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"Now, I appeal to you, royal Media; to you, noble Taji; to you, Babbalanja;" said the chronicler, with an impressive gesture, "whether this seems a credible history: Yoomy has invented." "But perhaps he has entertained, old Mohi," said Babbalanja. "He has not spoken the truth," persisted the chronicler.
All things in readiness, we glided away: the multitude waving adieu; and our flotilla disposed in the following order. First went the royal Elephant, carrying Media, myself, Jarl, and Samoa; Mohi the Teller of Legends, Babbalanja, and Yoomy, and six vivacious paddlers; their broad paddle-blades carved with the royal boars' tusks, the same tattooed on their chests for a livery.
But now the silence was broken by a strange, distant, intermitted melody in the water. Gazing over the side, we saw naught but a far-darting ray in its depths. Then Yoomy, before buried in a reverie, burst forth with a verse, sudden as a jet from a Geyser.
"No; for the analogy has an unsatisfactory end. From its chrysalis state, the silkworm but becomes a moth, that very quickly expires. Its longest existence is as a worm. All vanity, vanity, Yoomy, to seek in nature for positive warranty to these aspirations of ours. Through all her provinces, nature seems to promise immortality to life, but destruction to beings.
The strangers were three hooded damsels the enigmatical Queen Hautia's heralds. Their pursuit surprised and perplexed me. Nor was there wanting a vague feeling of alarm to heighten these emotions. But perhaps I was mistaken, and this time they meant not me. Seated in the prow, the foremost waved her Iris flag. Cried Yoomy, "Some message! Taji, that Iris points to you."
Said Media, "Well done, Taji, you have killed a queen." "Yet no Queen Hautia have these eyes beheld." Said Babbalanja, "The thrice waved oleanders, Yoomy; what meant they?" "Beware beware beware." "Then that, at least, seems kindly meant," said Babbalanja; "Taji, beware of Hautia."
He murmured deep concern for my loss, the sincerest sympathy; and pressing my hand more than once, said lowly, "Your pursuit is mine, noble Taji. Where'er you search, I follow." So, too, Yoomy addressed me; but with still more feeling. And something like this, also, Braid-Beard repeated.
"Poor fellow!" cried Babbalanja; "I fear me his harvest is not yet ripe." "Alas!" cried Yoomy; "he died more than a century ago." "But now that you speak of unappreciated poets, Yoomy," said Babbalanja, "Shall I give you a piece of my mind?" "Do," said Mohi, stroking his beard. "He, who on all hands passes for a cypher to-day, if at all remembered hereafter, will be sure to pass for the same.
Looking at him disdainfully, but vouchsafing no reply, Yoomy began over again. "It is now above ten hundred thousand moons, since there died the last of a marvelous race, once inhabiting the very shores by which we are sailing. They were a very diminutive people, only a few inches high " "Stop, minstrel," cried Mohi; "how many pennyweights did they weigh?"
Much curiosity being expressed to know more of the isle, Mohi was about to turn over his chronicles, when, with modesty, the minstrel Yoomy interposed; saying, that if my Lord Media permitted, he himself would relate the legend. From its nature, deeming the same pertaining to his province as poet; though, as yet, it had not been versified.
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