“Next the Chalk, or Coral sandwich; but no dry fare for that; made up of rich side-courses,—eocene, miocene, and pliocene. The first was wild game for the delicate,—bantam larks, curlews, quails, and flying weazels; with a slight sprinkling of pilaus,—capons, pullets, plovers, and garnished with petrels’ eggs. Very savory, that, my lord. The second side-course—miocene—was out of course, flesh after fowl: marine mammalia,—seals, grampuses, and whales, served up with sea-weed on their flanks, hearts and kidneys deviled, and fins and flippers friccasied. All very thee, my lord. The third side-course, the pliocene, was goodliest of all:—whole-roasted elephants, rhinoceroses, and hippopotamuses, stuffed with boiled ostriches, condors, cassowaries, turkeys. Also barbacued mastodons and megatheriums, gallantly served up with fir-trees in their mouths, and tails cock-billed. “Thus fared the old diluvians: arrant gormandizers and beef-bolters. We Mardians famish on the superficial strata of deposits; cracking our jaws on walnuts, filberts, cocoa-nuts, and clams. My lord, I’ve done.” “And bravely done it is. Mohi tells us, that Mardi was made in six days; but you, Babbalanja, have built it up from the bottom in less than six minutes.” “Nothing for us geologists, my lord. At a word we turn you out whole systems, suns, satellites, and asteroids included. Why, my good lord, my friend Annonimo is laying out a new Milky Way, to intersect with the old one, and facilitate cross-cuts among the comets.” And so saying, Babbalanja turned aside. CHAPTER XXIX. They Still Remain Upon The Rock “Gogle-goggle, fugle-fi, fugle-fogle-orum,” so hummed to himself Babbalanja, slowly pacing over the fossils. “Is he crazy again?” whispered Yoomy. “Are you crazy, Babbalanja?” asked Media. “From my very birth have I been so, my lord; am I not possessed by a devil?” “Then I’ll e’en interrogate him,” cried Media. “—Hark ye, sirrah;— why rave you thus in this poor mortal?” “’Tis he, not I. I am the mildest devil that ever entered man; in propria persona, no antlers do I wear; my tail has lost its barb, as at last your Mardian lions lose their caudal horns.” “A very sing-song devil this. But, prithee, who are you, sirrah?” “The mildest devil that ever entered man; in propria persona, no antlers do I wear; my tail has lost its barb, as at last your Mardian lions lose their caudal horns.” “A very iterating devil this. Sirrah! mock me not. Know you aught yet unrevealed by Babbalanja?” “Many things I know, not good to tell; whence they call me Azzageddi.” “A very confidential devil, this; that tells no secrets. Azzageddi, can I drive thee out?” “Only with this mortal’s ghost:—together we came in, together we depart.” “A very terse, and ready devil, this. Whence come you, Azzageddi?” “Whither my catechist must go—a torrid clime, cut by a hot equator.” “A very keen, and witty devil, this. Azzageddi, whom have you there?”