all intellectual individualities but Oro, and resolve the universe into him.  But this is a heresy; wherefore, orthodoxy and heresy are one.  And thus is it, my lord, that upon these matters we Mardians all agree and disagree together, and kill each other with weapons that burst in our hands.  Ah, my lord, with what mind must blessed Oro look down upon this scene!  Think you he discriminates between the deist and atheist?  Nay; for the Searcher of the cores of all hearts well knoweth that atheists there are none.  For in things abstract, men but differ in the sounds that come from their mouths, and not in the wordless thoughts lying at the bottom of their beings.  The universe is all of one mind.  Though my twin-brother sware to me, by the blazing sun in heaven at noon-day, that Oro is not; yet would he belie the thing he intended to express.  And who lives that blasphemes?  What jargon of human sounds so puissant as to insult the unutterable majesty divine?  Is Oro’s honor in the keeping of Mardi?—­ Oro’s conscience in man’s hands?  Where our warrant, with Oro’s sign-manual, to justify the killing, burning, and destroying, or far worse, the social persecutions we institute in his behalf?  Ah! how shall these self-assumed attorneys and vicegerents be astounded, when they shall see all heaven peopled with heretics and heathens, and all hell nodding over with miters!  Ah! let us Mardians quit this insanity.  Let us be content with the theology in the grass and the flower, in seed-time and harvest.  Be it enough for us to know that Oro indubitably is.  My lord! my lord! sick with the spectacle of the madness of men, and broken with spontaneous doubts, I sometimes see but two things in all Mardi to believe:—­that I myself exist, and that I can most happily, or least miserably exist, by the practice of righteousness.  All else is in the clouds; and naught else may I learn, till the firmament be split from horizon to horizon.  Yet, alas! too often do I swing from these moorings.”

“Alas! his fit is coming upon him again,” whispered Yoomy.

“Why, Babbalanja,” said Media, “I almost pity you.  You are too warm, too warm.  Why fever your soul with these things?  To no use you mortals wax earnest.  No thanks, but curses, will you get for your earnestness.  You yourself you harm most.  Why not take creeds as they come?  It is not so hard to be persuaded; never mind about believing.”

“True, my lord; not very hard; no act is required; only passiveness.  Stand still and receive.  Faith is to the thoughtless, doubts to the thinker.”

“Then, why think at all?  Is it not better for you mortals to clutch error as in a vice, than have your fingers meet in your hand?  And to what end your eternal inquisitions?  You have nothing to substitute.  You say all is a lie; then out with the truth.  Philosopher, your devil is but a foolish one, after all.  I, a demi-god, never say nay to these things.”

“Yea, my lord, it would hardly answer for Oro himself, were he to come down to Mardi, to deny men’s theories concerning him.  Did they not strike at the rash deity in Alma?”