"Roughly worded, that, Babbalanja.--Vee-Vee! my crown!--So; now,
Babbalanja, try if you can not polish Bardianna's style in that last
saying you father upon him."

"I will, my ever honorable lord," said Babbalanja, salaming. "Thus
we'll word it, then: In their merely Mardian nature, the sublimest
demi-gods are subject to infirmities; for struck by some keen shaft,
even a king ofttimes dons his crown, fearful of future darts."

"Ha, ha!--well done, Babbalanja; but I bade you polish, not sharpen
the arrow."

"All one, my thrice honored lord;--to polish is not to blunt."



CHAPTER XLVII
Babbalanja Philosophizes, And My Lord Media Passes Round The
Calabashes


An interval of silence passed; when Media cried, "Out upon thee,
Yoomy! curtail that long face of thine."

"How can he, my lord," said Mohi, "when he is thinking of furlongs?"

"Fathoms you mean, Mohi; see you not he is musing over the gunwale?
And now, minstrel, a banana for thy thoughts. Come, tell me how you
poets spend so many hours in meditation."