and let your books alone, and go to watching the sea, and the clouds, and the islands, and the fog-banks, and the fishes, and the birds; for Natur, says I, don't lie nor give hearsays, but is always as true as the Gospels.
But 't was no use talking.
There he'd lay in his bunk with his books about him, and I had e'en a'most to drag him on deck to snuff the sea-air.
Howsomever, one day,—it was the hottest of the whole season,—after we left the Magdalenes, and were running down the Gut of Canso, we hove in sight of the Gannet Rocks.
Thinks I to myself, I'll show him something now that he can't find in his books.
So I goes right down after him; and when we got on deck he looked towards the northeast, and if ever I saw a chap wonder-struck, he was. Right ahead of us was a bold, rocky island, with what looked like a great snow-bank on its southern slope; while the air was full overhead, and all about, of what seemed a heavy fall of snow.
The day was blazing hot, and there was n't