After somewhat varied and troublous school days, young Dana entered
Harvard University, where he took high rank in his classes and bid
fair to make a reputation as a scholar. But at the beginning of his
third year of college a severe attack of measles interrupted his
course, and so affected his eyes as to preclude, for a time at least,
all idea of study. The state of the family finances was not such as to
permit of foreign travel in search of health. Accordingly, prompted by
necessity and by a youthful love of adventure, he shipped as a common
sailor in the brig, Pilgrim, bound for the California coast. His
term of service lasted a trifle over two years--from August, 1834,
to September, 1836. The undertaking was one calculated to kill or cure.
Fortunately it had the latter effect; and, upon returning to his native
place, physically vigorous but intellectually starved, he reentered
Harvard and worked with such enthusiasm as to graduate in six months
with honor.

Then came the question of his life work. Though intensely religious,
he did not feel called to the ministry; business made no appeal;
his ancestors had been lawyers; it seemed best that he should follow
where they had led. Had conditions been those of to-day, he would
naturally have drifted into some field of scholarly research,
--political science or history. As it was, he entered law school,
which, in 1840, he left to take up the practice of his profession.
But Dana had not the tact, the personal magnetism, or the business
sagacity to make a brilliant success before the bar. Despite the
fact that he had become a master of legal theory, an authority upon
international questions, and a counsellor of unimpeachable integrity,
his progress was painfully slow and toilsome. Involved with his lack
of tact and magnetism there was, too, an admirable quality of sturdy
obstinacy that often worked him injury. Though far from sharing the