“’Fellow-men; we split upon hairs; but stripped, mere words and phrases cast aside, the great bulk of us are orthodox.  None who think, dissent from the grand belief.  The first man’s thoughts were as ours.  The paramount revelation prevails with us; and all that clashes therewith, we do not so much believe, as believe that we can not disbelieve.  Common sense is a sturdy despot; that, for the most part, has its own way.  It inspects and ratifies much independent of it.  But those who think they do wholly reject it, are but held in a sly sort of bondage; under a semblance of something else, wearing the old yoke.’”

“Cease, cease, Babbalanja,” said Media, “and permit me to insinuate a word in your ear.  You have long been in the habit, philosopher, of regaling us with chapters from your old Bardianna; and with infinite gusto, you have just recited the longest of all.  But I do not observe, oh, Sage! that for all these things, you yourself are practically the better or wiser.  You live not up to Bardianna’s main thought.  Where he stands, he stands immovable; but you are a Dog-vane.  How is this?”

“Gogle-goggle, fugle-fi, fugle-fogle-orum!”

“Mad, mad again,” cried Yoomy.

CHAPTER LXXII Babbalanja Starts To His Feet

For twenty-four hours, seated stiff, and motionless, Babbalanja spoke not a word; then, almost without moving a muscle, muttered thus:—­“At banquets surfeit not, but fill; partake, and retire; and eat not again till you crave.  Thereby you give nature time to work her magic transformings; turning all solids to meat, and wine into blood.  After a banquet you incline to repose:—­do so:  digestion commands.  All this follow those, who feast at the tables of Wisdom; and all such are they, who partake of the fare of old Bardianna.”

“Art resuscitated, then, Babbalanja?” said Media.  “Ay, my lord, I am just risen from the dead.”

“And did Azzageddi conduct you to their realms?”

“Fangs off! fangs off! depart, thou fiend!—­unhand me! or by Oro, I will die and spite thee!”

“Quick, quick, Mohi! let us change places,” cried Yoomy.

“How now, Babbalanja?” said Media.

“Oh my lord man—­not you my lord Media!—­high and mighty Puissance! great King of Creation!—­thou art but the biggest of braggarts!  In every age, thou boastest of thy valorous advances:—­flat fools, old dotards, and numskulls, our sires!  All the Past, wasted time! the Present knows all! right lucky, fellow-beings, we live now! every man an author! books plenty as men! strike a light in a minute! teeth sold by the pound! all the elements fetching and carrying! lightning running on errands! rivers made to order! the ocean a puddle!—­ But ages back they boasted like us; and ages to come, forever and ever, they’ll boast.  Ages back they black-balled the past, thought the last day was come; so wise they were grown.