Still coasting on, next day, we came to Vivenza; and as Media desired to land first at a point midway between its extremities, in order to behold the convocation of chiefs supposed to be assembled at this season, we held on our way, till we gained a lofty ridge, jutting out into the lagoon, a bastion to the neighboring land.  It terminated in a lofty natural arch of solid trap.  Billows beat against its base.  But above, waved an inviting copse, wherein was revealed an open temple of canes, containing one only image, that of a helmeted female, the tutelar deity of Vivenza.

The canoes drew near.

“Lo! what inscription is that?” cried Media, “there, chiseled over the arch?”

Studying those immense hieroglyphics awhile, antiquarian Mohi still eyeing them, said slowly:—­“In-th
is-re-publi-can-land-all-men-are-born-free-and-equal.”

“False!” said Media.

“And how long stay they so?” said Babbalanja.

“But look lower, old man,” cried Media, “methinks there’s a small hieroglyphic or two hidden away in yonder angle.—­Interpret them, old man.”

After much screwing of his eyes, for those characters were very minute, Champollion Mohi thus spoke—­” Except-the-tribe-of-Hamo.”

“That nullifies the other,” cried Media.  “Ah, ye republicans!”

“It seems to have been added for a postscript,” rejoined Braid-Beard, screwing his eyes again.

“Perhaps so,” said Babbalanja, “but some wag must have done it.”

Shooting through the arch, we rapidly gained the beach.

CHAPTER LIV They Visit The Great Central Temple Of Vivenza

The throng that greeted us upon landing were exceedingly boisterous.

“Whence came ye?” they cried.  “Whither bound?  Saw ye ever such a land as this?  Is it not a great and extensive republic?  Pray, observe how tall we are; just feel of our thighs; Are we not a glorious people?  Here, feel of our beards.  Look round; look round; be not afraid; Behold those palms; swear now, that this land surpasses all others.  Old Bello’s mountains are mole-hills to ours; his rivers, rills; his empires, villages; his palm-trees, shrubs.”

“True,” said Babbalanja.  “But great Oro must have had some hand in making your mountains and streams.—­Would ye have been as great in a desert?”

“Where is your king?” asked Media, drawing himself up in his robe, and cocking his crown.

“Ha, ha, my fine fellow!  We are all kings here; royalty breathes in the common air.  But come on, come on.  Let us show you our great Temple of Freedom.”

And so saying, irreverently grasping his sacred arm, they conducted us toward a lofty structure, planted upon a bold hill, and supported by thirty pillars of palm; four quite green; as if recently added; and beyond these, an almost interminable vacancy, as if all the palms in Mardi, were at some future time, to aid in upholding that fabric.