-clad peak had sunk
down into a hill from the summit of which one could see the coasts of
Armorica eternally covered with mist, and the ocean strewn with sullen
reefs like monsters half raised out of its depths.

Its coasts were now very extensive and clearly defined and its shape
reminded one of a mulberry leaf. It was suddenly covered with coarse
grass, pleasing to the flocks, and with willows, ancient figtrees, and
mighty oaks. This fact is attested by the Venerable Bede and several
other authors worthy of credence.

To the north the shore formed a deep bay that in after years became one
of the most famous ports in the universe. To the east, along a rocky
coast beaten by a foaming sea, there stretched a deserted and fragrant
heath. It was the Beach of Shadows, and the inhabitants of the island
never ventured on it for fear of the serpents that lodged in the hollows
of the rocks and lest they might encounter the souls of the dead who
resembled livid flames. To the south, orchards and woods bounded the
languid Bay of Divers. On this fortunate shore old Mael built a wooden
church and a monastery. To the west, two streams, the Clange and the
Surelle, watered the fertile valleys of Dalles and Dombes.

Now one autumn morning, as the blessed Mael was walking in the valley of
Clange in company with a monk of Yvern called Bulloch, he saw bands of
fierce-looking men loaded with stones passing along the roads. At the
same time he heard in all directions cries and complaints mounting up
from the valley towards the tranquil sky.

And he said to Bulloch:

"I notice with sadness, my son, that since they became men the
inhabitants of this island act with less wisdom than formerly. When they
were birds they only quarrelled during the season of their love affairs.
But now they dispute all the time; they pick quarrels with each other
in summer as well as in winter. How greatly have they fallen from that
peaceful majesty which made the assembly of the penguins look like the
Senate of a wise republic!

"Look towards Surelle, Bulloch, my son. In yonder pleasant valley a
dozen men penguins are busy knocking each other down with the spades and
picks that they might employ better in tilling the ground. The women,
still more cruel than the men, are tearing their opponents' faces with
their nails. Alas! Bulloch, my son, why are they murdering each other in
this way?"

"From a spirit of fellowship, father, and through forethought for
t