e in a midshipmen's mess, if I recollect aright,
old Homer describes the noise of the waves nearly in your own words, my
dear. His term for it is _polyploisboio thalasses_--the `murmuring of
the many-voiced sea!' Grand, isn't it; grand, eh? But, let us walk
round the castle, and then you will see and hear it better."

They accompanied him, accordingly, around the sloping rampart; Mrs
Gilmour walking by the side of the old sailor, while Bob and Nellie
lingered behind with Dick.

On their way round the castle, Master Bob occasionally pitched in a
piece of stick for Rover to fetch out of the sea, which the energetic
dog did with the utmost gusto; barking with glee as he dashed into the
water and coming out sedately with his coat all dripping, to deposit the
stick at his master's feet, with a shake that sent a shower of drops
like rain all over them, making them laugh in glee as great as his.

The stragglers presently came up with the seniors of the party who had
seated themselves on a little ledge of the wall on the highest point of
the glacis at the back of the old fortification, from whence away to the
west the sun could be seen setting in a glory of crimson and gold behind
the dockyard, with the masts of the ships standing out in red relief, as
if on fire.

In front were the purple hills of the Isle of Wight, with the white-
terraced Ryde lying in between, its houses lit up likewise by the rays
of the sunset, and their windows all aflame; and, under their feet,
stretching away to where it met the hills opposite and to the harbour's
mouth and Haslar breakwater on the right, with the now twinkling Nab
light on the extreme left, was the dancing, murmuring, restless sea, its
hue varying every instant, from the rich crimson and gold it reflected
from the western horizon to the darker shades of evening that came
creeping up steadily from the eastward, blotting out by degrees its
previous bright tones.

Two or three merchant ships were anchored at Spithead; but there was not
a single sail moving in sight.

All was still; and, as if in harmony with the scene, the Captain and
Mrs Gilmour sat in silent contemplation of the sight before them,
neither uttering a word.

The children, however, were not quiet long.

"Hi, Rover, fetch it, good dog!" cried out Bob presently, pitching the
stick into the water that laved the base of the sloping rampart. "Fetch
it out, sir; fetch it."

Rover raced, slipping and sliding, down