volume, in exultation.

"No, sair, it is not how to furl la queue, but how to touch de soul; not
de art to haul over de calm, but--oui, c'est plein de connoissance et
d'esprit! Ah! ha! you know de Cid! le grand homme! l'homme de génie! If
you read, Monsieur Marin, you shall see la vraie poésie! Not de big book
and no single rhyme--Sair, I do not vish to say vat is penible, mais it is
not one book widout rhyme; it was not écrit on de sea. Le diable! que le
vrai génie, et les nobles sentiments, se trouvent dans ce livre, la!"

"Ay, I see it is a log-book, for every man to note his mind in. I return
you Master Cid, with his fine sentiments, in the bargain. Great as was his
genius, it would seem he was not the man to write all that I find between
the leaves."

"He not write him all! Yes, sair, he shall write him six time more dan
all, if la France a besoin. Que l'envie de ces Anglais se découvre quand
on parle des beaux génies de la France!"

"I will only say, if the gentleman wrote the whole that is in the book,
and it is as fine as you would make a plain seafaring man believe, he did
wrong not to print it."

"Print!" echoed François, opening his eyes, and the volume, by a common
impulse, "Imprimé! ha! here is papier of Mam'selle Alide, assurément."

"Take better heed of it then," interrupted the seaman of the shawl. "As
for your Cid, to me it is an useless volume, since it teaches neither the
latitude of a shoal, nor the shape of a coast."