Chapter 35 No.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