of "Harebell Chimes," a volume of interesting verses, Andrew
James Symington, was born at Paisley, on the 27th of July 1825. His
father was a scion of the noble house of Douglas, and his mother claimed
descent from the old Highland family of Macalister. On the completion of
his education at the grammar school, the subject of this sketch entered
the warehouse of his father, who carried on business as a muslin
manufacturer. By the death of his father in 1841, he succeeded, along
with an elder brother, to the full management of the concern. In 1848
the establishment was removed from Paisley to Glasgow, where it
continues to be prosperously carried on.

Eminently devoted to literary and artistic studies, Mr Symington has
cultivated the personal intercourse of artists and men of letters. He
has contributed to some of the leading periodicals. His volume of
"Harebell Chimes," published in 1849, contains poetry of a high order;
it was especially commended by the late Samuel Rogers, with whom the
author had the privilege of corresponding. In 1855, a small volume
entitled "Genivieve, and other Poems," was printed by Mr Symington for
circulation among his friends.

DAY DREAM.

Close by the marge of Leman's lake,
Upon a thymy plot,
In blissful rev'rie, half awake,
Earth's follies all forgot,
I conjured up a faery isle
Where sorrow enter'd not,
Withouten shade of sin or guile--
A lovely Eden spot.

With trellis'd vines, in cool arcade,
And leaves of tender green,
All trembling in the light and shade,
As sunbeams glanced between:
The mossy turf, bespangled gay
With fragrant flowery sheen--
Bell, primrose, pink, and showers of May--
The fairest ever seen.

Near where a crystal river ran
Into the rich, warm light,
A domed palace fair began
To rise in marble white.
'Twas fill'd, as if by amulet,
With mirrors dazzling bright--
With antique vase and statuette,
A palace of delight.

And "Mignon" in a snow-white dress,
With circlet on her hair,
Appear'd in all her loveliness,
Like angel standing there.
She struck the cithern in her hand,
And sang with 'witching air
Her own sweet song, "Know'st thou the land?"
To music wild and rare.

It died away--the palace changed,
Dream-like, into a bower!
Around, the soft-eyed dun-deer ranged,