ly with her elastic spirit. It was at this
hour that we find her alone upon the bulwarks of the _Red Eric_.

There was a deep, solemn stillness around, that irresistibly and
powerfully conveyed to her mind the idea of rest. The long, gentle
undulation of the deep did not in the least detract from this idea. So
perfect was the calm, that several masses of clouds in the sky, which
shone with the richest saffron light, were mirrored in all their rich
details as if in a glass. The faintest possible idea of a line alone
indicated, in one direction, where the water terminated and the sky
began. A warm golden haze suffused the whole atmosphere, and softened
the intensity of the deep-blue vault above.

There was, indeed, little variety of object to gaze upon--only the water
and the sky. But what a world of delight did not Ailie find in that
vast sky and that pure ocean, that reminded her of the sea of glass
before the great white throne, of which she had so often read in
Revelation. The towering masses of clouds were so rich and thick, that
she almost fancied them to be mountains and valleys, rocks and plains of
golden snow. Nay, she looked so long and so ardently at the rolling
mountain heights in the sky above, and their magical counterparts in the
sky below, that she soon, as it were, _thought herself into_ Fairyland,
and began a regular journey of adventures therein.

Such a scene at such an hour is a source of gladsome, peaceful delight
to the breast of man in every stage of life; but it is a source of
unalloyed, bounding, exhilarating, romantic, unspeakable joy only in the
years of childhood, when the mind looks hopefully forward, and before it
has begun--as, alas! it must begin, sooner or later--to gaze regretfully
back.

How long Ailie would have sat in motionless delight it is difficult to
say. The man at the wheel having nothing to do, had forsaken his post,
and was leaning over the stern, either lost in reverie, or in a vain
effort to penetrate with his vision the blue abyss to the bottom. The
members of the watch on deck were either similarly engaged or had stowed
themselves away to sleep in quiet corners among blocks and cordage. No
one seemed inclined to move or speak, and she would probably have sat
there immovable for hours to come, had not a hand fallen gently on her
shoulder, and by the magic of its simple contact scattered the bright
dreams of Fairyland as the finger-touch destroys the splendour