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ridiculous prints, eh, which are in, circulation, have given you a false
idea of my personal appearance? Eyes!--true. Eyes, Pierre Bon-Bon,
are very well in their 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. Endeavor, 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 visiter's injunction. "A clever
book that of yours, upon my honor. It's a work after my own heart. Your
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