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 me down! lay me down! good gods, what a twinge!" The goblet fell from his hand; the purple flew from his wine to his face; and Borabolla fell back into the arms of his servitors.

"That gout! that gout!" he groaned.