White Heather: A Novel, Volume 1

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Macmillan and Company, 1885

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Page 132 - No, no ; I'm sure we will manage. Come along,' she said briskly. ' There is that one I heard you sing the other day—I heard you, though you did not see me—" Gae bring to me a pint o' wine, and fill it in a silver lassie ; that I may drink, before I go, a service to my bonnie
Page 18 - tell ye of a secret That courtiers dinna ken. What is the greatest bliss That the tongue <? man can name ?—
Page 155 - O Glasgow town, how little you know That Meenie has wandered in To the very heart of your darkened streets, Through all the bustle and din. A Sutherland blossom shining fair Amid all your dismal haze, Forgetting the breath of the summer hills, And the blue of the northern days. From
Page 4 - white collar and small black tie ; his gloves were new and neat. For the rest, he seemed used to travelling ; he began to make himself at home at once, and scarcely looked up from this setting of things to rights when the conductor made his appearance. 'Mr.
Page 27 - the wooden confines of this drawer. And what had he not said ? Sometimes it was but a bit of careless singing— Roses white, roses red, Roses in the lane, Tell me, roses red and white, Where is Meenie gane ? O is she on Loch
Page 97 - keys. This was what Ronald sang—and he sang it in that resonant tenor of his, and in a rollicking fashion—just as if it were an impromptu, and not a weapon that he had carefully forged long ago, and hidden away to serve some such chance as the present : 0 lasses, lasses, gang your ways, And dust the house, or wash the
Page 3 - certain cold evening in January, and just as the Scotch night-mail was about to start for the north, a stranger drove up to Euston and alighted, and was glad enough to escape from the chill draughts of the echoing station into
Page 132 - that I may drink, before I go, a service to my bonnie
Page 86 - you, youngest of all God's creatures, a river. Born of a yesterday's summer shower. And hurrying on with your restless motion, Silent or whispering, every hour, To lose yourself in the great lone ocean. Your banks remain
Page 155 - sunny slopes, Where the basking red-deer lie. Blow, south wind, and show her a glimpse of blue Through the pall of dusky brown ; And see that you guard her and tend her well, You, fortunate Glasgow town

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