And popular literature:-- "A most Sweet, Pleasant, and Unctuous Account of the Manner in which Five-and-Forty Robbers were torn asunder by Swiftly-Going Canoes."

And books by chiefs and n.o.bles:-- "The Art of Making a Noise in Mardi."

"On the Proper Manner of Saluting a Bosom Friend."

"Letters from a Father to a Son, inculcating the Virtue of Vice."

"Pastorals by a Younger Son."

"A Catalogue of Chieftains who have been Authors, by a Chieftain, who disdains to be deemed an Author."

"A Canto on a Cough caught by my Consort."

"The Philosophy of Honesty, by a late Lord, who died in disgrace."

And theological works:-- "Pepper for the Perverse."

"Pudding for the Pious."

"Pleas for Pardon."

"Pickles for the Persecuted."

And long and tedious romances with short and easy t.i.tles:-- "The Buck."

"The Belle."

"The King and the Cook, or the Cook and the King."

And books of voyages:-- "A Sojourn among the Anthropophagi, by One whose Hand was eaten off at Tiffin among the Savages."

"Franko: its King, Court, and Tadpoles."

"Three Hours in Vivenza, containing a Full and Impartial Account of that Whole Country: by a Subject of King Bello."

And works of nautical poets:-- "Sky-Sail-Pole Lyrics."

And divers brief books, with panic-striking t.i.tles:-- "Are you safe?"

"A Voice from Below."

"Hope for none."

"Fire for all."

And pamphlets by retired warriors:-- "On the Best Gravy for Wild Boar's Meat."

"Three Receipts for Bottling New Arrack."

"To Brown Bread Fruit without Burning."

"Advice to the Dyspeptic."

"On Starch for Tappa."

All these MSS. were highly prized by Oh-Oh. He averred, that they spoke of the mighty past, which he reverenced more than the paltry present, the dross and sediment of what had been.

Peering into a dark crypt, Babbalanja drew forth a few crumbling, illegible, black-letter sheets of his favorite old essayist, brave Bardianna. They seemed to have formed parts of a work, whose t.i.tle only remained--"Thoughts, by a Thinker."

Silently Babbalanja pressed them to his heart. Then at arm's length held them, and said, "And is all this wisdom lost? Can not the divine cunning in thee, Bardianna, trans.m.u.te to brightness these sullied pages? Here, perhaps, thou didst dive into the deeps of things, treating of the normal forms of matter and of mind; how the particles of solids were first molded in the interstices of fluids; how the thoughts of men are each a soul, as the lung-cells are each a lung; how that death is but a mode of life; while mid-most is the Pharzi.-- But all is faded. Yea, here the Thinker's thoughts lie cheek by jowl with phras.e.m.e.n's words. Oh Bardianna! these pages were offspring of thee, thought of thy thought, soul of thy soul. Instinct with mind, they once spoke out like living voices; now, they're dust; and would not p.r.i.c.k a fool to action. Whence then is this? If the fogs of some few years can make soul linked to matter naught; how can the unhoused spirit hope to live when mildewed with the damps of death."

Piously he folded the shreds of ma.n.u.script together, kissed them, and laid them down.

Then approaching Oh-Oh, he besought him for one leaf, one shred of those most precious pages, in memory of Bardianna, and for the love of him.

But learning who he was, one of that old Ponderer's commentators, Oh- Oh tottered toward the ma.n.u.scripts; with trembling fingers told them over, one by one, and said-"Thank Oro! all are here.--Philosopher, ask me for my limbs, my life, my heart, but ask me not for these. Steeped in wax, these shall be my cerements."

All in vain; Oh-Oh was an antiquary.

Turning in despair, Babbalanja spied a heap of worm-eaten parchment covers, and many clippings and parings. And whereas the rolls of ma.n.u.scripts did smell like unto old cheese; so these relics did marvelously resemble the rinds of the same.

Turning over this pile, Babbalanja lighted upon something that restored his good humor. Long he looked it over delighted; but bethinking him, that he must have dragged to day some lost work of the collection, and much desirous of possessing it, he made bold again to ply Oh-Oh; offering a tempting price for his discovery.

Glancing at the t.i.tle--"A Happy Life"-the old man cried--"Oh, rubbish!

rubbish! take it for nothing." And Babbalanja placed it in his vestment.

The catacombs surveyed, and day-light gained, we inquired the way to Ji-Ji's, also a collector, but of another sort; one miserly in the matter of teeth, the money of Mardi.

At the mention of his name, Oh-Oh flew out into scornful philippics upon the insanity of that old dotard, who h.o.a.rded up teeth, as if teeth were of any use, but to purchase rarities. Nevertheless, he pointed out our path; following which, we crossed a meadow.

CHAPTER XX Babbalanja Quotes From An Antique Pagan; And Earnestly Presses It Upon The Company, That What He Recites Is Not His, But Another's

Journeying on, we stopped by a gurgling spring, in a beautiful grove; and here, we stretched out on the gra.s.s, and our attendants unpacked their hampers, to provide us a lunch.

But as for that Babbalanja of ours, he must needs go and lunch by himself, and, like a cannibal, feed upon an author; though in other respects he was not so partial to bones.

Bringing forth the treasure he had buried in his bosom, he was soon buried in it; and motionless on his back, looked as if laid out, to keep an appointment with his undertaker.

"What, ho! Babbalanja!" cried Media from under a tree, "don't be a duck, there, with your bill in the air; drop your metaphysics, man, and fall to on the solids. Do you hear?"

"Come, philosopher," said Mohi, handling a banana, "you will weigh more after you have eaten."

"Come, list, Babbalanja," cried Yoomy, "I am going to sing."

"Up! up! I say," shouted Media again. "But go, old man, and wake him: rap on his head, and see whether he be in."

Mohi, obeying, found him at home; and Babbalanja started up.

"In Oro's name, what ails you, philosopher? See you Paradise, that you look so wildly?"

"A Happy Life! a Happy Life!" cried Babbalanja, in an ecstasy. "My lord, I am lost in the dream of it, as here recorded. Marvelous book!

its goodness transports me. Let me read:--'I would bear the same mind, whether I be rich or poor, whether I get or lose in the world. I will reckon benefits well placed as the fairest part of my possession, not valuing them by number or weight, but by the profit and esteem of the receiver; accounting myself never the poorer for any thing I give.

What I do shall be done for conscience, not ostentation. I will eat and drink, not to gratify my palate, but to satisfy nature. I will be cheerful to my friends, mild and placable to my enemies. I will prevent an honest request, if I can foresee it; and I will grant it, without asking. I will look upon the whole world as my country; and upon Oro, both as the witness and the judge of my words and my deeds.

I will live and die with this testimony: that I loved a good conscience; that I never invaded another man's liberty; and that I preserved my own. I will govern my life and my thoughts, as if the whole world were to see the one, and to read the other; for what does it signify, to make any thing a secret to my neighbor, when to Oro all our privacies are open.'"

"Very fine," said Media.

"The very spirit of the first followers of Alma, as recorded in the legends," said Mohi.

"Inimitable," said Yoomy.

Said Babbalanja, "Listen again:--'Righteousness is sociable and gentle; free, steady, and fearless; full of inexhaustible delights.'

And here again, and here, and here:--The true felicity of life is to understand our duty to Oro.'--'True joy is a serene and sober motion.'

And here, and here,--my lord, 'tis hard quoting from this book;--but listen--'A peaceful conscience, honest thoughts, and righteous actions are blessings without end, satiety, or measure. The poor man wants many things; the covetous man, all. It is not enough to know Oro, unless we obey him.'"

"Alma all over," cried Mohi; "sure, you read from his sayings?"