Phemie Millar, by the author of 'The Kinnears'.

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Side 274 - The book is completed, And closed, like the day ; And the hand that has written it Lays it away. Dim grow its fancies, Forgotten they lie ; Like coals in the ashes, They darken and die. Song sinks into silence, The story is told, The windows are darkened, The hearth-stone is cold. Darker and darker The black shadows fall ; Sleep and oblivion Reign over all.
Side 144 - O well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play! O well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, And the sound of a voice that is still...
Side 311 - Sunday Times. SPAIN AS IT IS. BY GA HOSKINS, ESQ. 2 vols. post 8vo. 21s. '* To the tourist this work will prove invaluable. It is the most complete and interesting portraiture of Spain that has ever come under our notice.
Side 295 - Mr. Disraeli's tribute to the memory of his departed friend is as graceful and as touching as it is accurate and impartial. No one of Lord George Bentinck's colleagues could have been selected, who, from his high literary attainments, his personal intimacy, and party associations, would have done such complete justice to the memory of a friend and Parliamentary associate. Mr. Disraeli has here presented us with the very type and embodiment of what history should be. His sketch of the condition of...
Side 306 - This interesting work contains by far the most complete, the most enlightened, and the most reliable amount of what has been hitherto almost the terra incognita of European Turkey, and supplies the reader with abundance of entertainment as well as instruction.
Side 24 - EXCEPT the LORD build the house, they labour in vain that build it : except the LORD keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain.
Side 201 - Is this a time to think o' wark ? Ye jades, lay by your wheel ; Is this the time to spin a thread, When Colin's at the door ? Reach down my cloak, I'll to the quay, And see him come ashore. For there's nae luck about the house, There's nae luck at a' ; There's little pleasure in the house When our gudeman's awa'.
Side 310 - Eminent in every mode of literature, Dr. Croly stands, in our judgment, first among the living poets of Great Britain — the only man of our day entitled by his power to venture within the sacred circle of religious poets.
Side 248 - THE old house by the lindens Stood silent in the shade, And on the gravelled pathway The light and shadow played. I saw the nursery windows Wide open to the air ; But the faces of the children, They were no longer there. The large Newfoundland house-dog Was standing by the door ; He looked for his little playmates, Who would return no more. They walked not under the lindens, They played not in the hall ; But shadow, and silence, and sadness Were hanging over all. The birds sang in the branches, With...
Side 169 - All are scattered now and fled, Some are married, some are dead; And when I ask, with throbs of pain, " Ah ! when shall they all meet again ? " As in the days long since gone by, The ancient timepiece makes reply, — " Forever — never! Never — forever!

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