- end_line
- 3136
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:09.927Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 3101
- text
- By this code, the minutest things in life were all ordered after a
specific fashion. More especially one’s dress was legislated upon, to
the last warp and woof. All girdles must be so many inches in length,
and with such a number of tassels in front. For a violation of this
ordinance, before the face of all Mardi, the most dutiful of sons would
cut the most affectionate of fathers.
Now, though like all Mardi, kings and slaves included, the people of
Pimminee had dead dust for grandsires, they seldom reverted to that
fact; for, like all founders of families, they had no family vaults.
Nor were they much encumbered by living connections; connections, some
of them appeared to have none. Like poor Logan the last of his tribe,
they seemed to have monopolized the blood of their race, having never a
cousin to own.
Wherefore it was, that many ignorant Mardians, who had not pushed their
investigations into the science of physiology, sagely divined, that the
Tapparians must have podded into life like peas, instead of being
otherwise indebted for their existence. Certain it is, they had a
comical way of backing up their social pretensions. When the
respectability of his clan was mooted, Paivai, one of their bucks,
disdained all reference to the Dooms-day Book, and the ancients. More
reliable evidence was had. He referred the anxious world to a witness,
still alive and hearty,—his contemporary tailor; the varlet who cut out
his tappa doublets, and rejoiced his soul with good fits.
“Ah!” sighed Babbalanja, “how it quenches in one the thought of
immortality, to think that these Tapparians too, will hereafter claim
each a niche!”
But we rove. Our visit to Pimminee itself, will best make known the
ways of its denizens.
- title
- Chunk 2