"A good blow and well planted, Babbalanja."

"In sooth, a most excellent saying; it should be carved upon his
tombstone," said Mohi, slowly withdrawing his pipe.

"What! would you have my epitaph read thus:--'Here lies the emptiest
of mortals, who was full of himself?' At best, your words are
exceedingly ambiguous, Mohi."

"Now have I the philosopher," cried Yoomy, with glee. "What did some
one say to me, not long since, Babbalanja, when in the matter of that
sleepy song of mine, Braid-Beard bestowed upon me an equivocal
compliment? Was I not told to wrest commendation from it, though I
tortured it to the quick?"

"Take thy own pills, philosopher," said Mohi.

"Then would he be a great original," said Media.

"Tell me, Yoomy," said Babbalanja, "are you not in fault? Because I
sometimes speak wisely, you must not imagine that I should always act
so."

"I never imagined that," said Yoomy, "and, if I did, the truth would
belie me. It is you who are in fault, Babbalanja; not I, craving your
pardon."

"The minstrel's sides are all edges to-day," said Media.

"This, then, thrice gentle Yoomy, is what I would say;" resumed