hose kangaroos formed
the first edition of mankind, since revised and corrected."

"What has become of our finises, or tails, then?" asked Mohi,
wriggling in his seat.

"The old question, Mohi. But where are the tails of the tadpoles,
after their gradual metamorphosis into frogs? Have frogs any tails,
old man? Our tails, Mohi, were worn off by the process of
civilization; especially at the period when our fathers began to adopt
the sitting posture: the fundamental evidence of all civilization, for
neither apes, nor savages, can be said to sit; invariably, they squat
on their hams. Among barbarous tribes benches and settles are unknown.
But, my lord Media, as your liege and loving subject I can not
sufficiently deplore the deprivation of your royal tail. That stiff
and vertebrated member, as we find it in those rustic kinsmen we have
disowned, would have been useful as a supplement to your royal legs;
and whereas my good lord is now fain to totter on two stanchions, were
he only a kangaroo, like the monarchs of old, the majesty of Odo would
be dignified, by standing firm on a tripod."

"A very witty conceit! But have a care, Azzageddi; your theory applies
not to me."

"Babbalanja," said Mohi, "you must be the last of the kangaroos."

"I am, Mohi."

"But the old fashioned pouch or purse of your grandams?" hinted Media.

"My lord, I take it, that must have been transferred; nowadays our sex
carries the purse."

"Ha, ha!"

"My lord, why this mirth? Let us be serious. Although man is no longer
a kangaroo, he may be said to be an inferior species of plant. Plants
proper are perhaps insensible of the circulation of their sap: we
mortals are physically unconscious of the circulation of the blood;
and for many ages were not even aware of the fact. Plants know nothing
of their interiors:--three score years and ten we trundle about ours,
and never get a peep at them; plants stand on their stalks:--we stalk
on our legs; no plant flourishes over its dead root:--dead in the
grave, man lives no longer above ground; plants die without
food:--so we. And now for the difference. Plants elegantly inhale
nourishment, without looking it up: like lords, they stand still and
are served; and though green, never suffer from the colic:--whereas,
we mortals must forage all round for our food: we cram our insides;
and are loaded down with odious sacks and intestines. Plants make love
and multiply; but excel us in all amorous enticements