is this subtle something that is in me, and eludes me?  Will it have no end?  When, then, did it begin?  All, all is chaos!  What is this shining light in heaven, this sun they tell me of?  Or, do they lie?  Methinks, it might blaze convictions; but I brood and grope in blackness; I am dumb with doubt; yet, ’tis not doubt, but worse:  I doubt my doubt.  Oh, ye all-wise spirits in the air, how can ye witness all this woe, and give no sign?  Would, would that mine were a settled doubt, like that wild boy’s, who without faith, seems full of it.  The undoubting doubter believes the most.  Oh! that I were he.  Methinks that daring boy hath Alma in him, struggling to be free.  But those pilgrims:  that trusting girl.—­What, if they saw me as I am?  Peace, peace, my soul; on, mask, again.”

And he staggered from the Morai.

CHAPTER VI They Discourse Of The Gods Of Mardi, And Braid-Beard Tells Of One Foni

Walking from the sacred inclosure, Mohi discoursed of the plurality of gods in the land, a subject suggested by the multitudinous idols we had just been beholding.

Said Mohi, “These gods of wood and of stone are nothing in number to the gods in the air.  You breathe not a breath without inhaling, you touch not a leaf without ruffling a spirit.  There are gods of heaven, and gods of earth; gods of sea and of land; gods of peace and of war; gods of rook and of fell; gods of ghosts and of thieves; of singers and dancers; of lean men and of house-thatchers.  Gods glance in the eyes of birds, and sparkle in the crests of the waves; gods merrily swing in the boughs of the trees, and merrily sing in the brook.  Gods are here, and there, and every where; you are never alone for them.”

“If this be so, Braid-Beard,” said Babbalanja, “our inmost thoughts are overheard; but not by eaves-droppers.  However, my lord, these gods to whom he alludes, merely belong to the semi-intelligibles, the divided unities in unity, thin side of the First Adyta.”

“Indeed?” said Media.

“Semi-intelligible, say you, philosopher?” cried Mohi.  “Then, prithee, make it appear so; for what you say, seems gibberish to me.”

“Babbalanja,” said Media, “no more of your abstrusities; what know you mortals of us gods and demi-gods?  But tell me, Mohi, how many of your deities of rock and fen think you there are?  Have you no statistical table?”

“My lord, at the lowest computation, there must be at least three billion trillion of quintillions.”

“A mere unit!” said Babbalanja.  “Old man, would you express an infinite number?  Then take the sum of the follies of Mardi for your multiplicand; and for your multiplier, the totality of sublunarians, that never have been heard of since they became no more; and the product shall exceed your quintillions, even though all their units were nonillions.”

“Have done, Babbalanja!” cried Media; “you are showing the sinister vein in your marble.  Have done.  Take a warm bath, and make tepid your cold blood.  But come, Mohi, tell us of the ways of this Maramma; something of the Morai and its idols, if you please.”