“If you, then, know nothing of the future—­did Bardianna?”

“If he did, naught did he reveal.  I have ever observed, my lord, that even in their deepest lucubrations, the profoundest, frankest, ponderers always reserve a vast deal of precious thought for their own private behoof.  They think, perhaps, that ’tis too good, or too bad; too wise, or too foolish, for the multitude.  And this unpleasant vibration is ever consequent upon striking a new vein of ideas in the soul.  As with buried treasures, the ground over them sounds strange and hollow.  At any rate, the profoundest ponderer seldom tells us all he thinks; seldom reveals to us the ultimate, and the innermost; seldom makes us open our eyes under water; seldom throws open the totus-in-toto; and never carries us with him, to the unconsubsistent, the ideaimmanens, the super-essential, and the One.”

Confusion!  Remember the Quadammodatatives!”

“Ah!” said Braid-Beard, “that’s the crack in his calabash, which all the Dicibles of Doxdox will not mend.”

“And from that crazy calabash he gives us to drink, old Mohi.”

“But never heed his leaky gourd nor its contents, my lord.  Let these philosophers muddle themselves as they will, we wise ones refuse to partake.”

“And fools like me drink till they reel,” said Babbalanja.  “But in these matters one’s calabash must needs go round to keep afloat.  Fogle-orum!”

CHAPTER LXXIII
At Last, The Last Mention Is Made Of Old Bardianna; And His Last Will
And Testament Is Recited At Length

The day was waning.  And, as after many a tale of ghosts, around their forest fire, Hungarian gipsies silent sit; watching the ruddy glow kindling each other’s faces;—­so, now we solemn sat; the crimson West our fire; all our faces flushed.

“Testators!” then cried Media, when your last wills are all round settled, speak, and make it known!”

“Mine, my lord, has long been fixed,” said Babbalanja.

“And how runs it?”

“Fugle-fogle—­”

“Hark ye, intruding Azzageddi! rejoin thy merry mates below;—­go there, and wag thy saucy tail; or I will nail it to our bow, till ye roar for liberation.  Begone, I say.”

“Down, devil! deeper down!” rumbled Babbalanja.

“My lord, I think he’s gone.  And now, by your good leave, I’ll repeat old Bardianna’s Will.  It’s worth all Mardi’s hearing; and I have so studied it, by rote I know it.”

“Proceed then; but I mistrust that Azzageddi is not yet many thousand fathoms down.”

“Attend my lord:—–­’Anno Mardis 50,000,000, o.s.  I, Bardianna, of the island of Vamba, and village of the same name, having just risen from my yams, in high health, high spirits, and sound mind, do hereby cheerfully make and ordain this my last will and testament.

“’Imprimis: 

“’All my kith and kin being well to do in Mardi, I wholly leave them out of this my will.