and handsome as could land.
be, she's not to call slender. But, to do her She never had a dress yet-from her christa | justice, Annie has so sensible and blythe and ening gown, that I worked myself at odd cheery a face, that everybody is pleased with hours, for a whole year, to that white one sheit; and, though it may be true in a measure is sitting there at the window making for her what Lexie says, that she is more given to fun wedding-but we have earned with the labour | and visible light-heartedness than staid folk of our hands. I am not to say proud of this like us may think desirable, I always mind be it far from me—but I think its anything that I was once young myself, and that the but right of Lexie to scorn the work we've like of that is the most natural thing in the lived by, as she does. No doubt we're come world. For Annie is not very much taken up of folk that were far above letting their with company; only, poor thing, having no daughters work common work like this; but, sisters nor brothers, and nobody indeed but us, still we need it, and we have done it, not with that have been spending all our thoughts on out credit; and I think there is very little i her all her life, she scarcely knew what trouble or vexation was, till a year past, and even that Lexie nodded her head, and shut her lips firm. was but for a time.
“We've aye had enough! Rechie, Rechie, It may be now eighteen months byegone will nothing give ye a higher way of thinking? since Lexie and me were sitting by the fire, in | I tell ye it's no creditable to womenfolk to have an autumn night, just before the candle was to work for their bread, and Annie Orme must lighted. There was a silk gown-a very grand have a house of her ain - I have made up my flowered one, white and blue--that we were mind." making for Mrs. Colonel Cranstoun, at Mavis Now, it certainly did come into my head, wood, spread out upon the black sofa, opposite that Annie Orme would just be as happy living the fire, and clippings of it were upon the table. like us-aye, and may be happier—as going It was just as near dark as it could be, not to away into a house of her own, to battle all her be positive black night, and I mind the glim days with a strange man, and aye to be in mering of the light silk in the darkness, and trouble about the spending, though she had no me looking at it, till I could almost fancy there share in making the siller. However, as it is was a lady lying there, and that the folds not my habit to cross Lexie, I just let this be, sometimes moved and altered. The fire was and cast about in my own mind who was the not very bright, but just burning quietly; and most feasible person to make a good man to Lexie was sitting with her back to the window, Annie Orme. and her feet on a little stool, having her hands “ There's Mr. Manson, at the distillery," said clasped in her lap, as is her most common atti I to myself; "he is a big, red Highlander, no tude when she is not working, looking just before more like our Annie than he's like me, but her, and not thinking of anything, as I sup I'll no say that he'll have less than a hundred posed. I was thinking myself about the things a-year, and that would surely please Lexie. that were in the house, and how I would just Then, there's Mr. Smith, the English exciseslip away down to Mr. Mouter's for some tea, man; but he's a fat body--I would not have seeing Annie Orme would doubtless forget to him if he had five hundred, let alone one. bring it in with her, when suddenly my heart Then, there's Dr. Jamieson, the young doctor; leaped to my mouth, and I nearly fell off my but he's in little practice yet, and would be chair in astonishment, for—" Rechie," said my looking higher than our Annie. And, thensister Lexie to me in a moment, “it's my desire aye, there's young Mr. Mouter, at the grocery that Annie Orme should be married.”
shop." “Dear me, Lexie," said I, when I had reco Now, young Mr. Mouter was a very decent vered my breath, “what has the poor thing young man, and a brisk, well-looking lad bedone?”
sides, and one that took care of himself. Besides It was a minute or two before Lexie spoke, that, his shop was an old-established shop, left and then she did not just answer me.
to him by his father, and doing a good business, "I am fifty year old, Rechie,” said my sister, seeing he supplied Mavis-wood and many of "and you're seven-and-forty. Both of us have the gentlemen's houses round about, besides pingled at our seams for forty year good. No | having the trade of the town. doubt it's been our appointed lot, and Provi “ Lexie," said I, “it was just last Whitsundence knew best, and it's not our part to com day that young Mr. Mouter shifted his seat in plain ; but mantua-making is a wearisome life, the kirk, out of the gallery, to the one he's in Rechie, and undoubtedly it takes away the now, which is just close by ours, on the other credit of a family when the women of it have side of the passage ; and I have noticed his to work for their bread. You need not contra- brother Nicol and him, that they have a great dict me: I ken very well--none better. More trick of looking to our side-which I am of over, though our manner of life, being single opinion, Lexie, is neither for you nor me." gentlewomen, is the most honourable of any, " Young Mr. Mouter!” said Lexie, in a sharp yet the canaille jeer at us aye, Rechie Sinclair, tone, “ young Tammas Mouter, auld Sandy jeer at me--and it's my wish that Annie Mouter's son. Rechie Sinclair, ye vulgare Orme should have another like lot from ours." minded person ! do you think I would let our
"Weel, Lexie,” said I, “ no doubt you ken Annie serve behind a counter! No; if I should best ; but I think our lot has just been as guid as slave for her all my days." other folk's. We've aye had enough ourselves, | “Well, I'm sure, Lexie,” said 1-and I was and we've brought up Annie Orme as well as a little angered, for young Mr. Mouter was a fine she could have been in her father's house. I lad, and I had a liking for him-—"I do not ken cannot see, Lexie, what we have to com what you would be at He could keep her in plain of."
| a creditable way, and aye have plenty. I
would not wonder, with thrift and good ma up in her chair, with her feet on the footstool, nagement, if they made a fortune.”
and a face of thought;-many a thought has “I never thought you were mercenary be- gone through Lexie's head in her day, and it fore, Rechie,” said my sister, disdainfully. “Do would be ill my part to set up for as good a you think I care for the dirty siller? Its a judgment as hers. But in the matter of Peter fash, no doubt, when folk have not enough, and Braird, when I looked at Annie, my heart reoften makes sair hearts; but to think I would belled ; I could not but stand up against Lexie give away my niece, Annie Orme, brought up here, though I do not mind when I did it all under my ain eye, and fit for better things, on my life before. such a consideration as siller! No, Rechie, its Annie was still laughing—not a loud laugh, nothing but your ignorance; so I may tell you but one that ran into all the corners of her face, who I have my eye on. Young Peter Braird and made dimples wherever it touched. comes and goes to Edinburgh every Saturday “ You've been playing some trick, you monnight and Monday morning. He is only key,” said I ; " but it was a wonder you minded Windlestrae's second son, it's true, but then the tea, after all." the oldest is married already. Peter Braird, " Phemie Mouter is to be a great friend of as you ken, is in a writer's office, learning the mine,” said Annie ; "she was at the door, and business, and is a very decent-like lad. He that minded me to go in. Phemie says we're could not do better, as I think, than take up to be very chief ever after this." with Annie Orme.”
"And a very right thing, Annie,” said I. “Preserve me, Lexie,” said I; “ Peter Annie laughed again. “ Young Mr. Mouter Braird ?"
had an errand up the Dalkeith-road; he came “Whatfor no ?” said my sister.
with me to the door and Nicol wanted to come I was so astonished, that I needed a rest be too, to take care of his brother. There, Aunt fore I could speak.
Rechie, that's the tea." “Peter Braird! a lang, ill-grown lad, with And Annie threw the parcel on the table, a head that's so red you might see it on the and ran away laughing. It might be she was tap of the Pentlands like a beacon. Peter pleased; but the mischief was so strong in her, Braird ! that ye should even him to our bonnie and she herself was so innocent, that what Annie! And, Lexie, the lad, as you say, is might may-be make a quarrel between the two only in a writer's office: he'll may-be never brothers, and give a sore heart to one of them, get to be a writer himself--nothing but a clerk, was nothing but fun to her. most likely, all his days—and if Annie would But, to my astonishment, Lexie took a grip not be better sewing and working for herself of my arm, as I gathered up the clippings on than the like of that."
the table, to be ready for the tea. Just at this moment a rap at the outer-door “Rechie, mind what you're doing," said my showed us that Annie was coming in; so I
sister, with an angered voice; “ I'll never give stopped in haste, and Lexie said quick, “Not my consent to that lad or the like of him, a word to Annie;" and we were both sitting mind; and if you encourage him, its on your quiet in the dark when Annie Orme came in ain head." at the door.
Me! I drew myself away out of Lexie's hand, with a black mark above my elbow from
her fingers, and feeling as if I had done some CHAPTER II.
evil; when the truth is I had not done one “ Annie, my dear,” said I, when I had stirred single thing, and had never even thought-to the fire, and got some light, "did you bring call thinking--about young Mr. Mouter, or the tea?”
anybody like him, till she put it into my head. But, as I never expected she had brought it, We had our tea when Annie Orme came ben I put over my hand, and lifted the lid of the again, and there was little more said about it, big box, where we kept millinery; for it though Annie herself was very ready to laugh happened, that when I came home in the the whole night, and was speaking something afternoon I had put my bonnet there.
about Phemie Mouter and Nicol and Thomas “Yes, aunt," said Annie, “its here ;” and whenever she could get an opportunity ; but she laughed a low mischievous kind of laugh, Lexie put in a sharp word about his fatheras if she had been doing some trick to some Lexie has an extraordinary recollection of body.
folk's fathers—which stopped Annie, though it So I put down the lid of the millinery-box, | made her laugh again. and lighted the candle. Lexie was sitting stiff Now, young Mr. Mouter had the principal