CHAPTER LVI.
A Scene In Tee Land Of Warwicks, Or King-Makers Wending our way from the temple, we were accompanied by a fluent, obstreperous wight, one Znobbi, a runaway native of Porpheero, but now an enthusiastic inhabitant of Vivenza.
"Here comes our great chief!" he cried.

"Behold him! It was _I_ that had a hand in making him what he is!" And so saying, he pointed out a personage, no way distinguished, except by the tattooing on his forehead--stars, thirty in number; and an uncommonly long spear in his hand.

Freely he mingled with the crowd.
"Behold, how familiar I am with him!" cried Znobbi, approaching, and pitcher-wise taking him by the handle of his face.
"Friend," said the dignitary, "thy salute is peculiar, but welcome.

I reverence the enlightened people of this land." "Mean-spirited hound!" muttered Media, "were I him, I had impaled that audacious plebeian." "There's a Head-Chief for you, now, my fine fellow!" cried Znobbi.
"Hurrah! Three cheers! Ay, ay! All kings here--all equal.

Every thing's in common." Here, a bystander, feeling something grazing his side, looked down; and perceived Znobbi's hand in clandestine vicinity to the pouch at his girdle-end.
Whereupon the crowd shouted, "A thief! a thief!" And with a loud voice the starred chief cried--"Seize him, people, and tie him to yonder tree." And they seized, and tied him on the spot.
"Ah," said Media, "this chief has something to say, after all; he pinions a king at a word, though a plebeian takes him by the nose.
Beshrew me, I doubt not, that spear of his, though without a tassel, is longer and sharper than mine." "There's not so much freedom here as these freemen think," said Babbalanja, turning; "I laugh and admire.".