Now this miserable old miser must have been idiotic; for soon forgetting what he had but just told us of his utter toothlessness, he was so smitten with the pearly mouth of Hohora, one of our attendants (the same for whose pearls, little King Peepi had taken such a fancy), that he made the following overture to purchase its contents: namely: one tooth of the buyer’s, for every three of the seller’s. A proposition promptly rejected, as involving a mercantile absurdity. “Why?” said Babbalanja. “Doubtless, because that proposed to be given, is less than that proposed to be received. Yet, says a philosopher, this is the very principle which regulates all barterings. For where the sense of a simple exchange of quantities, alike in value?” “Where, indeed?” said Hohora with open eyes, “though I never heard it before, that’s a staggering question. I beseech you, who was the sage that asked it?” “Vivo, the Sophist,” said Babbalanja, turning aside. In the hearing of Jiji, allusion was made to Oh-Oh, as a neighbor of his. Whereupon he vented much slavering opprobrium upon that miserable old hump-back; who accumulated useless monstrosities; throwing away the precious teeth, which otherwise might have sensibly rattled in his own pelican pouches. When we quitted the hovel, Jiji, marking little Vee-Vee, from whose shoulder hung a calabash of edibles, seized the hem of his garment and besought him for one mouthful of food; for nothing had he tasted that day. The boy tossed him a yam. CHAPTER XXII. Yoomy Sings Some Odd Verses, And Babbalanja Quotes From The Old Authors Right And Left Sailing from Padulla, after many pleasant things had been said concerning the sights there beheld; Babbalanja thus addressed Yoomy— “Warbler, the last song you sung was about moonlight, and paradise, and fabulous pleasures evermore: now, have you any hymns about earthly felicity?” “If so, minstrel,” said Media, “jet it forth, my fountain, forthwith.” “Just now, my lord,” replied Yoomy, “I was singing to myself, as I often do, and by your leave, I will continue aloud.” “Better begin at the beginning, I should think,” said the chronicler, both hands to his chin, beginning at the top to new braid his beard. “No: like the roots of your beard, old Mohi, all beginnings are stiff,” cried Babbalanja. “We are lucky in living midway in eternity. So sing away, Yoomy, where you left off,” and thus saying he unloosed his girdle for the song, as Apicius would for a banquet. “Shall I continue aloud, then, my lord?” My lord nodded, and Yoomy sang:— “Full round, full soft, her dewy arms,— Sweet shelter from all Mardi’s harms!” “Whose arms?” cried Mohi. Sang Yoomy:— Diving deep in the sea, She takes sunshine along: Down flames in the sea, As of dolphins a throng. “What mermaid is this?” cried Mohi. Sang Yoomy:— Her foot, a falling sound, That all day long might bound. Over the beach, The soft sand beach, And none would find A trace behind.