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Adelaide Bailie Mundell beautiful better Bland's called Charles Weirham coach Colonel Gilbert countenance cried daugh daughter dear Diana Hamilton door Dr Irving Edinburgh eyes fear feelings felt frae garet gave gentleman Geordie Giles Fletcher give Glasgow Gowans guest hand happy hastened Hay Inglis head heard heart honour hope hour Ingliston inquired Kirke's knew Lady Grace Lady Weirham Lancy Logan look Lord Weirham MacMartin Margaret Inglis matter Medwyn ment mind Miss Diana Miss Inglis Miss Stirling Miss Tweedie mistress morning mother never night occasion party passed person poor rejoined replied Margaret rience seated seemed servants shew Sir Archibald stairs Stalker stood stranger tears tell thing thought tion tone took uttered voice walk weel Widow Kirke Wildgoose wish woman young
Side 361 - No sorrow now hangs clouding on their brow ; No bloodless malady empales their face ; No age drops on their hairs his silver snow ; No nakedness their bodies doth embase ; No poverty themselves and theirs disgrace ; No fear of death the joy of life devours; No unchaste sleep their precious time deflowers; No loss, no grief, no change wait on their winged hours.
Side 355 - Good God, let her sleep ever ! For I have known her wake an hundred nights, When all the pillow where she laid her head Was brine-wet with her tears.
Side 269 - And mighty pow'r ascribe. 8 Give ye the glory to the Lord That to His name is due ; Come ye into His courts, and bring An offering with you.
Side 29 - Grildrig's bed ; Then spread her hands, and with a bounce let fall Her baby, like the giant in Guildhall. In peals of thunder now she roars, and now, She gently whimpers like a lowing cow...
Side 318 - Such is the weakness of all mortal hope, So tickle is the state of earthly things, That, ere they come unto their aimed scope, They fall too short of our frail reckonings, And bring us bale and bitter sorrowings...
Side 380 - And is not like the sire: Honours best thrive, When rather from our acts we them derive Than our fore-goers: the mere word's a slave, Debauch'd on every tomb; on every grave, A lying trophy; and as oft is dumb, Where dust, and damn'd oblivion, is the tomb Of honour'd bones indeed.
Side 119 - My son, attend to my words; incline thine ear unto my sayings. Let them not depart from thine eyes; keep them in the midst of thine heart. For they are life unto those that find them, and health to all their flesh.
Side 171 - Behold the fatal day arrive! How is the Dean? He's just alive. Now the departing prayer is read: He hardly breathes. The Dean is dead.