ice, and tympanum.

Much amazement His Highness now expressed; horrified his glances.

"Why club such frights as ye? Herd ye, to keep in countenance; or are
afraid of your own hideousness, that ye dread to go alone? Monsters!
speak."

"Great Oro!" cried Mohi, "are we then taken for cripples, by the very
King of the Cripples? My lord, are not our legs and arms all right?"

"Comelier ones were never turned by turners, Mohi. But royal Yoky! in
sooth we feel abashed before thee."

Some further stares were then exchanged; when His Highness sought to
know, whether there were any Comparative Anatomists among his
visitors.

"Comparative Anatomists! not one."

"And why may King Yoky ask that question?" inquired Babbalanja.

Then was made the following statement.

During the latter part of his reign, when he seemed fallen into his
dotage, the venerable predecessor of King Yoky had been much attached
to an old gray-headed Chimpanzee, one day found meditating in the
woods. Rozoko was his name. He was very grave, and reverend of aspect;
much of a philosopher. To him, all gnarled and knotty subjects were
familiar; in his day he had cracked many a crabbed nut. And so in love
with his Timonean solitude was Rozoko, that it needed many bribes and
bland persuasions, to induce him to desert his mossy, hillside,
misanthropic cave, for the distracting tumult of a court.

But ere long, promoted to high offices, and made the royal favorite,
the woodland sage forgot his forests; and, love for love, returned the
aged king's caresses. Ardent friends they straight became; dined and
drank together; with quivering lips, quaffed long-drawn, sober
bumpers; comparing all their past experiences; and canvassing those
hidden themes, on which octogenarians dilate.

For when the fires and broils of youth are passed, and Mardi wears its
truer aspect--then we love to think, not act; the present seems more
unsubstantial than the past; then, we seek out gray-beards like
ourselves; and hold discourse of palsies, hearses, shrouds, and tombs;
appoint our undertakers; our mantles gather round us, like to winding-
sheets; and every night lie down to die. Then, the world's great
bubble bursts; then, Life's clouds seem sweeping by, revealing heaven
to our straining eyes; then, we tell our beads, and murmur pater-
nosters; and in trembling accents cry--"Oro! be merciful."

So, the monarch and Rozoko.

But not always were they thus. Of bright, cheerful m