“So have I always thought,” said Mohi.

“If Alma teaches love, I want no gift to learn,” said Yoomy.

“All that is vital in the Master’s faith, lived here in Mardi, and in humble dells was practiced, long previous to the Master’s coming.  But never before was virtue so lifted up among us, that all might see; never before did rays from heaven descend to glorify it, But are Truth, Justice, and Love, the revelations of Alma alone?  Were they never heard of till he came?  Oh!  Alma but opens unto us our own hearts.  Were his precepts strange we would recoil—­not one feeling would respond; whereas, once hearkened to, our souls embrace them as with the instinctive tendrils of a vine.”

“But,” said Babbalanja, “since Alma, they say, was solely intent upon the things of the Mardi to come—­which to all, must seem uncertain—­of what benefit his precepts for the daily lives led here?”

“Would! would that Alma might once more descend!  Brother! were the turf our everlasting pillow, still would the Master’s faith answer a blessed end;—­making us more truly happy here. That is the first and chief result; for holy here, we must be holy elsewhere.  ’Tis Mardi, to which loved Alma gives his laws; not Paradise.”

“Full soon will I be testing all these things,” murmured Mohi.

“Old man,” said Media, “thy years and Mohi’s lead ye both to dwell upon the unknown future.  But speak to me of other themes.  Tell me of this island and its people.  From all I have heard, and now behold, I gather that here there dwells no king; that ye are left to yourselves; and that this mystic Love, ye speak of, is your ruler.  Is it so?  Then, are ye full as visionary, as Mardi rumors.  And though for a time, ye may have prospered,—­long, ye can not be, without some sharp lesson to convince ye, that your faith in Mardian virtue is entirely vain.”

“Truth.  We have no king; for Alma’s precepts rebuke the arrogance of place and power.  He is the tribune of mankind; nor will his true faith be universal Mardi’s, till our whole race is kingless.  But think not we believe in man’s perfection.  Yet, against all good, he is not absolutely set.  In his heart, there is a germ. That we seek to foster.  To that we cling; else, all were hopeless!”

“Your social state?”

“It is imperfect; and long must so remain.  But we make not the miserable many support the happy few.  Nor by annulling reason’s laws, seek to breed equality, by breeding anarchy.  In all things, equality is not for all.  Each has his own.  Some have wider groves of palms than others; fare better; dwell in more tasteful arbors; oftener renew their fragrant thatch.  Such differences must be.  But none starve outright, while others feast.  By the abounding, the needy are supplied.  Yet not by statute, but from dictates, born half dormant in us, and warmed into life by Alma.  Those dictates we but follow in all we do; we are not dragged to righteousness; but go running.  Nor do we live in common.  For vice and virtue blindly mingled, form a union where vice too often proves the alkali.  The vicious we make dwell apart, until reclaimed.  And reclaimed they soon must be, since every thing invites.  The sin of others rests not upon our heads:  none we drive to crime.  Our laws are not of vengeance bred, but Love and Alma.”