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 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.”