om of all Willamilla.

"Come let us take the air of Omi," was a very common saying in the
glen. And the speaker would hie with his comrade toward the grotto;
and flinging himself on the turf, pass his hand through his locks,
and recline; making a joy and a business of breathing; for truly the
breezes of Omi were as air-wine to the lungs.

Yet was not this breeze over-cool; though at times the zephyrs grew
boisterous. Especially at the season of high sea, when the strong
Trades drawn down the cleft in the mountain, rushed forth from the
grotto with wonderful force. Crossing it then, you had much ado to
keep your robe on your back.

Thus much for the House of the Afternoon. Whither--after spending the
shady morning under the eastern cliffs of the glen--daily, at a
certain hour, Donjalolo in his palanquin was borne; there, finding
new shades; and there tarrying till evening; when again he was
transported whence he came: thereby anticipating the revolution of
the sun. Thus dodging day's luminary through life, the prince hied to
and fro in his dominions; on his smooth, spotless brow Sol's rays
never shining.

CHAPTER LXXVIII
Babbalanja Solus

Of the House of the Afternoon something yet remains to be said.

It was chiefly distinguished by its pavement, where, according to the
strange customs of the isle, were inlaid the reputed skeletons of
Donjalolo's sires; each surrounded by a mosaic of corals,--red,
white, and black, intermixed with vitreous stones fallen from the
skies in a meteoric shower. These delineated the tattooing of the
departed. Near by, were imbedded their arms: mace, bow, and spear, in
similar marquetry; and over each skull was the likeness of a scepter.

First and conspicuous lay the half-decayed remains of Marjora, the
father of these Coral Kings; by his side, the storied, sickle-shaped
weapon, wherewith he slew his brother Teei.

"Line of kings and row of scepters," said Babbalanja as he gazed.
"Donjalolo, come forth and ponder on thy sires. Here they lie, from
dread Marjora down to him who fathered thee. Here are their bones,
their spears, and their javelins; their scepters, and the very
fashion of their tattooing: all that can be got together of what they
were. Tell me, oh king, what are thy thoughts? Dotest thou on these
thy sires? Art thou more truly royal, that they were kings? Or more a
man, that they were men? Is it a fable, or a verity about Marjora and
the murdered Teei? But here i