susceptible, all round they are
easy of entreaty. Wherefore, for all their rotundity, they are too
often circumnavigated by hatchet-faced knaves. Ah! a fat uncle, with
a fat paunch, and a fat purse, is a joy and a delight to all
nephews; to philosophers, a subject of endless speculation, as to how
many droves of oxen and Lake Eries of wine might have run through his
great mill during the full term of his mortal career. Fat men not
immortal! This very instant, old Lambert is rubbing his jolly abdomen
in Paradise.

Now, to the fact of his not being rated a demi-god, was perhaps
ascribable the circumstance, that Borabolla comported himself with
less dignity, than was the wont of their Mardian majesties. And truth
to say, to have seen him regaling himself with one of his favorite
cuttle-fish, its long snaky arms and feelers instinctively twining
round his head as he ate; few intelligent observers would have opined
that the individual before them was the sovereign lord of Mondoldo.

But what of the banquet of fish? Shall we tell how the old king
ungirdled himself thereto; how as the feast waxed toward its close,
with one sad exception, he still remained sunny-sided all round; his
disc of a face joyous as the South Side of Madeira in the hilarious
season of grapes? Shall we tell how we all grew glad and frank; and
how the din of the dinner was heard far into night?

We will.

When Media ate slowly, Borabolla took him to task, bidding him
dispatch his viands more speedily.

Whereupon said Media "But Borabolla, my round fellow, that would
abridge the pleasure."

"Not at all, my dear demi-god; do like me: eat fast and eat long."

In the middle of the feast, a huge skin of wine was brought in. The
portly peltry of a goat; its horns embattling its effigy head; its
mouth the nozzle; and its long beard flowed to its jet-black hoofs.
With many ceremonial salams, the attendants bore it along, placing it
at one end of the convivial mats, full in front of Borabolla; where
seated upon its haunches it made one of the party.

Brimming a ram's horn, the mellowest of bugles, Borabolla bowed to
his silent guest, and thus spoke--"In this wine, which yet smells of
the grape, I pledge you my reverend old toper, my lord Capricornus;
you alone have enough; and here's full skins to the rest!"

"How jolly he is," whispered Media to Babbalanja.

"Ay, his lungs laugh loud; but is laughing, rejoicing?"

"Help! help!" cried Borabolla "lay