Long pondered Babbalanja; then said, “Carve it, my lord, deep into a ponderous stone, and sink it, face downward, into the sea; for the unseen foundations of the deep are more enduring than the palpable tops of the mountains.” Sailing past Pella, we gained a view of its farther side; and seated in a lofty cleft, beheld a lonely fisherman; solitary as a seal on an iceberg; his motionless line in the water. “What recks he of the ten kings,” said Babbalanja. “Mohi,” said Media, “methinks there is another tradition concerning that rock: let us have it.” “In old times of genii and giants, there dwelt in barren lands, not very remote from our outer reef, but since submerged, a band of evil- minded, envious goblins, furlongs in stature, and with immeasurable arms; who from time to time cast covetous glances upon our blooming isles. Long they lusted; till at last, they waded through the sea, strode over the reef, and seizing the nearest islet, rolled it over and over, toward an adjoining outlet. “But the task was hard; and day-break surprised them in the midst of their audacious thieving; while in the very act of giving the devoted land another doughty surge and Somerset. Leaving it bottom upward and midway poised, gardens under water, its foundations in air, they precipitately fled; in their great haste, deserting a comrade, vainly struggling to liberate his foot caught beneath the overturned land.” “This poor fellow now raised such an outcry, as to awaken the god Upi, or the Archer, stretched out on a long cloud in the East; who forthwith resolved to make an example of the unwilling lingerer. Snatching his bow, he let fly an arrow. But overshooting its mark, it pierced through and through, the lofty promontory of a neighboring island; making an arch in it, which remaineth even unto this day. A second arrow, however, accomplished its errand: the slain giant sinking prone to the bottom.” “And now,” added Mohi, “glance over the gunwale, and you will see his remains petrified into white ribs of coral.” “Ay, there they are,” said Yoomy, looking down into the water where they gleamed. “A fanciful legend, Braid-beard.” “Very entertaining,” said Media. “Even so,” said Babbalanja. “But perhaps we lost time in listening to it; for though we know it, we are none the wiser.” “Be not a cynic,” said Media. “No pastime is lost time.” Musing a moment, Babbalanja replied, “My lord, that maxim may be good as it stands; but had you made six words of it, instead of six syllables, you had uttered a better and a deeper.” CHAPTER LXX. The Minstrel Leads Off With A Paddle-Song; And A Message Is Received From Abroad From seaward now came a breeze so blithesome and fresh, that it made us impatient of Babbalanja’s philosophy, and Mohi’s incredible legends. One and all, we called upon the minstrel Yoomy to give us something in unison with the spirited waves wide-foaming around us.