“Philosopher!  I am astounded at your effrontery.  I detected your philosophy the very first maxim.  Who posted that parchment for you?”

So, each charged the other with its authorship:  and there was no finding out, whether, indeed, either knew aught of its origin.

Now, could it have been Babbalanja?  Hardly.  For, philosophic as the document was, it seemed too dogmatic and conservative for him.  King Media?  But though imperially absolute in his political sentiments, Media delivered not himself so boldly, when actually beholding the eruption in Franko.

Indeed, the settlement of this question must be left to the commentators on Mardi, some four or five hundred centuries hence.

CHAPTER LVIII They Visit The Extreme South Of Vivenza

We penetrated further and further into the valleys around; but, though, as elsewhere, at times we heard whisperings that promised an end to our wanderings;—­we still wandered on; and once again, even Yoomy abated his sanguine hopes.

And now, we prepared to embark for the extreme south of the land.

But we were warned by the people, that in that portion of Vivenza, whither we were going, much would be seen repulsive to strangers.  Such things, however, indulgent visitors overlooked.  For themselves, they were well aware of those evils.  Northern Vivenza had done all it could to assuage them; but in vain; the inhabitants of those southern valleys were a fiery, and intractable race; heeding neither expostulations, nor entreaties.  They were wedded to their ways.  Nay, they swore, that if the northern tribes persisted in intermeddlings, they would dissolve the common alliance, and establish a distinct confederacy among themselves.

Our coasting voyage at an end, our keels grated the beach among many prostrate palms, decaying, and washed by the billows.  Though part and parcel of the shore we had left, this region seemed another land.  Fewer thriving thingswere seen; fewer cheerful sounds were heard.

“Here labor has lost his laugh!” cried Yoomy.

It was a great plain where we landed; and there, under a burning sun, hundreds of collared men were toiling in trenches, filled with the taro plant; a root most flourishing in that soil.  Standing grimly over these, were men unlike them; armed with long thongs, which descended upon the toilers, and made wounds.  Blood and sweat mixed; and in great drops, fell.

“Who eat these plants thus nourished?” cried Yoomy.  “Are these men?” asked Babbalanja.

“Which mean you?” said Mohi.

Heeding him not, Babbalanja advanced toward the fore-most of those with the thongs,—­one Nulli:  a cadaverous, ghost-like man; with a low ridge of forehead; hair, steel-gray; and wondrous eyes;—­bright, nimble, as the twin Corposant balls, playing about the ends of ships’ royal-yards in gales.

The sun passed under a cloud; and Nulli, darting at Babbalanja those wondrous eyes, there fell upon him a baleful glare.