passage. The boy stuck to his point, and the clerk at last went to the little room and said to Mr. Hawthorne: "Here's a boy who insists upon seeing you. He says he is an American, but I know he isn't." Hawthorne came out of the room and looked keenly at the eager, ruddy face of the boy. "You want a passage to America?"

   "Yes, sir."

   "And you say you're an American?"

   "Yes, sir."

   "From what part of America?"

   "United States, sir."

   "What State?"

   "New Hampshire, sir."

   "Town?"

   "Exeter, sir."

   Hawthorne looked at him for a minute before asking him the next question. "Who sold the best apples in your town?"

   "Skim-milk Folsom, sir," said the boy, with glistening eye, as the old familiar by-word brought up the dear old scenes of home.

   "It's all right," said Hawthorne to the clerk; "give him a passage."

   Long after the victories of Washington over the French and English had made his name familiar to all Europe, Doctor Franklin chanced to dine with the English and French Ambassadors, when, as nearly as the precise words can be recollected, the following toasts were drunk:

   "England'—The

    Sun

   , whose bright beams enlighten and fructify the remotest corners of the earth."

   The French Ambassador, filled with national pride, but too polite to dispute the previous toast, drank the following:

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