CHAPTER XLVI
Wherein Babbalanja Bows Thrice
The next morning's twilight found us once more afloat; and yielding to that almost sullen feeling, but too apt to prevail with some mortals at that hour, all but Media long remained silent.
But now, a bright mustering is seen among the myriad white Tartar tents in the Orient; like lines of spears defiling upon some upland plain, the sunbeams thwart the sky. And see! amid the blaze of banners, and the pawings of ten thousand thousand golden hoofs, day's mounted Sultan, Xerxes-like, moves on: the Dawn his standard, East and West his cymbals.
"Oh, morning life!" cried Yoomy, with a Persian air; "would that all time were a sunrise, and all life a youth."
"Ah! but these striplings whimper of youth," said Mohi, caressing his braids, "as if they wo
