the lagoon.

Over silvery billows we glided.

"Come Yoomy," said Media, "moonlight and music for aye--a song! a
song! my bird of paradise."

And folding his arms, and watching the sparkling waters, thus Yoomy
sang:--

A ray of the moon on the dancing waves
Is the step, light step of that beautiful maid:
Mardi, with music, her footfall paves,
And her voice, no voice, but a song in the glade.

"Hold!" cried Media, "yonder is a curious rock. It looks black as a
whale's hump in blue water, when the sun shines."

"That must be the Isle of Fossils," said Mohi. "Ay, my lord, it is."

"Let us land, then," said Babbalanja.

And none dissenting, the canoes were put about, and presently we
debarked.

It was a dome-like surface, here and there fringed with ferns,
sprouting from clefts. But at every tide the thin soil seemed
gradually washing into the lagoon.

Like antique tablets, the smoother parts were molded in strange