I have ever observed, my lord, that even in their deepest lucubrations, the profoundest, frankest, ponderers always reserve a vast deal of precious thought for their own private behoof.

They think, perhaps, that 'tis too good, or too bad; too wise, or too foolish, for the multitude.

And this unpleasant vibration is ever consequent upon striking a new vein of ideas in the soul.

As with buried treasures, the ground over them sounds strange and hollow.

At any rate, the profoundest ponderer seldom tells us all he thinks; seldom reveals to us the ultimate, and the innermost; seldom makes us open our eyes under water; seldom throws open the totus-in-toto; and never carries us with him, to the unconsubsistent, the ideaimmanens, the super-essential, and the One." Confusion! Remember the Quadammodatatives!" "Ah!" said Braid-Beard, "that's the crack in his calabash, which all the Dicibles of Doxdox will not mend." "And from that crazy calabash he gives us to drink, old Mohi." "But never heed his leaky gourd nor its contents, my lord.