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Most people will sympathize so far with Beattie, though his lines show that he was a Scotchman, and lived where there are not many trees: Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down, Where a green grassy turf is all I crave, With here and there a violet bestrown, Fast by a brook, or fountain's murmuring wave; And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave!

So thick bestrown, Abject and lost, lay these, covering the flood, Under amazement of their hideous change. The comparison seems to wander away at random, obedient to the slightest touch of association.

Above all the public heaps of them, the high-piled receptacles at every turn, touched the street as with a sort of southern plenty; the note of the rejected and scattered fragments, the memory of the slippery skins and rinds and kernels with which the old dislocated flags were bestrown, is itself endeared to me and contributes a further pictorial grace.

So he and his host made haste to equip themselves and marched in battle-array, rank following rank, with the Prince at their head, glorying in himself and improvising these couplets, "I'm Al-Kurajan, and my name is known * To beat all who in wold or in city wone! How many a soldier my sword at will * Struck down like a cow on the ground bestrown?

"There!" said the Captain, rising out of a perfect whirlwind of chips and pine kindlings with which in his zeal he had bestrown the wide, black stone hearth, and pointing to the tongues of flame that were leaping and blazing up through the crevices of the dry pine wood which he had intermingled plentifully with the more substantial fuel, "there, Mis' Pennel, ain't I a master-hand at a fire?