fellow, who excels in
dressing these various products of the ocean. Taste all these dishes.
Here is a preserve of sea-cucumber, which a Malay would declare to be
unrivalled in the world; here is a cream, of which the milk has been
furnished by the cetacea, and the sugar by the great fucus of the North
Sea; and, lastly, permit me to offer you some preserve of anemones,
which is equal to that of the most delicious fruits."

I tasted, more from curiosity than as a connoisseur, whilst Captain
Nemo enchanted me with his extraordinary stories.

"You like the sea, Captain?"

"Yes; I love it! The sea is everything. It covers seven tenths of the
terrestrial globe. Its breath is pure and healthy. It is an immense
desert, where man is never lonely, for he feels life stirring on all
sides. The sea is only the embodiment of a supernatural and wonderful
existence. It is nothing but love and emotion; it is the `Living
Infinite,' as one of your poets has said. In fact, Professor, Nature
manifests herself in it by her three kingdoms--mineral, vegetable, and
animal. The sea is the vast reservoir of Nature. The globe began with
sea, so to speak; and who knows if it will not end with it? In it is
supreme tranquillity. The sea does not belong to despots. Upon its
surface men can still exercise unjust laws, fight, tear one another to
pieces, and be carried away with terrestrial horrors. But at thirty
feet below its level, their reign ceases, their influence is quenched,
and their power disappears. Ah! sir, live--live in the bosom of the
waters! There only is independence! There I recognise no masters!
There I am free!"

Captain Nemo suddenly became silent in the midst of this enthusiasm, by
which he was quite carried away. For a few moments he paced up and
down, much agitated. Then he became more calm, regained his accustomed
coldness of expression, and turning towards me:

"Now, Professor," said he, "if you wish to go over the Nautilus, I am
at your service."

Captain Nemo rose. I followed him. A double door, contrived at the
back of the dining-room, opened, and I entered a room equal in
dimensions to that which I had just quitted.

It was a library. High pieces of furniture, of black violet ebony
inlaid with brass, supported upon their wide shelves a great number of
books uniformly bound. They followed the shape of the room,
terminating at the lower part in huge divans, covered with brown
leather, which were