“’Item. I give to the poor of Vamba the total contents of my red-labeled bags of bicuspids and canines (which I account three-fourths of my whole estate); to my body servant Fidi, my staff, all my robes and togas, and three hundred molars in cash; to that discerning and sagacious philosopher my disciple Krako, one complete set of denticles, to buy him a vertebral bone ring; and to that pious and promising youth Vangi, two fathoms of my best kaiar rope, with the privilege of any bough in my groves. “’All the rest of my goods, chattels and household stuff whatsoever; and all my loose denticles, remaining after my debts and legacies are paid, and my body is out of sight, I hereby direct to be distributed among the poor of Vamba. “’Ultimo. I give and bequeath to all Mardi this my last advice and counsel:—videlicet: live as long as you can; close your own eyes when you die. “’I have no previous wills to revoke; and publish this to be my first and last. “’In witness whereof, I have hereunto set my right hand; and hereunto have caused a true copy of the tattooing on my right temple to be affixed, during the year first above written. “’By me, BARDIANNA.’” “Babbalanja, that’s an extraordinary document,” said Media. “Bardianna was an extraordinary man, my lord.” “Were there no codicils?” “The will is all codicils; all after-thoughts; Ten thoughts for one act, was Bardianna’s motto.” “Left he nothing whatever to his kindred?” “Not a stump.” “Prom his will, he seems to have lived single.” “Yes: Bardianna never sought to improve upon nature; a bachelor he was born, and a bachelor he died.” “According to the best accounts, how did he depart, Babbalanja?” asked Mohi. “With a firm lip, and his hand on his heart, old man.” “His last words?” “Calmer, and better!” “Where think you, he is now?” “In his Ponderings. And those, my lord, we all inherit; for like the great chief of Romara, who made a whole empire his legatee; so, great authors have all Mardi for an heir.” CHAPTER LXXIV. A Death-Cloud Sweeps By Them, As They Sail Next day, a fearful sight! As in Sooloo’s seas, one vast water-spout will, sudden, form: and whirling, chase the flying Malay keels; so, before a swift-winged cloud, a thousand prows sped by, leaving braided, foaming wakes; their crowded inmates’ arms, in frenzied supplications wreathed; like tangled forest-boughs. “See, see,” cried Yoomy, “how the Death-cloud flies! Let us dive down in the sea.” “Nay,” said Babbalanja. “All things come of Oro; if we must drown, let Oro drown us.” “Down sails: drop paddles,” said Media: “here we float.” Like a rushing bison, sweeping by, the Death-cloud grazed us with its foam; and whirling in upon the thousand prows beyond, sudden burst in deluges; and scooping out a maelstrom, dragged down every plank and soul. Long we rocked upon the circling billows, which expanding from that center, dashed every isle, till, moons after-ward, faint, they laved all Mardi’s reef.