ized everything. Every point seemed a diamond, every edge sent
forth a gleam of light, and many of the masses reflected the rich
prismatic colours of the rainbow. It seemed as if the sun himself had
been multiplied in order to add to the excessive brilliancy, for he was
surrounded by _parhelia_, or _sun-dogs,_ as the men called them. This
peculiarity in the sun's appearance was very striking. The great orb of
day was about ten degrees above the horizon, and a horizontal line of
white passed completely through it, extending to a considerable distance
on either hand, while around it were two distinct halos, or circles of
light. On the inner halo were situated the mock-suns, which were four in
number--one above and one below the sun, and one on each side of him.

Not a breath of wind stirred the little flag that drooped from the
mizzen-peak, and the clamorous, ceaseless-cries of sea-birds, added to
the merry shouts and laughter of the men as they followed the restless
football, rendered the whole a scene of life, as it was emphatically one
of beauty.

"Ain't it glorious?" panted Davie Summers vehemently as he stopped
exhausted in a headlong race beside one of his comrades, while the ball
was kicked hopelessly beyond his reach by a comparatively fresh member
of the party.

"Ah! then, it bates the owld country intirely, it does," replied
O'Riley, wiping the perspiration from his forehead.

It is needless to say that O'Riley was an Irishman. We have not
mentioned him until now, because up to this time he had not done
anything to distinguish himself beyond his messmates; but on this
particular day O'Riley's star was in the ascendant, and fortune seemed
to have singled him out as an object of her special attention. He was a
short man, and a broad man, and a particularly _rugged_ man--so to
speak. He was all angles and corners. His hair stuck about his head in
violently rigid and entangled tufts, rendering it a matter of wonder how
anything in the shape of a hat could stick on. His brow was a countless
mass of ever-varying wrinkles, which gave to his sly visage an aspect of
humorous anxiety that was highly diverting--and all the more diverting
when you came to know that the man had not a spark of anxiety in his
composition, though he often said he had. His dress, like that of most
Jack tars, was naturally rugged, and he contrived to make it more so
than usual.

"An' it's hot, too, it is," he continued, applying his kerchief