. Upon one occasion he threw an
entire army across the Rubicon. A general named Pompey met him in what
was called the "tented field," but Pompey couldn't hold a Roman candle
to Julius. We are assured upon the authority of Patrick Henry that
"Caesar had his Brutus." The unbiased reader of history, however, will
conclude that, on the contrary, Brutus rather _had_ Caesar. This Brutus
never struck me as an unpleasant man to meet, but he did Caesar. After
addressing a few oral remarks to Brutus in the Latin language, Caesar
expired. His subsequent career ceases to be interesting.

JOHN PAUL JONES. An American naval commander who sailed the seas during
the Revolution, with indistinct notions about gold lace or what he
should fly at the main. He was fond of fighting. He would frequently
break off in the middle of a dinner to go on deck and whip a British
frigate. Perhaps he didn't care much about his meals. If so, he must
have been a good _boarder_.

LUCREZIA BORGIA. Daughter of old Mr. Borgia, a wealthy Italian
gentleman. Lucrezia was one of the first ladies of her time. Beautiful
beyond description, of brilliant and fascinating manners, she created an
unmistakable sensation. It was a burning sensation. Society doted upon
her. Afterward it anti-doted.

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. A philosopher and statesman. When a boy he associated
himself with the development of the tallow-chandlery interest, and
invented the Boston dip. He was lightning on some things, also a
printer. He won distinction as the original _Poor Richard_, though he
could not have been by any means so poor a Richard as McKean Buchanan
used to be. Although born in Boston and living in Philadelphia, he yet
managed to surmount both obstacles, and to achieve considerable note in
his day. They show you the note in Independence Hall.

MARK TWAIN. A humorous writer of the nineteenth century. As yet, I have
not had the honor of his acquaintance, but when I do meet him I shall
say something jocose. I know I shall. I have it. My plan will be to
inveigle him into going over a ferry to "see a man." As we pass up the
slip on the other side, I shall draw out my flask, impromptu-like, with
the invitation, "Mark, my dear fellow, won't you take something?" He
will decline, of course, or else he isn't the humorist I take him for. I
shall then consider it my duty to urge him. Fixing my eye steadily upon
him, so he can understand that I am terribly in earnest, I shall proceed
to apostr