“The philosopher Grando had a sovereign contempt for his carcass.  Often he picked a quarrel with it; and always was flying out in its disparagement.  ’Out upon you, you beggarly body! you clog, drug, drag!  You keep me from flying; I could get along better without you.  Out upon you, I say, you vile pantry, cellar, sink, sewer; abominable body! what vile thing are you not?  And think you, beggar! to have the upper hand of me?  Make a leg to that man if you dare, without my permission.  This smell is intolerable; but turn from it, if you can, unless I give the word.  Bolt this yam!—­it is done.  Carry me across yon field!—­off we go.  Stop!—­it’s a dead halt.  There, I’ve trained you enough for to-day; now, sirrah, crouch down in the shade, and be quiet.—­I’m rested.  So, here’s for a stroll, and a reverie homeward:—­ Up, carcass, and march.’  So the carcass demurely rose and paced, and the philosopher meditated.  He was intent upon squaring the circle; but bump he came against a bough.  ’How now, clodhopping bumpkin! you would take advantage of my reveries, would you?  But I’ll be even with you;’ and seizing a cudgel, he laid across his shoulders with right good will.  But one of his backhanded thwacks injured his spinal cord; the philosopher dropped; but presently came to.  ’Adzooks!  I’ll bend or break you!  Up, up, and I’ll run you home for this.’  But wonderful to tell, his legs refused to budge; all sensation had left them.  But a huge wasp happening to sting his foot, not him, for he felt it not, the leg incontinently sprang into the air, and of itself, cut all manner of capers.  Be still!  Down with you!’ But the leg refused.  ‘My arms are still loyal,’ thought Grando; and with them he at last managed to confine his refractory member.  But all commands, volitions, and persuasions, were as naught to induce his limbs to carry him home.  It was a solitary place; and five days after, Grando the philosopher was found dead under a tree.”

“Ha, ha!” laughed Media, “Azzageddi is full as merry as ever.”

“But, my lord,” continued Babbalanja, “some creatures have still more perverse bodies than Grando’s.  In the fables of Ridendiabola, this is to be found.  ’A fresh-water Polyp, despising its marine existence; longed to live upon air.  But all it could do, its tentacles or arms still continued to cram its stomach.  By a sudden preternatural impulse, however, the Polyp at last turned itself inside out; supposing that after such a proceeding it would have no gastronomic interior.  But its body proved ventricle outside as well as in.  Again its arms went to work; food was tossed in, and digestion continued.’”

“Is the literal part of that a fact?” asked Mohi.

“True as truth,” said Babbalanja; “the Polyp will live turned inside out.”

“Somewhat curious, certainly,” said Media.—­“But me-thinks, Babbalanja, that somewhere I have heard something about organic functions, so called; which may account for the phenomena you mention; and I have heard too, me-thinks, of what are called reflex actions of the nerves, which, duly considered, might deprive of its strangeness that story of yours concerning Grande and his body.”