Chapter 51 - Page 2

for another glow-worm. Often, making a rapid
descent with his turban, he thought he had caged a prize; but nay.
Again he tried; yet with no better succcess. Nevertheless, at last he
secured one; but hardly had he read three lines by its light, when out
it went. Again and again this occurred. And thus he forever went
halting and stumbling through his studies, and plunging through his
quagmires after a glim."

At this ridiculous tale, one of our silliest paddlers burst into
uncontrollable mirth. Offended at which breach of decorum, Media
sharply rebuked him.

But he protested he could not help laughing.

Again Media was about to reprimand him, when Babbalanja begged leave
to interfere.

"My lord, he is not to blame. Mark how earnestly he struggles to
suppress his mirth; but he can not. It has often been the same with
myself. And many a time have I not only vainly sought to check my
laughter, but at some recitals I have both laughed and cried. But can
opposite emotions be simultaneous in one being? No. I wanted to weep;
but my body wanted to smile, and between us we almost choked. My lord
Media, this man's body laughs; not the man himself."

"But his body is his own, Babbalanja; and he should have it under
better control."

"The common error, my lord. Our souls belong to our bodies, not our
bodies to our souls. For which has the care of the other? which keeps
house? which looks after the replenishing of the aorta and auricles,
and stores away the secretions? Which toils and ticks while the other
sleeps? Which is ever giving timely hints, and elderly warnings? Which
is the most authoritative?--Our bodies, surely. At a hint, you must
move; at a notice to quit, you depart. Simpletons show us, that a body
can get along almost without a soul; but of a soul getting along
without a body, we have no tangible and indisputable proof. My lord,
the wisest of us breathe involuntarily. And how many millions there
are who live from day to day by the incessant operation of subtle
processes in them, of which they know nothing, and care less? Little
ween they, of vessels lacteal and lymphatic, of arteries femoral and
temporal; of pericranium or pericardium; lymph, chyle, fibrin,
albumen, iron in the blood, and pudding in the head; they live by the
charity of their bodies, to which they are but butlers. I say, my
lord, our bodies are our betters. A soul so simple, that it prefers
evil to good, is lodged in a frame, whose minutest action is full of
unsearchable wisdom. Knowing this superiority of theirs, our bodies
are inclined to be willful: our beards grow in spite of us; and as
every one knows, they sometimes grow on dead men."

"You mortals are