wine upon the waters.

That flushed tide rippled toward us; floating from the east, a lone
canoe; in which, there sat a mild, old man; a palm-bough in his hand:
a bird's beak, holding amaranth and myrtles, his slender prow.

"Alma's blessing upon ye, voyagers! ye look storm-worn."

"The storm we have survived, old man; and many more, we yet must
ride," said Babbalanja.

"The sun is risen; and all is well again. We but need to repair our
prows," said Media.

"Then, turn aside to Serenia, a pleasant isle, where all are welcome;
where many storm-worn rovers land at last to dwell."

"Serenia?" said Babbalanja; "methinks Serenia is that land of
enthusiasts, of which we hear, my lord; where Mardians pretend to the
unnatural conjunction of reason with things revealed; where Alma, they
say, is restored to his divine original; where, deriving their
principles from the same sources whence flow the persecutions of
Maramma,--men strive to live together in gentle bonds of peace
and charity;--folly! folly!"

"Ay," said Media; "much is said of those people of Serenia; but their
social fabric must soon fall to pieces; it is based upon the idlest of
theories. Thanks for thy courtesy, old man, but we care not to visit
thy isle. Our voyage has an object, which, something tells me, will
not be gained by touching at thy shores. Elsewhere we may refit.
Farewell! 'Tis breezing; set the sails! Farewell, old man."

"Nay, nay! think again; the distance is but small; the wind fair,--but
'tis ever so, thither;--come: we, people of Serenia, are most anxious
to be seen of Mardi; so that if our manner of life seem good, all
Mardi may live as we. In blessed Alma's name, I pray ye, come!"

"Shall we then, my lord?"

"Lead on, old man! We will e'en see this wondrous isle."

So, guided by the venerable stranger, by noon we descried an island
blooming with bright savannas, and pensive with peaceful groves.

Wafted from this shore, came balm of flowers, and melody of birds: a
thousand summer sounds and odors. The dimpled tide sang round our
splintered prows; the sun was high in heaven, and the waters were deep
below.

"The land of Love!" the old man murmured, as we neared the beach,
where innumerable shells were gently rolling in the playful surf, and
murmuring from their tuneful valves. Behind, another, and a verdant
surf played against lofty banks of leaves; where the breeze, likewise,
found its shore.

And now, emerging from beneath t