he
rainbows come thickly for half an hour at a time, and then we seem to be
passing through a fairy scene. Go under the main-yard and look away to
leeward. The wind roars out of the mainsail and streams over you in a
cold flood; but you do not mind that, for there is the joyous expanse
of emerald and snow dancing under the glad sun. There is something
unspeakably delightful in the rushing never-ending procession of waves
that passes away, away in merry ranks to the shining horizon; and all
true lovers of the sea are exhilarated by the sweet tumult. Remember I
am talking about a fine day; I shall come to the bad weather in good
time. On this ineffable morning a lady may come up and walk briskly in
the crisp air; but indeed women are the best and coolest of sailors in
any weather when once their preliminary troubles are over. The hours fly
past, and we hail the announcement of breakfast with a sudden joy which
tells of gross materialism. I may say, by-the-way, that our lower
nature, or what sentimental persons call our lower nature, comes out
powerfully at sea, and men of the most refined sort catch themselves in
the act of wondering time after time when meals will be ready. For me I
think that it is no more gross to delight in flavours than it is to
delight in colours or harmonies, and one of my main reasons for dwelling
on the delights of the sea lies in the fact that the voyager learns to
take an exquisite, but quite rational, delight in the mere act of
eating. I know that I ought to speak as though dinner were an ignoble
institution; I know that the young lady who said, "Thanks--I rarely
eat," represented a class who pretend to devote themselves to higher
joys; but I decline to talk cant on any terms, and I say that the
healthy, hearty hunger bestowed by the open sea is one of God's good
gifts.

The sweet morning passes away, and somehow our thoughts run in bright
grooves. That is the strange thing about the sea--its moods have an
instant effect on the mind; and, as it changes with wild and swift
caprice, the seafarer finds that his views of life alter with
tantalizing but pleasant suddenness. Just now I am speaking only of
content and exhilaration; but I may soon see another side of the
picture. The afternoon glides by like the morning; no churlish houses
and chimney-pots hide the sun, and we see him describe his magnificent
curve, while, with mysterious potency, he influences the wind. Dull!
Why, on shore we should