Lord love you, my son,' sais you, 'let them brag of it; but what would it be to mine; you congratulatin' me on goin' to a better world, and me congratulatin' you on bein' "Archbishop." Then,' sais you, in a starn voice like a boatsan's trumpet--for if you want things to be remembered, give 'em effect, "Aim high," Sir,' sais you.

Then like my old father, fetch him a kick on his western eend, that will lift him clean over the table, and say 'that's the way to rise in the world, you young sucking parson you.

"Aim high," Sir.' "Neither of them will ever forget it as long as they live.

The hit does that; for a kick is a very _striking_ thing, that's a fact.

There has been _no good scholars since birch rods went out o' school, and sentiment went in_." "But you know," I said, "Mr.Slick, that those high prizes in the lottery of life, can, in the nature of things, be drawn but by few people, and how many blanks are there to one-prize in this world." "Well, what's to prevent your boys gettin' those prizes, if colonists was made Christians of, instead of outlawed, exiled, transported, oncarcumcised heathen Indgean niggers, as they be.