...of Wellington and O'Connell, though that of Lord Stanley is almost equally finished and elaborate. ' And o'er the altered scene Calantha's eye Roves listless...the passers by! Along the road still fleet the men, whoss names Live in the talk the Moment's glory claims. There, for that storm or stagnor, ' The Debate,'...

...grave ? It brings no real homily, we sigh, Pause for awhile and murmur, "all must die !" Then rush to pleasure, action, sin once more, Swell the loud...in the talk the Moment's glory claims. There, for the hot Pancratia of Debate Pass the keen wrestlers for that palm, — the State. Now, " on his humble...

...are very vigorously drawn, and cannot fail to strike every one by the truth of the representation. 'Along the road still fleet the men, whose names Live,...helmsmen of the State. Now, on his humble, but his ; i ithful steed, Sir Robert rides — he never rides nt speed; Careful his scat, and circumspect his...

...grave ? It brings no real homily ; we sigh, Pause for a while, and murmur, "All must die !" Then rush to pleasure, action, sin, once more, Swell the loud tide, and fret unto the shore ! 35. And death is terrible — the tear, The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, And all we know,...

...the grave? It brings no real homily, we sigh, Pause for awhile and murmur, "all must die I" Then rush to pleasure, action, sin once more, Swell the loud...in the talk the Moment's glory claims. There, for the hot Pancratia of Debate Pass the keen wrestlers for that palm, — the State. Now, "on his humble...

...grave ? It brings no real homily; we sigh, Pause for awhile and murmur, " All must die ! " Then rush to pleasure, action, sin once more, Swell the loud tide, and fret unto the shore. SIB K. BULWER LYTTON. 0 what is Death ? 'T is life's last shore, Where vanities are vain no more I...

...grave ? It brings no real homily, we sigh, Pause for awhile and murmur, " all must die \" Then rush to pleasure, action, sin once more, Swell the loud tide, and fret unto the shore. And o'er the alter'd scene Calantha's eye Roves listless — yet Time's Great the passers by ! Along the road still...

...the grace! It brings no real homily; we sigh, Pause for awhile, and murmur "all must die;" Then rush to pleasure, action, sin, once more, Swell the loud tide, and fret unto the shore. Sir EB Lytton. Oh! for a heart that seeks the sacred gloom That hovers round the precincts of the tomb!...

...grave? It brings no real homily; we sigh, Pause for awhile, and murmur, " Al l musl die I" Then rush to pleasure, action, sin, once more, Swell the loud tide, and fret unto the shore. BTXWER. As flowers which night, when day is o'er, perfume, Breathes the sweet memory from a good man's...

...grave ? It brings no real homily, we sigh, Pause for a while and murmur — ' all must die,' Then rush to pleasure, action, sin once more, Swell the loud tide, and fret unto the shore." BULWEE. THOUGH Lucie and her faithful Maggie went by the Express, it was night before they reached...