" "Go your
way," said the Parson, "and tempt me not; you are a carnal-minded,
wicked man, and I take no pleasure in such vain idle sports." "Very
well," said the boxer; "now here I stand," says he, "in the path,
right slap afore you; if you pass round me, then I take it as a sign
that you are afeard on me, and if you keep the path, why then you
must first put me out--that's a fact." The Parson jist made a spring
forrard, and kitched him up as quick as wink, and throwed him right
over the fence whap on the broad of his back, and then walked on as
if nothin' had happened--as demure as you please, and lookin' as meek
as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. "Stop," said the boxer, as
soon as he picked himself up, "stop Parson," said he, "that's a good
man, and jist chuck over my horse too, will you, for I swan I believe
you could do one near about as easy as t'other. My!" said he, "if
that don't bang the bush; you are another guess chap from what I took
you to be, anyhow."
"'Now,' said Mr. Hopewell, says he, 'I won't write, but if ary a
Unitarian crosses my path, I'll jist over the fence with him in no
time, as the parson did the boxer; FOR WRITIN' ONLY AGGRAVATES YOUR
OPPONENTS, AND NEVER CONVINCES THEM. I NEVER SEED A CONVERT MADE BY
THAT WAY YET; BUT I'LL TELL YOU WHAT I HAVE SEED: A MAN SET HIS OWN
FLOCK A DOUBTIN' BY HIS OWN WRITIN'.
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