home,—­it will not stay.  What ho, hot heart of mine:  to beat thus lustily awhile, to feel in the red rushing blood, and then be ashes,—­can this be so?  But peace, peace, thou liar in me, telling me I am immortal—­shall I not be as these bones?  To come to this!  But the balsam-dropping palms, whose boles run milk, whose plumes wave boastful in the air, they perish in their prime, and bow their blasted trunks.  Nothing abideth; the river of yesterday floweth not to-day; the sun’s rising is a setting; living is dying; the very mountains melt; and all revolve:—­systems and asteroids; the sun wheels through the zodiac, and the zodiac is a revolution.  Ah gods! in all this universal stir, am I to prove one stable thing?

“Grim chiefs in skeletons, avaunt!  Ye are but dust; belike the dust of beggars; for on this bed, paupers may lie down with kings, and filch their skulls. This, great Marjora’s arm?  No, some old paralytic’s. Ye, kings? ye, men?  Where are your vouchers?  I do reject your brother-hood, ye libelous remains.  But no, no; despise them not, oh Babbalanja!  Thy own skeleton, thou thyself dost carry with thee, through this mortal life; and aye would view it, but for kind nature’s screen; thou art death alive; and e’en to what’s before thee wilt thou come.  Ay, thy children’s children will walk over thee:  thou, voiceless as a calm.”

And over the Coral Kings, Babbalanja paced in profound meditation.

CHAPTER LXXIX The Center Of Many Circumferences

Like Donjalolo himself, we hie to and fro; for back now must we pace to the House of the Morning.

In its rear, there diverged three separate arbors, leading to less public apartments.

Traversing the central arbor, and fancying it will soon lead you to open ground, you suddenly come upon the most private retreat of the prince:  a square structure; plain as a pyramid; and without, as inscrutable.  Down to the very ground, its walls are thatched; but on the farther side a passage-way opens, which you enter.  But not yet are you within.  Scarce a yard distant, stands an inner thatched wall, blank as the first.  Passing along the intervening corridor, lighted by narrow apertures, you reach the opposite side, and a second opening is revealed.  This entering, another corridor; lighted as the first, but more dim, and a third blank wall.  And thus, three times three, you worm round and round, the twilight lessening as you proceed; until at last, you enter the citadel itself:  the innermost arbor of a nest; whereof, each has its roof, distinct from the rest.

The heart of the place is but small; illuminated by a range of open sky-lights, downward contracting.

Innumerable as the leaves of an endless folio, multitudinous mats cover the floor; whereon reclining by night, like Pharaoh on the top of his patrimonial pile, the inmate looks heavenward, and heavenward only; gazing at the torchlight processions in the skies, when, in state, the suns march to be crowned.