Wherein, That Gallant Gentleman And Demi-God, King Media, Scepter In Hand, Throws Himself Into The Breach Sailing south from Vivenza, not far from its coast, we passed a cluster of islets, green as new fledged grass; and like the mouths of floating cornucopias, their margins brimmed over upon the brine with flowers.

On some, grew stately roses; on others stood twin-pillars; across others, tri-hued rainbows rested.
Cried Babbalanja, pointing to the last, "Franko's pledge of peace! with that, she loudly vaunts she'll span the reef!--Strike out all hues but red,--and the token's nearer truth." All these isles were prolific gardens; where King Bello, and the Princes of Porpheero grew their most delicious fruits,--nectarines and grapes.
But, though hard by, Vivenza owned no garden here; yet longed and lusted; and her hottest tribes oft roundly swore, to root up all roses the half-reef over; pull down all pillars; and dissolve all rainbows.
"Mardi's half is ours;" said they.

Stand back invaders! Full of vanity; and mirroring themselves in the future; they deemed all reflected there, their own.
'Twas now high noon.
"Methinks the sun grows hot," said Media, retreating deeper under the canopy.

"Ho! Vee-Vee; have you no cooling beverage?
none of that golden wine distilled from torrid grapes, and then sent northward to be cellared in an iceberg?
That wine was placed among our stores.

Search, search the crypt, little Vee-Vee! Ha, I see it!--that yellow gourd!--Come: drag it forth, my boy.