What, for instance, do you mean by all that humbug
about the soul? Pray, sir, what _is_ the soul?"

"The--hiccup!--soul," replied the metaphysician, referring to his MS.,
"is undoubtedly--"

"No, sir!"

"Indubitably--"

"No, sir!"

"Indisputably--"

"No, sir!"

"Evidently--"

"No, sir!"

"Incontrovertibly--"

"No, sir!"

"Hiccup!--"

"No, sir!"

"And beyond all question, a--"

"No, sir, the soul is no such thing!" (Here the philosopher, looking
daggers, took occasion to make an end, upon the spot, of his third
bottle of Chambertin.)

"Then--hiccup!--pray, sir--what--what is it?"

"That is neither here nor there, Monsieur Bon-Bon," replied his
Majesty, musingly. "I have tasted--that is to say, I have known some
very bad souls, and some too--pretty good ones." Here he smacked his
lips, and, having unconsciously let fall his hand upon the volume in
his pocket, was seized with a violent fit of sneezing.

He continued:

"There was the soul of Cratinus--passable: Aristophanes--racy:
Plato--exquisite--not _your_ Plato, but Plato the comic poet; your
Plato would have turned the stomach of Cerberus--faugh! Then let me
see! there were Naevius, and Andronicus, and Plautus, and Terentius.
Then there were Lucilius, and Catullus, and Naso, and Quintus
Flaccus,--dear Quinty! as I called him when he sang a _saeculare_ for
my amusement, while I toasted him, in pure good humour, on a fork. But
they want _flavour_, these Romans. One fat Greek is worth a dozen of
them, and besides will _keep_, which cannot be said of a Quirite. Let
us taste your Sauterne."

Bon-Bon had by this time made up his mind to the _nil admirari_, and
endeavoured to hand down the bottles in question. He was, however,
conscious of a strange sound in the room like the wagging of a tail.
Of this, although extremely indecent in his Majesty, the philosopher
took no notice:--simply kicking the dog, and requesting him to be
quiet. The visitor continued:

"I found that Horace tasted very much like Aristotle;--you know I am
fond of variety. Terentius I could not have told from Menander. Naso,
to my astonishment, was Nicander in disguise. Virgilius had a strong
twang of Theocritus. Martial put me much in mind of Archilochus--and
Titus Livius was positively Polybius and none other."

"Hiccup!" here replied Bon-Bon, and his Majesty proceeded:

"But if I _have_ a _penchant_, Monsieur Bon-Bon--if I _have_ a
_penchant_, it is for a philosopher. Y