"Don't sent Cornelius dere," ejaculated the colonel, contriving to get
these words out alongside of the stem of the pipe.

"You think not, Col. Follock," put in the anxious mother; "may I ask the
reason for that opinion?"

"Too much Suntay, Matam Littlepage--the poy wilt be sp'ilt by ter
ministers. He will go away an honest lat, and come pack a rogue. He will
l'arn how to bray and to cheat."

"Hoity toity! my noble colonel!" exclaimed the Rev. Mr. Worden, affecting
more resentment than he felt. "Then you fancy the clergy, and too much
Sunday, will be apt to convert an honest youth into a knave!"

The colonel made no answer, continuing to smoke very philosophically,
though he took occasion, while he drew the pipe out of his mouth, in one of
its periodical removals, to make a significant gesture with it towards the
rising sun, which all present understood to mean "down east," as it is
usual to say, when we mean to designate the colonies of New England. That
he was understood by the Rev. Mr. Worden, is highly probable; since that
gentleman continued to turn the flip of one vessel into another, by way of
more intimately blending the ingredients of the mixture, quite as coolly as
if there had been no reflection on his trade.

"What do you think of Yale, friend 'Brom?" asked my father, who understood
the dumb-show as well as any of them.

"No tifference, Evans; dey all breaches and brays too much. _Goot_ men have
no neet of so much religion. Vhen a man is _really_ goot, religion only