{"id":"01KG8AKN1ZXPBKSQR6G691VEV8","cid":"bafkreigj32tq55s5avgjmdd5ig2pxrh567mruj7cbp7bku3n2mgp6v6lbm","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":2211,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:09.927Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 4","source_file":"01KG89J1954N2G0NAERBNJXEX9","start_line":2114,"text":"giving over the chase for a while. For in those days, as now, a\r\nquarter-quintal of ambergris was more valuable than a whole ton of\r\nspermaceti.”\r\n\r\n“Nor, my lord,” said Babbalanja, “would it have been wise to kill the\r\nfish that dropped such treasures: no more than to murder the noddy that\r\nlaid the golden eggs.”\r\n\r\n“Beshrew me! a noddy it must have been,” gurgled Mohi through his\r\npipe-stem, “to lay golden eggs for others to hatch.”\r\n\r\n“Come, no more of that now,” cried Media. “Mohi, how long think you,\r\nmay one of these pipe-bowls last?”\r\n\r\n“My lord, like one’s cranium, it will endure till broken. I have smoked\r\nthis one of mine more than half a century.”\r\n\r\n“But unlike our craniums, stocked full of concretions,” said\r\nBabbalanja, our pipe-bowls never need clearing out.”\r\n\r\n“True,” said Mohi, “they absorb the oil of the smoke, instead of\r\nallowing it offensively to incrust.”\r\n\r\n“Ay, the older the better,” said Media, “and the more delicious the\r\nflavor imparted to the fumes inhaled.”\r\n\r\n“Farnoos forever! my lord,” cried Yoomy. “By much smoking, the bowl\r\nwaxes russet and mellow, like the berry-brown cheek of a sunburnt\r\nbrunette.”\r\n\r\n“And as like smoked hams,” cried Braid-Beard, “we veteran old smokers\r\ngrow browner and browner; hugely do we admire to see our jolly noses\r\nand pipe-bowls mellowing together.”\r\n\r\n“Well said, old man,” cried Babbalanja; “for, like a good wife, a pipe\r\nis a friend and companion for life. And whoso weds with a pipe, is no\r\nlonger a bachelor. After many vexations, he may go home to that\r\nfaithful counselor, and ever find it full of kind consolations and\r\nsuggestions. But not thus with cigars or cigarrets: the acquaintances\r\nof a moment, chatted with in by-places, whenever they come handy; their\r\nexistence so fugitive, uncertain, unsatisfactory. Once ignited, nothing\r\nlike longevity pertains to them. They never grow old. Why, my lord, the\r\nstump of a cigarret is an abomination; and two of them crossed are more\r\nof a _memento-mori_, than a brace of thigh-bones at right angles.”\r\n\r\n“So they are, so they are,” cried King Media. “Then, mortals, puff we\r\naway at our pipes. Puff, puff, I say. Ah! how we puff! But thus we\r\ndemi-gods ever puff at our ease.”\r\n\r\n“Puff; puff, how we puff,” cried Babbalanja. “but life itself is a puff\r\nand a wheeze. Our lungs are two pipes which we constantly smoke.”\r\n\r\n“Puff, puff! how we puff,” cried old Mohi. “All thought is a puff.”\r\n\r\n“Ay,” said Babbalanja, “not more smoke in that skull-bowl of yours than\r\nin the skull on your shoulders: both ends alike.”\r\n\r\n“Puff! puff! how we puff,” cried Yoomy. “But in every puff, there hangs\r\na wreath. In every puff, off flies a care.”\r\n\r\n“Ay, there they go,” cried Mohi, “there goes another—and, there, and\r\nthere;—this is the way to get rid of them my worshipful lord; puff them\r\naside.”\r\n\r\n“Yoomy,” said Media, “give us that pipe song of thine. Sing it, my\r\nsweet and pleasant poet. We’ll keep time with the flageolets of ours.”\r\n\r\n“So with pipes and puffs for a chorus, thus Yoomy sang:—\r\n\r\nCare is all stuff:—\r\n    Puff! Puff:\r\nTo puff is enough:—\r\n    Puff! Puff!\r\nMore musky than snuff,\r\nAnd warm is a puff:—\r\n    Puff! Puff!\r\nHere we sit mid our puffs,\r\nLike old lords in their ruffs,\r\nSnug as bears in their muffs:—\r\n    Puff! Puff!\r\nThen puff, puff, puff;\r\nFor care is all stuff,\r\nPuffed off in a puff:—\r\n    Puff! Puff!\r\n\r\n\r\n“Ay, puff away,” cried Babbalanja, “puff; puff, so we are born, and so\r\ndie. Puff, puff, my volcanos: the great sun itself will yet go out in a\r\nsnuff, and all Mardi smoke out its last wick.”\r\n\r\n“Puffs enough,” said King Media, “Vee-Vee! haul down my flag. There,\r\nlie down before me, oh Gonfalon! and, subjects, hear,—when I die, lay\r\nthis spear on my right, and this pipe on my left, its colors at half\r\nmast; so shall I be ambidexter, and sleep between eloquent symbols.”\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 4"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJQ1A78RKJV3PZ9MH9K07","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1954N2G0NAERBNJXEX9","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AKN22V41X5CDT10EQ7QXB","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:11.327Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:20.527Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}