Chapter 51

In Which Azzageddi Seems To Use Babbalanja For A Mouth-Piece

Porpheero far astern, the spirits of the company rose. Once again, old
Mohi serenely unbraided, and rebraided his beard; and sitting Turk-
wise on his mat, my lord Media smoking his gonfalon, diverted himself
with the wild songs of Yoomy, the wild chronicles of Mohi, or the
still wilder speculations of Babbalanja; now and then, as from pitcher
to pitcher, pouring royal old wine down his soul.

Among other things, Media, who at times turned over Babbalanja for an
encyclopaedia, however unreliable, demanded information upon the
subject of neap tides and their alleged slavish vassalage to the moon.

When true to his cyclopaediatic nature, Babbalanja quoted from a still
older and better authority than himself; in brief, from no other than
eternal Bardianna. It seems that that worthy essayist had discussed
the whole matter in a chapter thus headed: "On Seeing into Mysteries
through Mill-Stones;" and throughout his disquisitions he evinced such
a profundity of research, though delivered in a style somewhat
equivocal, that the company were much struck by the erudition
displayed.

"Babbalanja, that Bardianna of yours must have been a wonderful
student," said Media after a pause, "no doubt he consumed whole
thickets of rush-lights."

"Not so, my lord.--'Patience, patience, philosophers,' said Bardianna;
'blow out your tapers, bolt not your dinners, take time, wisdom will
be plenty soon.'"

"A notable hint! Why not follow it, Babbalanja?"

"Because, my lord, I have overtaken it, and passed on."

"True to your nature, Babbalanja; you stay nowhere."

"Ay, keep moving is my motto; but speaking of hard students, did my
lord ever hear of Midni the ontologist and entomologist?"

"No."

"Then, my lord, you shall hear of him now. Midni was of opinion that
day-light was vulgar; good enough for taro-planting and traveling; but
wholly unadapted to the sublime ends of study. He toiled by night;
from sunset to sunrise poring over the works of the old logicans. Like
most philosophers, Midni was an amiable man; but one thing invariably
put him out. He read in the woods by glow-worm light; insect in hand,
tracing over his pages, line by line. But glow-worms burn not long:
and in the midst of some calm intricate thought, at some imminent
comma, the insect often expired, and Midni groped for a meaning. Upon
such an occasion, 'Ho, Ho,' he cried; 'but for one instant of sun-
light to see my way to a period!' But sun-light there was none; so
Midni sprang to his feet, and parchment under arm, raced about among
the sloughs and bogs