Good Work In The Building Of My

About Midnight The Fog Shut Down Again Denser Than Before. One Could Almost "stand On It." It Continued So For A Number Of Days, The Wind Increasing To A Gale. The Waves Rose High, But I Had A Good Ship. Still, In The Dismal Fog I Felt Myself Drifting Into Loneliness, An Insect On The Straw In The Midst Of The Elements.

To Young Men Contemplating A Voyage I Would Say Go.

My Ship Was Also In Better Condition Than When She Sailed From Boston On Her Long Voyage. She Was Still As Sound As A Nut, And As Tight As The Best Ship Afloat. She Did Not Leak A Drop - Not One Drop!

I Once Knew A Writer Who, After Saying Beautiful Things About The Sea, Passed Through A Pacific Hurricane, And He Became A Changed Man.

I Had Already Found That It Was Not Good To Be Alone, And So I Made Companionship With What There Was Around Me, Sometimes With The Universe And Sometimes With My Own Insignificant Self; But My Books Were Always My Friends, Let Fail All Else.