o single rhyme--Sair, I do not vish to say vat is penible, mais it is
not one book widout rhyme; it was not ecrit on de sea. Le diable! que le
vrai genie, 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 decouvre quand
on parle des beaux genies 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 Francois, opening his eyes, and the volume, by a common
impulse, "Imprime! ha! here is papier of Mam'selle Alide, assurement."

"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."

"Sair, it teach de morale; de rock of de passion et les grands mouvements
de l'ame! Oui, Sair; it teach all, un Monsieur vish to know. Tout le monde
read him in la France; en province, comme en ville. If sa Majeste, le
Grand Louis, be not so mal avise, as to chasser Messieurs les Huguenots
from his royaume, I shall go to Paris, to hear le Cid, moi-meme!"

"A good journey to you, Monsieur Cue. We may meet on the road, until which
time I take my departure. The day may come, when we shall converse with a
rolling sea beneath us. Till then, brave cheer!"

"Adieu, Monsieur," returned Francois, bowing with a politeness that had
become too familiar to be forgotten. "If we do not meet but in de sea, we
shall not meet, nevair. Ah, ha, ha! Monsieur le Marin n'aime pas a
entendre parler de la gloire de la France! Je voudrais bien savoir lire ce
f--e Shak-a-spear, pour voir, combien l'immortel Corneille lui est
superieur. Ma foi, oui; Monsieur Pierre Corneille est vraiment un homme
illustre!"

The faithful, self-complacent, and aged valet then pursued his way towards
the large oak on the bluff; for as he ceased speaking, the mariner of the
gay sash had turned deeper into the woods, and left him alone. Proud of
the manner, in which he had met the audacity of the stranger, prouder
still of the reputati