lain where we landed; and there, under a burning sun,
hundreds of collared men were toiling in trenches, filled with
the taro plant; a root most flourishing in that soil. Standing grimly
over these, were men unlike them; armed with long thongs, which
descended upon the toilers, and made wounds. Blood and sweat mixed;
and in great drops, fell.

"Who eat these plants thus nourished?" cried Yoomy. "Are these men?"
asked Babbalanja.

"Which mean you?" said Mohi.

Heeding him not, Babbalanja advanced toward the fore-most of those
with the thongs,--one Nulli: a cadaverous, ghost-like man; with a low
ridge of forehead; hair, steel-gray; and wondrous eyes;--bright,
nimble, as the twin Corposant balls, playing about the ends of ships'
royal-yards in gales.

The sun passed under a cloud; and Nulli, darting at Babbalanja those
wondrous eyes, there fell upon him a baleful glare.

"Have they souls?" he asked, pointing to the serfs.

"No," said Nulli, "their ancestors may have had; but their souls have
been bred out of their descendants; as the instinct of scent is killed
in pointers."

Approaching one of the serfs, Media took him by the hand, and felt of
it long; and looked into his eyes; and placed his ear to his side; and
exclaimed, "Surely this being has flesh that is warm; he has Oro in
his eye; and a heart in him that beats. I swear he is a man."

"Is this our lord the king?" cried Mohi, starting.

"What art thou," said Babbalanja to the serf. "Dost ever feel in thee
a sense of right and wrong? Art ever glad or sad?--They tell us thou
art not a man:--speak, then, for thyself; say, whether thou beliest
thy Maker."

"Speak not of my Maker to me. Under the lash, I believe my masters,
and account myself a brute; but in my dreams, bethink myself an angel.
But I am bond; and my little ones;--their mother's milk is gall."

"Just Oro!" cried Yoomy, "do no thunders roll,--no lightnings flash in
this accursed land!"

"Asylum for all Mardi's thralls!" cried Media.

"Incendiaries!" cried he with the wondrous eyes, "come ye, firebrands,
to light the flame of revolt? Know ye not, that here are many serfs,
who, incited to obtain their liberty, might wreak some dreadful
vengeance? Avaunt, thou king! _thou_ horrified at this? Go back to
Odo, and right her wrongs! These serfs are happier than thine; though
thine, no collars wear; more happy as they are, than if free. Are they
not fed, clothed, and cared for? Thy serfs pine for f