proper place--_that_, you would say,
is the head?--right--the head of a worm. To _you_, likewise, these
optics are indispensable--yet I will convince you that my vision is
more penetrating than your own. There is a cat I see in the corner--a
pretty cat--look at her--observe her well. Now, Bon-Bon, do you behold
the thoughts--the thoughts, I say--the ideas--the reflections--which
are being engendered in her pericranium? There it is now--you do not!
She is thinking we admire the length of her tail and the profundity of
her mind. She has just concluded that I am the most distinguished of
ecclesiastics, and that you are the most superficial of
metaphysicians. Thus you see I am not altogether blind; but to one of
my profession, the eyes you speak of would be merely an incumbrance,
liable at any time to be put out by a toasting-iron or a pitchfork. To
you, I allow, these optical affairs are indispensable. Endeavour,
Bon-Bon, to use them well; _my_ vision is the soul."

Hereupon the guest helped himself to the wine upon the table, and
pouring out a bumper for Bon-Bon, requested him to drink it without
scruple, and make himself perfectly at home.

"A clever book that of yours, Pierre," resumed his Majesty, tapping
our friend knowingly upon the shoulder, as the latter put down his
glass after a thorough compliance with his visitor's injunction. "A
clever book that of yours, upon my honour. It's a work after my own
heart. Your arrangement of the matter, I think, however, might be
improved, and many of your notions remind me of Aristotle. That
philosopher was one of my most intimate acquaintances. I liked him as
much for his terrible ill temper, as for his happy knack at making a
blunder. There is only one solid truth in all that he has written, and
for that I gave him the hint out of pure compassion for his absurdity.
I suppose, Pierre Bon-Bon, you very well know to what divine moral
truth I am alluding?"

"Cannot say that I--"

"Indeed!--why it was I who told Aristotle that, by sneezing, men
expelled superfluous ideas through the proboscis."

"Which is--hiccup!--undoubtedly the case," said the metaphysician,
while he poured out for himself another bumper of Mousseaux, and
offering his snuff-box to the fingers of his visitor.

"There was Plato, too," continued his Majesty, modestly declining the
snuff-box and the compliment it implied--"there was Plato, too, for
whom I, at one time, felt all the affection of a friend. You