This is a phrase which is "teetotally" banished from Fanny's "Fern dictionary." Read the following exordium, and you'll never think of doubting her assertion, that she is "a little Bunker-Hill" herself—a genuine Napoleon in petticoats.

"Apollo! what a face! doleful as a hearse; folded hands; hollow chest; whining voice; the very picture of cowardly irresolution. Spring to your feet, hold up your head, set your teeth together, draw that fine form of yours up to the height that God made it; draw an immense long breath, and look about you. What do you see? Why, all creation taking care of number one—pushing ahead like the car of Juggernaut, over live victims. There it is; and you can't help it. Are you going to lie down and be crushed?

"By all that's holy, no! dash ahead! You've as good a right to mount the triumphal car as your neighbor. Snap your fingers at croakers; if you can't get round a stump, leap over it, high and dry! Have nerves of steel, a will of iron; never mind sideaches, or heartaches, or headaches; dig away without stopping to breathe, or to notice envy or malice. Set your target in the clouds and aim at it. If your arrow falls short of the mark, what of that? Pick it up and go at it again. If you should never reach it, you'll shoot higher than as if you only aimed at a bush. Don't whine, if your friends fall off. At the first stroke of good luck, by Mammon! they'll swarm around you like a hive of bees, till you are disgusted with human nature.

"'I can't!' Oh, pshaw! I throw my glove in your face, if I am a woman! You are a disgrace to corduroys. What! a man lack courage! A man want independence! A man to be discouraged at obstacles! A man afraid to face anything on earth save his Maker! Why! I'm a little 'Bunker Hill,' myself! I've the most unmitigated contempt for you! you little pusillanimous pussy cat! There's nothing manly about you, except your whiskers."