- end_line
- 2591
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:09.927Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 2499
- text
- “Three Hours in Vivenza, containing a Full and Impartial Account of
that Whole Country: by a Subject of King Bello.”
And works of nautical poets:—
“Sky-Sail-Pole Lyrics.”
And divers brief books, with panic-striking titles:—
“Are you safe?”
“A Voice from Below.”
“Hope for none.”
“Fire for all.”
And pamphlets by retired warriors:—
“On the Best Gravy for Wild Boar’s Meat.”
“Three Receipts for Bottling New Arrack.”
“To Brown Bread Fruit without Burning.”
“Advice to the Dyspeptic.”
“On Starch for Tappa.”
All these MSS. were highly prized by Oh-Oh. He averred, that they spoke
of the mighty past, which he reverenced more than the paltry present,
the dross and sediment of what had been.
Peering into a dark crypt, Babbalanja drew forth a few crumbling,
illegible, black-letter sheets of his favorite old essayist, brave
Bardianna. They seemed to have formed parts of a work, whose title only
remained—“Thoughts, by a Thinker.”
Silently Babbalanja pressed them to his heart. Then at arm’s length
held them, and said, “And is all this wisdom lost? Can not the divine
cunning in thee, Bardianna, transmute to brightness these sullied
pages? Here, perhaps, thou didst dive into the deeps of things,
treating of the normal forms of matter and of mind; how the particles
of solids were first molded in the interstices of fluids; how the
thoughts of men are each a soul, as the lung-cells are each a lung; how
that death is but a mode of life; while mid-most is the Pharzi.— But
all is faded. Yea, here the Thinker’s thoughts lie cheek by jowl with
phrasemen’s words. Oh Bardianna! these pages were offspring of thee,
thought of thy thought, soul of thy soul. Instinct with mind, they once
spoke out like living voices; now, they’re dust; and would not prick a
fool to action. Whence then is this? If the fogs of some few years can
make soul linked to matter naught; how can the unhoused spirit hope to
live when mildewed with the damps of death.”
Piously he folded the shreds of manuscript together, kissed them, and
laid them down.
Then approaching Oh-Oh, he besought him for one leaf, one shred of
those most precious pages, in memory of Bardianna, and for the love of
him.
But learning who he was, one of that old Ponderer’s commentators, Oh-Oh
tottered toward the manuscripts; with trembling fingers told them over,
one by one, and said—“Thank Oro! all are here.—Philosopher, ask me for
my limbs, my life, my heart, but ask me not for these. Steeped in wax,
these shall be my cerements.”
All in vain; Oh-Oh was an antiquary.
Turning in despair, Babbalanja spied a heap of worm-eaten parchment
covers, and many clippings and parings. And whereas the rolls of
manuscripts did smell like unto old cheese; so these relics did
marvelously resemble the rinds of the same.
Turning over this pile, Babbalanja lighted upon something that restored
his good humor. Long he looked it over delighted; but bethinking him,
that he must have dragged to day some lost work of the collection, and
much desirous of possessing it, he made bold again to ply Oh-Oh;
offering a tempting price for his discovery.
Glancing at the title—“A Happy Life”—the old man cried—“Oh, rubbish!
rubbish! take it for nothing.” And Babbalanja placed it in his
vestment.
The catacombs surveyed, and day-light gained, we inquired the way to
Ji-Ji’s, also a collector, but of another sort; one miserly in the
matter of teeth, the money of Mardi.
At the mention of his name, Oh-Oh flew out into scornful philippics
upon the insanity of that old dotard, who hoarded up teeth, as if teeth
were of any use, but to purchase rarities. Nevertheless, he pointed out
our path; following which, we crossed a meadow.
- title
- Chunk 2