Nothing Escapes The Vigilance Of The New

But Where, After All, Would Be The Poetry Of The Sea Were There No Wild Waves?

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.

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.

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!

If The Spray Discovered No Continents On Her Voyage, It May Be That There Were No More Continents To Be Discovered. She Did Not Seek New Worlds, Or Sail To Pow-wow About The Dangers Of The Sea.