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What I mainteen is, 'at though they div weir awa' the rocks, that's nae mair their design nor it's the design o' a yewky owse to kill the tree whan he rubs hit's skin an' his ain aff thegither." "Tut! nobody ever means, when he personifies the powers of nature, that they know what they are about." "The mair necessar' till attreebute till them naething but their rale design."
"A'll haud nae deeskission wi' the produc' o' hauf-a-dizzen generations o' slavery," replied Tam haughtily. "A dinna attreebute ony blame tae yir ain sel', laddie; bit ye canna owrecam the kirse o' Canaan." "Od, ye puir, glaikit, misleart remlet o' a perishin' race," retorted Tam "air ye no the mair unsicker?
"If they don't know what they are about, how can you be so foolish as talk of their design?" "Ilka thing has a design, an' gien it dinna ken't itsel', that's jist whaur yer true an' lawfu' personification comes in. There's no rizon 'at a poet sudna attreebute till a thing as a conscious design that which lies at the verra heart o' 'ts bein', the design for which it's there.
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