“Azzageddi has found his match,” said Media.

“Still posed, Babbalanja?” asked Mohi.

“At a loss, most truly!  But I beseech thee, wise Doxodox! instruct me in thy dialectics, that I may embrace thy more recondite lore.”

“To begin then, my child:—­all Dicibles reside in the mind.”

“But what are Dicibles?” said Media.

“Meanest thou, Perfect or Imperfect Dicibles?” Any kind you please;—­ but what are they?”

“Perfect Dicibles are of various sorts:  Interrogative; Percontative; Adjurative; Optative; Imprecative; Execrative; Substitutive; Compellative; Hypothetical; and lastly, Dubious.”

“Dubious enough!  Azzageddi! forever, hereafter, hold thy peace.”

“Ah, my children!  I must go back to my Axioms.”

“And what are they?” said old Mohi.

“Of various sorts; which, again, are diverse.  Thus:  my contrary axioms are Disjunctive, and Subdisjunctive; and so, with the rest.  So, too, in degree, with my Syllogisms.”

“And what of them?”

“Did I not just hint what they were, my child?  I repeat, they are of various sorts:  Connex, and Conjunct, for example.”

“And what of them?” persisted Mohi; while Babbalanja, arms folded, stood serious and mute; a sneer on his lip.

“As with other branches of my dialectics:  so, too, in their way, with my Syllogisms.  Thus:  when I say,—­If it be warm, it is not cold:—­ that’s a simple Sumption.  If I add, But it is warm:—­that’s an Assumption.”

“So called from the syllogist himself, doubtless;” said Mohi, stroking his beard.

“Poor ignorant babe! no.  Listen:—­if finally, I say,—­Therefore it is not cold that’s the final inference.”

“And a most triumphant one it is!” cried Babbalanja.  “Thrice profound, and sapient Doxodox!  Light of Mardi! and Beacon of the Universe! didst ever hear of the Shark-Syllogism?”

“Though thy epithets be true, my child, I distrust thy sincerity.  I have not yet heard of the syllogism to which thou referrest.”

“It was thus.  A shark seized a swimmer by the leg; addressing him:  ’Friend, I will liberate you, if you truly answer whether you think I purpose harm.’  Well knowing that sharks seldom were magnanimous, he replied:  Kind sir, you mean me harm; now go your ways.’  ’No, no; my conscience forbids.  Nor will I falsify the words of so veracious a mortal.  You were to answer truly; but you say I mean you harm:—­so harm it is:—­here goes your leg.’”

“Profane jester!  Would’st thou insult me with thy torn-foolery?  Begone—­all of ye! tramp! pack!  I say:  away with ye!” and into the woods Doxodox himself disappeared.

“Bravely done, Babbalanja!” cried Media.  “You turned the corner to admiration.”

“I have hopes of our Philosopher yet,” said Mohi.

“Outrageous impostor! fool, dotard, oaf!  Did he think to bejuggle me with his preposterous gibberish?  And is this shallow phraseman the renowned Doxodox whom I have been taught so highly to reverence?  Alas, alas—­Odonphi there is none!”