lling on, the wild beauty of the mountains
excited our attention. The topmost crags poured over with vines;
which, undulating in the air, seemed leafy cascades; their sources
the upland groves.

Midway up the precipice, along a shelf of rock, sprouted the
multitudinous roots of an apparently trunkless tree. Shooting from
under the shallow soil, they spread all over the rocks below,
covering them with an intricate net-work. While far aloft, great
boughs--each a copse--clambered to the very summit of the mountain;
then bending over, struck anew into the soil; forming along the verge
an interminable colonnade; all manner of antic architecture standing
against the sky.

According to Mohi, this tree was truly wonderful; its seed having
been dropped from the moon; where were plenty more similar
forests, causing the dark spots on its surface.

Here and there, the cool fluid in the veins of the mountains gushed
forth in living springs; their waters received in green mossy tanks,
half buried in grasses.

In one place, a considerable stream, bounding far out from a wooded
height, ere reaching the ground was dispersed in a wide misty shower,
falling so far from the base of the cliff; that walking close
underneath, you felt little moisture. Passing this fall of vapors, we
spied many Islanders taking a bath.

But what is yonder swaying of the foliage? And what now issues forth,
like a habitation astir? Donjalolo drawing nigh to his guests.

He came in a fair sedan; a bower, resting upon three long, parallel
poles, borne by thirty men, gayly attired; five at each pole-end.
Decked with dyed tappas, and looped with garlands of newly-plucked
flowers, from which, at every step, the fragrant petals were blown;
with a sumptuous, elastic motion the gay sedan came on; leaving
behind it a long, rosy wake of fluttering leaves and odors.

Drawing near, it revealed a slender, enervate youth, of pallid
beauty, reclining upon a crimson mat, near the festooned arch of the
bower. His anointed head was resting against the bosom of a girl;
another stirred the air, with a fan of Pintado plumes. The pupils of
his eyes were as floating isles in the sea. In a soft low tone he
murmured "Media!"

The bearers paused; and Media advancing; the Island Kings bowed their
foreheads together.

Through tubes ignited at the end, Donjaloln's reclining attendants
now blew an aromatic incense around him. These were composed of the
stimulating leaves of the