y!
absolutely drunk, eh, with my magnificence? But pardon me, my dear
sir, (here his tone of voice dropped to the very spirit of cordiality,)
pardon me for my uncharitable laughter. You appeared so _utterly_
astonished. Besides, some things are so completely ludicrous, that a man
_must_ laugh or die. To die laughing, must be the most glorious of
all glorious deaths! Sir Thomas More--a very fine man was Sir Thomas
More--Sir Thomas More died laughing, you remember. Also in the
_Absurdities_ of Ravisius Textor, there is a long list of characters who
came to the same magnificent end. Do you know, however," continued he
musingly, "that at Sparta (which is now Palae; ochori,) at Sparta, I say,
to the west of the citadel, among a chaos of scarcely visible ruins, is
a kind of _socle_, upon which are still legible the letters 7!=9. They
are undoubtedly part of '+7!=9!. Now, at Sparta were a thousand temples
and shrines to a thousand different divinities. How exceedingly strange
that the altar of Laughter should have survived all the others! But in
the present instance," he resumed, with a singular alteration of voice
and manner, "I have no right to be merry at your expense. You might well
have been amazed. Europe cannot produce anything so fine as this, my
little regal cabinet. My other apartments are by no means of the same
order--mere _ultras_ of fashionable insipidity. This is better than
fashion--is it not? Yet this has but to be seen to become the rage--that
is, with those who could afford it at the cost of their entire
patrimony. I have guarded, however, against any such profanation.
With one exception, you are the only human being besides myself and my
_valet_, who has been admitted within the mysteries of these imperial
precincts, since they have been bedizzened as you see!"

I bowed in acknowledgment--for the overpowering sense of splendor and
perfume, and music, together with the unexpected eccentricity of
his address and manner, prevented me from expressing, in words, my
appreciation of what I might have construed into a compliment.

"Here," he resumed, arising and leaning on my arm as he sauntered around
the apartment, "here are paintings from the Greeks to Cimabue, and from
Cimabue to the present hour. Many are chosen, as you see, with little
deference to the opinions of Virtu. They are all, however, fitting
tapestry for a chamber such as this. Here, too, are some _chefs
d'oeuvre_ of the unknown great; and here, un