Koztanza.

BABBALANJA--He first met them in his reveries; they were walking
about in him, sour and moody: and for a long time, were shy of his
advances; but still importuned, they at last grew ashamed of their
reserve; stepped forward; and gave him their hands. After that, they
were frank and friendly. Lombardo set places for them at his board;
when he died, he left them something in his will.

MEDIA--What! those imaginary beings?

ABRAZZA--Wondrous witty! infernal fine!

MEDIA--But, Babbalanja; after all, the Koztanza found no favor in the
eyes of some Mardians.

ABRAZZA--Ay: the arch-critics Verbi and Batho denounced it.

BABBALANJA--Yes: on good authority, Verbi is said to have detected a
superfluous comma; and Batho declared that, with the materials he
could have constructed a far better world than Lombardo's. But, didst
ever hear of his laying his axis?

ABRAZZA--But the unities; Babbalanja, the unities! they are wholly
wanting in the Koztanza.

BABBALANJA--Your Highness; upon that point, Lombardo was frank. Saith
he, in his autobiography: "For some time, I endeavored to keep in the
good graces of those nymphs; but I found them so captious, and
exacting; they threw me into such a violent passion with their fault-
findings; that, at last, I renounced them."

ABRAZZA--Very rash!

BABBALANJA--No, your Highness; for though Lombardo abandoned
all monitors from without; he retained one autocrat within--his
crowned and sceptered instinct. And what, if he pulled down one gross
world, and ransacked the etherial spheres, to build up something of
his own--a composite:--what then? matter and mind, though matching
not, are mates; and sundered oft, in his Koztanza they unite:--the
airy waist, embraced by stalwart arms.

MEDIA--Incoherent again! I thought we were to have no more of this!

BABBALANJA--My lord Media, there are things infinite in the finite;
and dualities in unities. Our eyes are pleased with the redness of the
rose, but another sense lives upon its fragrance. Its redness you must
approach, to view: its invisible fragrance pervades the field. So,
with the Koztanza. Its mere beauty is restricted to its form: its
expanding soul, past Mardi does embalm. Modak is Modako; but fogle-
foggle is not fugle-fi.

MEDIA (_to Abrazza_)--My lord, you start again; but 'tis only another
phase of Azzageeddi; sometimes he's quite mad. But all this you must
needs overlook.

ABRAZZA--I will, my dear prince; what one