The Scottish Review, Volume 26

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A. Gardner, 1895
 

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Page 244 - Whatever withdraws us from the power of our senses, whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future predominate over the present, advances us in the dignity of thinking beings.
Page 37 - When a law of a State is inconsistent with a law of the Commonwealth, the latter shall prevail, and the former shall, to the extent of the inconsistency, be invalid.
Page 133 - The brooding East with awe beheld Her impious younger world. The Roman tempest swell'd and swell'd, And on her head was hurl'd.
Page 173 - Things and actions are what they are, and the consequences of them will be what they will be : Why then should we desire to be deceived?
Page 174 - Truth is the cry of all, but the game of a few. Certainly, where it is the chief passion, it doth not give way to vulgar cares and views ; nor is it contented with a little ardour in the early time of life ; active, perhaps, to pursue, but not so fit to weigh and revise. He that would make a real progress in knowledge must dedicate his age as well as youth, the later growth as well as first fruits, at the altar of Truth.
Page 123 - He had fallen from an engine, And been dragged along the metals. It was hopeless, and they knew it ; So they covered him, and left him. As he lay, by fits half sentient, Inarticulately moaning, With his stockinged...
Page 131 - THERE is a hill beside the silver Thames, Shady with birch and beech and odorous pine : And brilliant underfoot with thousand gems Steeply the thickets to his floods decline. Straight trees in every place Their thick tops interlace, And pendant branches trail their foliage fine Upon his watery face.
Page 221 - Do what you can, out of hand, and without long tarrying, to beat down and overthrow the castle, sack Holyrood house, and as many towns and villages about Edinburgh as ye conveniently can ; sack Leith, and burn and subvert it, and all the rest, putting man, woman, and child to jire and sword, without exception...
Page 171 - Iron sharpeneth iron ; so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend.
Page 127 - Squats outside the Convent bank With Sanchicha, telling stories, Steeping tresses in the tank, Blue-black, lustrous, thick like horsehairs, —Can't I see his dead eye glow, Bright as 'twere a Barbary corsair's?

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