The Pilot

Chapter 35

"Come, all you kindred chieftains of the deep,

In mighty phalanx round your brother bend;

Hush every murmur that invades his sleep--

And guard the laurels that o'ershade your friend."

_Lines on Tripp_.

Here, perhaps, it would be wise to suffer the curtain of our imperfect

drama to fall before the reader, trusting that the imagination of every

individual can readily supply the due proportions of health, wealth, and

happiness, that the rigid rules of poetic justice would award to the

different characters of the legend. But as we are not disposed to part

so coldly from those with whom we have long held amicable intercourse,

and as there is no portion of that in reservation which is not quite as

true as all that has been already related, we see no unanswerable reason

for dismissin