not mean to awaken any notion analogous to that which Boswell has given us of Johnson. The conversation of the latter continually reminds one of the "pomp and circumstance of glorious war." It was, indeed, a perpetual contest for victory, or an arbitrary or despotic exaction of homage to his superior talents. It was strong, acute, prompt, splendid, and vociferous; as loud, stormy, and sublime as those winds which he represents as shaking the Hebrides, and rocking the old castle which frowned on the dark-rolling sea beneath.

Of

But one gets tired of storms, however sublime they may be, and longs for the more orderly current of nature. Franklin, no one ever became tired. There was no ambition of eloquence, no effort to shine in anything which came from him. There was nothing which made any demand upon either your allegiance or your admiration. His manner was as unaffected as infancy. It was nature's self. He talked like an old patriarch; and his plainness and simplicity put you at once at your ease, and gave you the full and free possession and use of your faculties. His thoughts were of a character to shine by their own light, without any adventitious aid. They only required a medium of vision like his pure and simple style, to exhibit to the highest advantage their native radiance and beauty. His cheerfulness was unremitting. It seemed to be as much the effect of a systematic and salutary exercise of the mind, as of its superior organization. His wit was of the first order. It did not show itself merely in occasional coruscations; but, without any effort or force on his part, it shed a constant stream of the purest light over the whole of his discourse. Whether in the company of commons or nobles, he was always the same plain man; always most perfectly at his ease, with his faculties in full play, and the full orbit of his genius forever clear and unclouded. And then, the stores of his mind were inexhaustible. He had commenced life with an attention so vigilant that

nothing had escaped his observation; and a judgment so solid that every incident was turned to advantage. His youth had not been wasted in idleness, nor overcast by intemperance. He had been, all his life, a close and deep reader, as well as thinker; and by the force of his own powers, had wrought up the raw materials which he had gathered from books, with such exquisite skill and felicity, that he has added a hundred fold to their original value, and justly made them his own.

NOTES.-Benjamin Franklin (b. 1706, d. 1790) was one of the most prominent men in the struggle of the American colonies for liberty. He was renowned as a statesman, and, although not an author by profession, was a very prolific writer. His 'Autobiography," which was first printed in France, is now a household volume in America. See page 431.

Boswell, James, (b. 1740, d. 1795,) was a Scotch lawyer, and is chiefly known as the biographer of Dr. Johnson, of whom he was the intimate friend and companion.

Johnson, Samuel. See biographical notice, page 78.

CV. THE DREAM OF CLARENCE.

SCENE-Room in the Tower of London. Enter CLARENCE and BRAKENBURY.

Brak. WHY looks your grace so heavily to-day?
Clar. O, I have passed a miserable night,

So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams,
That, as I am a Christian, faithful man,
I would not spend another such a night,
Though 't were to buy a world of happy days,
So full of dismal terror was the time!

Brak. What was your dream? I long to hear you tell it.
Clar. Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower,
And was embarked to cross to Burgundy;

And, in my company, my brother Gloster;
Who, from my cabin, tempted me to walk
Upon the hatches; thence we looked toward England,
And cited up a thousand fearful times,
During the wars of York and Lancaster,
That had befallen us. As we paced along
Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,

Methought that Gloster stumbled; and, in falling,
Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard,
Into the tumbling billows of the main.

Oh, then, methought, what pain it was to drown!
What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears!
What ugly sights of death within mine eyes!
Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks;
Ten thousand men that fishes gnawed upon;
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,

All scattered in the bottom of the sea.

Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept, As 't were in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems, Which wooed the slimy bottom of the deep, And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by. Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death, To gaze upon the secrets of the deep?

Clar. Methought I had; and often did I strive

To yield the ghost: but still the envious flood
Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth
To seek the empty, vast, and wandering air;
But smothered it within my panting bulk,
Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.
Brak. Awaked you not with this sore agony?
Clar. Oh, no; my dream was lengthened after life;
Oh, then began the tempest to my soul,
Who passed, methought, the melancholy flood,
With that grim ferryman which poets write of,

Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.
The first that there did greet my stranger soul,
Was my great father-in-law, renownèd Warwick;
Who cried aloud, "What scourge for perjury
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?"
And so he vanished. Then came wandering by
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair
Dabbled in blood; and he shrieked out aloud:
"Clarence is come! false, fleeting, perjured Clarence!
That stabbed me in the field by Tewksbury:
Seize on him, Furies, take him to your torments!"
With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends
Environed me, and howlèd in mine ears
Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise,
I, trembling, waked, and, for a season after,
Could not believe but that I was in hell;
Such terrible impression made the dream.
Brak. No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you;
I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.
Clar. O Brakenbury, I have done those things,
Which now bear evidence against my soul,
For Edward's sake; and see how he requites me!
O God! if my deep prayers can not appease thee,
But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds,
Yet execute thy wrath in me alone:

Oh, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children!
I pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me;

My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.
Brak. I will, my lord: God give your grace good rest!

CLARENCE reposes himself on a chair.

Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours,
Makes the night morning, and the noontide night.

Shakespeare.-Richard III, Act i, Scene iv.

NOTES.-The houses of York and Lancaster were at war for the possession of the English throne. The Duke of Clarence and the Duke of Gloster were brothers of King Edward IV., who was head of the house of York. Clarence married the daughter of the Earl of Warwick, and joined the latter in several insurrections against the king. They finally plotted with Queen Margaret of the Lancaster party for the restoration of the latter house to the English throne, but Clarence betrayed Warwick and the Queen, and killed the latter's son at the battle of Tewksbury. Through the plots of Gloster, Clarence was imprisoned in the Tower of London, and there murdered.

Brakenbury was lieutenant of the Tower.

The ferryman referred to is Charon, of Greek mythology,, who was supposed to ferry the souls of the dead over the river Acheron to the infernal regions.

CVI. HOMEWARD BOUND.

Richard H. Dana, Jr., 1815-1882, was the son of Richard H. Dana, the poet. He was born in Cambridge, Mass. In his boyhood he had a strong desire to be a sailor, but by his father's advice chose a student's life, and entered Harvard University. At the age of nineteen an affection of the eyes compelled him to suspend his studies. He now made a voyage to California as a common sailor, and was gone two years. On his return, he resumed his studies and graduated in 1837. He afterwards studied law, and entered upon an active and successful practice. Most of his life was spent in law and politics, although he won distinction in literature.

The following extract is from his "Two Years before the Mast," a book published in 1840, giving an account of his voyage to California. This book details, in a most clear and entertaining manner, the everyday life of a common sailor on shipboard, and is the best known of all Mr. Dana's works.

It is usual, in voyages round the Cape from the Pacific, to keep to the eastward of the Falkland Islands; but, as there had now set in a strong, steady, and clear southwester, with every prospect of its lasting, and we had had enough of high latitudes, the captain determined to stand immediately to the northward, running inside the Falkland