“And why not?” demanded Media, “why could no trace be found?” Said Braid-Beard, “Perhaps owing, my lord, to the flatness of the mermaid’s foot. But no; that can not be; for mermaids are all vertebrae below the waist.” “Your fragment is pretty good, I dare say, Yoomy,” observed Media, “but as Braid-Beard hints, rather flat.” “Flat as the foot of a man with his mind made up,” cried Braid-Beard. “Yoomy, did you sup on flounders last night?” But Yoomy vouchsafed no reply, he was ten thousand leagues off in a reverie: somewhere in the Hyades perhaps. Conversation proceeding, Braid-Beard happened to make allusion to one Rotato, a portly personage, who, though a sagacious philosopher, and very ambitious to be celebrated as such, was only famous in Mardi as the fattest man of his tribe. Said Media, “Then, Mohi, Rotato could not pick a quarrel with Fame, since she did not belie him. Fat he was, and fat she published him.” “Right, my lord,” said Babbalanja, “for Fame is not always so honest. Not seldom to be famous, is to be widely known for what you are not, says Alla-Malolla. Whence it comes, as old Bardianna has it, that for years a man may move unnoticed among his fellows; but all at once, by some chance attitude, foreign to his habit, become a trumpet-full for fools; though, in himself, the same as ever. Nor has he shown himself yet; for the entire merit of a man can never be made known; nor the sum of his demerits, if he have them. We are only known by our names; as letters sealed up, we but read each other’s superscriptions. “So with the commonalty of us Mardians. How then with those beings who every way are but too apt to be riddles. In many points the works of our great poet Vavona, now dead a thousand moons, still remain a mystery. Some call him a mystic; but wherein he seems obscure, it is, perhaps, we that are in fault; not by premeditation spoke he those archangel thoughts, which made many declare, that Vavona, after all, was but a crack-pated god, not a mortal of sound mind. But had he been less, my lord, he had seemed more. Saith Fulvi, ‘Of the highest order of genius, it may be truly asserted, that to gain the reputation of superior power, it must partially disguise itself; it must come down, and then it will be applauded for soaring.’ And furthermore, that there are those who falter in the common tongue, because they think in another; and these are accounted stutterers and stammerers.’” “Ah! how true!” cried the Warbler.