"My lord," added Mohi, "of the unical, and rudimental fundament of
things, you remember."

"Ah! there's none of them sober; proceed, proceed, Azzageddi!"

"My lord waves his hand like a banner," murmured Yoomy.

"Without imagination, I say, an armless man, born, blind, could not be
made to believe, that he had a head of hair, since he could neither
see it, nor feel it, nor has hair any feeling of itself."

"Methinks though," said Mohi, "if the cripple had a Tartar for a wife,
he would not remain skeptical long."

"You all fly off at tangents," cried Media, "but no wonder: your
mortal brains can not endure much quaffing. Return to your subject,
Babbalanja. Assume now, Babbalanja,--assume, my dear prince--assume
it, assume it, I say!--Why don't you?"

"I am willing to assume any thing you please, my lord: what is it?"

"Ah! yes!--Assume that--that upon returning home, you should find your
wife had newly wedded, under the--the--the metaphysical presumption,
that being no longer visible, you--_you_ Azzageddi, had departed this
life; in other words, out of sight, out of mind; what then, my dear
prince?"

"Why then, my lord, I would demolish my rival in a trice."